Say It's Forever Page 3

  And I didn’t have the time or space for that.

  Besides, I was pretty sure it didn’t take much for that boy outside this room to have girls falling at his feet, and I was even more certain my heart wasn’t up for a fling or even a one-night stand.

  But damn, would an orgasm I didn’t give myself feel nice.

  Visions flash-fired at that.

  Those big, big hands and that flirty mouth and that massive body.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried not to imagine him in the next room over, naked and beneath the heated spray.

  Nope. Nope. Nope. Do not go there, Salem.

  Get clean, get dry, get out.

  That was my goal tonight.

  But still, I stayed under that relaxing cascade for probably a little too long and let my mind drift a little too far.

  But could you blame a girl?

  This place was like a fantasy.

  The man a fantasy, too.

  A wicked fantasy where it’d be so easy to get lost.

  Finally, I shut off the shower. I stepped out onto the plush white mat, and I grabbed the fluffy towel. It completely engulfed me when I wrapped it around my body, and there was nothing I could do but take one end and push it to my face and inhale the scent—the same scent that had taken me over when I’d slipped onto his bike and found my nose at the back of his neck.

  Citrus and cinnamon and spice.

  It smelled like he’d washed his clothes in a late fall night.

  I inhaled a little too deeply, committing it to memory, though I doubted much that I’d forget, anyway.

  Okay creeper, stop fantasizing about a man who is just trying to be nice.

  The internal pep talk worked for all of five seconds, because the moment I pulled his giant shirt over my head, I was sucked right back down into that delusion.

  It was warm and scented and god, I felt like I was wrapped by the man. Then I was giggling when I pulled on the giant pair of boxers and looked in the mirror.

  I looked ridiculous.

  Swamped in fabric that was ten times too big.

  Fighting the smile, I rolled the boxers down to my hips, praying they wouldn’t slip off, then I wrapped the towel around my hair, swooped up my wet pile of clothes, and moved back out to the bedroom. The room was only illuminated by the light from the bathroom, though it was clear the two rooms matched.

  Nothing but dark, masculine luxury.

  A king-sized bed with lavish linens.

  I shook my head and forced myself to move, though I slowed in caution when I unlocked the door and peeked out. When I was hit with silence, I tiptoed out into the main space.

  The open loft was dark save for the lights under the kitchen cabinets, but what my attention locked on were some paintings hanging on the far wall of the living area that were cast in muted spotlights.

  I hadn’t noticed them when I’d first come in, but in the quiet, they seemed like they were the only thing I could see. My feet involuntarily moved that direction.

  The images a lure that hooked my heart and mind.

  They ran on four big canvases, floor to soaring ceiling. Two were situated on either side of the massive TV sitting on a stand along the wall. The paintings were raw and candid, and my chest clenched around my thudding heart as I stared and tried to make sense of what they represented. I got the unsettled sense I was peering directly into the artist’s soul, right to where his demons thrashed and thrived.

  Depictions of ghosts that screamed and howled. Demons that climbed from fiery flames to crawl and ravage the Earth. Vague, obscured faces were woven in, as if they were hidden in the scene, prisoners that didn’t belong but were stuck there, anyway.

  Others were stark, haunting beauty. Stars and eternity and lost hope.

  Each was breathtakingly tragic.

  Earth-shatteringly inspired.

  I leaned closer to them.

  Enthralled.

  Enraptured.

  Like I had become a piece of the torment written in the bold strokes of paint.

  In the agony weaved in the canvas.

  The air thickened and locked in my lungs, and the fine hairs prickled at the nape of my neck.

  I froze, somehow trapped. Unable to look or move or act as I felt him approach like a wraith. Like one of the paintings had come to life and closed in from behind.

  It covered me whole and caressed me in shadows.

  I was right. This man was definitely, definitely dangerous.

  His breath hit me on the shoulder where his shirt draped wide. “Did you get warmed up?”

  Such an innocuous question, though the rough scrape of his words moved through me like seduction.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I found I could barely speak, the severity of the paintings stealing my voice and my sanity. “These are…” I couldn’t even form a coherent thought.

  His tone tightened to a grumble. “Just something to fill the empty space.”

  A frown filled my brow at his indifference, at the way he shrugged it off, and I wanted to ask him more but was distracted by the slow chuckle that suddenly brushed across my flesh and sent chills racing again. “You look…”

  Finally, I found the strength to peek back at him from over my shoulder. Only when I did, my eyes were filled with a wide chest that was…bare and tattooed and oh my god.

  I thought I might pass out right there.

  I attempted to look away, but his hair that was much longer on top and short on the sides was wet from his shower, and he was wearing this grin on his face that twisted me into a knot of desire.

  Not to mention the heat that radiated from his body.

  A stroke of that severity thrashed.

  I was pretty sure it short-circuited my logic.

  “Ridiculous,” he seemed to finally settle on, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms over his wide, wide chest.

  What?

  His words knocked me out of the trance.

  What a jerk.

  I mean, I’d thought so, too, but he didn’t need to bring attention to it.

