Chapter Thirty-One
KENZI
By the time he released my thigh and moved out of his car, nodding his head at Brock, who was parked almost out of sight down the road, my entire system was sparking with desire.
It was such an overwhelming feeling from such a chaste contact that it was almost ridiculous.
But regardless of how insane it seemed, it was in the fullness of my breasts, the tightness in my chest, and the pulsating need between my legs.
Then there was Tig, opening my door for me, reaching up to help me down, and I took a deep breath and did my best to push those feelings away, knowing I needed to try at least to hold it together.
Not because I didn’t want to go there with Tig; I did, but because I didn’t exactly want it to be blatantly obvious that I was seriously wondering what it would be like to step inside his front door, have him slam me up against a wall, and fuck me from behind until I forgot every single one of my problems.
“Kenz.” His voice shocked me out of a very vivid fantasy of testing out those ass-spanking skills he had hinted at before, making me jerk back almost guiltily.
“Come on; we need to get off the street.” If he could read any of the desire on my face, he wasn’t letting on, as his hand went to my hip and led me toward the front door.
We stood there for a long minute because not only did Tig have a state-of-the-art security system, but five separate locks.
We finally moved inside, and he pressed me against a wall, but not like I had been hoping.
No, this was because there were motion sensors that he needed to shut off before he re-armed the system, re-locked the doors, and finally turned back to me.
“Little worried about the crime rate ‘round these parts, huh?”
“Don’t exactly make a lot of friends in my line of work,” he said with a shrug as he reached for a light and flicked it on, illuminating what at one time had obviously been a center hallway with two office suites on either side.
The walls, though, had been taken out, revealing a large living space to the right and a fully stocked gym to the left.
It wasn’t all that unexpected. He had to take care of those guns of his, after all.
What was weird was the fact that in the center there was a staircase leading up. But instead of being open to the second floor, it was closed off.
“This might be a stupid question, but how the hell do you go upstairs?”
“Closet down the hall.”
“Right. That makes total sense. Why didn’t I think of that?”
He chuckled at that, low and rumbling, the sound moving through my system like honey, reminding me, as if I needed it, how much of an effect he had on me.
“Safety thing. Closet door is alarmed.”
“This place is a fortress,” I said, moving off to look out the front windows. “Do you really even need Brock out there?”
“No.” He came up behind me, his massive form not quite touching mine but so close that there was hardly even a breath of air between us.
The heat radiated through his body and warmed my back, making an unmistakable shiver course through me.
“But I’m not taking any chances on you,” he said, moving closer still.
His chest pressed into my back. I didn’t even know it was going to happen until I was sinking back into him, taking comfort in his strength.
There wasn’t a pause before his arms moved out and curled around my center, doing so with too much pressure, either because he was trying to comfort me or because he didn’t quite understand the strength in his giant arms. Either way, it was an entirely new and intoxicating feeling- to feel that safe.
I wasn’t sure how long we stood there. At the beginning, I had been staring out the window, watching the traffic with newly suspicious eyes.
But after a moment or two, my eyelids drifted closed as I leaned more of my weight into him, almost feeling sleepy despite the insane situation that should have had me worrying the floors.
“Come on, honey, let’s go upstairs.”
There was nothing but sweetness there, but I felt the desire spark and ignite through my system again as his arms suddenly left me, as he moved away, leaving me to follow behind him as he moved toward the hall.
He moved a picture off the wall, reached in, and I could hear the beeps of his fingers hitting a code.
There was a click as the door unlocked, and he pulled it open for me.
Feeling like the mood was entirely too serious at that moment, my knee-jerk reaction was to deflect.
“You just want to see up my skirt. That’s why you want me to go up first.” My eyes squinted at him, and though it was just teasing, he actually looked a bit sheepish as his hand raised to rub his jaw.
“Just an added benefit of having good fucking manners,” he said, making my smile spread as I lifted my chin slightly and climbed the stairs.
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting.
Really, you never knew what you were stepping into when you saw a man’s place for the first time.
