The One

As if his eyes can see right through anything covering me. Embarrassment floods through me when I can’t stop thinking about what he’s packing behind his zipper.

My thoughts shock me. I’ve never honestly thought about what a guy’s cock would look like until right now, and I’m almost obsessed with the thought.

I may be one of the least experienced twenty-five year olds I know, but if I had the courage, I’d reach down and release the Kraken, just to see what magnificence he’s got down there.

When I meet his eyes again, desire buzzes through me. The way he looks at me is so different.

I’ve had men look at me before. I know what lust and desire look like.

This is different. I’ve never been looked at like this before. He looks almost angry.

No, not angry. Barbaric. Like a warrior ready to claim his spoils after a long-fought war. I’ve never encountered a man like this. The raw masculinity feels like it’s pulling me from down deep in my belly, drawing me to him and I’m powerless to resist.

And even if I had that power, I’d relinquish it in an instant just to be his.

“Can…” The words are difficult to say. Not only because my throat is raw from the smoke and the asthma attack, but because I can barely focus on anything but him. “…Can you hand me my purse?” Even now, the usual tension I have when I don’t check my phone is ticking at me. People I work with all over the world have come to accept that I’m available nearly twenty-four hours a day.

“Sure.” Van walks over to where he tossed my jacket and purse when we came in the room and brings me my Hermes bag. Used, of course.

I dig out my phone and scroll through my emails and texts, shooting off a couple of quick answers that feel more urgent before looking up to see an odd tightness come over his face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, sitting back down on the bed, his scent invading me again and making my belly flip. Close up, he feels bigger than he did downstairs. His chest is broader, shoulders wider like they could support stacks of bricks on each side.

The coarseness of his face is seductive, giving me a feeling that this man could protect what’s his from any invading force. I doubt he fears anything.

“Yep,” I answer and bury my phone back inside my purse, before setting it on the floor next to my bed.

“Boyfriend?” Van clears his throat and there a flash of fire in his eyes.

“No.” I shake my head, wanting to dismiss the notion quickly, despite myself. “Work. No boyfriend. Work is my boyfriend.” I struggle to hold back the bit of a smile I feel coming when I see relief in his eyes.

I think he’s jealous.

And I think I like it.

My body feels heavy. I don’t think I could move if I tried. There’s a hint of danger in his eyes, and I want to run, but at the same time, I want something else. To be closer to him. To touch him.

“You’re going to sleep in my bed tonight, Issi.” I start to protest, and he cuts me off. “That wasn’t a request. You’re not leaving. I’ll drive you home in the morning to get ready for the wedding, but you will stay here tonight.” The words rumble out of him and into me, making me shiver.

“It’s really okay. I’ve had worse attacks.”

“That’s nice.” He licks his lips, then sucks some air between his teeth, locking his elbows with his hands on each knee, which pushes his shoulders upward. He clears his throat, then caps any further protest I may have. “You try to leave, and I’ll chase you down. And in those shoes…” He glances down where my feet are under the blanket. “No way you are outrunning me.”

Seven

Van

I HAVE A CONTENTIOUS relationship with sleep.

Over the years, my body has adapted to the 24/7 life of my work. Rigs do not stop at five o’clock. They don’t take weekends off. I’ve worked every Christmas for eight years. If you are drilling, you are drilling until shit breaks or the job is done.

But, there’s always another job. Always another rig running. So for me, owning the company, if I manage a few hours a night—and not necessarily in a row—I’m good to go.

Now, it’s coming up on four am, and I haven’t even had the urge to shut my eyes. Instead, I’ve memorized every contour of her body. Every sound she makes in her sleep.

I’ve committed it all to memory because I need her to be part of me.

This is just the start.

She coughs in her sleep and my body tenses. After she was safe and comfortable last night, I ran down to my rental truck and grabbed my suitcase and laptop. I gave her one of my t-shirts to sleep in, and I’ve never seen anything sexier. Laying next to her is the hardest thing I’ve done in my life.