Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(64)

“Feeling awful brave there, aren’t you, rock star, giving someone the chance to just waltz into your apartment?”

He shrugged. “Nah, just don’t care all that much about stuff. Besides, I kinda like having a reason to kick ass.”

Obsidian eyes flashed and he raked just the tip of his fingernail down my cheek. Chills spread like a building avalanche. “But seriously, baby, nothing I’d like better than walking in and finding you lying in my bed. Preferably naked. Next time, don’t hesitate.”

I mean, giving me free rein in his apartment seemed like a big deal. Right? I couldn’t help but hope he was coming around. That maybe he was beginning to want the same things I couldn’t help but want, the hopeful ideas that had sprouted and taken residence in my heart and mind.

They rang with words like real and commitment and forever.

So maybe it was stupid and na?ve.

A slow, cold shiver rolled through me when I remembered all the promises I’d made myself. That I’d never again find myself in this position. In a place of vulnerability and weakness. It took me all of one second to write the thought off because what Lyrik and I had was entirely different. Not even close to being the same.

Lyrik respected me.

Cared about me.

I knew he did.

When it came to him, there wasn’t a whole lot of hesitation on my part. Not anymore. I wanted everything I could get and then I wanted a little more.

Late-afternoon sun blazed through the French doors pouring natural light into his apartment. My arms were weighed down by shopping bags, and I trudged across the space toward the kitchen where I set the bags on the small round table.

Excitement glimmered in a slow dance in my belly as I began to unpack the groceries.

Was it foolish to feel so good that I’d found a little of the old me?

The sound of the shower filtered through the walls from the bathroom tucked within Lyrik’s bedroom, and that excitement sharpened. Streaked with desire and lust.

Humming under my breath, I pulled a pot from the bottom cabinet and filled it with water, spun around, my hips striking up their own dance as I swayed across Lyrik’s kitchen to the stove on the opposite side.

The gas stove clicked as I turned the knob and a ring of flames came to life. I set the pot over it, and moved back to the other side where I rinsed the red potatoes I’d picked up earlier at the farmers’ market. I washed them and dropped them into the water that was beginning to boil.

I moved on to the thick steaks and began to prepare them, figuring we’d toss them on the little grill on Lyrik’s balcony.

That excitement flashed when I heard the pipes screech as the water was turned off.

The grin that curled my lips was unstoppable. Was it completely insane that I couldn’t wait to see him? Completely insane that I’d slipped so deeply into this non-relationship that my body craved him every second we were apart?

For a while now, it’d seemed all of our time had become the same. But since we’d first had sex two weeks ago? Lyrik and I had become one. Desperate hands. Mind-blowing, incredible sex. Easy conversation.

God, I couldn’t get enough of him.

And the man was insatiable, taking me again and again.

So foolishly I didn’t want him to stop.

And if what we had was only temporary? We still had two weeks, and I intended to make the most of them.

Footsteps padded on the wooden floor. They creaked beneath his weight.

Barefoot.

I knew he was before he even came into view.

God, was I really that in tune with him?

I felt him stop at the end of the hall. Drawn, I glanced up at him. My breath hitched.

There he was. Rubbing a towel over his damp head. Chest bare. A pair of low-slung jeans hung from his narrow waist.

Barefoot. Just like I thought.

Dark and light. Corrupt and pure.

Energy surged, a cyclone of intensity that spun and twisted and filled up the room.

Goosebumps flashed down my arms.

On all things holy, a man should not be allowed to look that good. My knees rocked and the ground trembled beneath my feet.

The buzz before the strike.

He smirked and lifted his chin. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Red standing in my kitchen, lookin’ like my favorite fantasy. Are you trying to wreck me, baby?”

I ripped my gaze from the man standing across the room and let it travel down my attire.

Yeah, I’d dressed for him.

My hair, piled in an intricate twist, was done up in a black bandanna. I wore a tight pair of white jeans that stopped just above my ankles, and a white and black polka-dot blouse tied at the bottom so it exposed a thick strip of skin across my mid-drift, lips painted a vibrant red.

I shrugged like it didn’t matter while Lyrik looked at me as if he were two seconds from gobbling me up.

God, I hoped so.

“Not that I’m complaining…finding you standing there.” He rounded the countertop and came into the kitchen.

My heart sped, and my breaths became shallow when from behind he wound his arms around my waist. Those big, capable hands went straight to the slip of skin I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist, heated palms flat on my flesh.

My stomach dove into a free fall.

He buried his nose in my hair. “You didn’t need to do all of this for me, baby. I would have been happy to take you out for dinner.”