Chapter One #3
He sometimes was truthful with himself, and right then, he had to admit, it wasn’t the haircut.
It wasn’t even her smoking-hot little body.
It was the way, when she saw him coming—no matter where she was, her shop or the bar—she rushed to the door, with a huge smile on her face, and greeted him like the moon rose when he showed up.
She didn’t flirt. It was a genuine greeting, as if she’d been waiting for eternity to see him.
It was strange because she never once acted as if she wanted him. In fact, when he flirted, she rolled her eyes. He liked that too.
The moment he issued his command to look at him into her open mouth, she froze beneath him. Despite her stillness, he could feel the tremors and shudders going through her body.
“Eyes on mine. I mean it, Lyric. I want you looking into my eyes.” He feathered his lips over hers. “Do it now.”
She didn’t like looking anyone in the eyes, but over the last five months, she’d gotten over that with him.
Sometimes, in the bar, it was still quick, shy glances, but she was learning he liked her looking at him.
He knew she wasn’t playing coy, she just preferred to avoid eye contact.
In this instance, it was necessary, and he was going to get what he needed from her.
Lyric didn’t respond fast enough, and he locked his teeth on her bottom lip and bit down in warning. He made certain she felt the shocking sting. Instantly, her gaze flew to his. The terror had receded enough to allow shock in. He licked at the bite mark, all the while holding her with his eyes.
“You keep looking at me. Only me.” He used the voice he knew scared the crap out of anyone hearing it.
She had never shown fear of him, not once.
Not even when everyone else had. Her normal reaction to his shift into badass was secret amusement.
He wanted to see that in her eyes. Not this time.
Her green eyes skittered all over the place, her breath coming in raw gasps.
He wasn’t certain she was fully with him.
Eyes locked to hers, he lowered his head again and took her lower lip between his teeth.
Very slowly he began to apply pressure until she gasped, all that green suddenly centering completely on him.
He licked at the spot again. His brand. He liked that she wore something of his, and that just proved he was a fuckin’ idiot.
He also knew only something shocking could pull her out of her complete panic.
“You back with me?”
Her gaze started to shift toward the lid, and he caught at her lip in warning. Instantly, he had her complete attention.
“Lyric, we’re in a little trouble here. I can get us out, but I need you to help me.” He softened his voice but kept her gaze captive. “We’re not going to draw their attention. They have to think we’re unconscious.”
A shudder went through her body. Plastered as he was on top of her, he felt the earthquake-like tremors. The deep, very real fear. “I can’t breathe. There’s no air.” She whispered it to him like a confession, her pupils so wide they were taking over the color in her eyes.
“There’s plenty of air. Stay with me, Wildfire. You’re tough as nails. Take a breath in and let it out.”
“I can’t.”
She tried to shake her head, but he didn’t allow her to move—or take her eyes from his. He sighed very loudly. “Babe, you’re giving me no choice here. If you can’t get on top of this, you give me no choice but to distract you.”
Her lashes fluttered as if she were trying to decide between screaming in terror or trying to figure out what he meant. He didn’t wait for either reaction.
Keys lowered his head and took her mouth.
Feathered his lips over hers. Swallowed her fear and took it deep.
Tasted that elusive strawberry-and-fresh-snow scent that he knew he’d always want when he kissed her.
Her mouth. Those pouty lips. Hell. He’d been trying to shock her into distraction, and he’d ended up drowning in her.
He might have surprised her, but the shock to himself was far more than what he was doing to her.
He liked her. As a person. He was drawn to her for many reasons.
That greeting of hers, unfailing every time.
The real laughter she gave to him and no one else.
It didn’t matter if he had a woman at the bar with him. She didn’t seem to care.
She knew he fucked everything in the county with a pussy, skanks to married women from the “right” side of town.
She didn’t seem judgmental, just amused.
When the women treated her like shit, she never looked hurt or upset, she simply gave him her little grin, the one that lit up his world, and went to the other side of the bar while he dumped the bitch.
