Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(42)

“I don’t care.” He caught her lower lip, bit her lightly.

Her heart did a slow, lazy roll in her chest as he caught her close and smoothed his hands down her back, tucking her up against him. Then he just held her. One hand curved along the back of her neck, cradled her up against his chest, while the other curved along the small of her back.

Closing her eyes, she sighed and leaned against him.

He felt so warm.

It was possible to be cold for so long that you simply forgot you were cold, she realized. And now, pressed against his warmth, she felt something almost painful—those cold places, slowly thawing. It hurt, even as something sweet and blissful spread through her.

Tears pricked her eyes and she pressed against his chest.

She needed a few minutes alone, before she started to cry right there.

“I need a minute,” she said, and it took every bit of willpower she had to give him an easy smile.

His hands fell away and she kept her movements fluid and her steps unhurried until she was in the bathroom. Then, after she’d shut and locked the door behind her, she leaned against it as that tingling, painful ache spread throughout her entire soul.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she sighed.

“I think you’re in trouble here, Keelie.”


*

Zane had a lifetime of practice when it came to hiding his emotions. If his parents had any idea of some of the shit he’d hidden from them, some of the secrets he never planned on sharing with anybody . . . well. Suffice it to say that things wouldn’t be pleasant if any of that came out. His mother would never let him hear the end of it and she’d maybe go on a maternal rampage, even now, more than twenty years later.

But he’d kept secrets and he’d kept them well.

He’d hidden his feelings and hidden them well.

Now he had to do it all over again. The door opened and Keelie came out, still wearing the T-shirt she’d slept in. It was his and he was going to bronze it, or maybe sleep with that damn thing, because it would smell like her . . .

“Can I borrow the shirt?” she asked, tearing him out of his fantasy.

He blinked. “Ah. Yeah.” Okay. Keelie walking around wearing his shirt did something to his brain that just wasn’t conducive to conversation, but he managed a fairly normal smile as he picked up his coffee. “There’s coffee.”

Keelie gave him a grateful smile. “I need it.”

Her hands closed around the cup and she lifted it up to her lips.

He watched, practically mesmerized as she took a sip. A soft sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, escaped her.

His dick hardened.

How in the hell could she get him worked up just by drinking coffee?

Blood throbbed, pulsed in his veins as she took another sip and then moved over to the bar. The worn cotton of the T-shirt he’d given her slid over her slight curves. The fabric was all but shapeless from years of use, wearing it to the gym, on hikes, but the body under that shirt was anything but shapeless. Her shoulders, the line of her back, how she settled on one of the stools.

“So . . .” she drew the word out. The seriousness of it managed to break through the cloud in his head.

He settled on the stool next to hers, then caught her waist, hauled her into his lap. She yelped and then grabbed his hands, twisting her head around to look at him.

“Our date was shot to hell,” he said, staring into wide, startled eyes.

“Well . . .”

Dipping his head, he caught her lower lip, bit down.

She shivered against him.

“It was shot to hell. But I’ll have you know, I didn’t punch Zach. I wanted to.”

When he lifted his head, she blinked at him. “Ah . . . just where are you going with this?”

“I’m just explaining that I didn’t hit him, even though he was a stupid *.”

Keelie lifted a brow, an elegant arch over the pale blue of her eye. “Zane, from what I understand, you enjoy hitting him. I doubt y’all need reasons to fight. But I appreciate the self-control.”

He reached up, stroked the tip of his finger across her eyebrow. “We have to try the date thing again. Since last night flopped.”

“Well.” She shifted on the stool, wiggling around until she could wrap her arms around him.

His brain went into a slow, complete meltdown as she draped her arms around his neck, her hip tucked against his cock. But that wasn’t the worst. A fist reached up, grabbed him by the throat as she settled her head on his chest. “I don’t think it was a total flop. Not really. The end of the night wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Closing his eyes, he rested his head on hers. Hell. I love you.

The words almost escaped him then.

But he knew she wasn’t ready. She thought she hid it, but he’d seen the fear, the nerves. He wasn’t going to risk scaring her now. “No,” he murmured. “The rest of the night wasn’t so bad.”

He settled his hand on her hip, fighting the urge to grab her, hold on tight, so tight she’d never be able to get free. “Still. We should have that real date. Without my brother. Without Abby. No interruptions. How about I make you dinner . . . here.”

“Dinner.” She lifted her head, studied him. “You cook?”

Stroking a finger along her cheek, he smiled. “Yeah. I cook. You’d probably be amazed.”