  Gulping, I stumbled away, my chin jerking for the sky, every defense set to high. “I didn’t have a lot of other options, now, did I, unless you wanted me to drip all over your ridiculous floors?”

  That smirk edged his mouth.

  Damn him.

  “Didn’t say I was complainin’, now did I, sweetness?”

  I glared at him. What was with this guy?

  Really, what was with me? Why was I all hot and bothered by a man I didn’t know other than the fact he had really great taste in interior decorating, and I’d give my left boob for his guest shower?

  Well, that and he’d stopped to help a stranger in a torrential downpour despite clearly being loaded.

  I couldn’t tell if he was an asshole toying with me or if he was genuinely kind.

  From the flaring in his eyes and that teasing at his sexy mouth?

  There was a part of him that was definitely toying with me.

  “Besides, you’re still dripping all over my ridiculous floors,” he grumbled with that rough, low voice.

  On a gasp, I jerked back to see the wad of clothes I clutched were indeed dripping onto his floor, and a small puddle had gathered at my toes.

  “Shit.”

  The asshole laughed and stepped forward. “Give me your clothes.”

  I held them closer like he was a common thief. A plunderer of sound judgement.

  Obsidian eyes glinted and danced, and his laughter floated out of his mouth and surrounded me like a dream. The man leaned forward to whisper in my ear, the words coming from his mouth temptation and a tease. “You’re lucky I’m not asking you for the ones you’re wearing. Stand there a minute longer, and I just might.”

  My eyes narrowed as I angled back. “I’ll stab you.”

  That time, his laughter boomed. Like I was the ridiculous one.

  Reaching out, he snatched the dripping wet ball from my hands. He held it to hi
s chest, and the man waltzed away like doing it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Come on, Wildcat, laundry room is this way.”

  Um…what?

  “Excuse me?” I scrambled along behind him.

  He just chuckled as he moved through the kitchen to a door on the left of it. He opened it and stepped into a laundry room that was as big as the kitchen back at our house.

  I froze at the doorway because there was no chance in hell I was getting that close, and he was grinning as he tossed my clothes into the dryer and punched some buttons.

  It beeped and spun to life.

  “See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  That mischief played, the man eyeing me up and down as he edged me out of the laundry room.

  Huffing, I crossed my arms tight over my chest.

  “What is it, darlin’?”

  His voice had gone soft. Like he didn’t have the first clue he had me spun up.

  “You don’t think this is a little bit weird?” I waved an erratic hand over my head.

  He grinned. “I like weird, if I’m being honest.”

  He reached out and gently brushed his fingertips over the scar on my jaw.

  It happened so fast that I didn’t realize what he was doing before his hand was already there. As if it were second nature. As if he did it all the time. As if he had the right.

  Fire streaked my flesh.

  Horror and fear and the fight.

  Worse was the flash of comfort that came along with it.

  Aghast, I ripped myself back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I wheezed, the words haggard and pained. Panic raced my veins and nearly sent me screaming out the door.

  Screw the rain and the storm.

  But I forced myself to remain standing.

  I wasn’t weak.

  I wasn’t weak.

  I lifted my chin defiantly like I was daring him to do it again because if he did it this time, I was going to teach him a lesson.

  He actually had the nerve to look apologetic, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his low-slung jeans that showed off an expanse of chiseled abs, his hip bones peeking out over the top. The packed, rippled flesh was covered in those designs there, too. Ones that I refused to study even though I was itching to reach out and touch them the same way as he had done to my scar.

  Like it was natural.

  Right.

  God, I kind of hated this man. Hated that he stirred something in me that I couldn’t afford to feel.

  “Sorry. That was rude.” It sounded like he meant it.

  “I don’t even know you.”

  He dragged a hand from his pocket and uneasily roughed it through the longer pieces of his hair. “Know it.”

  He hesitated, then added, “But there’s something about you, isn’t there, Salem?” That gaze narrowed and his head pitched to the side, the man studying me as if I were a riddle he was trying to decipher.

  Energy shivered and flashed. A blanket of lightning flickered at the windows. A current of it ran the dense air.

  The way his eyes caressed my face, it might as well have been his hands. “Is it wrong if I want to get to know you?”

  Attraction billowed and boiled. Held in the bare space that seethed between us. A snare to hold me back.

  Gravity.

  I scrambled around in my brain for the last vestiges of my common sense.

  “I have no interest in that.” The words were bitchy and a straight-up lie. “I just want to go home.”

  The blunt of the rejection struck across his face before he dropped his gaze to look at the floor.

  “Right, okay,” he mumbled, his head bouncing in affront as he stared at his bare feet with his teeth gritting.

  Thunder cracked.

  With it, the rain intensified to become a violent pounding at the roof.

  He looked up at me, and every angle of his face hardened with the promise. “Told you my purpose tonight was gettin’ you to safety.”

  I was pretty sure it was here that wasn’t safe. Not with the way my pulse battered and my stomach coiled and this needy interest was taking me over. I swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”

  “Means you’re stuck with me tonight. I’ll get you home first thing in the morning.”

