Page 111 of Lethal Torture
“Stop trying to corrupt me.” Luke gives me a businesslike pat on the ass, which unfortunately has the opposite effect on my libido than he probably intends. I pause, trying not to give awaythe fact that I definitely wouldn’t argue if he just pushed me up against the wall right now. From the way his eyes darken, he’s definitely contemplating it. Then he sets his mouth in a resolute line and turns me firmly back toward the doors. “Nope,” he says cheerfully, steering me toward the kitchen. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you, Miss Melikov, definitely require high-stamina levels.”
I find myself laughing again.
It’s dangerous, the way he makes me laugh. Every time is like a crack in the protective layer I’ve spent years carefully constructing. Now he’s in my home, and I’m about to cook for him. The casual intimacy of the whole thing is oddly terrifying.
I turn toward the bedroom, suddenly desperate for a moment alone. “I need to change. Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll put the groceries away.” I can sense Luke’s amusement, but to my relief, he doesn’t follow me.
I shower, needing the reassurance of my own surroundings and scent.
What the fuck are you doing, Zin?
I prop my arms against the shower wall, taking deep breaths to calm my suddenly hammering heart.
It’s just a meal. Some business. And then it’s just sex.
Justsex?
Never has the wordjustbeen less appropriate.
There’s nothingjustabout sex with Luke. Sex with him is an all-consuming, mind-bending descent into some place I’ve never been before, with anyone.
Maybe that’s why having him here feels suddenly overwhelming.
But if I’m honest, everything about the past few days terrifies me.
Sex on the plane with Luke.
Inviting him to Spain just so Icouldhave sex with Luke.
Spending an entire afternoon having intimate girly chats for the first time in my entire life. With Darya Borovsky, of all people.
Even worse, actuallyenjoyingit.
To the point where I am seriously looking forward to seeing her again.
Darya texted me while I was on the way to the office this morning. It was a simple message, just:Go for it,plus a series of fire and eggplant emojis that actually made me laugh out loud.
I get out of the shower, wondering what I’m supposed to wear for both cookingandsex. It’s a novel problem. Darya would no doubt tell me to wear one of my sexy lace-edged confections, but if I’m honest, that just seems really impractical.
In the end I settle on soft gray sweatpants that roll over at the hips and a mint-green loose knit top that has a low V-neck.
I put the lace-edged stuff on beneath it, though.
Because regardless of my internal fears, I’m fairly sure that my clothes are coming off at some point tonight.
“Nice,” Luke calls to me from the kitchen. “Everything about these groceries is making me a happy man. Nice beer choice, by the way. Oh, and Australian red, too.”
Somehow, his familiar, easy tone takes away the tension, and I open the door, smiling.
“Damn, girl. You might actually know how to cook.” He has his back turned to me as he pulls out the ingredients and stacks them in the fridge.
“And you need to get your ass out of my kitchen.”
He turns around, grinning. “Yes, ma’am.” His eyes run over me, lingering on the low V of my top in a way that sends a shiver of delight through me. I choose a mellow acoustic playlist and put it through the speaker.
“I like your apartment,” he says, though he’s not looking at my apartment at all.
