"Are you all right? Do you…" I stare at his bloody face, his chest, his long, wet hair sticking to his skin. "Do you have somewhere to go?"
"Can I go with you?"
I should say no. I absolutely should say no. Stranger danger and all that. Instead, I make a wobbly noise in my throat. "Sure."
"Or me," Charlie says, speaking up. He surges forward, practically pushing me aside. "You can come stay with me if you want. I've got plenty of room."
Kassam's smile doesn't fade, but he finally looks over at Charlie. "No," he says. " I have everything I need with Carly."
The way he says my name makes me flush with heat. Oh boy. I can't think straight. Not when he's watching me with those incredibly haunting eyes. My whole brain feels like it's fogged with lust. "Are you…hurt?" I ask Kassam. I reach out and put my hand on his bare chest. I don't know why I do it, just that I feel like I have to, and when I do, I want to close my eyes with how good it feels. I don't care that he's sticky with blood and a stranger—I'm about ready to shuck my panties and climb him.
"Better now," Kassam murmurs.
"Where…" I lick my lips, and it's hard to concentrate when Kassam watches that small movement. "Where's your shirt? Your wallet?"
He shrugs.
"We…we should lock up," Charlie says, and he sounds as dazed as me.
Lock up. Right. The bar. I stare at my hand on Kassam's bloody chest, and I can't seem to pull away from him.
He notices my troubles, I think. Kassam gently takes my wrist and pries my hand from his chest. "Go on. I am not going anywhere. We have time."
I don't ask “time for what” because I don't care. All I know is I have Kassam and I have time. Time for all kinds of things, and my mind is shotgunning mental images into my head of all sorts of filthy, wicked things to do to this man. I practically sleepwalk through the rest of my tasks at the bar, putting away the cleaning supplies while Charlie readies the cash for the bank deposit. Like we always do, we head out to the bank across the street together, and he puts the envelope in the drop box. Then, he heads toward his car, pausing a few times as if wanting to ask me if he can stay with Kassam.
It's weird, but I also get it. The small part of my brain that's not completely overwhelmed by Kassam totally understands. I head toward my car on zombie legs, my skin prickling as Kassam puts a possessive hand on my shoulder. I open the driver's side door and get in, and he waits beside my car.
And waits.
"Um," I say, gesturing at the other side. "Do you want to get in?"
He nods, moving around to the door, and then fumbles at the handle. It seems odd to me that he doesn't know how to work a car door, but what about this isn't absolutely bananas? I lean over and tug on the handle. The door opens and Kassam folds his big body into the car so very awkwardly I would laugh if my panties weren't completely soaked.
What the fuck is wrong with me? And why don't I care? Right now, all I give a shit about is Kassam coming to my apartment so I can spend more time with him. I don't care that he's a stranger. I don't care that he's covered in blood. I just…need this. Badly. And I can't figure out why.
I glance over at him. He's not wearing a seatbelt, and he's getting blood all over everything and…I still don't care. It's like I'm drugged, this fascination I have with him. "Did you do something to me?" I ask, breathless.
"It is my presence," Kassam says. "It cannot be helped."
"Oh." I think for a moment. "Okay."
My place is just around the corner, and it takes less than five minutes for me to park in my assigned space and turn the car off. Kassam fumbles with the door again, so I open it for him, and I'm rewarded with a pleased grin that makes me feel like I'm melting. I can't resist putting a hand on him again, and I do, touching his chest. I'm fascinated by how big he is, and how warm, and yet something is…off. Not in a bad way, but in a strange, different sort of way. Like I'm missing something important, some big clue.
Of course, it's hard to think about clues when he's looking at me like I'm making a cake and he wants to lick the spoon…and I'm the spoon.
"Where is your home?" he asks in a sultry voice.
"Stairs," I breathe. "Up the stairs." And I take his hand, noticing mine are covered in blood almost as much as his are, and lead him toward the garage elevator. There's no one around this time of night, which suits me just fine, and I'm practically panting as I get my keys out of my purse as the elevator creeps its way up.
He's just coming in for a shower, Carly, I tell myself. This isn't an agreement for anything.
But somehow, I just know I'm lying to myself. I have this sneaking suspicion that nothing's going to be the same if Kassam comes into my apartment, and I have an even bigger suspicion that I don't care.
Kassam makes a curious noise as the elevator dings for my floor. I look over at him curiously. "The walls are…thin here," he says. "Now I understand."
"Walls?" I echo.
"Between our worlds."
I blink, waiting for that to make sense. It doesn't. "Um…are you on mushrooms?"
He chuckles, the sound rolling through my body like honey. "No, my light, I am not on anything." The look he gives me is pure sensuality, and my toes curl.
"That's good," I manage. "I was wondering because of the blood." I fumble with my keys as I head for my door. "I guess it's not yours?"
"No, it is mine."
I turn, a wordless noise escaping my throat. I scan him, but under all that red gunk, he looks…good? Damn good. I don't see anything that would be causing so much damn blood, either. "Are you wounded?"
He shrugs. "Not anymore." His gaze scans over me, making my skin prickle with awareness. "I find that now that I am free, everything is restored. Good, and bad."
"Free?" I echo as I push the door open. "What do you mean?" My voice sounds all fluttery. Am I really doing this? Am I dragging a stranger? A blood-covered stranger? Into my apartment? This is serial killer territory and yet all I can think about is how utterly turned on I am in this moment. Like I can't think of anything except Kassam and his fascinating eyes. Kassam and his bulging muscles. Kassam and his wicked smile.
Kassam touching my hand and my body spontaneously orgasming. I mean, how does that work anyhow?
I gesture at my apartment as he follows me in. "Home sweet home. The bathroom is the door on the left." My place isn't much. It's little bigger than a studio, with a futon bed-slash-couch propped up against the wall, two windows looking out on the city, and my TV. There's my bathroom, my minuscule kitchen with my tiny, dying herb plant on the counter, and in the next room over is my tiny shoebox bedroom. I cringe at my college-student decor, because I'm not exactly big on decorating or home improvement. I get too distracted for things like picking out rugs or paintings. I'd much rather curl up with a book or take a walk in the park than shop. It reflects in my clothing, too. I'm very much a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. Looking at Kassam, though, I wish I was a little more sophisticated. I wish I had a bottle of wine and some hors d'oeuvres that I could offer my guest…after he showers, of course.