When I push it open, she doesn’t seem to hear me. I drop the small cooler on the counter with a resounding thud. That gets her attention. She spins, eyes wild, breath caught, and an oversized cast-iron pan comes flying for my head.
Something happened before I got here, and it’s still holding her hostage.
Instinct kicks in. I catch her wrist, stopping the blow an inch from my temple.
“That’s twice now,” I say, keeping my grip just firm enough to let her know I’m in control. “Still so jumpy.” My voice ticks with a thrill of excitement at the touch of her skin beneathmine. Thankfully, she’s too distracted by whatever’s got her so on edge to notice, and I will the feeling away.
She’s trembling. I should let go, but that’s honestly the last thing I want to do, so I don’t.
Her wrist is smooth beneath my touch. The skin’s warm from the fire, finally roaring behind the grate, and beating the chill from the room. The small point of contact sends something dark and electric through me, all the way down to my balls, and my dick twitches. I release her immediately and step back like I’ve been burned.
“We should eat.” My voice scrapes low in my throat. I clear it, trying to push the tension I’ve created away from us. But I see the way her gaze lingers on where I touched her. The rouge that builds on her cheeks as she examines it. There’s no missing the way her breathing changes, coming shallow and fast, but maybe it’s from her fear, and I’m seeing something that isn’t actually there.
Fuck. This is dangerous.
“Steak okay?” I ask, popping open the small cooler.
“Ye—yeah, that sounds great,” she says, voice a little too bright once she’s able to get the words out.
She pulls out the supplies I’ve brought and starts putting everything away. The package of steaks thuds against the counter in front of me, the butcher paper crinkling as they settle.
She moves across the kitchen and sets the same damn pan she nearly killed me with on the stove. I adjust the burner and wait for the flame to light.
“How about a drink?” she calls out.
I glance her way. She’s holding up a half-empty bottle of whiskey. The cheap stuff. The kind you drink when you don’t care about tomorrow, or you’re underage and happy to haveanything you can get your hands on. I walk over and pluck it from her hold without a word.
“This is shit whiskey. You know that, right?”
“I mean, it tastes like it. I’m more of a tequila girl anyway.” She shrugs.
I put the bottle away, high in the cabinet she probably found it in earlier. “Check the bottom of the bin. If you’re dead set on breaking the law, at least do it with something worth your time.”
Her age hits me all over again. Not old enough to drink. Not old enough to be looked at the way I’ve been looking at her. Definitely not old enough to be part of the filthy images I’ve been conjuring since I laid eyes on her tonight.
I close my eyes for a beat, disgusted with myself. Jesus. I went from admiring her as a grown woman to fantasizing about her lying on this counter, naked and wet…
What the hell is wrong with me?
I force my thoughts back in line, grab two lowball glasses, and place them on the counter.
“Two fingers,” I say. “Though, you should probably start with one.”
“I don’t usually,” she mumbles under her breath. I don’t think she intended me to hear. But the “Yes, sir,” she mutters, comes through loud and clear.
My spine goes stiff. I close my eyes again, this time longer, and draw in a steadying breath.
Don’t let that get to you, Scott. It’s the devil dancing in the wings, encouraging sinful deeds. There’s no way she could know what those two little words would mean to you.
She pours, then slides the glass my way. I take it without a word and move back to the stove, dropping the steaks onto the pan. The sizzle is loud in the buzzing silence between us.
Ava throws her drink back like it’s a shot of bottom-shelf tequila at a frat party. Immediately, the choking starts.
I snatch the glass from her hand and fill it with water, handing it back just as she doubles over, coughing. She snatches the offering and drinks it down greedily.
I try not to stare at her throat as it works over gulp after gulp, but the thought is already in my head. That same mouth, wrapped around?—
Stop.
