IT WAS HOT.
And why did it feel like my blanket weighed fifty pounds?
I tried to roll over but couldn’t move.
Fighting through the heavy confusion and unconsciousness, I realized what was holding me down. There was a man in my room. In my bed. Panic bled into my veins, and my eyes shot open.
“Go back to sleep, malyshka.”
My heart began to beat again.
“Oh, my gosh,” I breathed heavily in relief. “I thought you were a serial killer.”
A low chuckle came from him. “Not too far off.”
The fifty-pound blanket was only his arm around me, and the heat—that was all him, pressed up against me. No sunlight came in through the window, but the room was still lit. He’d left the bathroom door open and the light on, like I did every night. The thoughtfulness made my heart feel heavy in my chest. But now that I wasn’t alone, it seemed embarrassingly bright in here.
I swallowed. “I could probably sleep without the light, if it’s keeping you up.” Just the thought started a cold sweat beneath my skin.
“It’s not.”
I didn’t know if I believed him, but I forgot about it when I realized he was hard. A rumble sounded in his throat when I shifted and rubbed against him. God, the man was so warm and half-naked, just the press of his body against mine sent my toes curling in pleasure. If I’d known it felt this good spooning with Christian Allister, I would have climbed into his bed years ago, just for this.
I couldn’t help but roll my ass back against his erection. He grabbed my hip, and I thought he was going to stop me, but instead, he grinded me harder against him. Heat drifted and tightened between my legs as I rolled my hips, in nothing but the rustle of sheets and the sound of our breaths.
I turned in his arms, and he rolled onto his back as I straddled him. He ran his hands up my thighs, his half-lidded eyes taking in my naked body.
My gaze dropped to his lips. I couldn’t believe he’d never kissed another woman but me. The man had volunteers lined up from here to China, for goodness’ sake. Though, I had to admit, the fact I’d been the only one—his only experience in that department—was incredibly hot.
Surely, he’d had to put in an effort to keep from kissing the women he’d dated. One would think it’d be easier just to kiss them, and to me, that meant he had a resilient motivation. I knew it wasn’t germs. A couple of the times he’d gone down on me, the man had ventured lower, to a hole I’d never let another touch before, and I doubted he’d just gotten lost. But somehow, I knew, if I wasn’t careful with my questions, they would blow up in my face.
I ran my hands up his chest. “What do you do for the Bureau?”
“Whatever they want me to do.”
“So . . . say they told you to go set fire to the old lady’s apartment next door.”
“I’d set fire to her apartment.”
I swallowed, and the next question came out a little breathless. “Say they told you to kill me.”
I met his gaze.
Possessive blue flames.
And something morally ambiguous.
His hand came up to my throat and his thumb brushed across my pulse. Then, he lightly squeezed. “I’d have to decline.”
The pressure building in my lungs released with my next breath, and I forced a small smile to my lips. “Because I’m too much fun?”
“Because you’re mine.”
My smile fell.
The heat of his stare seeped into my chest, weighing it down with warmth. I slid my hands to the sheets on either side of him and pressed my front against his. I was so much smaller than him, and there was a vivid contrast of my olive skin and his lighter tone amongst waves of chocolate hair and black tattoos.
“Tell me why you kiss me,” I breathed against his lips.
I thought he might answer me this time.
He didn’t.
He rolled me onto my back and made me forget my own name.
“So, do you have a day job . . . or do you just sit around like a superhero villain in your suit and tie, waiting for them to tell you which old lady’s apartment to burn down?” I asked him the next morning, while I still lay in bed and he was buttoning his shirt.
“I have a day job, like most adult Americans,” he said, amused. “I start back tomorrow.”
I pursed my lips. “Was that a dig on me, Officer? I’ll have you know, I have a very busy schedule as it is. You’re lucky I can even pencil you in.”
On his way out of the room, he grabbed my ankle and dragged me down the bed toward him. His voice was rough as he pulled my face up to his. “Move shit around if you have to and pencil me in for tonight.” Then, he kissed me, placing a sharp nip on my bottom lip.
When he left, I fell back to the bed with a sigh and a smarting lip.
I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t.
A stupid smile overtook my face.
He got home around eight o’clock that night and stopped short in his bedroom doorway. I was lying on his bed on my stomach, with my feet in the air and my ankles crossed. Naked.
It was bold.
And it was scary.
My palms were sweaty, and my heart galloped at an inconsistent pace.
I lifted a coy shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if this appointment was casual or black-tie, so I decided to come with a blank canvas.”
His gaze coasted the length of my body so heavily it brought goosebumps to my skin. Walking toward me, he stopped in front of me at the foot of the bed and ran a rough palm across my cheek. If I wasn’t mistaken, the smallest tremor ran through his hand.
