Page 65 of Desperate People

Seriously, the man kissed, caressed, and held me all night.

Who knew the big, quiet, tattooed man was such a cuddler?

“Awake already?” his voice is gravel and silk, deep and raw from hours of use.

I hum. “Barely. You wore me out.”

His lips brush my shoulder, and my heart skips.

This is dangerous.

Not because it’s too wild or too fast.

But because it feels right.

Too right.

Like something more than sex.

I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. Never wanted to stay wrapped up in someone else’s warmth like it’s where I belong.

And yet, here I am.

Letting him hold me like he has a right to.

Like he wants to.

I turn slightly, looking over my shoulder to find him already watching me.

That mismatched gaze—half lightning, half storm cloud—pins me in place.

He brushes my cheek with his thumb.

And for the briefest moment, I think I might be in love with him.

My heart starts to pound, and I bite my lip before I say something stupid but then I hear it.

Crash!

The sound rips through the house like an explosion.

It sounds like glass shattering. Wood splintering.

Balor’s body goes from warm to coiled steel in an instant.

He jumps out of bed, naked, muscles flexed, eyes sharp, dangerous.

“Stay here!”

But I scramble to sit up, yanking the sheet to my chest just as a voice bellows from downstairs.

“LUCY!”

My blood turns to ice.

Oh, no.

Oh shit.

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