Hell (Black Heart Romance)

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He nods toward the door. “Who did you think I was?”

“The pizza delivery guy.”

“I can’t tell you the last time I ate fresh pizza. I’m serious,” he insists when I shoot him a look. “Do I strike you as someone who has the local joint on speed dial?”

He has a point. And I get the feeling he’s inviting himself to share the pizza with me. Well, it’s too big for me to eat on my own, anyway.

There’s a knock on the door. We exchange a look. “I’ll get it for you. Just in case it’s another man looking to force his way in.” I’m glad he thinks this is hilarious. It’s my damn life he’s joking around about.

I should put the knife away, shouldn’t I? He hasn’t made a move beyond taking off his jacket. He hasn’t tried to touch me even once. And he did sound sincere when he apologized.

Why am I doing this? I don’t know, but I am. The knife goes in the drawer, and I grab napkins before joining Lucian on the sofa, where he’s opened the pizza box in the middle of the coffee table. “This smells incredible.” He sighs.

“Do you never eat pizza?”

“I tend to stick to healthier foods. But Greta still manages to keep it interesting for me.” Yes, I bet she would. I’ve missed her. “But every so often, I get a craving for extra cheese. It has to be the right kind of pizza, though. That’s the tricky part.”

“What’s the right kind of pizza?”

“Thin crust, but thick enough to have a little bit of bite to it. Puffy at the top, with those little heat blisters.” He points at a handful around the edge of our pizza. “This looks like a good one.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.” I take a slice and dab away some of the grease before taking a bite. Lucian, meanwhile, peels away a slice, folds it in half, and shoves almost half of it in his mouth all at once.

His eyes close. “Oh, my god. Bliss.” So kinky sex isn’t the only thing that makes him do that. Here I was, wondering what made him tick. It was pizza all along.

“Sometimes it’s good to let yourself go a little, huh?”

“No kidding. Fuck. I have half a mind to buy this place so I can have them deliver to me every day.” I bet he could do that, too. Though I keep that thought to myself.

This is too weird. Watching him act like a normal person, asking if there are any movies I’d like to see. He finds a random superhero movie, and I agree since it’s not like I’ll be paying much attention, anyway. We could watch the Weather Channel for all I care.

How am I supposed to pay attention to anything besides him sitting on the other side of the sofa? All I can do is wonder why he’s here and what he wants. Is he going to want to make a thing out of this? I don’t know how I feel about that. Sure, it’s good to have him with me, but that doesn’t mean this will be our new arrangement. His weekly pizza fix or something.

He glances my way after a few minutes. “Why don’t you come over here?”

See, I knew it. There had to be something else. “I don’t want to. I’m still not over what happened, and I told you that night that I don’t want you to touch me again.”

His eyes narrow for a second. “I only want to hold you. Nothing sexual.” When I scowl, he scowls back. “I think we both know I’d have taken you by now if that’s what I came for.”

I hate that he’s right. If he decided he wanted me, he’d get me. Even if I didn’t want him to.

I must be taking too much time making up my mind because his arm darts out and hooks around my waist before I can do anything about it. He doesn’t pull me to him, though, not exactly. I end up lying across his lap, facing the TV. “Did that hurt?” he asks. I choose not to answer.

No, it didn’t hurt. In fact, this isn’t bad at all. Now I know for sure I missed him. His nearness, the way he makes me feel safe—which doesn’t really make sense because he’s made me feel the exact opposite, too. Maybe he learned his lesson.

Either way, when he reaches out to stroke my hair, I don’t flinch away. I’m still not paying attention to the movie, but now it’s because his touch is so soothing. The scent of his cologne is nice, too. Years from now, I’ll smell that cologne somewhere, and I’ll think of him.

Nothing about his touch is demanding. It’s gentle, light, and the steady rhythm lulls me into deep relaxation. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well—no big surprise.