Page 51 of Off-Limits Bad Boy
“Okay,” she says with acceptance and warmth in her tone. “Have a good night, Kade.” With that, she steps out of the car, leaving behind her intoxicating scent.
I watch her walk away, her figure receding into the night until her door closes behind her. Alone, I let my head fall back against the seat as the true weight of the secrets presses down on my chest.
But, even as doubt takes hold within me, it's her smile that comes to mind. And I know, despite it all, I'm too far gone to ever consider turning back.
Chapter Twenty-one
Emma
I watch his car from my window, the glow of the dashboard lights painting him in soft blue and amber hues.
Why didn’t he want to come up? I sense there’s something he’s not telling me, but I don’t know why... or what he’d want to hide from me.
He's so damn tempting, and I'm caught in the pull of what ifs and maybes. What if we can make this work? Maybe Alex would be happy for us. My fingers feel heavy as they hover over the phone screen as I reread our last texts, trying to gather my courage.
Come up? I type, my heart thundering a rapid beat against my ribs. I delete the words. I don’t want to pressure him into anything.
I can see you. Is everything okay? Send.
And I wait, seconds stretching into an eternity.
Then his reply bubble pops up on the screen. I think so.
His response is confusing. My offer for you to come up is still open. There. That’s not pressuring, but it gives him another chance to gracefully accept.
As I wait for a response, worry wells up in me. Why doesn't he think it’s a good idea to come up? Did he lose interest all of a sudden? I just don’t understand. I gather up the mail that had been slipped through the slot in my door and put it in a pile on my table, then move toward my bedroom to change into my fuzzy pjs.
Thank you, but I’m not sure I should. His response, his doubt, bothers me and I make my way back to the window to see he’s still sitting out there like a lost puppy. I always told myself I wouldn't take in strays, but this one is a keeper.
I frown at his words. Is he not interested in sleeping with me again? Maybe he no longer feels the pull between us. But I don’t believe that; I’d seen the way he’d tried to hide his reaction to me while washing glasses tonight. Does he not realize that I want him, too? That I feel a crushing need for him?
Well, the invitation still stands, if you change your mind. I don’t know what else to say.
I drop my phone on the bed, watching the screen as I change. When I look out the window again, I see his headlights flicker off and his door open, then slam shut as he stands. My heart leaps, then begins to gallop in my chest as heat prickles across every square inch of my skin.
His knock is softer than I expect, and I pull the door open to him. He’s staring down at me with an intensity and hunger I can’t escape, and a bolt of excited panic flashes through my chest. Maybe I misunderstood why he said it was a bad idea to come up, after all.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice soft and rough all at once. It’s a combination that leaves me melting inside.
“I have never been more sure about anything,” I say, my voice leaving no room for doubt. It's now or never. And I choose now.
The door barely closes behind him and I'm in his arms. His lips crush to mine, fierce and demanding, leaving a liquid pool of superheated desire in my center. My fingers run through his hair, pulling him closer, as if I could somehow merge our very beings with this embrace.
“God, Emma,” he groans against my mouth, his voice filled with the same hunger that's coursing through me. His hands roam over my back, branding me with every touch.
When we part, it's like coming up for air after being submerged for far too long. The room spins slightly, and my senses are overwhelmed by him—by the scent of leather and pine soap that clings to his skin, by the heat of his body so close to mine.
“I think Alex is onto us,” Kade says, his voice suddenly serious.
His words cool the heat between us, but I think that was his intention. I back away and drop onto the couch, the cushions swallowing me. “How do you know?” I ask, trying to catch my breath, to focus on something other than the need still pulsating like club music across my skin.
He shrugs - a nonchalant gesture - but his eyes betray his very real concern. “Just a hunch.”
I trust him, and his hunches. My pulse races for entirely different reasons now.
“What do we do?” I ask.
“I’m still trying to figure that out,” he says. There's a tension in his jaw that tells me he's as torn and unsure as I feel.