Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

As soon as those thoughts coalesced, fear dragged her heart into her stomach. This had been a mistake. A really big, really amazing, really stupid mistake.

She squinted around the empty room. Their remnants of dinner were pushed off to the side, and Dylan had laid another blanket over her. Her clothes were still strewn around the room, but all Dylan’s clothes were gone. And judging by the silence in the house, Dylan was gone as well.

Based on everything he’d said and done last night, she had no doubt he’d be back soon. Probably with coffee. This was the perfect time to put space between them again.

She shouldn’t have stayed past that first round. She’d meant to have sex with him one time—one time—to quell her need, to prove the magic between them was only in her head, maybe even to find closure.

Not only hadn’t any of that happened, but she’d immediately turned into a junkie, unable to get enough. What she’d meant to be just sex had become something else entirely. It was like they’d been thrown back in time, before all the trauma. The passion still burned white-hot between them. He still made her feel adored. Cherished. Needed. And the sex. The sex was even better than she remembered. And she remembered one-of-a-kind ecstasy.

Which were all reasons to get her ass dressed and out of here.

Emma collected her clothes. She ached in places she’d forgotten existed. At least now she knew for sure her memories were true, not embellished fantasies.

“Sure,” she muttered. “That’ll keep your mind off him, Em.”

She called herself every type of stupid for believing she could keep things between them under control. That one time would be enough to finally close the door.

“Fucking Maizey.” Emma pulled her hair from the collar of her scrub top and wound it into a messy bun. She lifted her voice to mock her friend’s words. “They’re never as good as you remember. Trust me.”

It had taken her years to get over him the first time. How long would it take now, with these new memories so fresh?

Emma grabbed her keys and purse from the kitchen counter and rushed to the door. But the handle turned before she even touched it.

Emma’s heart flipped, and she took a step back.

Dylan’s gaze locked on hers, and his feet froze. He stood there, a carrier with two coffees in one hand, a pink box in the other. They stared at each other a long, awkward moment while a battle between desire and fear broke out inside her.

He quirked a smile, his eyes dark and sultry. “You weren’t just going to run out on me, were you?”

“That’s your MO, not mine.” She smoothed her hair down. “I have to get to work.”

One of his dark brows shot up. “You told me you didn’t have to work today.”

“No, I said I didn’t have to work until this afternoon.”

“Then we still have hours…” He closed the door, his grin growing. He reached out and smoothed his knuckles over her cheek, then let his hand slide around the back of her neck while pulling her a step closer.

“Nope.” The battle inside her turned into a war. “I’ve got things to do.”

Dylan slid the coffee and pastries onto the counter, then sidestepped, trapping her there as well. And, God, he smelled amazing. Like sweet, sultry, sweaty, scintillating sex. The scent of everything that stirred her insides into a boil.

He slid his arms around her waist and gave her those I-want-you-again and I-want-you-now eyes. Her body screamed hell, yes. Her mind warned don’t even think about it.

“You should stay and demo with me.” He dipped his head and kissed her. Rocked his hips against hers. “It’ll be fun. We can get all sweaty together.” He kissed her again. “Take lots of breaks.” He kissed her again. “A few power naps.”

“Uh-uh.” This wasn’t happening again. She pressed her hands to his chest, making room to turn out of his arms. “One-time thing, remember?”

He exhaled and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Emma.”

She got two steps toward the door before turning back. He smiled and opened his arms, but Emma only reached past him and grabbed one of the coffees along with the small pink box.

She offered a smile and a crisp “Thanks,” then hustled out the door.

But putting distance between herself and Dylan didn’t do anything to dim the memory of their first night together after eight years. She pulled to the curb at her apartment building but didn’t shut down the engine. She needed sleep, but she also knew her mind would run wild if she tried to catch a nap.

She closed her eyes and rubbed at the sting there. Dylan instantly appeared. His muscular body with all the scars. Yet not one made him any less attractive. His well-developed muscles stretched the skin, smoothing the puckers and making the burns look more like art than scars. They gave him a sexy edginess that matched the man he’d become. The compelling, intense, fascinating man he’d become.

When her mind tried to veer toward the idea of reconciliation, her heart skittered, searching for a place to hide. “Oh,” she moaned on an exhale. “I’m so fucked.”