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Appetite gone, I carry my sandwich into my room, close and lock the door and lean back against it.
Fucking hell. I need… something. Probably painkillers, a mug of extra-strong coffee and a run around the block—but that’s not it.
Embers. That’s who I need.
No, dammit. I thump my fist back against the door. I don’t need a person. Not that. I’m okay on my own.
The images from the nightmare rush back as the stench of my sour sweat clinging to my sheets hits me. They stink of fear, just like my skin.
Staggering to my bed, I sink on the mattress, plonk the plate down by my side and struggle to push down the fucked up mess that’s inside my head—the ugly jagged tangle of emotions, the sharp sting of memories I’d hoped I buried, the ever-present restlessness and tension.
Who is the guy in my dream? My uncle, a faint memory insists, but I don’t trust it. Can’t remember liv
ing with an uncle. Can’t remember much from my childhood.
The past can’t touch me. I’m fine. I don’t need anyone.
But even as I force myself to eat, as I pull on my sweats and go out for a jog, as I pound the sidewalk with my running shoes and see the run rise, all I can see is her face, and all I feel is the desperate urge to touch her. Smell her. Hear her voice. I don’t know how to battle against this need.
I don’t know if I can.
Chapter Seven
Amber
It’s early morning. No idea what woke me other than another string of dreams that turned up the heat until I had to throw the covers off me.
Morning porn, brought to you by a certain sexy hunk called Jesse Lee. Stay tuned for the next episode.
Good God.
After I woke up to find my hand between my legs for the third time in a row, a pulse deep inside my belly and a pair of green-blue eyes haunting me, I decided enough was enough.
I’m not in lust with Jesse. No way. The boy’s trouble. For chrissakes, he’s a manwhore who has no problem flaunting it. No regrets there, obviously, and no thoughts of ever stopping.
And that shouldn’t be my problem, in any case. With his tattoos and attitude, he’s exactly the kind of guy who smoked pot and bullied kids at school. In other words, exactly the kind of guy I should be running away from.
A shudder goes through me.
The apartment is quiet as I pad into the kitchen and start the coffee maker going. Kayla is probably still snoring in her bed, as any sensible person would do on a summer morning. She’s a college student, and college students are like vampires when on vacation. They are dead in the early morning hours, and their curtains are drawn shut to stop the sun from disturbing them, while they spend their nights partying and dancing.
Not that it’s any different the rest of the year. I should know. Jeez, I’m a college student, too. I tend to forget that.
Only now I don’t know what to do with my life. Which way to choose. What future I want.
Maybe coffee will help with the brain waves. Has to.
I’m pouring myself a steaming mug when the doorbell rings. A glance at the clock mounted on the wall lets me know it’s seven thirty. Who on earth can that be?
A thought hits me as I cross the living room, but that’s crazy. Nah. Can’t be. I mean, why would he come? Lured by my dreams of him?
Get a grip, Amber.
Then I look through the peephole, and it’s déjà vu all over again. Reality lurches as my dreams merge with the image of the tall, muscled guy waiting outside, bright eyes shifting between the door and the world beyond. He’s dressed in jogging gear, in a washed-out black hoodie and stretchy jogging pants that mold to the thick muscles of his thighs and calves.
My whole body flushes, my nipples harden and the ache between my legs returns.
God. If looking at him through the peephole does this to me, what would it be like to touch his strong chest, his face, kiss those lush lips, taste his smoky, masculine flavor?
