Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I wanted him.
I still do.
I slide back into that memory, reliving it.
I take the flowers from him, and say, “Come in. It’s cold outside.”
He enters the foyer, kicks the door shut, and with the champagne in his hand and the flowers in mine, he steps into me, cups my head and kisses me. Not a peck on the lips, either. He goes all-in with a deep slide of his tongue, all but claims me right then and there. Actually, I think he did that back at the coffee shop before I ever agreed to this date.
When his lips had parted from mine, he murmured, “I couldn’t help myself. I kept thinking about kissing you again all day. I brought my truck. It’ll plow right through the storm.”
“I know a place that will deliver pizza no matter how bad the weather. You want to just stay in?”
“I can’t promise I’ll behave appropriately alone with you.”
“I’m Kurt’s stepdaughter. If you think I can’t handle you, you’ve misjudged me.”
He laughs this low, sexy laugh I feel in every part of me and says, “I found that out when you put me on my knees the first time I met you.”
I blink back to the present and turn off the water. This isn’t helping me deal with being this close to Luke. I force myself to blank out my mind, and I know that’s why Luke cranked up the music when he showered. It’s as Kurt taught us: don’t leave room in your mind for anything but what is healthy for you right in the moment.
I pull on a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and warm socks. I have a jacket I bought at the store, or I guess Blake bought, and I’ll use it to cover my holstered weapon, but for now, I lay it on the tub. After which, I rush through drying my long blonde hair as much as anyone can do such a thing. I bought a little make-up at the store, simply because, when you feel normal, you act normal. Another trick Kurt taught all of his trainees. Not to mention, I’m with Luke.
Enough said.
I draw a deep breath and open the bathroom door. Luke is, of course, still on the floor, and I hope asleep. I resist the temptation to check on Luke—I mean, he might think I’m going for his gun—and instead climb onto the bed. I don’t get under the covers. I just curl up and realize that my gun is on the nightstand.
That’s how little I am afraid of Luke.
I left my gun behind when I went into the bathroom.
And shouldn’t I be afraid of the man who killed my brother?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LUCIFER
My alarm vibrates and I open my eyes, aware of my weapon on my belly, aware of Ana in the bed even without looking at her. I turn off the alarm, slide my phone into my pocket, and then push to my feet before setting my Glock on the desk. I expect Ana to be moving about with me, but instead, I find her curled up on her side, her own weapon on the nightstand within reach, and she doesn’t budge. She’s exhausted and I know her well enough to know she feels safe, or she’d be more alert. I’m not sure what to do with that information.
I walk to the side of the bed and sit down next to her and still, she doesn’t react. “Ana,” I say softly, and now she responds. She reaches for her weapon and sits up. I catch her wrist, keeping the weapon pointed at the ceiling.
“Oh God. I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry. It’s instinct. I was so dead asleep and we were being chased. I wasn’t going to—”
“I know,” I reply tightly, still remembering another time, another gun, and we both know it. “I know.” I reach for her Sig, always her gun of choice, and she releases it into my palm. I set it on the nightstand and my palm comes down on her knee. “I didn’t think you were going to shoot me.”
Her hand goes to my arm and her touch is fire. Holy hell, how can I want someone who treated me like a criminal?
“Luke,” she says, sounding breathless, “we need to talk about what happened.”
I cup her face and drag her closer. “Talking isn’t what I have on my mind right now. Do you have a problem with that?”
“I want to talk.”
“Then you’d rather me not kiss you, I assume?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I say, and my mouth slants over her mouth. My fingers splay between her shoulder blades, pressing her breasts to my chest, the feel of her, all woman—my woman, at one point, mine. And I can feel that possessiveness in me, that need to prove to her that she still wants me, she still loves me. I should just leave her alone.