“You said I could sleep on the sofa.”
“And you can.” His fingers continued to move over the keyboard as his brow wrinkled a bit at the screen.
“But you just ordered me to sleep in your bed.”
“I didn’t. I ordered you up here … but there will be no sleeping anytime soon.” He closed his laptop and set it on the floor under his nightstand.
“What are you wearing?” He cocked his head to the side.
I glanced down at my tight, white tee and bikini cut panties. “Um … the closest thing I could find to pajamas.”
“I didn’t buy you pajamas.”
I returned my gaze to him. “Yeah, I saw that.”
“Then take that shit off.” He did it again. That barely detectable grin hiding just beneath the surface.
“I think your attitude is taking up too much space in the room. I’m going to sleep downstairs with Jerry.” I turned and headed toward the stairs.
“I missed you,” he said.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was … life.
I paused at the top of the stairs.
“Jericho missed you too. But … not as much as I did.”
My brain hit pause, but my feet followed my heart’s lead and carried me back to his bedroom. As I took slow steps toward his bed, I shrugged off the tee and shimmied out of my panties before crawling up his body. His hands claimed my face, his lips claimed my mouth.
Our kiss ended slowly, but our mouths lingered a breath away from each other.
“Wylder … if you want this to be a one-night stand, you’re saying all the wrong things.”
He kissed me again … and again.
We spent the better part of the night becoming thoroughly acquainted with each other’s bodies. When the first rays of sun broke through, the pad of his finger traced my forearm. “How did you get this scar?”
Keeping my tired eyes closed, I hummed and smiled. “Surfing. Seven stitches. The morning of my high school graduation. My dad was livid. I wasn’t supposed to go out that morning. But …everyone was going.”
Wylder ran his lips along the scar. “Rebel.”
I giggled, peeling open my eyes as he moved down my body, grabbing my leg and bending it toward him.
“And this one?” His tongue traced the scar along my knee.
“Jellyfish. Ended up with a rash and I scratched the hell out of it. The scar is from the scratching more than the sting.”
His whiskers tickled my skin, and I wiggled away from his touch.
“This …” I ghosted my finger over his shoulder and the red scar still in its stages of healing. “Who shot you?”
He kissed up the inside of my thigh, well on his way to the perfect distraction, the perfect change in subject. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do. I want to know if I’m in danger. If you’re a bad person. A drug dealer. A serial killer. A collector of human body parts.” My fingers claimed his hair, and I steered him away from his destination, forcing him to look at me. “Wylder …” I murmured, scared to be with him, scared to be without him. Not every truth made sense, but it didn’t make it less true.
My truth—he saved my life.
He dropped his gaze to my stomach. “You’re not in danger.”
My fingers released his hair, and I closed my eyes as his mouth navigated up my body and his hand reached for another condom on the nightstand.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m not going to be here when your dad arrives.” Wylder set a key on the table and kissed the top of my head before whistling to Jericho.
“Oh thank god …” I covered my mouth, but it was too late.
He raised an eyebrow as he slid his wallet into his pocket and snatched his keys from the counter.
“I mean …” I sipped my tea to buy some time to formulate a better explanation. “I’m just not ready for you to meet him. He’s …” My nose scrunched. “Complicated.”
“He will hate me.”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded several times. “That too. Not because there’s anything wrong with you … or at least there’s not a lot that’s wrong with you. I mean …” I cringed. “I have no idea, and that’s why I’m not ready for you to meet him.”
“It’s fine.” He opened the back door. “I don’t want to meet him yet either.”
“Why not?” I took immediate offense to his comment, like when my high school friends accused my dad of being a psycho.
“It’s complicated.” He shut the door.
I ran after him. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To take care of some business.” He opened the back door for Jericho then closed it after he hopped in the back seat.
“Business?” I folded my arms over my chest while he opened his door.
“Yep.” He slid into the seat.
“Does it have anything to do with that woman who drives the Lexus?”
He grabbed the inside handle to the door. “Jealousy is an ugly color on you, Liv … find something that’s a little more flattering.”
“I’m not jealous.” I stood in the way of him shutting the door.
“Then go inside and stop worrying about my business.”
“A simple ‘I’m not fucking that woman’ would suffice. But since you can’t say that, don’t plan on me still being here when you return later … or next week … or whenever your business is complete.” I stomped back into the house and slammed the door shut behind me. If he wanted to have my body in the most intimate way, he needed to give me more emotionally too.
Still … he was right. Jealousy was an itchy, teal bridesmaid dress.
The door flew open on my heels. The second I turned, he grabbed my face and kissed me, backing me into the wall, my head barely missing the clock. Everything about it felt brutal. His passion and anger tangled into an unforgiving attack on my body. I moaned from the intensity but also because I couldn’t breathe. He released me, though his hands didn’t budge from my face.
“Are we clear now, Liv?”
I gingerly pressed my bruised lips together and nodded slowly.
“Good. I don’t want to have this discussion again,” he muttered as he exited the kitchen with nearly as much intimidation in which he entered it.
*
“Dad!” I ran out the door to the rental SUV as soon as it pulled into the driveway.
My solid rock of a father caught me without a blink when I threw myself into his arms. A few seconds later, he set me on my feet again and brushed my hair away from my face with his gentle but strong hands.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“Everyone else okay?”
“I think so. It was a party with lots of people, but as far as I know and have heard, everyone escaped with no more than minor injuries or a little smoke inhalation.
“Did you get burned? Are you having any breathing issues?”
“No. I’m good. I wasn’t …” I scrunched my nose. “I wasn’t home at the time of the fire.”
He frowned.