The alarm sounds.
Normally I enjoy the gentle melody, but after sleeping for less than four hours, it’s not welcome. At all. Moaning, I throw out my hand, silencing the unwanted noise.
After sitting upright, I struggle with the covers before yanking them off, and freeze. “What the…?” Glancing down, I take in my sleepwear. Yesterday’s T-shirt—sans bra—and panties. That’s it.
That’s. Freaking. It.
“How on earth?” Crinkling my forehead, I cast my mind back to the night before. The memories are shrouded in a blanket of fog, but I’m determined to wade through and figure out the truth.
“Okay, so I hadn’t eaten,” I whisper to the empty room. “Zeke cooked dinner, there were pine nuts, I said something about the apartment, he got defensive, we stared at each other, went downstairs, recorded the guitar track, I was exhausted, and…” I bury my head in my hands. “Oh, crap. I fell asleep in the production room.”
Gasping, I raise my head, a heavy ball of dread in my stomach. “That means Zeke lifted me in his arms and held me against his chest as he carried me upstairs. He must have laid me down on the bed and undressed me before tucking me in and switching off the light.”
I gape at the thought. “Sweet Athena of Olympus.”
Frantically, I search the room. For what exactly, I’m not sure. The man whose shirt I probably drooled on? The guy who peeled the denim skirt off my hips while I snored?
Zeke saw me in my underwear, and they’re not even sexy. Yellow cotton briefs, for Hera’s sake; no one wants to see that shit. I groan. How will I ever face him now? It’ll be impossible to focus on music knowing he’s taken my bra off and laughed at my granny panties.
After checking my phone, I yelp. With no time to freak out over the many lines crossed last night, I stagger to the bathroom. After a record-breaking shower, I quickly dress and grab my bag. Feeling marginally better, I make my way to the garage, and after placing my belongings in the trunk, settle behind the wheel. It takes less than two minutes to realize I forgot to buy coolant yesterday.
“Dammit.”
Smoke billows from beneath the hood while the temperature gauge in my car hits critical levels. Switching off the engine, I slump back in my seat and stare at the peeling roof of my not-so-trusty Honda. It takes a few moments for the cogs in my brain to engage, but when they do, I nod, pleased with plan B. Scrambling from the car, I grab my bag from the trunk and rummage for my phone.
“What are you doing?”
With a squeal, I drop what’s in my hands and spin in the direction of the sound. Heart pounding, I clasp my chest. “Zeke, you scared the life out of….”
Yikes.
Pretty sure my eyes want to launch from my head. They want to rocket toward the god stepping through the doorway. Hell, I didn’t even know a doorway existed off the garage until this very second. He must have a gym through there; it’s the only explanation for why he’s so deliciously sweaty.
He’s wearing running shorts and a blue fitted T-shirt, and I will myself to keep my gaze trained on his face. It’s hard. Beads of perspiration trickle down the column of his neck, pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat. I have the sudden urge to taste the droplets, wondering if the salty beads will explode on my tongue.
I must have stared too long because Zeke steps closer, his voice low. “I said, what are you doing?”
Apart from imagining you naked? Not a damn thing.
After internally shaking my head, I look anywhere but at him. “I was about to head out, but my car,” I gesture to the smoking vehicle, “isn’t working.”
He takes in the Honda, and then me. I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. “Where were you going?”
“Bayside?” The word comes out as a question. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s the way his T-shirt is plastered to the ridges and valleys of his eight-pack. It’s unnerving. Disorientating. So freaking delectable I’m starved for a taste.
“Wait here,” he growls before striding to the elevator.
“Where are you going?”
“To have a shower.”
“Why would I wait for you to have a shower?”
“Because I’m driving you.”
Um, no.
Not wanting to appear rude, but definitely not wanting to be anywhere near the man who saw me comatose in my underwear, I call, “Zeke, don’t worry about it. I’ll call Drake, see if he can give me a lift.”
Zeke pauses, turns, then slowly saunters to where I’m standing. The air crackles with each step, a firestorm of sparking light interspersed with impenetrable darkness. Less than two feet away, he looks pointedly at me, the empty car space on my right, and then back at me again. “Drake’s not here.”
