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“He’s actually the cousin of the boyfriend of a friend of mine,” I confess. “Can we just go?”
He’s still looking at me. A shadow passes behind his gaze, like regret. “You want him.” He says it so simply, calmly. As if he doesn’t know he is the man I’m after. “Don’t you? You’re in love with the guy.”
I shake my head. “No.”
Absolutely not.
The emotion fades from his eyes, gone like a passing cloud. “Let’s get ready, and I’ll take you there.”
Chapter Eleven
Fat Rod Loaf
Riddick
The doorbell is ringing, and I lift my head, blinking blearily. It’s been a rough week. Really rough, although my back is better, thank fuck. And Xavier did come back home after almost giving me an ulcer, but then headed out again.
At least he sort of promised to stay indoors and call me if he was in trouble.
Not that I’d know what to do if he were in real trouble—drug lord Mafia trouble? overdose trouble?—but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
For now, I need to cross the living room to get to the door, and I’m already too tired.
Cursing under my breath, I lower the TV volume, climb carefully to my feet—my back still isn’t one hundred percent—and go to see who is at my door at this time of the evening. I don’t get many visitors.
Any hope that it might be Xavier is short-lived. He has a key. He wouldn’t ring the bell.
I crack the door open and try to see. “Who is it?”
“Riddick,” a bright female voice says. “Well, at least you’re on your feet.”
Brylee? In a short skirt and low-cut sweater, she looks good enough to eat. “What are you doing here? How did you know—?”
“Hi, Riddick.” A man’s deep, familiar voice.
“… my address? What the fuck. Ryan?” That at least explains how she knew where to find me. Frowning, I unlatch the door and open it. “What’s going on?”
“Just checking on you,” Ryan says, and his gaze does a slow slide from my socked feet to my face. “See if you’re still breathing.”
For some reason, that statement puts a lump in my throat. “Thanks.”
“Friends do that for each other,” Brylee says, lifting a brow at me.
Ah, right. Ryan must have told her of the excuse I gave him for speaking to him the first time.
I give her a sheepish smile and step back to let them in. “So are we friends?”
“Of course we are.” Her smile is soft, and her gaze locks with mine. It’s warm, and it pours into my chest like a trickle of honey.
Then she lifts a hand to my face, lightly touches my cheek, and a jolt goes through me, like electricity.
I catch her hand, intent on lowering it, but can’t. It feels so good. “Brylee…”
Her mouth is so close, her pink lips slightly parted. Her lashes lower, and her breath catches. A flush colors her cheeks.
Dammit, I wanna kiss her so badly I can taste it, even though she has a strange, pungent herbal aroma about her tonight that’s covering her natural scent.
She looks so innocent, and so perfect, like a china doll. I wanna teach her things about pleasure. Corrupt her, turn her into a slut for pleasure. Hear her beg for it.
