Eden's Joker (Devil’s Nightmare MC Next Generation, Book 7)

Chapter 17

He kept me waiting two days before finally agreeing to a date. To be honest, I’d expected him to take me home—to wherever his home is—after that Italian dinner. I sure dropped enough hints that maybe he should. But all I got was a long, nighttime ride back to my car in the deserted mall parking lot and a kiss on the cheek. This guy either isn’t into me at all, or he’s so into me he doesn’t dare take the next step so he won’t mess anything up. Or a million things in between.

I wish I could talk to someone about him. Get some advice from the girls who are so much more knowledgeable than I am with guys. But as soon as word gets out that I’m finally dating someone, everyone will be all over us and I’m not ready for that either. I want him all to myself until I figure him out. And I’m sure I will eventually figure him out.

He’s coming over tonight, so we can watch the cartoons I promised him we’d watch. It’s after midnight because he said he couldn’t make it before, the town outside my windows is super quiet and I’ve cleaned and re-cleaned my apartment so much today, it smells like that flower shop I can see out my bedroom window. Not that it was dirty. I just needed something to do that allowed me not to think too hard. Even reading wasn’t cutting it.

I have the window open, listening to the telltale sound of a Harley approaching, but it’s so quiet I can hear the ancient redwood branches creaking in the forest all the way at the edge of town. I’m also holding my phone, expecting him to text that he’s not coming any minute now. And I’m so focused on those two things, and all the annoying implications they bring up, that the phone suddenly ringing sends my heart racing a mile a minute.

“Don’t tell me you’re not coming,” I say and I pick up the phone.

He chuckles. “I was just about to ask you pretty much the same thing. I’m already here, ringing your doorbell.”

I rush out of my apartment and down the stairs, apologizing as I go. He’s at the back door, the one that leads out into the narrow street with the flower shop. He’s dressed all in black and the street is dark, but somehow his eyes are glowing the way ice glows when the sun hits it anyway. He wears darkness like a cloak, walks in it like he owns it. I want to walk in that darkness beside him.

“Sorry, the doorbell must be broken,” I say as I let him in.

I’m wearing one of my flowing summer dresses and no shoes, and he seems to like that very much if his half grin as he checks me out is anything to go by.

“You said that a bunch times already,” he says as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “I forgive you.”

We’re in the dark foyer now and his eyes still somehow glow. Those eyes are trying to suck me in. I can barely fight the pull. It’s amazing just how much I want him to see me naked. Such a silly thought, but so real in my head right now. And going by how deeply he’s looking at me, he might just be feeling the same way. I hope.

“Are we just gonna stand here?” he asks, his voice not quite as firm and commanding as it usually is,

“Right, yes, follow me,” I stammer and head back up the stairs, hoping my cheeks aren’t quite as red as I think they are.

The bouquet that is my apartment hits me full force as I open the door and I can clearly smell the cleaning chemicals underneath. I really overdid it with the cleaning.

He stands in the door looking over my studio apartment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Woah, now this place is precisely what I imagined your place would look like.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” I soften the question with a giggle, which doesn’t quite come out right. Too forced and stilted.

He gives me a lopsided grin as he closes the door behind him.

“It’s like a princess’ hideout,” he says. “All these whites and pinks and fluffy things.”

He’s right about all of that. I’ve got fluffy rugs and blankets everywhere, all my furniture is either white or pale pink, and bookshelves line all the walls. Even the TV stand is filled with them.

“And all these sparkly lights,” he says, eying the Christmas lights I have hanging all over the place.

“You’re right, I went a little overboard with those,” I say, fighting the urge to turn some of them off. “I saw a post online and I really liked the look.”

“It’s all very bright,” he says. “Just like you.”

I’m sure the myriad sparkling lights I have going on in my apartment are adding special hues to the redness in my cheeks.

“Come in, sit,” I say, pointing at the sofa. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Sit?” he asks. “I’m afraid to touch anything in here, it’s all so clean and light.”

And I’m sure he means that to include me. Damn. Damn me and my prefect good girl tastes.

“On the sofa is fine,” I say, maybe a little too edgily.

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Is that an order?”

“And what if it is?”

He’s fighting not to smile. Or maybe that’s anger making his lips twitch. Good. The last thing I want is for him to see me as a sweet young girl, or worse, like a sister. That’s how everyone else sees me. Their good sister.

“You don’t like being told what to do,” I say, my tone somewhere between a question and a statement of fact.

This time he grins as he nods. “Got me there. But for you I’ll make an exception.”

He strides over to the sofa and plops down on it, shouldering off his jacket, while pulling a bottle from one of the inside pockets. He lets his jacket hang off the back of the sofa and places the bottle of gin on the seashell-adorned white-washed chest I use as a coffee table.

“I didn’t know what to bring so I went with gin,” he says. “Got anything to mix it with?”

“Gin because it’s such a woman’s drink?” I ask, reaching into the cupboard above the sink for two glasses, so I don’t have to see the answer in his eyes in case he decides to lie.

“Got me,” he admits. “I figured vodka would be too hardcore and whiskey’s not always popular with the ladies.”

I join him by the sofa, carrying the two glasses and a carton of orange juice.

“But you wanted to get me drunk so you had to bring something,” I say and grin at him. “Just in case all I had was juice and tea.”

He grins wider. “Got me again. Although, if you don’t want to drink that’s fine with me. But I’m having some.”

He reaches for one of the glasses and I push the other in front of him too. “Pour.”

