Page 34 of Collide

The penthouse phone rings, and I bolt to the living room to answer it.

“Miss Montgomery, there’s a Mr. Sigurdsson here for you,” says Issac, the doorman.

Shit.

I quickly exhale. “Let him up.”

I try to catch my breath.

I’ve never been this jittery over a guy before. I sneak a last-minute check in the hallway mirror, running my fingers through my hair, my nerves dancing to the rhythm of my heart.

I hear the elevator ding, and take another deep breath.

There’s a soft knock on the door. I count to ten before opening it.

And there he is—the blond god himself. He’s towering in the doorway, looking impossibly striking in a black shirt, soft distressed jeans, and sneakers. His hair is slightly damp, and he’s wearing that sexy grin I’ve come to expect. In one hand, he’s got two paper bags, and in the other, a tray of drinks.

“Hi,” I murmur, feeling the heat rising to my face.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets me, and before I can process it, he plants a soft peck on each of my cheeks. His scent—a mix of citrus and the ocean—wraps around me, making my heart race.

Beautiful.

He thinksI’mbeautiful.

“Nice home,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“Thanks,” I mutter, trying not to sound too flustered. “It’s, um, my sister’s and her fiancé’s. She’s got great taste.” My words stumble out a little.

Is it weird to feel this nervous? Then again, I’ve never actually done this before.

His eyes trail over me, then drop to my feet. They linger on my house slippers for a beat, then, without a word, he kicks off his shoes. That simple act—so casual, yet so deliberate—makes my heart race. I can’t help but feel a little giddy, like he’s playing along with some unspoken game between us.

His eyes briefly flick down to my lips and then my chest, lingering a moment longer than necessary before meeting mine again, a glint of something unreadable flashing in them. I feel…exposed.

I bite my lip, trying to ease the tension winding tight in my core. “Come this way.” I usher him into the kitchen. He follows me in silence, like it’s no big deal that he’s here, standing in my space. He places the items he’s brought on the kitchen counter.

“So,” I say, flashing him a cheeky grin as I sit on the stool beside him, “to what do I owe this impromptu visit?”

“I was in the neighborhood, thought you could use some breakfast,” he lies smoothly, his grin widening. He empties the contents of one paper bag, which has two wrapped bagel sandwiches, then picks up the other tumbler on the tray and hands it to me.

“I hope you like egg and cheese bagel sandwiches,” he offers, handing one to me.

“Thank you, this is really thoughtful of you,” I breathe, opening the wrapped sandwich.

Glancing at the red drink in my hand, I ask, “What is it?”

“Kiwi and strawberry,” he answers, casually leaning up against the counter, sipping his own drink. He looks so at ease, like he owns the place.

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m deathly allergic to strawberries,” I joke, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

His eyes widen in immediate panic, but before he can say anything, I take a sip and give him a wink.

Fruity.

I wonder if his lips would taste as sweet. I shake my head quickly, dismissing the thought before it lingers too long.

I’ll save that image for later, when it’s just me, my vibrator, and zero regrets.