Page 164 of Wild Thing
A smile tugs at the corner of his delicious mouth and I inhale sharply, nearly dropping my wine glass.
What the hell is he doing here? Miller’s Bay is at least a fifteen-hour drive from Grey’s Forest.
My mind spins as I straighten my spine, blinking hard, half-expecting him to disappear like a cruel trick of memory.
But he doesn’t disappear. This isn't an illusion.
He stands there for a few moments, waiting for a break in traffic before crossing the road.
Frozen, I watch him disappear from view beneath my balcony. My pulse pounds, loud and erratic.
Is he coming up here?
Turning, I walk inside my apartment, setting my wine glass on the counter. My eyes stay glued to the door, the seconds stretching out into what feels like hours.
I run my hands through my hair.
A minute passes. Then two.
Somewhere between the second and third minute, a soft knock echoes through the room.
And then another, firmer this time.
Rap, rap, rap.
I cross the room, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle and open the door.
Standing there in the doorway is Brax.
His wild, stormy eyes meet mine, burning with intensity. There’s hesitation there too, a flicker of vulnerability behind his confident stance, like he’s as nervous as I am.
“Hey, Wild Thing,” he says, his voice husky and warm. Hearing my nickname from his lips sends a wave of butterflies fluttering through my stomach. "Can I come in?"
I give my permission by opening the door wider. He steps inside, his gaze never leaving mine.
“You’re not an easy person to track down.”
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. “How did you find me?”
Smirking, he tilts his head to the side. “What do you think I’m doing here?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question.”
Brax takes my hand in his. I go with his flow, I'm fluid, like water. His fingers slide against mine, warm and familiar. “I came to see about a girl.”
My eyes drop to our hands, his tattooed fingers tracing the ring I wear. The motion sends a shiver through me.
Here he is, after everything.
He came for me.
“It’s been 164 days.”
I frown, confused. “Since what?”
In one swift motion, he releases my hand and presses me against the wall. His palm rests just above my head, fingers splayed. His other hand slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His body is solid and warm, exactly as I remember.
“Since I laid eyes on you,” he murmurs, his smoldering gaze dropping to my lips. “Since I touched you.”
