It’s the furnace-hot kiss. The look in his eyes. The insane timbre of his voice saying‘Baby. Please. Let me…’
I wanted him. Sweet Virgin Mary did I want to.
When I reach the bus stop, I look around, not sure how I feel that he’s not sending his security to drag me back. Or…chasing mehimself.
When the bus arrives I stumble onto it like a zombie, my fingers drifting over my mouth as I try to catch my breath.
Because I kissed a rockstar.
And I liked it.
And that, more than anything, terrifies me.
By the time I stumble into my apartment, I’m exhausted.
I collapse into bed and tell myself tomorrow I’ll wake up and laugh about this whole fever dream.
Tomorrow comes.
And with it, my coffee apron, the hiss of the espresso machine and the familiar, sticky weight of mediocrity.
Ten minutes into my shift, I almost believe I imagined everything that happened to me in that warehouse yesterday.
Almost.
The bell above the door jingles.
I look up, and my stomach falls straight through the floor.
Because he’s here.
Zane Draven.
Black shirt clinging to him like glue, silver eyes wild, feral, locked on me as if no one else in the shop exists.
Before I can move, speak or breathe, he’s vaulting over the counter, knocking machines, condiments and overpriced sandwiches to the floor.
And then I’m airborneagain, slung over his shoulder like I’m made of feathers and cotton buds.
Again.
Hot, manic electricity zips through me like a snapped high-tension power line in a tornado. But…because this is insane, I find my voice.Fast.
“What the hell—Zane—put me down!”
The shop erupts. Customers gasp. “Is…is that Saint Sin? Holy shit!”
Greg drops a tray.
Toby sputters like a dying engine. “Sir, you can’t do that here! Sir!”
But Zane doesn’t stop. His grip is iron, his stride brutal.
This isn’t the smooth arrogance of a rock star anymore.
This is something raw. Possessive. A man who’s decided the world won’t keep me from him.
I pound on his back, furious, humiliated, and… God help me… something else.
