Page 40 of Sterling Heat

“Wait until you taste this.” I’d love to have her salivating over the chocolate perfection. I’d also love to swipe it over her nipples and lick it off her but squash that thought as I set the tray into the oven to bake.

“May I come to that side of the counter?” she asks.

Only, I hear may I come on the counter, and I’d like nothing more than to spread her thighs and sample what’s between them. She isn’t in a position for that, though, and it’s almost a godsend, like a natural intervention to what I’d like to do to her.

“Permission granted,” I tease, tipping up my chin.

She nearly skips around the counter. Holding out her hands at her sides like she’s balancing on a tightrope, she whispers as she draws closer to me. “I feel like I’ve entered your sacred domain.”

In many ways, she has. I’ve let her into my home, my bakery, and my heart which doesn’t offer much room. Just a corner, like the spot on my couch I will forever brand as hers. Because if my heart were to open its entire capacity to her, letting her fully reside in there, that would be the worst idea. If she loved me, she’d eat me alive. I’d be consumed by something I’ve only heard about and never believed I deserved.

An addict with a new addiction.

Thankfully, I still don’t believe in love. I don’t allow myself to dream of it.

“This is my domain.” I glance up and around the bakery. “I worked hard to get here.” I point at the floor, emphasizing this spot. This place. This moment.

“Recovering from drugs?” Her question draws my attention back to her. We haven’t spoken again about my former habits.

“Among a few things.” I turn my head, anxiously scrubbing the back of my neck.

Should I tell her? Does she need to know the details? Strangely, a desire to give her more heats my insides. I can do this. I can trust her. Thinking back on her reaction to my admission that I’d done drugs, Enya proved she’d be compassionate, maybe even understanding. She’d accepted me almost instantly.

Did I need more of her acceptance?

“I was in prison.” Quickly glancing back at her, I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction.

Her lips clamp together, and she takes a moment to absorb what I just said. She slowly nods as if she’s accepted the truth. “For what?”

“Voluntary manslaughter. I hadn’t intended to kill someone, but that’s not how the state saw it.” I certainly meant to beat him. I’d intended to teach him a lesson but kill him . . . that hadn’t been the plan.

I wait for Enya to take a step back in disgust and then bolt from the bakery. She might even skip returning to the apartment for her things and just race right out the back door, never to return.

Instead, she surprises me, holding still and watching me. My hand still cups the back of my neck. I hadn’t expected to tell her like this. With us in the quiet of my bakery, in the middle of the night, when we both need sleep and can’t seem to find it. Hell, I’m not certain I ever wanted to tell her.

“What happened?” The softness in her eyes along with quiet curiosity forces my tongue to move.

“He’d gone after Vale.” I hate to think about what might have happened if Vale hadn’t gotten away. If she hadn’t somehow fled from him at a party in the woods where she shouldn’t have ever been present. Vale had been too naïve, seeking love and acceptance, like me when we were younger. Thankfully, I’d been at the party, for all the wrong reasons, and I chased that fucker until he was trapped.

“We got into an altercation.” That was putting it mildly. I’d hunted him down and cornered him. The judge pinned intent on me. Only, I hadn’t had a plan. I’d simply wanted to confront him. Warn him with my fists to never look at my sister again. Not come near her. Not breathe her air.

“There was a time I was constantly angry. At my family. At my life. And I went too far that night.” Being high can give you unparalleled strength. It can also inhibit your physical reaction. I was on one side of that equation. My opponent on the other. The frustration of years had flowed down my arm and into my fists, landing on him over and over again.

Stone thought it was possible the man had a heart attack in the middle of the fight. His heart giving out because of excessive drug use. However, the bruises on his body framed my guilt.

He’d tried to touch my sister, who had already been inappropriately touched once. I wouldn’t let anyone disgrace her again.

Sparing Enya the gory details, I state, “I’ve told you I’m not a good man. And I’m no fucking hero.”

“I don’t believe that.” Enya steps closer to me, crowding my space. Her clean scent of rain showers in autumn hits me like a balm. The crisp fragrance burned into my nose when we met and didn’t leave for weeks after she’d disappeared.

“And I don’t need you to be a hero to everyone. You’re a hero to me. To Adara. And you’re kind to both of us.” She inhales sharply, closing her eyes a second before opening them. “And frankly, it’s refreshing.”

“Who hurt you?” I grip her shoulders, gently shaking her to tell me who was unkind. Who touched her? I’ll kill him and not think twice about it.

“No one important.” Her hands lift to my bare chest. The heat of her palms sears my skin, branding me. I’ll wear the imprint for an eternity because I’d do anything for her.

My apartment. My bakery. My heart. Take it all. Heart be damned.