“Did you move in or something?”
He’d snuck up on me, his arms folded over his gray jacket. He looked oddly clean and crisp in such fancy clothes. In one hand, he held two champagne flutes.
We were alone in the kitchen. That fact sat heavy in my belly.
Gripping the counter behind me, I said, “Your sister needed the help.”
“Careful.” He stepped closer, his eyes never straying from my face. “Once you start with her, she’ll never stop asking you to do things.”
Helplessly, I measured the distance between us. I was trapped in my corner; he’d corralled me so easily. “I like helping people.”
“I have something you could help with. Something pretty big.”
Flushing, I bounced my attention down to his zipper. I didn’t mean to, it was as if his gritty voice had taken hold of my neck and guided me down.
And his smile said he’d seen me do it.
I cleared my throat. “You’re a big boy, you can help yourself.”
“Oh, I do. And I will.” His foot came down, the shiny shoe transfixing me the closer he got. “I’ll jerk this cock off to thoughts of you, sweetheart. Especially to the memory of how you felt in my arms earlier.”
My muscles were useless. All I could do was squeeze the counter harder. “Fine. Go do that.”
“Tch.” His chuckle caressed between my legs. “You can pretend all you want, but I know I got to you, too. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I was busy with your sister,” I argued.
“And after that?”
“I was planning to go home.”
“But you didn’t.”
His lips were only a foot away. How had he gotten into my personal space so smoothly? When I spoke, it was a whisper. “I was just about to, you interrupted me.”
“Let’s get some honesty going.” His arm came forward. I flinched, expecting him to touch me—he put one of the glasses next to me on the counter. “You want me. I can tell how badly you want me. And you also want nothing to do with me.”
“That last part is definitely true.”
Grinning, he bent against the counter. “You’re not looking for some long-term baby-making plans with me, right?” Fuck, I was so red. “You want to never see me again? Fine.” His low tone flooded my ears, making me dizzy. “Get me out of your system. Fuck me, sweet thing. Fuck me and forget me.”
Cupping my chin, he leaned his weight into me. I bent, I crumbled, and I let my facade crack. Kain was too tempting. I wanted to know how his smirk would feel on me, how his quick tongue would taste.
He was right. I wanted him.
Kain stared me down. I kept wondering when he was going to kiss me.
Stepping back, he nudged the champagne into my hand. On impulse, I took it. “Drink,” he explained, “Then come find me in the garden.” There was nothing else to be said, apparently, because he walked out of sight.
Sliding down to the floor, I hugged the glass. He’d left me a total mess and he’d barely touched me.
Staring into the golden drink, I watched the bubbles pop. Some floated to the top, others clung to the glass as if trying to hold off their fate.
Which was I? A fighter . . . or a bubble that wanted to be popped?
Putting the glass to my lips, I sipped.
Champagne had never tasted so much like sin.
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Meet Nora Flite:
A USA Today Bestselling Author, Nora Flite lives in SoCal where the weather is warm and she doesn’t have to shovel snow–something she never grew to love in her tiny home-state of Rhode Island.
All of her romances involve passionate, filthy, and slightly obsessive heroes–because those are clearly the best kind! She’s always been a writer, and you’ll probably have to pry her keyboard/pen/magical future writing device out of her cold, dead fingers before she’ll stop.
She loves when people say hello! If you see her in the wild, walk up and start chatting.
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