Page 17 of Taking Denver

“You’re worth thinking about,” I say quietly, perhaps hoping she won’t hear. Denver meets my gaze.

She chews her lip, the pink flesh whitening beneath the pressure of her teeth. Her breathing slows to an almost complete stop, and the darkness of her pupils expands until the tarnished silver is a border of metal around a pit of night.

The silence doesn’t beg to be filled, so I let it stretch. I allow the twist in my stomach to become an unbearable thirst to kiss her, my heart thundering fast and free in my chest as my gaze drops to her lips.

We said no sex. Well, she said it, but she’s looking at me like she might regret drawing that line. Flashes of our gym encounter overwhelm my senses as potently as she does, and my heartbeatspreads until my entire body feels like it’s calling out to a woman I barely know.

So, I let my body take the lead, and I kiss her.

Molten lava pours through my veins, and if it burns me alive, then cest-la-fucking-vie. There’s no rhyme or reason why a woman I hardly know creates such a response—although death is a powerful aphrodisiac, so I imagine coming close to it had to aid in that department—but I run with it anyway. Every kiss with Denver Luxe feels like running full speed and blindfolded through unfamiliar land. It’s dangerous. It will likely hurt. Honestly, it’s fucking stupid.

But every step into that unknown has brought me something I’d never have on a familiar path—excitement, possibility, and feeling more alive than I ever have. My heart beats differently, and my blood feels thicker, hotter, more vital. So, I keep running in the dark and hope she won’t let me careen off the edge of a fucking cliff.

Denver parts her lips, and my tongue grazes hers, slow and warm. She tastes like chocolate, smells like vanilla, and her skin is hot when I run my palm up her arm, stopping at the side of her neck. She climbs into my lap, the kiss languid, lazy, like we have all the time in the world, like this night could last forever.

When the kiss ends, she rests her forehead against mine.

I pull her closer. “How was that? A nine?”

She laughs, and I hope to God I can live without hearing that sound every day of my life because I’m fairly sure, next time, one of those bullets will hit me.

Chapter 6

Denver

“Say the word, Denver. Say the word, and it’s done.”

I inhale sharply and open my eyes. A sheen of sweat coats my brow and chest, my t-shirt clinging to me like a second skin, my mouth dry and sticky. The air conditioner hums quietly but does nothing to prevent the beads of sweat from running down my spine. The nightmare that had torn me from a peaceful sleep crawls across my skin, like skeletal fingers desperate to close around my throat.

Darkness stretches beyond the windows. Ethan is asleep beside me, his breathing steady. One hand is tucked behind his head, the other in mine.

We didn’t sleep together. We’d kissed like horny teenagers at prom, and I’d been tempted to give in to sate the throbbing between my legs, but there was a silent understanding that the line didn’t need to be crossed. We’d crawled into bed and, between kisses, told each other childhood stories, whispering as if anyone could hear us, and must have fallen asleep.

I can’t remember the last time I smiled as much as I have with him. We’d kept the conversation light; he knew only what I wanted him to know, and that’s how it had to be, but I could haverelived that time with him over and over. It felt like I’d rewound my life and chosen a meadowed path, not the darkened forest with seemingly no end in sight.

My side of the bed lights up, my phone vibrating across the nightstand.DO NOT ANSWERis calling again.

A tangible terror tiptoes across my skin, like the delicate steps of a spider. Almost three months of no contact with anyone back home. Now, I’m backed into a corner with no option but to reassure him. Even I won’t prolong this cruelty.

I climb out of bed quietly and cross the living area, opening the patio doors. Warm air rushes in to batten down my goosebumps, the morning smell of the sea and the slow lap of waves calming me.

“Here goes,” I whisper and answer the phone. “Seventy-ninth time is the charm,” I sing out the words.

He laughs softly, the sound like dragging my palm across jagged rocks. Deep, rough, and strangely comforting, given the damage he can do. “Hello, little bird. You’re alive, then.”

God, his voice. Why does it always yank out a primal need to have him whisper filth in my ear? My body unfurls at the promise every word held—promises of safety. Of obsession.

I rub my arms, trying to erase the memory of his kiss and how it stole so much from me. “You know I’m alive. I’m willing to bet you know every move I make, even here.”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“And that person is you?” I ask.

“Hasn’t it always been?”

Yes, it had. I was under his watchful eye, whether I wanted to be or not, and even now, I’m not free of him. His protection, if you could call it that, stretched far and fucking wide.

I play with the button on my dress quietly. “Will you thank Cal for me?”

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