Page 23 of Sweet Hate
Just holding her in my arms clicks something into place and calms the storm of emotions inside me.
Nope.Not going there.
Step back, you idiot.
But no. I ignore all common sense, banding my arms tighter around her waist.
She’s no longer struggling to get away. If anything, she’s relaxed into me, her soft hair tickling my chest.
I rest my chin on top of her head, allowing myself to savor her sweet vanilla caramel scent as we watch quietly.
This feels so good.Too good.I love that she’s letting me freely hold her in my arms. For a second, I can pretend things are like they used to be. It would be so easy to drop my lips to her neck and taste her or slip my hand under the waistband of her pants and trail a finger over her clit.
Would she let me?
Would a pretty gasp fall from her lips?
My fingers twitch on her bare skin ready to report for duty.
I must be drunk off her scent, that’s the only explanation I’ve got.
Head falling forward, my lips brush the top of her head while I glide my fingers slowly down, the tips making contact with the waistband of her jeans. She sucks in a breath, but doesn’t stop me or pull away. The air around us thickens, swirling with tension, while I watch her, as she watches him, pretending my fingers aren’t about to deep dive into paradise.
There’s been a breach.
Distantly, I can hear a siren wailing in my mind, but I’d sooner burn it all to the ground then listen to that warning right now.
I slide my fingers beneath the waistband, inch by inch, her muscles tightening beneath my hand. It hits a scrap of lace, the last defense. My pinky slips in, followed by my ring finger, setting my pulse thundering harder than a herd of wild horses.
As my hand begins its decent, Haven’s head falls back on my shoulder. We’re both ready—so goddamn ready for this moment.
A crash has us both jerking, my fingers freezing as Haven’s head snaps up.
No, fuck no.
With the sledgehammer now on the floor by his feet, the idiot slides a small bottle of Jack out from his back pocket, dragging us out of the haze and back to reality.
She sucks in a breath, her body tensing at the sight of him downing the entire bottle.
This time, she does push against my arms. Reluctantly I step back, letting them flex as they fall away. A chill runs through my bones at the loss, the crushing emptiness almost suffocating.
I watch her storm toward Leroy, bending down for his tool kit, denim stretching tight over that delicious ass. All too soon, she stands and thrusts it at him.
There’s no sign of the shy, anxious girl she once was. Her shoulders are back, and the fierce set of her face says she takes no prisoners. It’s hot as fuck. She radiates confidence, not caring that she’s squaring up to a guy twice her size.
She takes my breath away.
He stares down at her, swaying slightly on his feet, and stumbles. This jackass can’t drive, he’ll kill someone. I fire off a text to Swayze, a friend of ours and the local police lieutenant, asking him to send a patrol car over to take this drunk prick home.
“Leroy, I won’t be requiring your services any further. Please leave.”
He turns toward her and flashes her a leery grin. “What’s that, baby cakes?”
Oh, she won’t like that. Not one bit. I cross my arms and move to stand behind Haven. You know, for moral support. Her slight nod tells me she’s aware of me, but I won’t interfere unless she needs me to. My girl has this.
“I said we no longer require your services. You’re fired.”
“Your loss. I don’t need a little girl with crayon hair bossing me around anyway. Your kind are only good for one thing.”
