Page 120 of Rebel Revenge

I couldn’t take Sasha’s word over his. I couldn’t invade his privacy when he’d installed those locks so I could have mine. It just didn’t feel right.

After not listening to my instincts too much lately, I wasn’t making that mistake again.

If Kian had something to do with my mother’s death, I’d find out one way or another.

A knock at the door had me jumping a mile. I rushed to it and peered through the peephole.

Fang.

Exactly who I needed right now. I swear to God the man seemed to have a radar that must start pinging whenever I was feeling out of control.

Just him standing there on the other side of the door brought a calm feeling of safety that was intoxicating. I threw open the door and launched myself at the man.

He caught me with an oof of surprise. But he didn’t put me down. He dropped a bag at his feet and hefted me up higher in his arms so our faces were level.

“Hi,” I chirped at him, leaning in and brushing my lips over his, but then decided that wasn’t a satisfactory greeting and deepened the kiss, pressing my tongue against his lips and smiling to myself when he tightened his arms around me to accept it.

Finally, he pulled away and focused his gorgeous blue eyes on me. “Hi yourself. What did I do to deserve all that?”

I slid down his body to stand on my own two feet and picked up his bag for him, dragging it inside. “I just like you. You’re exactly who I wanted to see right now.”

“You’re always the one I want to see, Pix. Give me back that bag, it’s heavy.”

I flexed an arm at him. “I’m strong.”

“You are. But you’re also a pipsqueak, and I’m not letting you carry my shit. That’s my job. Give me the bag.”

I huffed at his indifference to my guns display. I thought I was starting to see a little more definition, thanks to Kian’s morning workouts, but maybe that was wishful thinking. I handed over the bag though, because there was no way he was going to let me carry his shit. I swear, the man would carry me around everywhere if I let him. I never lifted a finger if he was in a hundred-mile radius. It was odd after spending so much of my life taking care of someone else. I’d never had someone do it for me.

He followed me into the kitchen, surveying the mess I’d made. “I hope Kian isn’t home to see you destroying his kitchen.”

“It’s not destroyed. I’m baking.”

“There’s flour on every surface. And why is it so hot in here?” He unzipped his leather jacket.

I ran a finger through the light dusting of flour on the countertop. “I had the oven on…then I got distracted and went next door, and that became a longer conversation than I had expected, and when I got back the kitchen was nicely heated.”

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a kitchen chair. “You could bake a cake in here, even without putting it in the oven.”

The temperature likely had something to do with the thermostat I’d cranked up that morning when the house was chilly, but I burst into laughter before I could explain. “What is that?” I pointed at Fang’s chest.

The tight black T-shirt simply said, “Peter, Pumpkin Eater,” in bold orange text.

He gave me a wicked grin that immediately sent a jolt of lust through me. “There’s a matching pumpkin costume for you in my bag.”

“There is not.”

He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Open it and see for yourself.”

I was totally calling his bluff. I knelt at his feet and unzipped his duffel bag. I could barely contain myself when on top there legitimately was a bright-orange pumpkin outfit with a cute green Peter Pan collar. I took it out and shook it in his direction, laughter spilling over.

“Put it on.” His gaze raked over mine. “Let me eat you.”

I looked up at him. “You’re not serious?”

“Have I ever joked about going down on you before?”

Come to think of it, he hadn’t. “The guys will be home soon. We should go upstairs.”

---