Hiram nods and leads the way to the refrigerator, pulling out leftovers. “Life of a single parent. The show must go on.”
Veda leans against the counter, watching him pack a plate for her to take. She ignores the energy in the air, the oddness growing into something tangible. She knows it’s attraction. Logically, nothing deeper than the competence of a shirtless, bruised, and tattooed man packing up food he’s cooked. A few minutes later, he places a container on the counter and studies her as if she’s both the problem and the solution. “It’s ready.”
Veda slips past him, but Hiram boxes her in with a hand on the counter, forcing her to turn toward him. Just like that, she’s trapped, and he’s far too close, challenging her with a look. Veda feels like forcing him away, with magic if she must. She’ll pay the cost. “I healed you. It’d be a shame if I—”
“If you what?” Hiram asks, voice low, leaning a fraction closer. “I wanted to say thank you.”
“You could have done that from across the room.”
“I could have.”
“And you thanked me with dinner.”
“I did.”
But when he doesn’t move, Veda wonders if this is his intent. “What do you want?”
The smooth edge of the granite countertop digs into her lower back. Veda doesn’t know why she shifts forward, but she does. Close enough to touch his arm, she has every intention of pushing it away. Sidestepping him.Leaving.
But warmth radiates from Hiram’s skin. He’s the kindling, the spark,andthe flame.
“Do you know how you’re looking at me?” His voice is but a whisper. “How you’vebeenlooking at me?”
Veda doesn’t answer. She can’t.
“I’m not impulsive.” Hiram exhales, eyes falling to her lips. “Iama glutton for punishment.”
“Let me guess ... I’m the punishment.”
“Yes.” Hiram leans in with confidence, searching her eyes until he’s a breath away. Hands cup her face, his lips ghost hers. “You’re going to say no to me, aren’t you?”
She means to.Needs to. But curiosity keeps her silent.
Hiram rests his forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”
A sharp inhale fills her lungs with air the moment he kisses her.
Veda hasn’t done this in so long, yet falling into him feels natural. He’s warm, and it’s all too easy to kiss him, to touch his chest and catalog each sensation before she floats away. The pounding of her heart. The fluttering in her stomach that’s far from nerves. It’s human nature to seek connection through touch, to want more than the bare minimum—natural to take what she wants, what shedeserves. Working Hiram’s mouth open with hers, she feels his hands on her waist, his heart racing beneath her palms. He’s a delicious push and pull, a sharp rise and a steep fall. The language of touch and sensation teases the coils of pleasure.
He lifts her up on the counter, parts her legs, pulls her closer. The permission Hiram seeks in touch is silent, but her answer is not. “I didn’t say no.”
“It’s not that,” he murmurs, blue eyes heavy on her. “Didn’t think I’d get this far.”
Neither did Veda, but her hands are already in his hair. “Thisis nothing.”
They’re too far in to stop now. Hiram’s hands slide to the small of her back, then lower. When Veda gasps and arches into him, he smirks. “Keep lying to yourself.”
“Shut up.”
Acquiescence comes with him tilting her chin and dragging her in for more. Aside from talking and arguing, breathing and sighing, kissing each other is what their mouths are made for.
Hiram seems determined to change her mind as kisses morph into something achingly deep and hungry.It’s good.The feel of his hand on her hip, the other teasing the elastic on her waistband, anchoring her in place.So good.The way he nips at her bottom lip and pulls, none too gently. The perfect pressure of his tongue as it slips in unchecked, brushing against hers.Too good.
Freedom is exhilarating. Ignoring the future for the right now is addictive. Where Hiram will go and how far she’ll allow him to take her is a mystery, but it’s not one they’ll solve tonight. Hiram’s lips travel to her neck. The shock of him sucking on her pulse makes Veda moan, clench her thighs, and grip the back of his head like she needs a bit more to—
Hiram grunts and pulls away, wincing when her knees press against a bruise too hard.
“Shit, sorry,” she blurts, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. She looks everywhere but at him, murmuring, “I didn’t mean to—uh—I should go. Khadijah should be outside.”
