Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(33)

Us by ourselves is only going to end up one way, that’s for sure. Our bodies seem to have a mind of their own when they’re near each other. A spell-binding lust neither of us can explain nor break.

Yeah, that’s a smart idea. Let’s meet where everyone can see us together. - Z

He’s being sarcastic. What an *. He has a point, though. Being together in public is not a good idea. Someone could see us, and I could lose my job. Who knows what his men would do to him. This whole thing is just ridiculous.

No. There is nothing to say. - J

A loud knock sounds at my door. I freeze. Panic rushing through my system like the Nile. Stepping up to the door, I look through the peephole. Zeek’s intense brown eyes look right back at me.

“Open the door.” His voice is low and husky.

Glancing down, my comfy clothes stare back at me. I’m really dressed down. Shit. Jinx purrs, rubbing against my legs.

“What do I do?” I whisper to him. Why am I talking to my cat? Jinx meows and hops back on the couch, sprawling out. Clearly not affected that some hot man who happens to be a notorious outlaw is knocking at our door. The fact that I cannot contain my attraction for him and rationalize around him is clearly not of any concern to my cat.

“Open up, Jillian!” Zeek booms from the other side of the door. My eyes shoot to the door, my heartbeat not slowing any. Not having a choice, I unlock it.

The smell of him hits me first. That leather, exhaust, and spicy cologne scent. It’s dangerous, and intoxicating. I inhale it with a deep breath before opening the door further. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a distressed white Levi shirt underneath, dark blue jeans hanging off his hips precariously. He chuckles. Realizing I’m eyeballing him without shame, I tear my gaze from his incredibly toned body to his face. He smirks knowingly and hands me a rectangular box.

“What’s this?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores my question, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Taking my gaze off the box, his dark eyes meet mine and my stomach does that flip-floppy thing.

“Um, yeah. Sorry.” I move aside, letting him in. Before shutting the door, I peer out, making sure nobody saw him, and I notice his bike is not parked out front.

“Where did you park?” I shut the door and turn, finding him glancing around my house curiously. He looks so big in my home, his large frame taking up so much space.

“Around the corner.” He doesn’t look at me when he replies, his eyes taking everything in. It’s a mess in here; a cereal box sits on the coffee table, and my bra is hanging off the back of the couch.

“Okay,” I respond, not really sure what else to say. I can imagine Mrs. Bennett peering out her window with a look of horror at the motorcycle parked in front of her house. She reminds me of the old lady from the movie Lake Placid. She looks innocent, but something tells me if you piss her off she’d feed you to the alligators quickly.

Setting the box down that Zeek gave me, I lift the corner to peek inside and find a bunch of assorted donuts. Sprinkles, glazed, icing—you name it.

“Really? You got me donuts?” I arch a brow, dropping the lid.

He turns, a mischievous smile fitting his face.

“Don’t all cops like donuts?” he jeers. I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my hip.

“That’s so stereotypical,” I huff.

“Oh, really?” he replies, grabbing the box off the table, a smug smile still on his face.

“I’ll get rid of them then.”

“No, wait!” I nearly trip over my feet trying to grab the box of donuts. He holds them higher than me and smiles so big I think I see two dimples. Really, he’s pulling the notorious bully move holding them just above my reach? Why am I attracted to him again?

“I thought you didn’t like them,” he taunts.

“I do like them. A lot, actually.” I cross my arms, my cheeks flushing. My dad used to always take me to the local bakery to get donuts on the weekends. I would get whatever I wanted—usually anything with sprinkles—and we would drop the rest off at the department. What can I say, embrace your stereotypes.

“So, it’s true. Cops love donuts,” he states arrogantly, setting the box back down.

“I mean, I don’t know if all cops like donuts, but if a guy shows up at my door with them… I wouldn’t turn him away.” I laugh, opening the lid. I grab one with rainbow sprinkles, the ooey goodness sticking to my finger. I lick it off.

“Hmm. I’ll have to remember that.” His voice comes out low and sexual. I stop mid-lick, my eyes flicking to his. Shit, if I have any hopes of keeping this PG, I better stop slowly licking my finger like a dumbass and making suggestive comments.

Clearing my throat, I set the donut down and wipe my hands on my sweatpants.

“I like what you’re wearing.” Zeek gestures his fingers up and down my body, stopping at my chest. Which reminds me I’m not wearing a bra. Looking down, my nipples are hard as can be, and are sticking through my top. My breasts literally ache to be grabbed by him again. I quickly cross my arms to cover them and shift on my feet. I swear tits have a mind of their own. They’re like a horny seventeen-year-old who defies anything you tell them.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to bite, Rookie.” He steps around the table, his eyes cruising over the pictures of Jinx and I, and my distressed country decorations I collect. “That is unless you want me to.” His eyes shoot to mine, and my nipples get harder. “Something tells me you want me to bite you.”