No one talked to Lyric like that on his watch.
She complimented him. The words were always offhand.
Casual. As if she were stating a fact, but she always said something nice to him, like how she loved his hair, it was thick and shiny and she could tell he took care of it.
That meant something to her. She was into hair.
She’d tell him a shirt color looked good on him.
Or she liked the way he wore his motorcycle boots so much she wasn’t going to make him take them off if they were muddy.
She meant those things, and she wasn’t flirting.
He wasn’t certain she knew how to flirt, and the fact that she didn’t do it was wreaking havoc with every one of his preconceived notions about women and relationships.
He didn’t acquire female friends. He fucked women and kicked them to the curb.
He made it clear before he had them what it was and that there wouldn’t be a repeat performance.
Women never believed him. Never. They thought they would be the one to “tame” him.
It was a crock of shit. Most of the time, he couldn’t take the utter crap, the lies and idiotic romantic nonsense they spouted.
He had a brain, much to his chagrin, and it needed stimulation, not inane conversation.
Lyric believed him when he explained his onetime fuck policy and just laughed.
She told him he was hotter than hell, and she could see why women fell like dominos, but that didn’t say much about their intellect if they couldn’t see, with his atrocious track record, that he was telling them the truth.
That had led to him objecting to the word atrocious, and it had turned into a two-hour discussion he’d enjoyed more than anything else the entire five months he’d been hanging in that little town.
And then there was the little thing she’d done that had made him feel—hell, he didn’t know how it had made him feel.
She’d been tired, on her feet all day, and he’d dropped by her shop at closing time for no reason other than he had to see her.
She’d seen him coming, flung open the door and greeted him with that unbelievable smile of hers.
He’d taken her out to dinner, a little diner that had extraordinary food.
Her order had come up, but his had been delayed.
She’d sat there across from him asking about his day.
Seemingly genuinely interested, and she hadn’t touched her food until his arrived.
It was a little thing, but he’d liked it a fuck of a lot. Too much.
Cradled by her soft body, feeling her superb feminine form, Keys inwardly cursed the relentless demands his cock made on him.
He didn’t need to be as hard as a rock when their lives were at stake and she was scared out of her mind.
That made him far more of a disgusting pervert than he’d ever considered himself.
Shit. He knew he was worthless. He’d always known it, but in this instance, he wanted to live, to ensure she did, and that the assholes, who were so cowardly they’d hit them from behind with a baseball bat, didn’t have a chance to touch her.
He knew he’d used women to relieve the merciless hard-on that never let up, but they’d used him as well.
Not Lyric. She hadn’t once indicated she was willing.
If anything, it was just the opposite. He’d thought it was the chase that kept bringing him back, but with Lyric, there was no chase.
She was without guile. She was just…Lyric. Wildfire and sunshine.
Fiercely aroused was a state he often found himself in, but he’d never experienced feeling when his cock demanded sating.
He didn’t want the intimacy of kissing. He didn’t want to have to seduce anyone.
He wanted to bury his cock in pussy and get off and then get away.
He didn’t want conversation or the exchange of numbers.
But then there was Lyric. Her mouth. That sweet innocence he tasted along with the hint of strawberries and fresh snow on her breath.
Finding restraint took effort, but he managed to kiss her gently.
Exchange breath. Exchange heat. He was shocked that he could be lying in a coffin, his head pounding, and still want a female. Not just want. Need.
He suppressed a groan. Who the hell was he kidding? He didn’t want just any female’s body. He wanted the one under him.
With his mouth on hers, feathering kisses, exchanging air, it was impossible for her to get away from him. There was no room. She stilled again. He swore he heard her frantic heartbeat.
“Get my hands free, Keys.”
Her shaky voice whispering to him in that pleading tone, so unlike her, turned his heart over.
If he knew one thing about her, it was that she was as independent as hell—a trait that wouldn’t work for him, but one he admired.
Pleading with him in that scared tone was so unlike his Lyric, his heart ached for her.