Page 1 of Restore Me

Prologue

Then

She smelled like heaven.

A fruity, floral cocktail that swirled in the late August air around her and carried the heady mixture straight into his nostrils. Flooding his senses until everything in his world was her. The sway of her hips. The graceful curve of her neck. The curly black strands that grazed her shoulders, brushing over golden skin, caressing her in places his fingers longed to touch. He couldn’t help but think that was how she wanted it. His entire being awestruck, his soul stunned into silence while she imprinted herself on his skin with her very existence.

Why else would she have come out here?

To the back porch of the frat house where he was the sole occupant. He was the only person who needed a break from the music pounding through the speakers, the stench of alcohol he wouldn’t drink seeping into his lungs, the overwhelming swell of people packed into the living room turned dance floor, trying to enjoy the first party of the year.

It seemed every person who’d opted to move onto New Haven University’s campus early had come out to party, but he had only come out here to get away from her.

To make sense of the magnetic pull that locked into place the moment their eyes met. She had just walked in and was surveying the crowd, and he—well, all he could see was her. The face of an angel with a body made for sin. She was even wearing white. A mini dress that hugged all of her curves and was probably what caught his attention in the first place. And now he knew she didn’t just look like an angel, she smelled like one too.

After working the room with her friends, and sparking the most irrational flares of jealousy in him every time she danced with someone else, she was now standing in front of him. One hand on her hip and the other holding a cup he knew was filled with the same mixture of Jack and Coke she’d been drinking all night.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

The sweet notes of her perfume or shampoo mixed with the smoky flavor of the liquor on her breath. Even though he never drank, he didn’t mind the smell on her. His stomach wasn’t turning the way it usually did when he smelled alcohol. And before he could delve any deeper into what that meant, or respond to her perplexing statement, she sauntered over and perched herself on his lap.

He couldn’t help the surprised grunt that escaped his throat when her weight settled against him. She wasn’t heavy. He was just caught off guard by how right it felt to have her body against his. The soft curve of her ass nestled against the hard muscles in his thighs. The slight brush of her curls against his bicep when his arm came up to rest against her back. Her eyes were wide and a bit glazed over as she blessed him with a smile. She was buzzed but still very much aware of what was going on around her.

“Why?”

She blinked slowly, pupils dilating as the sound of his voice washed over her and heat crept up in her cheeks. He studied her. Fascinated by the sight of someone being so affected by so little of him. If she was this responsive to his voice, he couldn’t help but wonder how she would be underneath him or with his face buried between her thighs….

“You look like trouble, and that’s exactly what I need to get into.”

Her words interrupted his train of thought, startling him with their honesty. She called him trouble. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that about him. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time a girl had sat on his lap and admitted to being drawn to his darkness—that ugly, twisted part of him crafted by years of abuse and neglect at the hands of a narcissist—but it was the first time he’d ever felt like the person asking to dance with his shadows had some of their own.

His eyes roved over her face, and she held still, serenity lining her delicate features as he confirmed the presence of his twin flame dancing behind the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. And he was caught between the burning need to hold her to him and never let go, and the raging desire to find the person who shaped her darkness and destroy them with his bare hands.

In the end, he knew his choice was simple. He curled his arm around her waist, pulling her deeper into himself.

She smiled and tossed back the rest of her drink. “Well, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Trouble.”

“That depends, angel.”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to let the nickname slip. He didn’t even know her real name, so it was strange to already be giving her one. There was something overly familiar and possessive in his tone that should have scared them both, but he could only think about how right the word felt on his tongue and how pleased she looked when he said it.

She bit her lip. “On?”

“What kind of trouble you’re looking for.”

In an instant, the dark flame in her eyes started to burn brighter, calling to the fire that was always ablaze inside of him and daring him to come and burn the world down with her. His breath caught, and he knew at that moment it didn’t matter what kind of trouble she was looking for because he’d be it.

He’d be whatever she needed him to be.

.

4

Sloane

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