God, I was bad as one of those silly human girls in a paranormal novel lusting after the vampire who fucked and sucked her so good she couldn't think of anything else.
But I was an independent woman, dammit. One who—
A knock on my door pounded through my thoughts, thankfully cutting off my own internal defense of myself when I knew I was as hopeless as they come.
I swung open the door, expecting to see our normal Amazon delivery girl, and instead, my breath caught in my throat.
Because this wasn't my Prime order of the egg maker I didn't need, but Hendrix fucking Malone. Standing there looking so goddamn good in a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged every inch of his muscled body.
I narrowed my gaze at him, terrified to be the one to speak first despite him being the one that showed up on my doorstep. Or had I gone so far around the bend that I’d manifested him here? Conjured him up out of thin air with my ridiculous need to capture that feeling again. That sparking electric fire feeling that only ignited when he was touching me.
Was it so bad? To want to hold onto that feeling with both hands, regardless of who it was attached to.
We stared at each other, the silence eating up the space between us, charged like a stick of sparking dynamite.
I didn't know if we were about to fight or fuck. And I hated to admit that I prayed for a little of both.
Still, I waited, intent on holding this little bit of power. And I cocked an eyebrow at him when he seemed content to just stand in my doorway and drink his fill of my body with his eyes.
I darted my tongue out to wet my lips, my mouth suddenly dry, and he tracked the movement like with a charged gaze that promised pleasure if I simply gave an inch.
A thrill of heat rush through me, but I didn’t say a word.
He smirked, glancing over his shoulder before returning his crushing blue gaze to mine. "How about we make it one week?"
The breath in my lungs skittered, stuttered, and despite my brain, my heart, and my body shouting hell to the yes, I arched my eyebrows at him. "This week is already four days over," I countered, popping my hip out.
He tracked that movement too, just as he tracked the submission when I stepped out of the entryway and silently gestured him inside. He slowly walked by me, his scent so much more intoxicating and powerful as he slipped by and stopped in the middle of my living room.
I shut the door behind him.
Then I locked it for good measure.
"Well," he said, spinning to face me after scanning the interior of my apartment. "We better make these last three days count."
Those may have been the most beautiful words I'd ever heard, but I couldn't give Hendrix Malone the satisfaction. So, instead of running and launching myself toward his perfect body, I confidently walked into our kitchen and pretended to look for something to drink in the fridge.
Turning my back on him felt like turning my back on a beautiful exotic animal, and my focus narrowed not to what was in front of me, but what I could feel when he followed me—like flames licking my skin, a deep, rising ache pulsing and sparking and climbing until I could barely breathe.
"Who says I want to make the best of it?" I asked, a slight tease to my voice. My heart was beating so hard against my chest, I was sure he could hear it. Sure he could see through my bravado and straight to the parts of me that trembled in his presence.
I pulled out two sparkling waters, and set them on the counter next to me, closing the fridge as I turned around. I didn't jump at his nearness—not when I’d felt him follow me in here. Felt the heat from his body as if it was reverberating under my own skin. Instead, I calmly leaned against my kitchen counter and slid the water toward him.
He wrapped his fingers around the cold glass bottle and clinked it against the one in my hand. "Do you not?" he asked and took a quick sip.
I’d be lying if I said I didn't delight in the slight hint of worry laced in his words. Hendrix Malone, panty-dropper playboy and Hollywood-extraordinaire was worried I didn't want another taste? Like I hadn’t been craving him since the second I left his house?
I shrugged and brought my bottle to my lips, wrapping them around the rim a little suggestively. Fire blazed in his eyes at the little stunt, and it only did more to rev up the tension curling in my body.
Hendrix smiled as if he saw something in my eyes that I hadn't meant to show. He gave me a shrug of his own and set his half-drunk bottle on the counter next to me. His strong muscled arm grazed mine just slightly with the motion. But then he took a step back, hands shoved effortlessly in his pockets as he headed toward my door. "Well, I know when I'm not wanted. Didn't mean to bother you."