“Yeah.” I give him a thoughtless nod. I’m not listening, of course. I have no idea what he was saying or what we were even talking about. The only thing I can think about is how at twenty-eight years old I finally know what love is. I finally know what it is.
“What’s going on in there?” He pulls me up against him and rubs his thumb up against my temple with concerned eyes. I suck in a deep breath, and a shiver runs down my spine. Holy crap. I can’t react to him like this every time he touches me. I’ll never get anything done if I can’t get my shit together. It’s just, after all these months that he’s been coming by, teasing me, getting to know me, letting me get to know him, I can’t believe I didn’t feel this sooner. I can’t believe I took all those touches and smiles and moments for granted.
I’m an idiot.
I am an idiot.
“Talk to me,” he says, pulling my face in closer to his. “And save the bullshit.”
I search his eyes, hoping to find some sense of what I should say. The truth is out, so maybe saying nothing at all is best. My eyes focus on his parted lips. In an instant, Diesel’s moved in. His hand is around the back of my neck, and his lips are on mine. This kiss is way hotter and way more intense than our first one just a little while ago. Normally I hate it when men try to dominate me. It always feels like they’re trying to prove something to themselves—that they can overpower me. And I always hate it because it doesn’t feel right. Except now—with Diesel—the way he takes my mouth feels not just right but perfect. I suck his bottom lip in between my teeth. He squeezes my neck harder than I expect and his eyes pop open. His mouth is gone and he stares at me with a look of pure primal need.
“Do that again and the only thing I’m going to be eating is you.”
Holy fuck.
Holy fuck.
I clear my throat and somehow manage a throaty, “Down boy.”
We pull apart. I stand beside him awkwardly, confident that my knees will fold if I try to walk right now. My heart is beating like crazy, my palms are sweaty, my knees are weak, and every muscle in my frame is alight with a delicious need for more of him.
“So, you’re chill with Chel being here?”
I feel my eyes widen in surprise—not because she’s here but because I totally forgot that she’s here. In fact, I kind of forgot what we were doing here until just now. Izzy’s birthday. Dead dad. Shitty big sister. Forgotten present.
Cake.
“She better keep her distance. She so much as looks at me wrong, all bets are off,” I say firmly. “She shouldn’t fucking be here.”
“Izzy begged Barbara to let her invite Xavier. Their showing up is not a surprise, and if Barbara can put her shit aside to make her daughter’s day a little brighter, then you can, too.”
“I’m not happy.” It’s the only thing I can get out right now. He’s right. Today isn’t about me and my issues, and if Barbara can deal with her dead husband’s whore hanging around and eating her cake, then I guess I can, too.
“I can deal with not happy,” he says.
I take a step forward, toward the party when Diesel reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. I like this a lot. I’m not his dirty little secret, and I’m not his whore at the club. I’m the girl he takes to kids’ birthday parties.
And he holds my hand.
It’s official.
I’m that woman I hate. I’m that woman who gushes about stupid shit. The one who walks around with a dumbass smile on her face. This phase better pass soon, or I’m going to have zero self-respect before I even get a chance to take him to bed.
“You look pretty happy to me,” Diesel says in a teasing tone. I wipe the stupid smile from my face and roll my eyes. I open my mouth to tell him to shut up when my cell rings from my back pocket. It’s the generic ring tone again. Reluctantly, I pull away and shoot Diesel an apologetic glance as I grab my cell and swipe my finger across the touch screen to answer the call.
“You got Elle.”
Angry, labored breaths sound in my ear, and just when I’m about to hang up, the person on the other end clears their throat.
“I got a fifty that says I’m the last person you expected to hear from.” The deep Midwestern twang of his voice gives him away. It’s Rig.
“You got a lot of balls calling me,” I say. What the actual fuck is he doing calling me? I’ve been on his trail for months now. I’ve had all but two leads that turned into dead ends since I took the case back in May. Amber may be my official client, but I have my suspicions that it’s someone much higher up the Forsaken food chain who put her up to it. She had info on Rig that I doubt she could have gotten on her own—whether she’d been sleeping with him for years or not.