  “You expect me to stay here? With you?” It was a shriek of disbelief.

  “Didn’t mean in my bed, darlin’.” He angled forward again, his breath caressing my skin, sex and seduction rising to the surface. “But that sure would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

  The air locked in my lungs, and he was chuckling low and looking at me like he knew the flush of desire he elicited in me. Then the man so casually strode away, overpowering his kitchen, so sexy when he dipped into the black metal refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He twisted the cap and took a long pull, then he lifted it in the air, facing me as he backed away. “Goodnight, Wildcat. Guest room is all yours. Make yourself at home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  My mouth dropped open as he disappeared back through the same double doors, catty-corner to the room where I’d taken a shower.

  The room with that giant, luxurious bed where he expected me to sleep.

  I stood there in the dark for at least ten minutes, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do, because this was crazy, while the heavens continued to dump and pour and deluge.

  Finally, I accepted that I was stuck there tonight and reluctantly crept to the guest bedroom where I shut the door and locked it.

  I slipped under the covers and sank into the plush comfort.

  I typed out one last message on my phone and prayed at least someone would receive it.

  Me: I still can’t get through to anyone. My car broke down, but I ran into a friend who offered me a place to stay for the night. I’ll be home first thing. Please don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

  A friend was stretching it.

  But they didn’t need to worry even more than they already would be.

  Then I relaxed into the warmth beneath the heavy comforter as the exhaustion from the day pulled me under. Lulling me into a dream. Sleep taking me down to the darkest depths of consciousness.

  Where everything faded and drifted and took old shape.

  Where dreams possessed and nightmares haunted.

  Where the here and now and the past intertwined. Where they merged and crossed and slayed.

  Where grief whispered and crawled and sucked the life from the air.

  Where I had no idea what time it was when I jolted awake. When I heard the muted roar. A roar of pain. A cry of agony.

  And I wasn’t sure if it was his or if it was mine.

  THREE

  JUD

  It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even eight in the morning, heavy metal blared from the speakers that hung at each corner of the soaring ceiling of Iron Ride.

  Had slept like shit last night, tossing and turning with the thought of Salem in the room right next to me, that fiery wildcat who could so easily get under my skin.

  Apparently, the only thing it took was a hot-as-hades stranger standing wet in my living room to make me lose my mind. My rationale. My sense and reason.

  My purpose.

  So, I’d gone and done something so ridiculous as tell her I wanted to get to know her.

  Seriously fucked up.

  A chuckle of disbelief rolled up my throat as I studied the piece of metal on the worktable.

  What did I think? She was going to get to know me and be cool with who I was? And why the fuck had I even suggested it? Thought for a second that I wanted it?

  I knew firsthand it didn’t go down like that. The second I’d let it slip from my mouth, I’d known I was setting myself a trap. That it ran contrary to everything I knew. Everything I was striving for.

  But still, it’d been there, tangled in my guts—interest—and not just in that tight little body.

  At least the girl’d had a little sense and shot that shit down,
but still, it’d left me rattled, my dick hard and my brain mottled as I’d slunk away to my room, hoping by shutting myself behind my bedroom door, I might be able to shut off thoughts of her.

  Hardly.

  I’d finally given up when the sun breaking at the horizon had snatched the darkness from my room. I’d pulled on some clothes and made my way down to the shop.

  Had plenty to do, anyway, so it didn’t hurt to get a jump start on my day.

  Besides, Iron Ride was where I found my peace. Where I created beauty when my past life had created devastation.

  It was where I welded and sanded and painted and rebuilt. Brought back to life the worn and run-down. The dilapidated and decayed. Priceless gems left to rot in backyards and in forgotten lots. Cars and bikes that I would take back to bare bones, then restore them to a newfound glory.

  Art manifested of my hands.

  Dirty hands that I was doing my best to make clean.

  I got lost in it. Entranced in it.

  Ears full of the pounding, thrashing beat, I watched through my protective mask as fire scored through metal. Sparks flew and spit as I made the precision cut.

  I was hyper-focused, though somehow enthralled by the movements, like my soul had jumped in on the revelry.

  I heaved out the breath I’d been holding when the metal for the bike fender finally cut apart, the tension bound in my muscles draining away. I shut off the torch so I could study my handiwork. My finger covered by a leather glove glided over the cut.

  Ensuring perfection.

  Nothing less was tolerated in my shop.

  The only thing going out these doors was going to be spectacular.

  Awe-inspiring.

  I mean, fuck, I’d made old bikers weep when they’d come to claim their ride. If a man shed a tear or two when he saw his beast for the first time? That shit was a win.

  When I heard the rumble of a truck come into the lot, I tossed off my gloves and moved for the open bay where Brock eased in the tow. He pulled horizontal to the building before he put it into reverse and backed it in. He left the engine idling when he hopped out the driver’s door and came striding my way. “Yo, boss. This it?”

  His voice was pure speculation. Like I hadn’t given a specific description of the car and directions to where it was sitting.