Chapter Eight
Perish
There was no logical reason to insist on walking her right to her apartment door.
The building was nice. It had a working security door. Even if the dicks who’d chased her had followed us (and they hadn’t), they wouldn’t get in. Even if they got in, they wouldn’t know where to find her.
She was safe.
And yet, there I was, standing in the elevator with her, listening to it whir us up to the fourth floor.
I also could have said my goodbyes right there, kept my feet firmly planted in the elevator, and watched her walk away. Maybe let myself admire the view for a second or two before the doors closed again.
Did I do that?
No.
I walked my ass out right behind her, followed her down the narrow hall, then stood behind her as she unlocked her door. Like I intended to bodily block her from any kind of harm from, who exactly? The old lady who was coming in with her yippy little sweater-clad dog?
“Do you want to come in for a coffee before you have to walk all the way back to the clubhouse?” she asked as she pushed the door open and flicked on the light.
Absolutely not.
“Sure.”
Fuck.
What was wrong with me?
The last thing I needed was to be in a small, enclosed, private place with the woman I hadn’t been able to get out of my mind since the damn shooting.
But then I stepped past the threshold and closed the door behind me.
There was no going back.
“It’s not usually such a mess,” Gracie said, ducking down to grab a sweater off the floor, then a scattered blanket, a random ring. “Layna has been crashing with me and she tends to… leave a trail.”
“That a nice way to say she’s a slob?” I asked as she kicked two sets of shoes over toward the shoe cabinet behind the door.
“I wouldn’t say a slob. She’s not dirty or anything. I think she’s just used to suitcases scattered around hotel rooms. So she kind of treats all spaces like cramped hotel rooms with nowhere to properly store anything.”
“You ever say anything mean about anyone?” I asked.
“She’s my cousin. And one of my best friends.”
“Even best friends have annoying habits,” I said with a shrug as she gathered up three drink cups off the coffee table.
“I don’t mind the mess,” she said, walking over toward the kitchen where the ass I’d been watching walk away from me disappeared behind the island that cut the kitchen off from the rest of the common space.
It was a small apartment, but something about the way Gracie designed it made it feel intentionally small. Like if it were any bigger, it wouldn’t have the same intimate, cozy vibe she had going.
Like the woman herself—and, it seemed, most of her wardrobe—the space had a distinctly feminine vibe about it. Even though there weren’t any pink or purple touches that made it seem that way.
The apartment had a more neutral scheme to it more than anything else. I figured she was probably working with rules about neutral-colored walls and just worked from there.
The creamy-colored paint went with the slightly oversized couch, the kind with deep cushions that wouldn’t make me feel like my knees were up by my eyes if I sat there.
All the wood was in a blonde shade with brushed brass pulls on the doors and drawers.
There were pillows and blankets on the couch and chair, a lush rug you could sink your toes into, and more lamps than seemed necessary.
Catching me looking at them, Gracie shot me a sweet smile.
“I hate the big light.”
“The what now?” I asked.
“The big light,” she said, moving to the edge of the island and nodding up toward the ceiling above my head.
And there it was.
The “big” light.
Which was just a typical oversized boob light.
“I never put the big lights on,” she added.
“So I have lamps everywhere. The light is more warm and golden. It’s much cozier.
Billie has a theory that all the harsh blue-white lights from the LEDs we all use these days are why everyone feels so zapped and headachy.
Which might be true. But I just prefer this.
” She said that as she walked over toward a light sitting on a small cabinet near the hallway opening and flicked it on.
“I can see it,” I agreed as a warm, yellowish light filled the room.
I didn’t have any lamps in my room. I exclusively used the ‘big light’ when I needed it. Never gave it a second thought before. Though I had a feeling each time I flipped it on now, Gracie’s voice would be in my head.
Then, sure to follow behind that, the memory of her would be in my mind. Standing there in that stupidly sexy floral sundress with the light kissing her skin, making it even more golden than usual.
My fucking fingers itched to reach out and touch the soft edges of her hair, to trace the strands down over her neck, shoulder, and chest.
I cleared my throat.
“Nice place,” I said, desperate to talk about something, anything that might distract me from my thoughts and the way my cock decided to immediately react to them.
