Page 93 of Drowning in Darkness

He steps closer. He smells nice, clean and citrusy, but nothing like the dark notes I associate with the man I desire. There is zero stirring in my veins, proving I’m not starving for just anyone. I am, in fact, hopelessly gone for James.

“No? And just whose might it be?”

“Mine,” the man in question growls. He grips my hips and pushes me against the side of the truck. Heat flushes down my spine, and a low throb begins, proving the difference is night and day when I’m being manhandled by the right guy. No, the only guy.

I tip my head back and prepare to tell him I don’t even know the dude’s name and that I was in the process of politely shooting him down. But there’s a feral look in his eyes that makes my breath catch.

My lips part as his hand fists the hair at my nape while his fingers grip my chin.

My eyes flutter closed as his breath skates across my tingling lips. Another moment of longing that will fuel more fantasies.

Warmth presses against my mouth, and my eyes slam open to confirm what I’m feeling.

James Austin is kissing me.

THIRTY-ONE

JAMES

Meeting your match is a mistake.

I fucked up. This isn’t the way to handle my jealousy over a guy talking to a gorgeous woman I claimed as my sister only minutes ago. But she ignited something raw and feral inside my chest, a feeling that pushes me to claim her like a caveman against the side of the truck for all to see, so that everyone gets the point that she isn’t available, even though she is.

She moans into my mouth like she’s been starving and I am the only thing she wants to devour. Her lips are soft and pliant beneath my own. Our tongues tangle and blood rushes south. Knowing that she tastes like the berries that cling to her skin—sweet, a little tart, and fucking addictive—is hell.

I press against her as my hand fists her hair to angle her head back so I can kiss her deeper. Nails dig into my back, flesh against flesh, and I want her marks on me. I want her to leave evidence of how I made her feel when I kissed her, the one and only time I ever will. I need to make it memorable so that I’ll ruin it for any man who follows me. She lifts her leg around my hip and arches her spine, craving friction. The things I want to do to this woman would make her run away screaming. I tear my lips from hers, and she gasps in air and tilts her head back as I scrape my teeth down her throat. I’m tempted to leave a bite mark as a warning to back the fuck off to any man who dares to look at her.

“Jesus, that is not how you kiss your sister,” the guy rumbles. “I’m out. Incest isn’t cool, man.”

I lift my head, his words bringing me back to reality. “Foster, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Still not right,” he mutters, dumping the boxes and parcels in the flatbed with a huff before turning on his heel and stalking away. He glances over his shoulder just before disappearing inside the store. Might not be right in his eyes, but he still wants her.

I narrow my gaze and grip her hips to bring her body flush against my own. She moans low and needy. She’s a freaking siren, seductive without lifting a finger. Devastating without intent. I am ruined, and I can’t find it in me to care.

I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. Teeth nip my ear as I carry her to the passenger side of the truck, and I stumble. Fuck. Everything is a freaking erogenous zone when she’s involved. She’s not practiced; there’s no act. She’s the most real thing I’ve ever held in my arms, and I’m not treating her like the precious woman she is. I have to stop this before we get too caught up.

I open the door and place her on the seat. She leans back and stretches her arms in the air. I blink when she smiles at me, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, chest heaving.

I lean down and wrap my hand around her throat. Instead of freaking out, her pupils darken. No. Absolutely not. I cannot corrupt this woman who deserves to spend her life in the light. All I can offer her is darkness.

I grab the seatbelt and slide it across her body before clipping it in. She bites her lip, eyes focused on my mouth as if she could will it to touch hers again. It can’t. I’m only human and far from a saint.

“Don’t move,” I growl as I slam the door closed and lock it for good measure.

“You can’t be serious,” she snaps.

I grin and head back into the store to get the final parcels. Fuck knows what she’s been ordering, but this cannot all be nail polish. Between the groceries and the online shop, my truck is filled to the brim. I eyeball Terry’s son with a raised brow, daring him to say something. He folds his arms and holds my glare. I’m impressed. Not many can do that, excluding Stephanie freaking King.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Terry says. “You know we offer home delivery.”

He says this every time. The locals get more curious each time I reappear, sometimes months between visits, depending on what’s happening in the organization. “Noted. Thanks, Terry.”

After signing the paperwork for the packages, I hop back inside the truck and peel out of the parking lot, avoiding the pouting woman sitting with her arms folded and staring out of the windscreen like she could make herself disappear through sheer will alone. I normally enjoy the quiet ride back to the lodge, since there’s no phone signal on the mountain, nobody’s demanding anything of me. But today, the air is thick with unspoken words, neither of us wanting to be the first to question what just happened.

That’s fine. I’m happy to pretend it never happened. Okay, I’m lying to myself. But my delusions keep me safe.

“Are we addressing the giraffe in the truck?” she asks, breaking any notion of living in blissful denial. I should have known better.