Page 86 of Diamond In The Rough

“What the hell are you doing?” I twist in his arms, only for my breath to explode when he presses me to the wall with a thud. “You broke into my apartment!”

“I walked through your door.” He leans in and peppers small, measured kisses to my shoulder. “Your locks are a joke.”

“You broke into my apartment!” I could lift my knee and crush his balls. Or bite him. I could slam my fist into his stomach and enjoy the way he gasps.

I took those Rumble classes at the gym back in the day. And a women’s self-defense class from the Brazilian guy whose great-great-grandfather invented contact sport… or something. I don’t know!

“Micah, my front door was locked. But now you’re in here, which means you violated my perceived safety.”

“It’s locked again now.” He nips at the warm skin over my collarbone, only to follow it with a gentle lave of his tongue. “I’ll send some guys out tomorrow to get you something better, since your security is clearly lacking. And fuck,” another bite, “you smell good.”

“What’s up with you?” I could simply allow him to ravage me; god knows he does it well. I could close my eyes and let him have me; we’ve already crossed the line. So what’s another time? I could remove myself from reality, from common sense. I could set aside that gnawing, nagging voice in the back of my mind that screams you’re catching feelings for the bad guy! But I always was a little too reckless for my own good.

Micah seems intent on nibbling on my skin, but I slide my hand up and into his hair, grab hold of the shaggy—albeit, neatly combed—locks, then yank back and separate his lips from my flesh.

His eyes flare wildly, his temper bubbling just below the surface. But there’s something there. An emotion I can’t quite pinpoint that he’s keeping under lock and key—far more secure, evidently, than the one on my front door.

“Something bad happened?” I analyze his beautiful green eyes. The hard-set line of his jaw. Then I swallow, because his cheeks are a little too pale. A little too unsettled. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” He comes closer again, inhaling my neck and caring little about the fact that I’m still pulling his hair. “I wanted to be near you.”

“What’s going on?” I gasp when he reaches down and cups my thigh. Lifting, he leaves me to balance on one leg. Because he brings the other around his hip and crashes forward to press his cock to my core. “Micah?—”

“I’d rather ignore the outside world right now and focus on this.” He pulls back from my neck, but only so he can slide his tongue over my lips. “Compartmentalization is healthy. Paying attention to only you is what a woman wants, no?”

“Dissociation is not healthy if the subject you’re avoiding needs to be processed.” But god, as he glides his hand around and massages the globe of my ass, I know he could convince me otherwise. “If something so terrible happened today that you’d rather ignore it and fuck instead, then it probably means you should talk about it.”

“With you?” He takes my lips, and groans when our tongues duel. “You want me to discuss my deepest, darkest shit with a woman I’d rather sink my cock into?”

“Well…” I should be offended. I think I’m offended. I’m more than a holster for your cock! “I meant a therapist, mostly. Or the cops, depending on what it is.”

He chokes out a soft laugh and presses his hips against mine. I know tomorrow, I’ll find a bruise. Or tenderness, at least. “I don’t need to speak to the police. Or…” He stops and pulls back, his eyes flickering between mine. “Maybe, once upon a time, the cops would’ve been interested to know what I know. But now… I dunno. Probably best to leave the past buried.”

“Is that a metaphor?” I search his eyes. “Or is someone actually dead and buried?”

Smiling, he dives forward and bites the soft, warm skin where my pulse lies. “A little of the first. A lot of the second.”

My heart thumps in response, impossible to hide from the man who kisses me. “Micah?”

“I didn’t kill anyone, I promise. You taste good.”

“Um… thanks. When you say you didn’t kill anyone… You mean, like, ever, right?”

He grins against my skin, teasing and playful. “What was the most recent thing your doctor said about your hearing?” He nips along my neck. “What did he say about your prognosis?”

“Um… I?—”

“Because I helped myself to your apartment, Grá, and I wasn’t stealthy about it.” He brings his hand up and cups my sensitized throat. His palm, fiery against my feverish skin. “That’s dangerous.”

“He said my hearing will return to normal eventually. Probably.” I drop my head back and sigh when his hand comes down to stroke my thigh. “Ear infection. Blown eardrum. It’ll get better.”

“Are you ready to come to dinner?” He dips his fingers into my cleavage, sending shots of electricity sprinting through my gut because he plays me like a guitar. One hand on my thigh, stroking and seductive, and the other, by my heart. Invading, and yet, intoxicating. “Are you hungry yet?”

“Are you really not going to tell me what happened today?” I search his emerald stare. “We’re going with silence on the matter?”

“I plead the fifth.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. “I prefer privacy for now.”

“Tiia Hale.” Felix the-mafia-don Malone steps into the doorway at the end of a long hall as Micah walks me through the front.

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