Page 11 of Claiming What's His

I release the chain on the door, open it, and then walk out to him. “Where’s the chocolate bars? Give me!”

He looks at me like I’m crazy for a second. He’s likely wondering if I am. If I have a major weakness—besides bad taste in men—it would be chocolate frosted long johns.

“I didn’t bring candy,” he says, his face wrinkled up as he tries to figure out what I mean.

I frown at him. “Did you or did you not just tell me you brought long johns?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding up the smaller bag. I snatch it excitedly and go inside, leaving the door open for him to follow me.

“In California we call them chocolate bars,” I inform him over my shoulder as I go into my kitchen.

“You’re from California?” King asks.

“Yep. Fontana to be exact.” I shrug. “This is my home now.”

He watches me as I put the bag on the breakfast bar. I pull one of the chocolate-covered confections free. I can sense King’s gaze on me, but I don’t care. It’s been too long since I had one of these. I pull it out of the wrapping and take a bite, moaning as the sugar dances on my tongue.

“Damn,” King groans, wiping a hand down his face. “I’m going to have to bring you those damn things every day.”

I grin, shifting my attention to his face just in time for him to lean in and kiss me. His lips on mine are better than the treat, but I stand still, in shock. I push into the kiss because it is way more enjoyable than the chocolate bar.

Chapter8

King

Idrink in the sweetness of her soft lips, devouring her and the taste of chocolate. I thought I needed to kiss her. Too late I realize that one taste of her lips is going to be an addiction that takes over. She goes to my head, and I need to keep the kiss going as our tongues dance in perfect tandem—as if they’ve been doing it for years.

For a month, I’ve been keeping myself away from Shelby. I’ve got the Runner’s threat to my club to deal with and they can be dangerous. The fact Thomas could’ve died is proof of that. Starting something up with a good woman like Shelby is the last thing I need to be doing. But since I saw her, I haven’t touched another woman and I have no plans to.

Hell, I don’t want to.

It’s Shelby I hunger for, and I know that’s a feeling that’s not going to go away. Pulling away, I notice the slight blush to her cheeks. It makes her emerald, green eyes stand out even more. I lick the lingering taste of her off my lips. Her eyes are glued to my mouth. I think she’s having the same problem I am—resisting going in for one more taste. I want to, but that’s a slippery slope. I don’t think I could stop with just a kiss and that’s a step I don’t think she’s quite ready for.

“Way to upstage my favorite guilty pleasure, King.”

I grin, with one last sweep of my tongue. “I like the way you say my name.”

“I like the way you kiss.”

“That’s a good thing because it’s something I’m going to do a lot when it comes to you,” I confess.

Shelby rolls her eyes, grabbing the other bag. “Breakfast earned you one kiss, don’t push it.”

I look around the house, liking the earthy tones of everything with greens and browns. The pops of purple in varying shades really adds to the hominess of the kitchen and living room. One thing that stands out are the Fleur De Lis pictures in rich tones on the walls and little figurines mixed in with her images.

There are candid photos on the shelves and walls, mostly of her with Billie. One is with her and an older man with his arm around her. Jealousy flares up, rearing its ugly head before I can tamp it down. The question of who it is sits heavily on my tongue before I mentally shake it away. She’ll really think I belong on the third floor of the hospital if I ask that right off the bat.

“You brought a lot of food.” Shelby is pulling everything out and setting it on the counter—buffet style.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” I admit, turning from the photo and pushing it from my mind.

“I’m easy to please for the most part,” she says. I want to say something to that but try to hold my tongue. I have no doubt she has no idea how many ways that statement can be taken.

“I’ll be making a mental note of that,” I finally say, failing miserably at playing it cool.

She stops moving, making a show of rolling her eyes before I step back over to hand her one of the cups of coffee.

“Eww. Negatory, King,” she says, after leaning forward to sniff it, then grimacing. I notice the little wrinkle on her nose is cute as hell.

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