Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

He handed me back my phone, and I took it with numb fingers.

"You think they missed on purpose?" I asked when I could seem to make my mouth move to form the words.

"They absolutely missed on purpose," he said, giving me a nod as he reversed out of the spot, then swung the car in a nauseating turn, heading off in the direction of my apartment.

Except he didn't go right there.

No.

He went up and down streets, going up from behind it, then pulling into the lot.

We sat there, engine cut, for a long moment.

"Do you, ah, want to come up?" I asked, thinking of the pile of sweaters on the table inside the door, the broken cup, and uncleaned-up coffee on my floor, but deciding I didn't care. I still wanted him to come up.

"I'd like to check things out," he agreed, reaching for his door as I did mine.

"Sorry," I said as I struggled with the five, yes, five, locks on my door. Put there by Tig, Kenzi's man, after he realized that Paine bought them for us, but we had never gotten around to installing them. "Overprotective men in my family," I added a little self-consciously as I pushed the door open, and reached in for the light.

"So, am I going to find books in the cabinets and freezer, and crammed three deep on each shelf?"

The sad thing was, yes. I had totally found a book in my kitchen cupboard a time or three without having any idea how it got there. The freezer, though, that was simply unacceptable.

"You weren't kidding about the coffee cup," he said from a few feet inside as I pushed the door closed, then moved toward him.

My back pressed into the island as I tried to take his attention off the mess. "I was, um, surprised."

His head raised, eyes unfathomable, deep, intense, as he took a step forward, closing the space between us.

His hand raised, whispering across my cheek to settle on my neck just below my ear. "You were worried about me."

It wasn't exactly a question, but I answered anyway.

"Yes."

His finger brushed down the back of my neck slightly.

"Had a conversation after I left you last night with my brother."

"Oh?" I asked when he paused, not able to make anything more substantial form in my brain that was full of thoughts of how close he was, how good he smelled, how the look in his eyes was making my belly flutter.

"He told me that I needed to make things more clear to you."

"What things?" And why was my voice so airy?

"About my intentions."

Was he purposely dragging this out?

Or was that my imagination?

"What intentions?" I asked, the sound barely above a whisper.

"These intentions," he declared as his hand tipped my head up further, as his head lowered.

His lips sealed over mine, and this time, the shiver wasn't just inside, it racked through my whole body, producing a hard shudder as a whimpering sound escaped me.

It wasn't fireworks.

That was how the books described it.

And maybe for some couples, that was it.

But this wasn't that.

This was something deeper, something that seemed to take root, and spread outward, something that branched out until I felt it all the way through my body.

It was right.

It was so, so right.

Nothing had ever felt more right.

His hand slid behind my neck as his other arm went around my lower back, pulling me against his body as his lips deepened the kiss.

Tingly.

My entire body went tingly.

I could barely even feel it when my arms raised, going behind his back and curling into his shoulders, holding on, begging for it never to end.

I wanted to feel his beard brushing over my face, his lip claiming mine, his hands on my body, his tongue teasing outward to toy with mine to go on forever.

I wanted more.

So much more.

"Okay," he said, pulling away suddenly, resting his forehead to mine. "We have to stop."

My body pressed further into his, my face turning to press a kiss under his chin. "No, we don't."

There was a low, rumbling sound in his chest in response to that, something that moved through him, and into me, further melting my already liquid insides.

His head lifted, his hooded eyes looking down at mine.

"Slow, baby. We're taking this slow."

There it was, that fluttering thing.

I had felt it when reading a perfect hero in a book too. But that paled in comparison to feeling it in response to your own, real-life, flesh-and-bone man.

"And in case that wasn't clear enough, Ree," he said, smiling at me as his thumb moved out to stroke over the apple of my cheek. "This thing between you and me, I think it's safe to say it isn't friendship anymore."

"I don't usually let my friends make out with me," I said lamely, making his smile spread across his face, stretching wide enough to cause little crinkles to appear beside his seaglass eyes.