Page 11 of Riot

I rap my knuckles on the huge door and wait. I expect one of her staff, but instead, she opens the door. Her hair is mussed and loose, and she’s in nothing but a silk robe. I almost swallow my tongue. Her dark eyes narrow in annoyance before flaring as she gawks at me, her pretty pink lips parting.

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s been too long.” Using her stunned shock to my advantage, I step past her, making sure to drag myself along her body despite the big doorway. I almost groan when I inhale her scent. I want to drown in it, but instead, I invade her house. Hers is a little different than mine, done in all beiges, grays, and blacks. It’s modern, traditional, beautiful, and also ice cold, just like her.

I love it.

I stop in the kitchen, smirking at the flowers lined up on the windowsill—my flowers. I wondered what she did with them.

“What—” She hurries after me, and I turn. Her eyes are narrowed in anger and her hands are propped on her hips, parting the robe to reveal delicious, pale skin. I cut off her rant by thrusting the flower at her. “Two a day now,” I inform her, “since we are meeting again. Trust me, sweetheart, you are going to need some bigger bouquets for how much I plan to see you.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kage? You can’t just barge into my house!” She snatches the flower, throwing it to the side. The fury in her gaze turns me on.

“You remembered my name, good.” It makes me insanely happy to know that. I sign it on every card. I know my girl has a tendency to ignore names, so the fact that she memorized mine? Yes, I’m almost gloating.

“It’s hard to forget it when these flowers turn up every day and now you. What’s your problem?” she hisses.

“I told you . . .” I step closer, and she doesn’t back down, even as she tips her head back to meet my gaze. My boots touch her bare toes, and I notice they are fucking cute as shit. She even has a little flower toe ring that makes my cock way too hard. “. . . I’ll wait. Well, I’m done waiting. Your husband is an ex, and I gave you a year to get over it.”

“Oh wow, thank you, a whole year to get over my husband cheating?—”

I grip her chin, and she freezes, her eyes widening. I’m betting no one manhandles Fallon and lives to tell about it. Shit, her neck would look so good with my bruises. “A year to forget the idiot who let you go—one you never truly loved. I was more than generous.”

“You really are insane,” she whispers. Hearing those words on her delicious lips makes my heart skip a beat, like she just whispered dirty nothings to me.

“You make me that way,” I murmur, dragging my thumb over her plump bottom lip, obsessed with its fullness.

“Ms. Fallon, shall I call security?” a worried voice interrupts.

Her nostrils flare. “No, I can handle this.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. You can handle me.” My hand drifts up, and I wrap a stray lock of her shiny black hair around my thick finger. She slaps it away, but I just grin.

“Get out of my house, Kage,” she demands, seeming to remember herself.

“Okay, I just came to see if you needed a plus one to the red-carpet event tonight.”

She points at the front door, and I walk by her side. My eyes sweep over her, drinking her in since the pictures I have from online and my PI don’t do her justice. “It’s for the new movie Friction, right?”

She frowns. “How do you know?”

“I was invited too, mainly because I asked, but I’d rather go as your plus one. It’s your night and your songs.” I grin as I step closer again, brushing her hair behind her ear, letting the silk run through my rough fingers when I want to fist it. “Let me know. I can be ready in a moment. I’ll be waiting.”

“I have a date,” she snaps as I turn and step outside.

“Sure, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m just next door if you need me.”

“Wait, what?” she calls from the open door.

I feel her gaze on me as I casually hop her wall and wave from my front door.

I hear her door slam and grin.

Game on, sweetheart.

I wait all day. I shave and shower, and I style my hair and debate on my scent before remembering the way her eyes dilated at the awards show, so I go with the same one. I bought it in bulk just in case. I slip into a nontraditional suit. She might want the perfect arm candy, or so she thinks, but deep down, I know she doesn’t.

My ice queen wants someone to shake her up. She wants someone to defy her.

The black jacket I have on ends just before my waist, one side higher than the other. Two gold buttons are perfectly placed in the deep V. The other side is longer, hanging down to just above my crotch, and more of the fabric wraps across my chest with a golden buckle at my side. The sleeves are wide but expose my tattooed hands. My slacks are decorated with gold buckles all down the sides and they flare wide. Since I know she’s wearing gold, I wanted to match. I don’t wear a shirt underneath, adding my flower necklace—the same flower I give her every day.

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