Her fork hits the counter with the crack of a gunshot. Her whole body tightens. “Is this some fucked-up way to keep tabs on me?”
“No,” I say, stepping in. “It’s a better job. Better pay. No rich assholes calling you sweetheart and stiffing you on tips.”
“You think I need you to save me?” she snaps.
“No. I think you deserve better. That’s all.”
She throws her hands up, pacing. “You don’t get it. I’m not some charity case. I know you think I’m just some damaged girl who needs fixing—”
“I don’t want to fix you,” I growl, moving in. “I just want you. As you are.”
She spins, and I see it all. Confusion, anger, desire. She wants to claw her way out of this tension but can’t. Her skin is too tight with it. I’ve opened a door she doesn’t know how to close.
“Why? Why the hell do you care?”
I don’t answer with words. I stalk forward, closing the distance. She backs up until her spine meets the wall. Still, I don’t touch her. Not yet. I let the anticipation hang there. Let her feel it.
“You can take care of yourself,” I whisper, bracing my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. “But you don’t have to anymore. Not with me.”
Her chest heaves, and I watch the pulse jump in her throat. Her breath catches, lips parting. The heat between us doesn’t just burn; it suffocates. It roars in my ears, louder than the blood pounding in my chest. Her breath mingles with mine, shallow and fast. My hands flex against the wall, fighting the urge to touch skin I’ve already memorized in dreams.
“I hate you,” she whispers. But her voice cracks. The lie in it is paper thin.
“Lie,” I murmur, dragging my nose along her jaw. I graze her earlobe with my teeth and she lets out a sound. Half gasp, half moan.
She slams her palms into my chest and, for a split second, I think she’s going to shove me. But her hands don’t push. They grab. Fist into my shirt like I’m the only thing keeping her from sinking. That’s all I need.
Chapter 23
Candace
IknowwhatI’mdoing when I kiss him back. I tell myself it’s just a release. Just getting this fire out of my system before it burns me alive. But it’s not.
Because when Malachi kisses me, it’s not careless. It’s not rushed. It’s personal. As though he’s trying to memorize every fucking breath I take. That’s what scares me.
My breath hitches. His scent—leather, smoke, salt—closes in around me. The familiar grit of his stubble scratches against my cheek, and the heat of his body seeps through my skin, spreading with the reckless fury of wildfire. My body betrays me before my mind can stop it. Nerve endings spark alive. A tremor starts low in my spine and ripples outward.
He picks me up as though I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist before I can think better of it, my body betraying me in the most humiliating way possible. I dig my nails into his shoulders and bury my face against his throat,breathing him in with the desperation of someone who’s been drowning. His skin tastes of salt and adrenaline.
He groans, sounding wrecked. “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” I mutter.
“Fuck, Candace,” he mutters against my throat. “You feel sinful.”
I slap his shoulder. “Shut up.”
But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.
“You drive me crazy. Every time you walk in a room, I want to bend you over something. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
“I know exactly what I do to you,” I snap, dragging my teeth along his jaw. “You’re not that hard to figure out.”
He grins as though I’ve given him a win and it makes me want to hit him again.
Instead, I dig my nails into his shoulders as he lays me out on the bed. The sheets are cool beneath my back, goosebumps racing across my skin at the sudden contrast to his heat. His hands roam—possessive, reverent—and when he strips me bare, I don’t cover up. I burn.
I let him look. I want him to look.