I glance around, flustered. “Oh. I’ll call an Uber then.”
He snorts. “It’ll cost more than a month’s rent to get to Bayside from here.” Large hands rest on narrow hips, drawing my gaze to the waistband of his shorts. Blinking, I avert my eyes.
Zeke shifts closer, swallowing the distance until there is nothing left but him, me, and a whole lot of mayhem in between. His hands clench and unclench by his sides, the knuckles flashing white, then pink. Realizing he isn’t going anywhere, I sigh, accepting the inevitable. My gaze travels up, up, up until our eyes meet. Damn, he’s gorgeous. Resolute, but gorgeous.
“Wait here,” he rumbles.
It’s difficult to suppress the shiver dancing down my spine. It’s impossible to ignore the nerve endings shimmying under my skin. And I blame my body’s haywire reaction on his sinfully low tenor. It’s commanding, deliberate, full of dark promise.
I lick my lips. “Promise we’ll be back in time?” The corner of my mouth tugs into what I’m hoping is a playful smile. “Don’t want my producer giving me hell for being late. He’s a real stickler for punctuality.”
The tiniest hint of a grin ghosts the corner of his lips. It’s more mesmerizing than the veins popping from his biceps. “Promise.”
“Okay, then.” I settle back against my car, exhaling a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “I’ll wait.”
With a nod, Zeke strides to the elevator, and a moment later he is gone.
“Oh, Wil,” I sigh. “First he feeds you, then puts you to bed, and now he’s offering you a lift.” Loose curls tumble about my face as I shake my head. “This isn’t good. He’s a better man than I gave him credit for.” Scrunching my eyes tight, I plead, “Ignore the chemistry. Ignore the goddamn chemistry. Nothing good will come of it if you don’t.”
In less than ten minutes he returns. The beep of his car alarm disarming startles me from my thoughts, and when I turn, it’s to acknowledge he looks even more edible than when he left. In dark jeans, a black-and-red check shirt, and more than enough muscles to fill both, there’s no denying Zeke is the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
His close-cropped hair is still damp from the shower, and that familiar pine scent mixed with something inherently Zeke is all-encompassing. I breathe it in, then pretend I didn’t, slowly making my way to his Dodge Challenger.
“Get in.”
Knowing there’s no other way to see Mom, I do as he says.
When the car door closes behind me, it suddenly dawns that being cocooned in a small space with Zeke isn’t the smartest idea. His strong thigh is separated from mine only by the console, his muscular arm brushes my elbow, and I could get high off his smell.
Turning to face the window, I push the button until it slides partway down. The cool breeze filtering through the small gap is exactly what I need to survive the drive, though part of me never wants to arrive at our destination. Not because I want to tease myself with the broody alpha beside me, but…. I stare down at my fingers.
Choosing to take my mind off the inevitable, and knowing it’s pointless to ignore what happened the night before, I decide to get the awkward conversation over with. Clearing my throat, I face Zeke. “Thank you for putting me to bed last night.”
He nods.
“It was a long day, and I swear I won’t make a habit of crashing on the couch in the production room.” I swallow. “Or forcing you to carry me upstairs.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens.
“Or—”
“Forget it.”
Athena be praised.
Shifting hair from my eyes, I peek at him from beneath my lashes. “Well, thank you.”
He accelerates through a corner.
We’re both quiet. Part of me wants to demand he turn the car around and go back to the studio; anything to avoid the look he’s going to give me in ten minutes’ time. However, I need to see Mom. Maybe she’s herself today? Maybe she’ll sprout some sass and laugh at my stupid crush on an emotionally unavailable, tempestuous man. She always enjoyed my love life disaster stories, especially the ones where unsuspecting dates ran scared—Drake and Reid were often to blame. Though something tells me if Zeke was interested in a woman, nothing and no one would deter him.
I sigh.
There’s no point in thinking about it, because Zeke and I are never going to happen. I’ve got a better chance of hooking up with Reid than I do Zeke, and he’s madly in love with my best friend. So yeah, pointless.
