Page 99 of Chasing Lyric
Even just a flicker.
Mary-B finally bops her head like she’s proud of her work and steps up to ring the bell.
I inch forward, eyes locked on that front door.
My breath catches, my palms sweat, my jaw wracking from side to side.
This is it.
The moment of truth.
And all I can do is watch from the dirt, hidden behind a hedge, wondering when the hell I stopped being the guy who had control of his own life.
I’ve really lowered my morals.
But hell, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
Mary-B is still picking at the cellophane, making it look perfect. I now know why she’s the best secretary in the company because she does a great job. I’ve obviously had my head so far up my ass I haven’t seen shit around the company.
I freeze the second Lyric appears.
She walks to the front door, and for a moment, all I can do is stare, my breath caught somewhere between reverence and regret. She looks wrecked, her face blotchy from crying, eyes rimmed red, but damn if she still isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. There’s something about her when she looks like this, raw, undone, real, that grips me by the throat.
Those tiny denim shorts cling to her hips like they were made to torture me, riding high on those smooth, sun-kissed thighs that have haunted my dreams for months. The frayed edges brush her skin like a tease, and my palms twitch with the memory of how they feel under my touch.
Her white tank top is so tight, it clings to her perfectly. Hugging every curve of her breasts like a second skin, the kind of view that makes a man forget how to breathe. My cock pulses hard, needy, aching to bury itself in the woman I’d giveanythingto hold again.
But underneath the heat, there’s something heavier, something that settles like a weight in my chest. Because even through her beauty, I see the hurt, and I know, I did this.
I hurt her.
And yet she still manages to look like a goddamn miracle on my worst day.
Lyric’s eyes narrow as she takes in Mary-B standing at her front door, holding the gift basket. “Hi, can I help you?” Lyric’s husky, gorgeous voice asks.
Mary-B’s face exudes formality.Ever the professional. “I have a special delivery for Lyric Griffin.”
Lyric shifts uncomfortably, assessing the parcel. She wipes her face like she’s trying to fight the tears from falling. “Who’s it from?” she asks.
If Mary-B tells Lyric, she might not accept it.
She might not read my letter.
“The sender didn’t disclose their name when ordering, ma’am. I’m just here to deliver. We hope you enjoy your sugary treats.” Mary-B hands the parcel over to Lyric.
She hesitates but takes it from her.
Damn, you’re good, Mary-B.
“Thank you,”Lyric offers, finally seeming to break out of her shocked state.
“You’re welcome. Have asweetday,” Mary-B coos, keeping up the pretense she’s from some gift basket company. She turns, walking away without another word as Lyric shuts the door while Mary-B walks back to her car.
I turn and peer through the slightly open window, my breath shallow as I watch her move across the living room. Lyric’s muttering to herself, rifling through the basket like it personally offends her. “If this is from Chase, he should’ve gotten me something that won’t make me fat.”
I flinch.Fuck.
My hand runs down my face. “Seriously? That’s what she’s focused on?” I shake my head, jaw tight. “It’s not about the damn candy, Lyri. It’s about me trying,” I murmur under my breath, making sure to keep my voice low so she doesn’t hear me watching her outside her front window.
