Page 33 of Heat Lightning

That soft, needy part of me, the one I never thought I’d feel again, stirred deep inside. I remembered the way he’d hovered over me and held me down so easily.

And then I reminded myself that all of his restrained, gentle touches were intentional. He was dangerous. He could easily overpower me in a second if he wanted to.

He could hurt me if he wanted to.

It didn’t seem like that was his goal, though, if he were telling the truth. Plus, he’d already demonstrated he was far more willing to hurt people for me.

The thought made me burn.

Okay. Say he was right—we were tied through an artificial bond. That meant it wasn’t really attraction, or need—we didn’t know each other. We’d barely had a single conversation. I was merely responding to something I had no control over. That was all.

Yeah, right.

Who was I kidding? When I pictured his snarling masked face, there was fear, yes. But something else, too. It swirled alongside my terror and made my skin hot. I could do my best to tuck away the feelings I’d had during that forced heat, but I couldn’t completely hide from them.

And then a thought more dangerous than any I’d had before crossed my mind.

Would it be so bad to share a heat with him? Even if we knew it would end in a broken bond?

The juxtaposition of being held so tenderly by an alpha covered in the blood of the people who hurt me made an achy pulse bloom low in my belly.

Clearly, I needed to be sedated until I woke up with my head screwed on right.

But the image blended with something else—something darker, like crushed velvet. Something imagined in the deepest hours of the night, when the only company I kept was thoughts of him.

Masked fangs snarled down at me in the dim light while bright, intense blue eyes pinned me in place. He panted above me, his hands roaming all over my body, triumphant and tender.

Claiming. Owning. He would be the only one to ever touch me that way, and in exchange, he would ensure nothing ever hurt me again.

Sharp pricks zinged up my spine, and sweat beaded on my brow, almost like I was in⁠—

No. It couldn’t be. I rolled onto my side and told myself it was only the adrenaline.

It can’t be anything else, I thought with finality. It hadn’t been for almost two years.

My stomach was too flip-floppy to eat. Before turning the light off to go to sleep, though, I peered out at that house across the bay. There was no light to keep me company tonight.

Something about that had me reaching for my phone, pulling up the Masked Man’s texts, and hitting the call button before I could think it through.

Ring!

Ring!

Oh my God, what the fuck was I doing? Why was I calling him? Who turned a texting conversation into a phone call? Psychos, that’s who.

I threw myself onto my back. What would I even say when he picked up? “Oh, sorry. I thought I was calling to order a pizza.”

Be so for real.

Ring!

Wait, was he going to pick up? I hadn’t considered how embarrassing it would be if he ignored me. Oh my God, what if he didn’t want me to call him at all? What if he didn’t care? He’d seemed like he did, a little. Maybe. He’d broken into my home to talk to me, but now he wouldn’t even⁠—

“Hello, sweetheart,” that smooth, deep voice finally answered. His words were hushed, and crickets chirped in the background.

“Um. Hi.” Fucking hell, try to sound a bit more like a teenager with a crush next time. I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

He chuckled. “Miss me already?”