He smiles appreciatively and does it. I sit down next to him. He’s taking up about half the sofa on his own and I make sure our thighs touch as I hand him the orange juice. Then hard blush right after. As much as I know nothing about guys and how to seduce them, it’s all coming very naturally with him.

“Careful there,” he says. “We’re here to watch cartoons. That’s not a good backdrop for fooling around.”

The words actually felt like a slap. So much for knowing what I’m doing with him. What a stupid thing to think in the first place.

“What are you talking about?” I ask as I pick up my drink.

He picks up his glass too and leans back. “Are you saying you’re not flirting with me?”

My face must be lava red and giving off as much heat as lava would, I’m sure. But I choose to ignore it.

“Flirting? Nope. That’s not something I usually do.”

Very well, that is. But I don’t add that. Thankfully.

He chuckles and mumbles, “Yeah, I can tell,” before taking a sip of his drink.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I snap and take a long swig of the gin and juice, hoping it’ll calm down my racing heart. As it is, I feel like actual lava is about to start spewing from my mouth.

He sets down his drink and leans forward. Our faces are so close, our lips are almost touching and lava’s got nothing on the heat that surges through my core in anticipation of the kiss.

But the kiss I’m yearning for doesn’t come.

“It means you have it real bad for me, but you just don’t want to ask for it,” he says. “Like the good girl you are.”

I’ll show him good girl.

I lean in and kiss him, our teeth clacking together painfully and jamming against my lips. He grabs hold of my ponytail and pulls my head back. Not painfully. Just painfully enough to send another cascade of molten lava through my core.

“No,” he says. Although his eyes say yes.

“Why?” I breathe.

I wish he’d pull my hair harder. I wish he’d kiss me. I wish he’d bury me under his strong, powerful body and do things to me I’d only read about. I lust for it.

But instead, he just releases me and leans back.

“You’re too pure,” he says. “I’ll just end up messing you up.”

“Oh, come on now, you didn’t actually come here in the middle of the night thinking we’ll be watching cartoons, did you?”

Seems my mouth knows what to do even if my brain doesn’t. Too bad my voice cracked halfway through and I ended up sounding just like the good girl he accused me of being.

He grins, the light in his eyes flashing so brightly it hurts mine.

“Why did you think I came?”

Is he seriously gonna make me say it? Ask for it? Beg?

I grin too. “I was hoping for at least a good long kiss. I figured I’d have another one of those by now.”

“A kiss? Is that all?”

I nod and bite my lower lip, trying to contain a sigh which escapes despite it.

He reaches out and runs his thumb across my lips, the feel of his rough skin sending electric shivers all through me. I very nearly melted right into his hand.

“I don’t know if you’re ready for a real kiss.”

What is happening?

“I’m ready,” I assure him in a whisper.

He leans in, close enough for me to sense the warmth and strength rising from him. But not close enough for our lips to touch. Ten minutes ago, I was fine just thinking we’re spending the night sitting next to each other on my sofa, watching TV. Now my whole body is like taut a string, waiting for him to play it to his liking, quivering for this kiss that seems so close yet miles away at the same time.

I won’t make the mistake of forcing the kiss again. But I sure as hell want to. And the effort it’s taking me to not do it is unbelievably mind-bending. Mind-losing, more like.

He finally touches his lips to mine. Giving me just a sweet little taste, just a breeze against the flaming hot desire consuming me from the inside.

His whole body is tense. Especially his fist gripping my ponytail. I know he’s fighting this attraction, this need to take me, have me, possess me, as hard as I’m fighting my own need for those things.

I deepen the kiss just a little. Letting my tongue dart across his lips, seeking his. He sighs and I’m sure I’ve made a terrible mistake again. But instead of pulling away, he kisses me hard, his tongue invading my mouth, his lips hot against mine, his fist in my hair tugging me closer.

I want him to rip my clothes off and kiss the rest of me with this same fire. And at the same time, I don’t ever want this kiss to end. The pent-up need, the denied desire is making the pure bliss of just this smallest touch larger than the sum of its parts.

There’s nothing small about the lust and desire bubbling just beneath the surface.

With every second that passes, every touch of his lips and his tongue, every lick of his breath, I need him more. I needed him the moment we first spoke. All those weeks ago. Online. And I’m only just now starting to admit that to myself. Because it’s impossible to fall in love over the internet. Everyone knows that.

Well, everyone is wrong.

His palm glides down the side of my neck, the touch of his calloused fingers crackling like ignited gunpowder just beneath my skin. But he doesn’t undo the buttons of my dress like I was sure he would.

Instead, he breaks away from the kiss and pushes me away.

I feel like I’ve been thrown into the roiling dark sea in the middle of a storm and there’s no lifeboat.

He’s on his feet grabbing his jacket before I finally gain control of my shock.

“Where are you going?”

“This can’t happen,” he mutters and heads for the door.

The floor is unsteady under my feet as I hurry after him.

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

He stops in the open doorway and faces me, his eyes like melted pools of the clearest water inviting me in for a swim.

He reaches out and cups my cheek in his palm. I’m sure he’s about to change his mind and stay.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re too amazingly perfect. I’ll just ruin you.”

Then he rushes out and jogs down the stairs in the dark, the blackness of the lower level swallowing him. And swallowing my yell of, “No, you won’t! I want you to.”

I don’t know if he heard me. But I sure heard the door slam behind him.

And I have no idea what just happened.

I hope I’ll wake up on the sofa and this night will only be starting. But I’m too awake and too fired up to actually believe that’s a possibility.

I don’t have to know a lot about guys to know what rejection feels like. And he’s done it to me twice now. Just run off after giving me the best kiss of my life.

So why do I want him even more than I did before?