“Nuh, uh. You only want to see that so you can imagine sexy times. You’ll have to wait until those sexy times can actually happen before I demonstrate anything.”
He groans. “You have no idea how often I think about you.” The need I hear matches my own, and I squeeze my thighs together and say yet another prayer that his divorce hurries up.
“Okay, we need to move off this topic. What did you call for?”
“Are you free for dinner tonight? It’d just be a quick one during my break, which I know is not perfect, but I need to see you.”
“As in, you need to tell me something? Or, you just really, really want to see me?”
“As in, if you don’t get your ass over here tonight, this friends thing might get thrown out the damn window.”
Oh, boy.
That voice.
So gravelly and demanding.
Bossy Luke has reared his head. I’m starting to really like bossy Luke.
“What time?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll be there. I can stop and pick some dinner up on the way. What’s your favourite takeaway?”
“Chinese.”
“Ooh, I know an awesome Chinese place. I’ll grab their omelette and fried rice—they’re the best I’ve ever had.” I hesitate for a moment. “Unless you want something else.”
“No. I like everything, so whatever you get will be good.”
“Okay, well I’ll see you tonight.”
“Callie?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be late. I don’t want to waste a minute.”
Luke Hardy is trying to kill me. I know this for sure now. Soon I’ll have no heart left because he’ll own all the pieces.
My veins flow with lust from the minute I step foot inside Elixir that night, until long after I leave. And I begin to seriously doubt I can last much longer being with Luke without having him completely as mine.
His eyes track me as soon as he sees me. They don’t let go, and I send yet another prayer to the heavens. This one is for help with keeping my hands off him. The man is dressed for the killing season. And it’s not just me he’s killing. He has his own posse of admirers sitting at the bar staring at him with probably the same look I have on my face.
My steps falter a little as I take in the gorgeousness of this man. When I finally reach him, he’s moved from behind the bar to meet me, and his arm slides around my waist so he can pull me close.
“You okay?” he murmurs into my ear.
I can’t think straight. Between his appearance, his warm breath on my skin, his masculine scent and his goddamn hand on my ass, I think I might finally be going batshit crazy.
Pressing my hand against his chest to try to put some space between us, I mutter, “What the fuck are you wearing, anyway?” I nod at his black shirt. “What is that? And why do you feel it necessary to torment me with it?”
He looks down at his shirt and appears genuinely puzzled, but then again, he’s a male, and what do men know? Lifting his face back to mine, he says, “What’s wrong with it?”
I lift my brows, ready to go to battle. “Well, I think maybe it’s way too tight. And cottony. And it’s definitely too thin. I mean, for all the muscles I can see through its thin, cottony material, you may as well not have worn anything. And that V-neck button opening is bad for womankind. The way it’s just flapping open there, exposing that skin, is shameful. I do not need to be seeing that skin and that chest and—Jesus, Luke—those goddamn muscles. Put them away.”
Amusement has crept across his face, and I clench my hands by my side in an effort not to smack him. “Is there anything else you’re not happy with tonight?”