Page 36 of Burning Daylight
I gesture toward the open doorway, giving her space to step inside. But she doesn’t move. She just looks at me, andfuck, she’s so goddamn pretty it hurts.
Leaning in, I bring my mouth a hairsbreadth away from her ear, close enough to feel her breath stutter.
“That,” I murmur, “was me inviting you in.”
She smells like cinnamon and vanilla and something else. Something heady and warm and a little sultry. My mouth waters, wondering if that taste is artificial or if it’s something I could have on my tongue if I buried my head between her thighs.
“Oh, right,” she says. “Thanks.”
I move to the side to give her room to pass, and she slips through, the front of her body squeezing by mine.
Mybreath hitches now, and a slow burn sparks in the pit of my stomach, unfurling through me like a flame licking up my veins.
I follow her in silence as she makes her way through the small, narrow kitchen off the front door, past the tiny bathroom to the right, and into the main area of my studio apartment.
There’s a TV mounted a little crooked on the wall, a rectangular coffee table I found on the curb last year, and a small blue couch that probably predates both of us. Next to all of that is my bed in the corner, although really, it’s just a mattress with a simple bedframe.
She stops in the middle of the room, taking everything in with a tilt of her head.
Like she’s sizing it up.
And for some reason, that makes my stomach tangle and my chest squeeze.
If she really is Juliette Calloway, this apartment must look like a shoebox to her. The feeling of not being enough chokes me by the neck.
“It’s not much,” I mutter.
She turns, and then she smiles.Reallysmiles. The sight of it steals the breath straight from my lungs.
“It’s perfect,” she says.
“Okay, what’s up with you?”
Her brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“You’re being weirdly nice.” I squint. “Is this a setup?Areyou here to kill me? Be honest. I deserve the chance to defend myself.”
“I’m not, I swear.” She chuckles. “This place just feels soyou, it’s painful.”
“Coming from a girl who insists we don’t know each other, that’s either very creepy or very flattering.”
She shrugs, smirking. “It feels, I don’t know, homey. Like Sleepytime tea or something.”
I stare at her.
“Did you just compare me to a drink that puts people to sleep? Are you calling me boring?” I look around the space, attempting to see it from her eyes. “Am I boring?”
Her lips twitch. “I meant it as a compliment.”
I take a slow step toward her, and then another. “Okay. But if you think I’m boring, I’m more than happy to prove you wrong.”
Her smile fades, and the lightheartedness of our conversation evaporates like water, something heady taking its place.
“What are you doing here, Little Rose?” I ask, my voice a low murmur.
“I don’t…I don’t know,” she stutters. And then, “What did you call me?”
Tilting my head, I lift my hand until the back of it ghosts across her jaw and then down the sleek line of her neck. Not touching…butalmost.