Staring out the window, I lose myself in the twisting road and blur of greenery as it flashes past at three times the speed of my poor Honda. I make a mental note to pull up my big girl granny panties and get over whatever attraction I have for the man sitting next to me. And buy coolant. Oh yes, I’m definitely going to buy coolant.
“Address?”
My gaze darts to Zeke’s profile. “Sorry?”
“What’s the address of the place we’re headed?”
I rattle off the details, a sense of foreboding looming over me.
He nods again, and we continue in silence. Before I even realize or have any hope of stalling the inescapable, we’re pulling into a familiar driveway. I cringe, noticing the myriad of potholes. Normally they don’t bother me; my car is so ancient the suspension barely works anyway. However, Zeke’s car is new, and beautiful, and so out of place I want to dig a hole and bury myself in it.
Slowing the vehicle to a crawl, Zeke dodges most of the ruts, though he isn’t as lucky with the weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement. I hope they don’t scratch the paintwork. After another agonizing minute, we pull into a vacant parking space next to a faded sign declaring “Bayside Assisted Care Facility: You’ll Never Want to Leave!”
I’m too embarrassed to make eye contact. Instead, I take in the overgrown shrubbery, the building’s rusty roof, the broken, dilapidated front door.
Grabbing my bag, I open the car door, mumbling, “Thanks for the lift. I’ll make my own way back.”
Zeke pins me with a glare, I can feel it. The intensity burns the back of my neck. When he doesn’t speak, I draw on the strength of Hercules and slowly face him.
Whiskey-colored eyes sear me, daring me to explain what we’re doing here. Raising my chin, I refuse to answer. There’s no point. I can’t think of words eloquent enough to capture the devastation of watching a loved one slowly slip into senility while housed in a ramshackle nursing home.
Zeke’s expression softens, not enough to appear kind, but enough to lessen the severity of his tightly knit eyebrows. His voice is low. “Give me your phone.”
“Please.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone please. Or better yet, please may I borrow your phone?”
His jaw ticks. I bite back a smile, relaxing for the first time since getting in the car. There’s something about sparring with Zeke. Trying to teach this argumentative man-mountain some manners is perversely enjoyable.
After a brief silence, he grits out, “Give me your phone, please.”
The gravelly tone transforms my body from calm to inferno in record time. Heat radiates from my center, making me wish for a cool breeze. However, trying to appear unaffected, I busy myself searching for the device. After locating it at the bottom of my bag, I pass it over.
With a furrowed brow, Zeke programs his number into my phone and calls himself. He then looks at me. “I’ve got shit to do in town. Call me when you’re finished and I’ll drive you back.”
I’m not going to call.
With a vague nod-slash-shrug, I reach across the console, wrapping my fingers around the cell.
Zeke won’t let go. Instead, he pins me with a stare. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
He pulls his arm back, drawing me closer. Not wanting to lose our battle of wills, I lean into him until our torsos align. My head is above his, my lips hovering close to his mouth as my breasts crush against his chest. My free hand grasps for something to hold on to. His thigh will do. It’s solid beneath my palm, the muscle tensing the moment I make contact.
“Call me when you’re finished,” he repeats.
“Please,” I breathe. “Call me when you’re finished please.”
A low rumble escapes from deep within his chest. Before I can blink, long fingers tangle in my auburn hair. The strands are pulled tight, so tight my head is forced back until our eyes clash.
“Please,” he growls.
Whoa.
His stare. His eyes. His intensity. It’s blinding. In the course of my twenty-two years, no one has ever regarded me with such abject hunger. It’s like he’s starving, yet knows one taste will be the cataclysm for chaos and ruin.
A fire erupts in my belly. My fingernails dig into his jeans. “Okay.”
“Good.” His gaze drops to my lips, his pupils dilating. “Now get out of my car.”
When Zeke releases my hair, I straighten, fumbling for my phone. It takes two tries to get my ass out of the seat, but eventually I’m in the fresh air, stumbling toward the derelict building.
I don’t look back.
Something tells me if I do, I’ll be lost.