I once dated a guy who, by all means, had his shit together in life, dressed great, and seemed like a normal guy.
I went to his place for dinner and found that not only was he a slob with an overflowing sink, dust and indistinguishable disgustingness in the corners of his bathroom, but that he also thought that (cheap) car rims arranged up the wall were somehow art and that dead houseplants were decoration.
Needless to say, I excused myself right the hell out of there, not bothering to spare his feelings about the mess.
I may or may not have made a comment about how insane he must have been to think I would risk getting a flesh-eating disease from going anywhere near his skanky-ass sheets.
What could I say? A little messy I could tolerate. A slob? Hell no.
So maybe a part of me was worried that seeing his place might have ruined the nice image I had built up about Tig.
I should have known that his place would be just as unexpected as the man himself.
His place was a bachelor pad done right. Even though I was decidedly into all things girly, as evidenced by not only my store and my apartment but my entire wardrobe, there was something undeniably sexy about the masculine energy of a well-done bachelor pad.
The floor throughout the expansive space—all new and beautifully redone in a stunning black walnut.
The walls were all a neutral light gray color.
You walked right into the living area, which consisted of two leather couches in dark brown, one chair, and a coffee table facing a wall that had an almost industrial-looking metal entertainment unit around a giant flatscreen.
The shelves themselves were not full, but had a mismatch of personal items and filler.
There was an office space to the right, with an understated desk pushed against the wall and another shelving unit, that one with boxes to, I imagined, organize office supplies.
To the far left was the kitchen, which was open to the rest of the space—one big free-flowing room that felt roomy and streamlined without seeming too impersonal. The appliances were all stainless steel, the countertops slate, the cabinets a deep gray that hinted at black.
There was a hallway running off where the office was, which I imagined led to the bedrooms and bathrooms and whatnot. It was a positively massive space, which made perfect sense seeing as he was such a big guy.
“Gonna move in so I can close the door?”
I jumped, having not even realized he was right behind me until I felt his breath on my neck as he spoke. I moved inward, walking toward the kitchen, my hand sliding over the smooth surface of his counters.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up,” I said, turning to look at him with my mouth slightly open. “Your range has three cooking spaces? Three?”
Not quite believing it, I turned back to it, pulling the separate doors—one larger than the other two—and feeling envy well up.
“You cook, honey?”
“Don’t insult me,” I said, straightening. “Of course I cook.”
“Hold on, let me get that mental image,” he said, closing his eyes, his hand raised at me.
I smiled, feeling my desire for him make me a bit bold. “Is that image me standing at the stove, naked except for a pair of heels, cooking you dinner?”
His eyes shot open at that, all traces of humor gone. His gaze was heated as he watched me for a long minute. “Christ, woman. You’re making this hard.”
“That was the plan.”
He smiled at that. “Not what I meant,” he said, but there was inflection there that said I had managed that goal regardless.
“What did you mean then?” I asked as I leaned against the counter, watching him from several feet away, stubbornly planted there.
“I mean we have shit timing and I don’t think this is a good idea right now.”
“And yet you brought me back to your sexy man cave and wooed me with your six-burner stove…”
He laughed at that, caught off guard, shaking his head at me. “You’re something else, Kenz.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed, pushing off the counter and moving toward him, slipping my arm through his. “Why don’t you give me a tour?”
Everyone who had played the grown-up game of hookups knew that the tour was supposed to end in the bedroom, where clothes came off, bodies got sweaty, and one or both ended up screaming.
When Tig hesitated, I shrugged, moving to walk back toward the stove. “Or, hey, I can cook something…”
I didn’t even make it to the stove.
His arm shot out, grabbed my hand, and twirled me back toward him. “A tour it is,” he said, everything about him seeming to try to hold onto his stoic attempt at being the ‘good guy’. “Kitchen, living room, office…” he said as we passed each space.
“Wow, has anyone ever told you that you should consider a career as a tour guide at the Vatican? Truly, this has been so…”