“Thanks. There are a lot of rules about not painting or putting holes in the walls. But I think I finally got it how I like it. How do you like your coffee?” she asked as she turned back into the kitchen.
I needed to keep my feet planted two feet inside the door. I needed to keep as much space between the two of us as possible.
But I followed her like a fucking lost puppy until I was blocking the exit on the side of the island that wasn’t attached to the other counter.
Gracie reached up high into the cabinet, going up on her tiptoes that made her calves do all sorts of sexy things that distracted me for a long moment until she did a little jump in the air.
“Damnit, Layna,” she grumbled.
The small space was already filling up with her scent. The last thing I needed was to move closer to her.
Still, I stepped forward until my whole body was behind hers. I could feel the warmth of her creeping in through my clothes, heating my skin.
Her head turned as she felt me there, her pretty blue eyes flicking up to me, her soft lips parting.
I watched for one long beat.
Fine, maybe two.
But I forced myself to look toward the cabinet, looking for what she was trying to reach.
“The, uh, glass canister on the top. That’s the coffee. Layna forgets not everyone is as tall as she is when she puts things back.”
Did she sound breathless?
Or was that my own wishful thinking?
Christ.
I needed to get a grip.
I reached up, bringing down the coffee in front of her body.
But, fuck if the strange position didn’t make my damn forearm graze her tit in the process.
Close as I was, I could hear the way her breath gasped inward, could feel the shiver that moved through her.
Fuck.
What was my move here?
Apologize?
Save both of us and pretend like it didn’t happen?
But then Gracie sucked in a deep breath and her breast pressed back into my arm. This time, I could feel the pebbled bud of her nipple, and I swear every single logical thought abandoned ship.
I was going to go to fucking hell for it, but my arm shifted, grazed. Slightly. Barely a touch at all.
But a soft little mewling sound escaped Gracie at the barely-there touch. And I couldn’t find the strength to stop myself from doing it again.
This time, the sound was a little louder and she leaned back against my chest, head tipped up, eyes closed, lips parted.
Her breath was coming in fast, shallow huffs. That flush of hers was creeping across her cheeks, down her neck; even her fucking ears were getting red.
I didn’t know the rumbling sound was growing in my chest until it escaped me.
Hearing it, another of those sweet little sounds escaped Gracie.
And I was just fucking… gone.
Fuck anyone who said I couldn’t touch her.
Fuck any consequences coming my way for doing it.
My hand slid away from the coffee container, sliding over her belly, over the curve of her hip, across her ribs, then up, fuck, up.
My fingers brushed under the swell of her breast and a current shot through Gracie, making her body shudder and a needy moan escape her lips.
The entire fucking club could burst through the doors right then. And the whole lot of them couldn’t pull me away from her.
She sucked in a breath just as my hand closed over her breast, making the air rush back out of her on a soft sigh.
Her body leaned more fully against me. Like she needed the support to keep standing as my fingers found her nipple and teased a circle around it.
Then rolled.
Pinched.
My hand flattened, squeezed.
Her breath was panting out of her by the time my other hand lifted, touching, teasing, giving in to every goddamn fantasy I’d been tormented with since the last time I’d seen her.
And it still, still, wasn’t enough.
My hands slid away, moved down, and the disappointed grumble that escaped her had my lips curving up and my cock fucking aching.
My fingers dug into her hips, turning her toward me as I spun us.
I moved forward, forcing her backward until the island stopped her.
I dug into her hips, lifted her up and off her feet, and dropped her on the countertop.
And fuck if she didn’t look up at me with pure, undiluted need.
I was immediately fucking drunk on it.
And just as quickly… addicted.
I pressed into her knees and they parted effortlessly, her soft thighs sliding around the outsides of mine.
I leaned forward.
She eased back.
Then she was flat on the countertop, staring up at me with needy, trusting eyes.
And I knew I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t fuck her.
There was no coming back from that.
But I could give.
And give.
And give.
And she could take everything she needed from me.
That, that was going to need to be enough.
I reached out, yanking down the bodice of her dress.
The seams ripped.
Her back arched.
There was no going back.