Page 52 of Heated
Screw that, I am. What in his past taught him that silence was better than having his words twisted and used against him? Who did that to him? Who’d hurt him? Better question ...
Who I gotta fuck up?
Down, girl.
Shit, right. Not my business. And Cyrus is a big boy now. Way more than capable of fighting and winning his own battles.
Still doesn’t mean I don’t want to grease up, slick my hair back in a ponytail, and have somebody catch these hands ...
My mental sigh could part the Red Sea.
“It’s fine, Cyrus. We both didn’t have our best moments today. There’s something symmetrical in that.” I shake my head, giving him a small smile.
He studies me, and the heat that had ebbed to a simmer flares higher.Don’t you dare squirm,I order myself.Don’t you do it.I manage to remain still under that intense scrutiny, but my panties have given up the ghost, surrendering a humiliatingly easy defeat.
“What?” I breathe.
“I told you I know how to fuck women, and I do. I’ve fucked white women, Black women, Latina women. Thin women, plus-size women. Poor, wealthy—honestly, I don’t know or care, because when I’m inside them, I’m not questioning how many zeroes are in their bank accounts. It might make me sound like a dick, but sex comes easy to me ... dating does not. Which is why Val is the first woman I was in a serious relationship with, period. I can only imagine how ... weird that makes me look in your eyes. A thirty-three-year-old man involved in one relationship. But there it is. So when you asked me if I’ve ever been with a woman like you, what I should’ve said was no, I’ve never been with another woman like you, because thereisno other woman like you, Zora. I’ve never had a woman who is sexy as all fuck but is my friend, not my lover. You are a beautiful novelty.”
I know how to fuck a woman, Zora.
I’ve never had a woman who is sexy as all fuck but is my friend, not my lover. You are a beautiful novelty.
I can’t breathe. My lungs and heart—hell, all my organs—have gone on strike while my vagina has happily taken the reins. And she is throwing herself at Cyrus with all the zeal of a pagan sacrifice.
I’m in so much trouble.
Because nothing in me right now is Team Friends. As I stare into those eyes, drink in the rest of his masculine perfection, and willingly drown in it, I’m all Team Fuck a Woman.
Because Cyrus Hart thinks I’msexy as all fuck.
“Forgiven,” I whisper.
For another long tension-filled moment, he doesn’t move; then he stands, leans over me, grabs my plate, and hands it to me. Musclememory has me reaching for it, and the delicious aroma compels me to eat the first bite. When my dish is clean, he’s there to remove it from me and replace it with my entrée. We eat in companionable silence, one of my favorite Sherlock-influenced series on the television. The food is perfect, the show, though I’ve seen it several times, engrossing. And yet I can’t help but peek at the man sitting next to me.
His very aura is a distraction. Power and animal magnetism emanate from him like a force, and it brushes against my face, the skin exposed by my shirt, the soles of my bare feet. I once thought of how all that intensity that seemed to hum below his skin must be an aphrodisiac. To have all of it focused on a woman must be almost overwhelming. And I was correct. Though his gaze is centered on the TV, any time the food on my plate runs low or my wineglass needs refilling, he’s right there without missing a beat, fulfilling my need before I recognize it. It’s ... arousing. It’s comforting. It’s exactly what I described to him at lunch.
“You must be a serious Sherlock Holmes fan,” he says, taking my empty plate and switching it out for a smaller one with a slice of chocolate cake on it.
Damn. It’s enough to make me consider forgiving Miriam for selling me out for Lizzo. A moan works its way up my throat, but remembering Cyrus’s reaction last time, I lock it down. Although an imp I didn’t know existed inside me tries to cajole me into loosing it. I’m tempted, if only to see that hot flash in his eyes again ...
Giving my head a mental shake, I fork another piece into my mouth. That’s not me. I don’t think ...
“I am,” I say, waving my fork toward the television. “What’s not to love? A brilliant detective who solves crimes Scotland Yard can’t by deducing the details that most of us miss along with his faithful partner, Dr.Watson? I know some people aren’t fans of the recent versions and retellings of Sherlock, but I appreciate almost all of them. They reveal faceted personalities of the flawed man, just as we’re all flawed. And you have to imagine that a man who is so brilliant would have demons.There would be a price to pay for a mind that bright. So I love them all. Benedict Cumberbatch. Jonny Lee Miller. Robert Downey Jr.”
He shakes his head, reclaiming his seat on the couch. “My father was a Sherlock purist. It was Basil Rathbone or no one. He’d watch all his old movies over and over, and I never could understand why. I mean, after the first time, the mystery was no longer a mystery. But he’d laugh and tell me one day I’d understand.”
I smile at him. “And do you?”
His mouth curls at the corner. “Yeah, I do.”
“I got my love of Sherlock from my brother. I think Levi felt an affinity toward him. Logic. Deduction. Dependence on science and reason, not people.” I softly laugh, but it rubs my throat like old carpet. Scratchy, thin. “My father couldn’t stand the movies. Well, actually, he couldn’t pretty much stand anything Levi did. They were—are—like oil and water with a blowtorch set to it.”
“Maybe your parents thought he was too young for the subject matter?”
I jerk my attention back to him, not realizing until that moment that I’d been blindly staring over his shoulder, my mind in the distant past. My laugh this time grates my throat, leaving abrasions.
“Oh no. My mother might not have been overly fond of Sherlock, but she wouldn’t have agreed with my father. She purchased Levi every Sherlock movie and TV series DVD she could get her hands on. She even bought one of those deerstalker hats online just to irritate my dad. It was no longer about my brother but how they could use him to get back at each other. So then Levi and I pretended not to care about Sherlock. And we learned that whenever we had an interest in something to keep it from them, or it became fodder in their personal war.”
