I met him yesterday. Yesterday. How is this even possible.
The bulb overhead flickered once—a dying, pathetic gasp—and then the corridor plunged into pitch-black darkness.
“Fuck,” he muttered, the word a deep, predatory rasp against her skin. “This isn’t safe.”
She didn’t care about faulty electrical circuits. She didn’t care about the dark. She wanted his mouth, his hands, the solid, terrifying weight of his body. She slid down the length of him as gravity reclaimed her, feeling his erection press hot and undeniable against his jeans.
What he has been holding back.
The heat between her legs ignited into a total bonfire.
Oh. Oh, that was—
She nearly climbed back up him on instinct alone, her body screaming for friction.
But he released her gently, setting her back on her feet. His hands remained on her waist, steadying her—or maybe steadying himself.
She opened her eyes. In the darkness, his eyes weren’t human anymore—they were glowing amber, tracking her like a predator on the edge of the woods. He looked like a man on the brink of losing a war with himself.
I wouldn’t mind if he did.
Instead, he straightened and pulled in a slow, measured breath. She found her voice—thin, breathless, and entirely too revealing.
“Do all your deliveries come with this extra?”
“No,” he growled. A beat. “Only special ones.”
“Well,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, trying to reclaim some shred of her dignity, “I suppose that makes me the special client.”
“You’ve got no idea,” he replied, and the look in his eyes made her toes curl inside the thin soles of her slippers.
He lingered as if he might kiss her again. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Then, with visible effort, he stepped back. The sudden distance felt like cold air hitting overheated skin.
“I’ll get Arla to fix this damn light first thing in the morning,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, territorial rumble. “Will you be okay tonight? I could stay. Sleep on the couch.”
Her heart gave a traitorous little leap.
The couch?
Right.
If he stays, there is not a single universe in which he ends up on that couch.
“I… I’ll be fine,” she said, mostly to convince herself.
“Lock the door,” he ordered, the command sharp and protective. “And don’t open it for anyone.”
He paused in the doorway, those massive, broad shoulders filling the frame and blocking the streetlights.
“And dim the lights upstairs,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder. “Unless you want to advertise your bread the wrong way to the whole damn town.”
Sylvie blinked as heat rushed to her cheeks.
“Wait a minute! I wasn’t—and my bread does not need advertising! Just like your goat cheese!”
She folded her arms, but he only gave a short, humorless huff. One last look from those glowing amber eyes, and then he wasgone, disappearing into the alley as if he hadn’t just detonated her entire nervous system.
Sylvie remained where she was, fingers curled around the door handle long after the latch clicked shut. Her knees softened, and she leaned back against the wood, pressing her palms flat against it.
