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Before I could even judge for myself, though, his head was lowering toward me.
I don't remember thinking the command, but somehow rose up on my very tiptoes regardless, closing some of the vast difference between our heights as his hand tightened on the side of my neck.
Before I would even draw in a proper breath, his lips were sealing over mine.
And I swear every thought just flew out of my head.
All there was in the world was the feel of his lips, firm yet soft and coaxing, the sexy scratch of his beard against my skin, the way my body seemed to melt into his firm chest and stomach.
Malcolm's arm slid around my lower back, a firm pressure that just skirted the line of painful thanks to my ribs, but there was no way I was going to pull back, ask him to loosen his hold. Because there was something possessive and protective about his hold.
I felt just... safe.
And maybe that was just because of his sheer size.
Or maybe it was because he'd been there for me in my weakest moment.
Or because he'd nearly beat a man unconscious for me.
But whatever the reason, that was how I felt.
Safe.
Protected.
Wanted.
God, how long had it been since I'd felt wanted? In a non-creepy way? In a way that didn't involve drunken ass slaps while I walked past with a tray of food?
It had been far too long.
But that was exactly how I felt in Malcolm's arms with his lips slanting over mine.
This close, I caught a slight woodsy scent to him.
His lips pressed harder, got more demanding as a low, throaty whimper escaped me. A rumbling sound moved through his chest as his tongue traced the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance.
Before he could get it, though, a voice broke into our private moment.
"Malc, you're...whoops," a man said.
The moment gone, we broke apart.
I turned back toward my coffee as Malcolm turned to see who'd interrupted.
"What?" he growled at the guy who leaned in the doorway, smirking at him.
"You're up over at the Vultures," the man informed him, shrugging, before pushing off the door jamb and walking away.
"Fuck," Malcolm hissed, just audibly, as he raked a hand through his beard.
"It's okay. I, ah, I have to go get my brother," I half-lied, since I had a while yet until I needed to pick him up.
"Holly," he called, reaching out for my wrist as I went to move around him.
"Yeah?" I asked, glancing up.
"I'll see you later," he told me, giving my wrist a little squeeze.
"You don't—"
"I'll see you later, Holly," he repeated, ducking his head a little, sending me a small smile.
"Okay," I said, happier about that than I was willing to admit even to myself.
Did he mean he would see me again just because he was a good guy who was trying to protect me? Or because he wanted to see me, because he wanted to continue to see me?
I didn't know.
But I guess I would find out.
Chapter Nine
Malcolm
"You're not supposed to be here," I said as Dezi walked up behind me.
I didn't even have to look to know it was him.
Who the hell else would it be?
"Funny how that doesn't stop me," Dezi said, moving toward the edge of the roof, looking down.
From his position half-hidden behind a giant solar panel, Brooks held up his hands in a "what the fuck" gesture. Seeing as, you know, we weren't supposed to be seen from where we were hiding on top of the roof of the car dealership.
"Dezi, could you be more fucking obvious?" I asked, waving toward where I was standing behind one of the several air exhaust vents from the air conditioning units.
"Right. Like your mammoth ass is hidden at all," he said with a smirk, but moved back toward my direction.
"Shouldn't you be cleaning?" Brooks asked, voice pointed.
When it came to people who took their prospecting seriously, Brooks was at the top. When he'd been in Dezi—and Cary and Rowe's—position, he'd always known what was expected of him, had it done before anyone could even ask him to do it.
I figured it came from prospecting along with many of us who, short of a serious fuck up, were going to get into the club, get the cuts we wanted. Because he wasn't related, he felt like he needed to work twice as hard to prove himself.
Or so I thought.
But Brooks was in.
It wasn't like he was in competition with Dezi. It shouldn't have bothered him that Dezi was a clear slacker.
"You know what I figured out? If you give a group of us a list of shit that needs to get done, and I bounce, it somehow still gets done," Dezi said, shrugging, as he pulled out a vape pen, taking a long drag, then releasing the smoke. "CBD, not cigs. Kicked those a year ago," he declared.
