Page 55 of Moros

I lifted my neck back to look up at him.

He had a very flat nose—damn, he’s sexy.

“I’m not having sex with you in the back of your truck for our first time.” I told him emphatically. “That’s not where I saw myself doing it with you our first time.”

Khadri arched a brow and gripped my shoulders to turn me around.

“You’ve thought about a time with me?” He grinned, quite proud of himself.

“Open the truck.” I pouted.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why do I need to answer?” I met his playful gaze.

Khadri dragged his palms down my arms to lace his fingers with mine. He used the hold to pull me against him while licking his lips.

“Because.” Khadri bowed his head to nip my shoulder. “It makes me feel sexy knowing you’ve been undressing me in your mind. Any man who tells you that doesn’t turn him on is lying. That or he’s never been naked for a woman.”

My cheeks merely burned more.

“Open the truck.” I kissed his chin.

Khadri sighed, rooted into his pocket for the remote to open the truck.

“And FYI.” I chortled after hearing the doors clicked through the rain and the alarm chirped. “I have thought of us together!”

I darted out into the rain before he could catch me around the hips. The cool water soaked easily through my hair and top making me squeal then giggle while hoisting myself up into the truck.

“Woman!” He growled.

I stuck my head out to stick my tongue at him then slammed the door.

When I looked through the rain-soaked windshield, Khadri was standing inside the front door, smiling with his fingers shoved deeply into his pockets.

Sweet baby Jesus.

It’s only a matter of time before he drove me, body and all, through a bed, or a wall or the backseat of this truck—and I can’t wait.

11

KHADRI “MOROS” WESTON

Visibility was bad.

From the fog to the water that was pouring from the sky too quickly for my windshield wipers to keep up. Instead of driving all the way back home, I pulled into the drive-thru of a Tim Horton’s.

“What do you want?” I asked Ryanne.

“Coffee—double double, double cup, a shot of espresso.”

“Coffee isn’t food, Shorty.”

She flushed. “They have a flat bread pizza. Can I have that?”

I added that to the order, before getting myself a coffee and a sandwich. I also added some Tim Bits—the tiny donut balls I’d been addicted to.

Once we had the order, I drove to park underneath an old bridge that had long since been abandoned at the side of the road when they built a newer version beside it.