Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(60)

A shaky laugh burst out of me. "I think . . . you are failing at that."

"Nah. If I wasn't trying, I'd have these tiny panties . . ." he trailed his hand up, under the band along my bottom, causing me to gasp, "down by your ankles, and I would be so deep inside you, right here, against a goddamn cement beam."

I shuddered. Part of me was down for that. Lots of parts of me were totally down for that.

"I was raised a little better than that," he added quietly.

The statement surprised me, but he kissed me again, and this time it was different. Our lips brushed once, twice, the act infinitely sweeter and yet as shattering as the deeper, hotter ones. Shivers raced up and down my spine. Ren kissed me gently, tracing the pattern of my lips, and the pressure of his mouth consumed me, awakened me, and it was all I could think about. Deliciously wicked warmth slipped down my neck, spreading across my chest, and then lower.

Laughter suddenly echoed around us, from the entrance of the garage, alerting us that we were no longer alone. With one last lingering kiss, he lifted his mouth from mine and patted the cheek of my bottom and then withdrew his hand. Setting me flat on my feet, he fixed the skirt of my dress. Then he cupped my cheeks with both of his hands.

"Let's not rush forward, but don't let us take three steps back from this. Okay?" His voice was soft, and God, I wanted to yield to it. "Let's just see where this takes us. That's all we've got. That's all we can promise each other."

Staring into dark, forest green eyes, I found myself nodding. I couldn't believe it.

One side of his mouth creeped up and he kissed the center of my forehead then the tip of my nose. "Let's get out of here."

Like one of the humans from the club, recently fed from, I moved like I was in a daze, walking through water. And as I followed Ren to his truck, I no longer knew what was more dangerous to me—the fae or Ren, because both had the power to drag me under.





Chapter Fourteen





Things were weird for me Sunday morning. Well, weirder than normal. I wasn't even sure what I could categorize as normal when I came home last night from the club and discovered that Tink had set up his own Twitter account and was engaged in a heated argument over which actor made a better Dr. Who. Since I'd never watched an episode and frankly couldn't care less, I didn't even want to touch that conversation with a ten-foot pole.

When I woke up, all I could think about was Ren's touch, his kisses, and I refused to cave to the aching desire. I got up and immediately went for a run, and I ran harder than I ever had before, but the twisty motion in my stomach wouldn't fade. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. A mixture of excitement and confusion, it actually made me feel . . . normal, and that was so stupid. My priorities were goofing off on the wrong playground. I should have been stressing over where the gate was and how we were going to stop the fae when we were only days away from the equinox. I still wanted to go to David, to try and explain what we had discovered, but Ren had been adamant on the drive back to my apartment that it was too risky. It was then that I made up my mind. If I couldn't talk to Merle on Sunday, I was going to David, with or without Ren's approval.

And then my thoughts had pranced right back to Ren.

I knew what the problem was. I hadn't talked to anyone about him, and that was what I needed—to get it out of my head so I could move on and focus on more important things, like stopping a mass slaughter that was bound to happen if one single gate was opened.

But Val bailed on our Sunday coffee and book buying tradition. She had texted that she couldn't make it today, and I was willing to bet it had to do with the guy she was breaking beds with all across the city. I called Jo Ann, and we ended up at the coffee shop near the cemetery.

Dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt with my hair pulled up in a messy knot, I knew I looked like a hot mess compared to Jo Ann's straight and shiny hair, her skinny jeans and blouse. Looking at her, I didn't get why she was so damn shy when it came to boys. She was really pretty, and she was sweet, smart, and kind.

As she sipped her latte and I chugged sweet tea like it was a college drinking game, we chatted about our classes, and then I finally made myself do it. I didn't know why it was so hard or how red my face was, but I did it.

"I met a guy," I blurted out around my straw.

Jo Ann's brows flew up. "You did? When?"

"A couple of weeks ago. He . . . um, he works with me. From Colorado," I told her, feeling bad that there was a lot I had to keep secret.

She smiled as she sat back in the wicker chair, eyes glimmering with happiness. "Is he cute?"

"Cute?" I repeated, wanting to laugh as I toyed with my plastic cup. "I don't think cute is a strong enough word to describe him."

"Oh! Okay, then he's hot?"

I nodded as a small grin pulled at my lips. "Like really hot."

"Okay." She waited as she picked up her latte. "I have this feeling there's more to it. He must be a jerk then?"

"No," I admitted, glancing up at her. "He's actually nice . . . and kind of charming. He's aggressive—not in a bad, creepy way," I quickly added when Jo Ann started to frown. "I mean, he's the kind of guy that when he wants something, he lets it be known. He's not shy about that at all."