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Diesel grins up at me like he’s got absolutely no shame. Hell, I don’t either. Not with the way I’m sitting on top of him like he’s my personal throne. “Talk about shitty timing,” he grumbles.

“The worst.” I slip back off his lap. Damn. That was close. We both ignore the huge freaking elephant in the room—our kiss—as we clean up the living room.

Diesel drops down on one knee to scoop up the scattered cards. “We made a hell of a mess, sweetness.” His grin is pure trouble. For a second, I think about shoving him down and kissing him all over again. But now isn’t the time. It’s late, and we have to get up early in the morning.

“Yes, we did,” I mutter mostly under my breath as he blows out the candles while I peel myself off the rug and start gathering empty water bottles and the random snack wrappers that somehow exploded all over the coffee table. Our hands brush. Static. Instant electricity. All I can do is stare at him and hope he doesn’t notice how wobbly my knees are.

Once we finish cleaning up, Diesel disappears down the hall, and I shuffle to the guest wing on wobbly legs. I barely manage my nightly routine before dropping into the comfy bed. I should be exhausted, but my whole body is a live wire. Every time I close my eyes, my mind replays that kiss. His tongue, his hands, the freaking way he owned me.

Holy fudgemuffin. There’s no way I’m getting any sleep. Not tonight. Regret flashes through me, and I call myself a coward for not demanding that Diesel finish what we started with that kiss.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DIESEL

The house is too fucking quiet. I’m lying under my covers, staring at the ceiling fan’s slow rotation. It’s been four hours since the kiss, and my cock is still hard as a goddamn rock.

I check my watch. 2:14 AM. The digital numbers glow a harsh, judgmental blue. Sleep is a distant memory from a time before I brought a blonde firecracker into my guest room and started imagining what it would be like to break every rule I’ve ever set for myself.

A sharp, metallic clatter echoes from the kitchen. It’s not the house settling. It’s not the wind. The noise sends my adrenaline spiking through my veins like a shot of pure nitrous. My body moves before my brain can catch up. I’m off the bed, feet hitting the hardwood without a sound. I pull on my jeans and don’t bother to button them as I reach for the holster on the nightstand.

I don’t turn on the lights. I know the layout of this place better than I know the back of my own hand, and the moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows gives me enough light to work with. I move down the hallway, my heart thudding a heavy, rhythmic warning against my ribs. If Kirk Voss found a way in here, they’re going to be scrubbing his remains off my Italian marble for a week.

I round the corner into the kitchen, muscles coiled, jaw set, ready to tear someone apart. Instead, I freeze. There’s no intruder. There’s no threat. There’s just Serenity, bathed in the pale glow of the open refrigerator, looking like a dream I’m not allowed to have. She's wearing pale pink silk. A camisole with thin straps that look like they'd snap if I so much as breathed on them. Matching shorts that show off every inch of her tanned, curved legs.

"Diesel?" she whispers, her eyes wide as they find me in the dark. She’s holding a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in the other, her hair a wild, golden halo around her face. "Oh my God, you scared me. I thought… I thought I was being quiet."

I can’t speak. My throat dries the fuck up as all the air in the room is sucked into the vacuum she’s created just by existing. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, the tension in my shoulders refusing to dissipate. I’m still half-convinced this is a hallucination brought on by stress, sleep deprivation, and years of repressed wanting. I reach out, my hand resting on the cool granite of the island just to ground myself.

"You’re supposed to be asleep," I say, and my voice is a rough, gravelly mess. It sounds like I’ve been eating glass. I don't look at her face. I can't. If I look at her eyes, I’ll see the trust there, and I’m currently feeling like the least trustworthy man on the planet. Instead, my gaze drops to the way the silk clings to her hips, the way her skin looks like it was carved from moonlight.

"I couldn't sleep," she says, stepping away from the fridge. The door swings shut with a soft thud, plunging us into deeper shadow, save for the blue light of the oven clock. "Every time I closed my eyes, I kept thinking I heard something outside my window. I needed a distraction.” She holds up the jar of peanut butter. “Nothing is a better distraction than eating Jif right off a spoon. Very sophisticated, I know."

She tries to laugh, but it’s a small, fragile thing that cracks at the edges. She’s still scared. Even here, behind three sets of locks and a security system that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, she’s looking for monsters in the corners. The protective rage that usually keeps me focused starts to blur into something much more dangerous—a desperate, aching need to close the distance between us and prove to her that nothing is ever going to hurt her again.

"The windows are reinforced, Serenity," I say, taking a step toward her. My bare feet are silent on the tile. I lay the Glock on the counter. "Nothing is getting through them. You’re safe. I promise."

"I know," she murmurs, putting the peanut butter down next to my gun. She doesn't move away as I get closer. If anything, she leans toward me, like a flower reaching for the sun. "I know I’m safe with you, Diesel. That’s the problem. When I’m with you, I feel so safe that I start thinking about other things. Things I probably shouldn't be thinking about when I’m a guest in your house and you’re doing me a massive favor."

I stop two feet away from her. Her vanilla and citrus scent hits me. It’s intoxicating. I can see the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat, fast and frantic, mirroring the way my own blood is screaming through my veins.

"What kind of things?" I ask. I shouldn't. I should turn around, go back to my room, and lock the door. But the way the moonlight catches the curve of her bottom lip makes me want to burn the whole world down just to fucking have her.

She looks up at me then, her blue eyes dark and searching. "You know what kind of things. Don't make me say it, Diesel. I’m already standing here in my underwear, eating out of a jar at two in the morning. Have a little mercy on my dignity."

"I’m not feeling very merciful," I growl. The distance between us vanishes before I can talk myself out of it. I’m in her space, my body looming over hers, the heat radiating off me in waves. I reach out, my thumb catching her chin and tilting her head back. Her skin is so goddamn soft. "I’ve been trying to be the good guy for a long time, Serenity. I’ve been trying to remember that you’re Alana’s best friend and that I’m supposed to protect you, not… this. But I can’t forget about that kiss earlier."

"Me neither. It’s the real reason I couldn’t sleep," she whispers, her breath hitching as my thumb brushes over her lower lip. "I don't want a good guy. I’ve had enough of being protected. I just want you to kiss me again."

That’s the breaking point. The thin, fraying thread of my control finally snaps. I don't think. I don't calculate the risk. I just react. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in those golden curls, and I haul her toward me. I pin her back against the cold marble counter.

I don't kiss her gently. I don't have a gentle bone left in my body. I crash my mouth against hers with a desperation that’s been building for years, a hunger so deep it feels like it’s part of my DNA. She doesn't pull away. She doesn't hesitate. She lets out a soft, broken moan into my mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, her body molding against mine like we’re two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

She tastes like peanut butter and sweetness, and she feels like everything I’ve ever wanted. My hands trace the line of her spine, then move down to grip her waist, pulling her hips flush against the hard ache in my jeans. She’s so small in my arms, so delicate, but the way she’s kissing me back is pure fire. She meets me stroke for stroke, her tongue dancing with mine, her nails digging into the muscles of my shoulders.

"Diesel," she gasps against my lips, her voice a wrecked, beautiful sound. "Please. Tell me this is real. Tell me you’re not going to regret this in the morning."

"The only thing I’m going to regret is that I waited this long," I mutter, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I inhale her scent, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, making her arch her back and whimper. "You have no idea, Serenity. You have no fucking clue how many times I’ve wanted to do this."