Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SERENITY
The sky over the Nevada desert doesn't just darken; it bruises, turning a deep, angry purple that feels heavy enough to crush the house. Late Sunday evening, I'm standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in Diesel’s living room, watching the first jagged streaks of lightning tear through the clouds. It’s spectacular and terrifying.
There’s nothing quite like desert storms.
A crack of thunder follows so quickly it vibrates in my marrow, and then, with a sound like a dying sigh, the lights flicker once and vanish. The hum of the air conditioning cuts out, leaving a silence so thick it feels like a physical weight.
“Don’t move,” Diesel’s voice rumbles through the dark. It’s low, steady, and exactly the anchor I need. “I have a stash of candles in the pantry.”
“I’m not moving,” I say, as my eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden darkness.
A few moments later, a small flame sparks to life, illuminating the sharp planes of his face and the dark, focused intensity of his eyes.
“Power’s out for the whole block,” he says, setting a thick white candle on the coffee table. He lights three more, and the living room transforms into a sanctuary of dancing shadows and amber light. “Storm must have taken out a transformer nearby.”
“So much for the movie marathon.” I sigh, gesturing to the now-useless sixty-inch television. “I was really looking forward to seeing if the new horror movie Alana told me about is really scary enough to keep me awake at night.”
“I don’t know how we’ll survive the disappointment,” he says, his mouth twitching into a ghost of a smile. He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a worn deck of cards. “Ever played Rummy?”
“Diesel, I’m an accounting major,” I say, sliding onto the rug on the opposite side of the coffee table. “Numbers are my love language. I will absolutely destroy you.”
“Is that right?” He sinks to the floor, his massive frame making the space feel suddenly intimate. He deals the cards with a practiced flick of his wrist, his large, tattooed hands moving with surprising grace. “Bold talk for someone currently hiding behind my couch.”
“I am not hiding,” I counter, picking up my hand. “I’m strategically placed for maximum safety. There’s a difference.”
We play in the soft, flickering glow, the rain lashing against the glass in a rhythmic assault.
It should be stressful being trapped in the dark while a stalker is still out there somewhere.
But with Diesel sitting two feet away, smelling of cedar and worn leather, I feel an inexplicable sense of peace.
The hyperawareness I usually feel around him has shifted from a sharp, nervous edge to a warm, humming thrum.
“You’re good at this,” he observes, discarding a jack. “Too good. You have a poker face that rivals the best players.”
“I used to play with my Grams,” I say, my focus dropping to the cards as a bit of the truth slips out. “My parents weren’t ever around. They pretty much let my grandmother raise me.”
Diesel pauses, his hand hovering over the draw pile. He looks at me, really looks at me, in a way that makes me feel like he’s reading the fine print of my soul. “Well, she did a stellar fucking job.”
His words warm my soul. The flickering flame lights the room enough for me to stare into his eyes.
“You did a great job with Alana,” I tell him.
His whole body stills, and for a second, I think maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
But in the candlelight, I see the shock flash in his eyes before it smooths out into something heavier.
I know the story. Alana used to tell me pieces. Their mom bailed when Alana was just a teenager. Diesel was in his mid-twenties, but he stepped up. He got out of the Army and came home for his sister.
He did everything. Soccer games, band concerts, fighting off asshole teachers who tried to write Alana off as “troubled.” He paid the bills. Made her lunches. Taught her to throw a punch and drive a stick and never let anyone walk all over her.
He probably had no clue what the hell he was doing, but he did it anyway. And damn if that doesn’t make me feel a weird, unfamiliar ache in my chest.
“You did,” I repeat, softer, because now that it’s out there, I want him to believe it. “Alana is the most loyal, brilliant, stubborn person I know, and you did that. Not your mom. Not any of the so-called grown-ups. Just you.”
Diesel lets out a breath in a rush. “You’re making it really hard not to kiss you right now.”
For a minute, all I can hear is the storm beating on the glass and the loud pounding of my heart in my ears.
I’m not sure what’s happening in his head, but whatever it is, it feels enormous.
“Maybe I want you to kiss me.” I decide to jump in with both feet.
I barely get the last word out before Diesel pushes the table out of the way and hauls me into his lap.
No warning. One second, I’m sitting there with my heart beating out of my chest, and the next, I’m crushed against his massive body, my ass settling right on top of his thighs.
He grabs my face in those big, rough hands and devours me.
Diesel kisses like he means it. Like every secret I’ve never said out loud is right there for him to taste.
His mouth is hot, hungry, and so damn possessive I feel it all the way to my toes.
My head spins. I might actually black out from the sheer intensity of it, but if this is how I go, sign me the hell up.
The sound I make is embarrassing and kind of desperate. I don’t even care. He licks into my mouth and groans low, a filthy, raw noise that makes me clench my thighs around his hips. Diesel’s tongue does things that should be illegal in all fifty states.
My hands dive into his hair, dragging him even closer.
The cards and the candlelight are completely forgotten.
There’s only him and the storm, and the way his arms wrap so tightly around me that I know nothing is getting through this wall of muscle and pure, unfiltered Diesel.
I can’t hold back anymore. My hands slide up his chest, greedy and desperate, palms gliding over the impossible hardness of him.
Holy hell. The man is built like a tank, and I want every inch of him pressed against me, on top of me, inside me.
My arms go around his neck, and I thread my fingers into his hair.
He bites my bottom lip, just hard enough to make me pant for more.
God, this kiss. I lose myself in it, all common sense and coherent thought completely gone. He doesn’t just kiss me; he owns me. His tongue goes deep, filthy and possessive, and I moan like I’ve never been kissed before in my entire life. Maybe I haven’t. Not like this.
I’m about two seconds from climbing him like a tree when the universe decides to bring me right the hell back to reality.
The overhead lights blaze on, banishing the shadows and catching us tangled together like two horny teenagers on prom night.
I jerk back, breathless, and stare down into his eyes.
Diesel grins up at me like he’s got absolutely no shame. Hell, I don’t either. Not with the way I’m sitting on top of him like he’s my personal throne. “Talk about shitty timing,” he grumbles.
“The worst.” I slip back off his lap. Damn. That was close. We both ignore the huge freaking elephant in the room—our kiss—as we clean up the living room.
Diesel drops down on one knee to scoop up the scattered cards. “We made a hell of a mess, sweetness.” His grin is pure trouble. For a second, I think about shoving him down and kissing him all over again. But now isn’t the time. It’s late, and we have to get up early in the morning.
“Yes, we did,” I mutter mostly under my breath as he blows out the candles while I peel myself off the rug and start gathering empty water bottles and the random snack wrappers that somehow exploded all over the coffee table.
Our hands brush. Static. Instant electricity.
All I can do is stare at him and hope he doesn’t notice how wobbly my knees are.
Once we finish cleaning up, Diesel disappears down the hall, and I shuffle to the guest wing on wobbly legs.
I barely manage my nightly routine before dropping into the comfy bed.
I should be exhausted, but my whole body is a live wire.
Every time I close my eyes, my mind replays that kiss.
His tongue, his hands, the freaking way he owned me.
Holy fudgemuffin. There’s no way I’m getting any sleep. Not tonight. Regret flashes through me, and I call myself a coward for not demanding that Diesel finish what we started with that kiss.