Page 30 of Dark Alleys

Despite the meds, my left arm throbbed, the bandage stretched tight over the wound. I should’ve been home, resting, not standing in the middle of Regan’s warm, living room, watching her and wondering what she had planned for me.

She was devious and I couldn’t trust her. That thought crashed into my head and startled me.

I didn’t see it at first. She was hot and I couldn’t see past that side of her.

Now it was obvious in the small smirk playing at her lips as she handed me a beer. She poured herself a glass of wine from an open bottle and held the glass up in a toast gesture.

She was making a power play. It was there in the way her gaze flicked over me, lingering on the bandage on my arm, the wood in my jeans.

She had me and she knew it.

I should leave.

I should say thanks for lunch—not that I had any—and get out of there before I made a mistake.

Instead, I stayed.

“You’re wound tight,” Regan murmured, her voice smooth as silk, rich with something unreadable.

This wasn’t the way I pictured her.

My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, my body wound tighter than I cared to admit.

Regan’s fingers brushed over my uninjured arm, light and teasing, and my restraint snapped like a frayed wire.

My beer bottle hit the table with a dull clink as I set it down. A second later, I had her pressed against the nearest wall, my good hand fisting her hair as my mouth crashed against hers.

Regan met me head-on, no hesitation, her hands skimming over my chest, careful of the wound but not cautious in the way she took what she wanted from me.

I groaned, a mix of frustration and need. She was too good at this, too good at unraveling me. I dragged my lips down the curve of her jaw, her pulse hammering beneath my tongue.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” I muttered against her skin.

Regan laughed, breathless, her fingers slipping under my shirt, nails scraping lightly over muscle. “Neither do you.”

I didn’t. But I wasn’t stopping.

Even as my arm burned, even as every instinct told me to pull away, to stay in control, I was already lost.

Regan arched against me, her body molding to mine like she belonged there, and I knew this was reckless. Dangerous. Inevitable.

Her lips found mine again, softer this time, tantalizing and coaxing. She wasn’t rushing, wasn’t pushing—just letting me decide. And that was my undoing.

A growl escaped from my throat as I lifted her easily despite the sting in my arm, guiding her toward the couch, the hallway, the bedroom—I didn’t know, didn’t care.

All that mattered was her, the fire in her touch, the way she made me forget why I’d ever wanted to keep my distance.

By the time I pulled her down on me, my pain was a distant memory, lost in the heat of her skin and the dangerous, consuming need between us.

All concept of time gone, I woke up on the sofa and the townhouse was silent and still. I sat up and lit up a smoke not caring if she allowed smoking in her personal space or not

She wasn’t here.

I finished what was left of my beer and saw the note propped up against her empty wine bottle.

Had to go to work. Stay as long as you want.

“I didn’t get any fuckin’ lunch and I’m starving.”

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