Chapter 11
Karina
The ride to my apartment is quiet but filled with tension. Each time we stop at a red light, I feel Vulcan’s eyes on me, and it’s an effort not to meet his gaze. My skin feels too tight, my body too warm, and I’m acutely aware of how close he is in the confined space of his Audi.
Every inch is electrified by his presence, and I have to clench my hands in my lap to keep from reaching out to him. It’s a battle of wills, one that I’m terrified of losing.
I’ve wanted Vulcan since we met nearly a month ago, and even though he bailed on me twice, my attraction to him has never waned. My heart races like I’ve just run a marathon, and it doesn’t help that his nearness is intoxicating.
The city blurs past in a kaleidoscope of lights and darkened windows, but I barely notice.
Everything in me is attuned to the man at my side.
I bite my lip, trying to anchor myself to reality even as my mind spins with the possibilities of what could happen if I gave in, if I let go of all the reasons I shouldn’t.
I want him, but I’m about to be his wife; having sex with him now would change things, complicate them.
“You can breathe, you know that?” he teases. “I won’t bite.”
“I am breathing,” I insist with probably a bit too much fervor.
He flashes a wicked grin, and I know he’s fully aware of his effect on me.
I look away, but not before the smolder in his eyes sends another wave of heat straight through me.
My building is just a block away, and part of me wants to jump out of the car as soon as we pull up to escape the tension and collect myself in the safety of my apartment.
The other part wants to drag him upstairs and give in to the wild night of passion he’s offering.
When we stop in front of my building, I expect him to simply drop me off, but he puts the car in park and turns off the engine.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says.
“That’s really not necessary,” I protest weakly, but he’s already getting out of the car.
He’s decisive, leaving no room for argument, and I realize I’m not sure if I want to argue at all.
My defenses have been crumbling since we left the restaurant together, and no amount of logic or reason seems capable of holding them up.
As I watch him stride around to my side of the car, I feel my last stand against his persistence faltering.
He opens my door with the same calm confidence he’s had all evening, but now there’s a gleam in his eyes, a glint of triumph that makes my breath hitch.
I take his offered hand, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me at the contact.
There’s no point pretending anymore. With each step toward the building, my reluctance fades, dissolving into anticipation and a gnawing need that erases anything other than here and now.
The lobby is silent, but my heart isn’t—it’s a wild beat in my ears, in my bones, the pulse so loud I swear he must hear it too.
Every step we take is one that brings me closer to unraveling completely, and I’m not sure I care about holding it together anymore.
On the ride up in the elevator, I’m dizzy with desire, and I don’t know if it’s the thrill of an impending storm or the calm before it.
“You let me up so easily. I’m disappointed,” he teases.
“Letting you up and letting you in are two different things.” I lift my chin.
“You sure about that?” He moves closer, pinning me against the wall with nothing but his presence. He hasn’t touched me yet, but I feel claimed all the same.
“No,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip. “Then let me be sure enough for both of us.”
As the elevator climbs, so does my heart rate. Five floors have never felt so endless, so agonizing. Each second stretches into eternity as we stand there, breathing each other’s air, the tension between us a living thing.
“What happens when we reach your door?” His voice is rough but steady, laced with the kind of restraint that suggests he’s holding back more than just his words.
“I think you know exactly what happens.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
The elevator stops, and the doors open to my empty hallway. The twelve steps to my apartment feel like walking a tightrope between reason and desire. And I pray reason wins before we reach my door.
I look over my shoulder at him. “Have a good night.”
His eyes flash, first with surprise and then with a laugh, and his proximity sends my pulse into chaos. “You’re scared.”
“I’m cautious,” I shoot back, trying to sound more confident than I feel as I fumble with my keys. “There’s a difference.” Stay with me, reason.
“Is there?” He covers my hand with his, steadying the trembling key. “Because this feels like fear. And I don’t think you’re scared of me, but rather scared of what I’ll make you feel if I’m invited in.”
“You are very cocky,” I reply, the accusation more a tease than anything else, but he seems to know that already.
“I like to think of it as trying to get to know my fiancée better.” His breath is hot against my skin, lips brushing my ear. I know how easy it would be to cave to him right now; to let all my defenses crumble and give in. But I’m not ready to lose this round. Not yet.
“Good night,” I repeat, with more conviction this time. I turn the key and slip inside my apartment before my body can override the last functioning neurons in my brain.
“At least let me take you to dinner tomorrow night,” he says when the door is inches from closing.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agree.
“Do you work?”
“I do. But I get off at seven.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
The thought of the hospital gossip mill churning makes me cringe. “How about I just meet you at the restaurant?”
“Not a restaurant,” he counters. “My place. I’ll text you the address.” He leans in, so close I can almost taste him, his lips a whisper away from mine.
The brush of his mouth on mine happens so quickly I’m crushed when he pulls away. “Good night, Doc,” he says with that cocky grin of his, then turns and walks backward down the hall, eyes on me the whole time.
I close the door and lean against it, my fingers rising to touch my lips. My heart thunders against my ribs, each beat a reminder that I am alive—thoroughly, wildly alive in a way I haven’t felt in so long.
I need a cold shower.