Page 66 of Graves

What Luke did in the end was humiliating. He made me feel like nothing. Aran whispered words in my ear, flooding my veins with a cold, intoxicating rush. A tingling that triggers my craving for more. More touches, more tenderness, more sex.

When I realize my longing is aimed at Aran and my hand has unconsciously slipped between my legs, I let out an annoyed groan and roll onto my other side again.

Why does the guy have to be so attractive?

With those sapphire-blue eyes, messy hair, and that lean, sexy body.

God! On stage, he showed he knows exactly how to use his assets. He even turned Nahla’s head. She stood there with her mouth open, unable to look away.

And this man tells me how hot he finds me?

I don’t understand the world anymore as I rub the sleep from my eyes.

Do I really need it that badly?

Nahla would nod with a knowing look.

I strain to reach for my phone. It’s already nine-thirty, and I’m surprised I slept almost eleven hours. My body feels like stone, every muscle tired, every thought slow and heavy.

Luckily, I scheduled the dog walks for the afternoon. There’s no way I could have handled them this morning.

Speaking of dogs…

Pixie is usually curled up on the pillow beside me. She would have woken me long ago because she needs to go out, but there’s no sign of the Yorkie.

My door is cracked open.

Did I forget to close it last night?

I slip into sweatpants and shuffle out of the room. The apartment is quiet and I’m still not fully awake. On autopilot, I head to the coffee machine and switch it on.

Pixie is nowhere to be seen. The terrace door is open, but she’s not lying out there in the sun either.

A soft sound comes from Aran’s hallway, so I go check.

Normally, Aran is already gone by this time. Maybe he forgot to turn the music off, because that’s what I hear coming from the studio. To my surprise, it isn’t the metallic noise he obsessively tinkers with sometimes, but the soft jazz of a café.

Aran listens to jazz?

The studio door is ajar.

“Aran?” I hesitantly push the door wider.

The sight is unexpected.

Aran is lying on the leather couch in black jeans, a NOFX tee, and black Converse, knees slightly drawn up. Pixie is curled up on the pillow beside his head. Both are sound asleep and don’t notice me. Sunlight streams through the window, bathing the studio in soft white light.

I stand there transfixed and swallow hard.

They look so peaceful.

Pixie opens her eyes and sees me, making no move to leave her spot.

A smile crosses my face. Looks like someone hates dogs less than he wanted me to believe.

He probably has the day off, otherwise, Fox would have shown up already.

I stand there for a while, studying Aran’s face. I like the man—there’s no denying it anymore. Dark stubble shadows his chin, and I’m sure he’d look good with a three-day beard too.