His voice was soft, but the finest threat wove through. “I can find anyone . . . anywhere.” A thumb brushed my jawline. “Makes me a desirable person to have around. Antonio showed his interest in a partnership, but I had enough obligations and didn’t want to get mixed up with the Italians. I was going to meet with him and decline. But then I saw you.”
My heart went still.
“I sought you out, just to see if you were as interesting as you looked.” His grip on my face tightened, like he was angry that I had been. “And I agreed to work with your husband. You fascinated me, but I began to hate you, too. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I couldn’t have you. And you were so fucking beautiful.” His thumb ran down my lips. “Then, you were single, and I’d already made you hate me, too.”
I swallowed as his hand slid down my throat.
“It was a relief, malyshka, because we were everything wrong for each other. But nothing has ever felt more right than finding you like this in my bed.”
I didn’t say anything, because the words became wedged in my throat.
“Come shower with me,” he said roughly.
He pulled me to my feet, and I padded into the bathroom behind him. In the shower, he pressed me up against the wall, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and then he showed me just how right we fit together—in one way, at least.
I woke up in his bed the next morning to an awful grinding noise. Glancing at the clock, six a.m. stared back at me in ungodly red. I groaned and pulled a pillow over my face to mute the annoying sound.
He’d kept me up until after two in the morning, running his hands and mouth all over me until it felt like I’d been turned inside out, bringing that raw and elusive feeling to the forefront.
The line was blurring.
But it was like trying to stop a train with mere willpower at one-hundred miles per hour.
When I’d tried to return to my own bed, his response had been a simple, “No,” and then he’d wrapped an arm around me, and I’d forgotten why I wanted to leave in the first place.
Getting to my feet, I opened his dresser drawer and slipped on one of his undershirts. I found him at the kitchen counter, already dressed in a suit and tie, pouring green liquid into a glass from the blender.
Amusement filled his gaze at my moody expression.
I narrowed my eyes further. “Since all your other women must have been too scared to inform you, I will. There’s an unwritten rule—nobody starts the blender until the sun rises, and even then, if it’s not margaritas, other conditions apply. Like green, Christian. Liquids should never be green.”
“You have never looked more beautiful than you do right now, malyshka.”
I flushed, my heart growing ridiculously warm. “I’m trying to be annoyed with you, if you can’t tell.”
He smiled. “Ah, my mistake.”
I swallowed. Shifted. “Do you eat?”
He raised a brow, consuming that glass of green yuck in one drink.
“Like, solids? Or do you blend all the children’s souls beforehand?”
He rinsed his glass out and then put it in the dishwasher. How very neat and tidy. It felt like I was messing up his space just by standing in it.
“Yes, I eat.”
He grabbed my hips and set me on the island, spreading my legs to stand between them. He slid his hands up the sides of my thighs, and the warmth of them made me shiver.
I bit my lip. “Italian?”
“It happens to be my favorite.” He sucked on that sensitive spot behind my ear, and every vein in my body melted into a puddle at his feet.
“What about allergies? Do you have any?” I gasped, as he pressed his hard-on against my clit in a slow roll. “Well, besides affection, warmth, and sunshine?”
His chuckle was low and dark. “Keep it up, and you’ll be too sore to make me dinner.”
I hated that he could read me well enough to know I was excited to cook for him, while I still knew nothing about him.
“I should warn you, though, I don’t usually cook for men. It’s just too much of a risk they’ll fall in love with me.”
“I thought you were a gambler,” he drawled.
All I could respond with was a low moan, because his fingers slid inside of me and then he fucked me so hard I could still feel him hours later.
I had therapy at ten and felt guilty every time I had to evade the topic of Christian and this just sex relationship. I didn’t want anyone to pop this exciting, sex-crazed bubble I was in, least of all Dr. Rosamund. I wanted to enjoy this while it lasted because I knew it wouldn’t be forever. We were everything wrong for each other. He was going to realize nothing had changed eventually.
I just didn’t know at the time it would only take a few days.
I made dinner at my apartment because I was too afraid of leaving even a speck of flour on Christian’s sparkling countertops.
I stared at him intently from the other side of his kitchen island while he took the first bite. A half-smile pulled on his lips, but he otherwise ignored me and ate in silence.
My chest grew warm at his expression. “You love it, don’t you?”
A playful glint in his eye. “It’s all right.”
I grinned. “You love it.”
I walked around the island. “You’re not feeling light-headed when you look at me, are you? Or maybe warmer than usual?” I put the back of my hand to his forehead, as if I was checking for a fever. “What about your heart? Has it started beating?”
He was amused. “Actually, I have been feeling a bit different.”
My eyes widened in alarm.
Then, he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his hard-on.
I shook my head with a laugh, shoving him in the chest and turning to walk away, but he caught my wrist and pulled me closer to say in my ear, “It’s delicious, malyshka. Thank you for making it for me.”
His words settled like molten glass in my blood.
I didn’t sleep in my bed that night.
Not the next night.
Or the next.
