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Everything about this is reckless. Even more-so when he finally releases my head from the helmet, and I watch him moving around the room, lighting a few candles that throw out the barest low light. His body is soaking wet and muddy, water dripping from his dark hair into the valleys and cuts of his chest and abs. His jeans are drenched and clinging to every ridge and shape of what God gave him.
“Stay here. I’ll go turn on the generator. The power is flaky here even in good weather, with this wind…might not be back on for days.”
He disappears through a neat kitchen and I hear the sound of a door opening, the gust of wind flying all the way through the house, making me shiver as I stand dripping onto the rough stone floor.
I take in the details of the open space in the low, flickering glow. The space is huge. Open. Decorated in clean lines and tasteful artwork. What looks like bamboo timbers make sort of dividers between a living room type space, then a long rough table surrounded by mismatched chairs and a kitchen.
Holy moly, the kitchen.
It rivals mine at home and I put a year of planning into it and another year of having it built. He’s got gleaming stainless appliances. Top dollar, with an expanse of an island topped with what looks like a finished mahogany butcher block. The rest of the kitchen is warm, light cabinets, some with glass doors, and I take note there is nothing in any of them.
A click and a hum start and lights in the ceiling flash to life. I hear his footsteps coming back inside, the slam of a door, then he’s back.
And even bigger than before, if that’s possible.
Who is this guy? This place isn’t exactly a mansion, but it’s damn big. It’s on San Phillipe and I can hear the ocean crashing from here, so why is he working security and living like a millionaire?
“Is this your place?” I take in his body language as I ask and see nothing but calm in his demeanor.
“Yep. Two years now. Grabbed it from a couple that built it as their dream home but got divorced before the dream happened. Came fully-furnished in the divorce sale.” He walks forward, his hands cupping under my jaw, thumbs stroking the water off my face. “Turn key. You approve?”
“Uhhhh…” I nod. “Yeah. It’s amazing.”
Lightning flashes again, lighting up the entire space, so close I can feel the air split. The crash from the bolt touching down drowns out my scream as I drop to a crouch and cover my ears.
Chance is next to me in an instant, his long, heavy arms tugging me into a ball next to him brushing my wet hair out of my face.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you here. That storm has to come through me first and even a storm knows better than to do that when I’m protecting what’s mine.”
My shivers turn to warmth as his lips brush my ear.
“This is home. I’m glad you like it because I’m never letting you leave.”
My lips part as I try to formulate an answer. Am I being kidnapped? Am I going to end up chained to a palm tree out back?
“My purse, I had it back… at…” I stutter, the overwhelming need to find my phone in case this turns weird overshadowing almost everything else.
“I grabbed it. It’s in the storage compartment on the bike. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” His words are thick and dark and I believe him, but I know I shouldn’t.
Driving rain pummels the windows as he gathers me into his arms. That childlike feeling overtakes me again, and I want to believe him about not hurting me.
God, I do.
His body is hard as his lips move to mine. I start to protest, but who am I kidding? My body is sending out every sort of silent mating call, and the slickness between my legs is not from the rain.
A ball of fire rolls in my belly as he pulls me tight, his lips warm and soft as his tongue swipes along mine and I give in, forgetting all about my phone and being kidnapped and the outside world.
I moan as the wave of heat bursts from my center, traveling outward as my hands press over his chest and I feel his heart thumping through the thick muscle.
The heat blasting from my body turns my scant wet clothing steamy, and for the first time in my life, I want someone. Him. This.
Kissing and touching and all the other things I’ve heard friends talk about for so long. Things I never cared about before.
Twenty-six years of all work and no play have made Sophia want to be a very bad girl, and I think I’ve found the bad boy to make all my dirty dreams come true.
