Page 70 of Cold as Stone
“Yes, I do. It’s my problem, my bar, my fight.”
“It stopped being just your fight the minute they threatened you. You’re mine, Kya.” The words are rough. “Maybe we haven’t said it out loud, maybe we’re still figuring out what this is, but you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
Something flickers in her eyes—surprise, desire, something deeper that makes my chest tight.
“Yours,” she repeats softly.
“Mine,” I confirm, stepping closer until there’s barely an inch between us. “The same way I’m yours.”
She goes up on her toes, and I think she’s going to kiss me. Instead, she presses her forehead against mine, breathing unsteadily.
“Eight more days,” she whispers.
“Eight more days,” I agree, even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to take her home and claim her properly.
“We should get to work.”
“We should,” I agree. Neither of us moves.
With a laugh, she finally steps back and twirls, walking away. My gaze drops to her full ass, appreciating the way it moves in her tight jeans.
Eight fucking days.
17
KYA
The health inspector finishes her review at exactly 4:47 p.m. on the 17th.
“Everything looks perfect, Ms. Sullivan,” she says, signing off on the final paperwork with a satisfied nod. “Temperature logs are up to date, all documentation is in order, and the kitchen is spotless. Consider this matter closed.”
I’m so relieved that my knees nearly buckle. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Just keep up the good work.” She tucks her clipboard into her bag. “And between you and me? Those anonymous complaints were clearly harassment. I’ve filed a report with my supervisor about the suspicious timing and baseless nature of the original violations. I don’t abide by vexatious claims.”
After she leaves, I stand in the middle of Devil’s and just breathe. Seven days of stress, of constantly looking over my shoulder, of checking and double-checking every detail. It’s finally over.
Well, almost over.
I glance at the clock behind the bar, 4:52 p.m.
In just over seven hours, I’ll win the bet.
In just over seven hours, Lee is going to make good on every single promise he’s whispered in my ear over the past two weeks.
Heat pools low in my belly at the thought, and I have to grip the edge of a table to steady myself. These past few days have been absolute torture. Lee’s campaign to drive me insane has been ruthlessly effective—lingering touches that set my skin on fire, heated looks that make me forget how to breathe, and a constant undercurrent of sexual tension that has me wound tighter than a spring.
Last night, he’d shown up at my cottage with dinner and spent two hours eating me out. When I’d tried to return the favor, he’d pinned my hands above my head and kissed me until I was dizzy, then walked away to have a cold shower.
“Twenty-nine more hours, sweetheart.”
I’d nearly thrown a shoe at his head.
“Earth to Kya,” Mercy says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You okay? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, straightening napkin dispensers that don’t need straightening. “Just relieved about the inspection.”
“Uh-huh.” She leans against the bar, studying me with knowing eyes. “So that flush on your face has nothing to do with the fact that a certain tattooed biker has been eye-fucking you for two weeks?”
