Page 25 of Erotic Temptations 2

He wore dark jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, sleeves hugging his biceps. He looked even better than two hours ago. Tall, relaxed, a little dangerous. Hair rumpled, mouth curved up at one side. The light caught his eyes, green-gold, bright enough to punch the air out of my lungs.

“Hey,” he said. That was it. Just hey. Very chill, as though I wasn’t standing in his hallway trembling with a plate heaped with cookies.

My only response was a dumb smile and a desperate urge to apologize for showing up. I didn’t.

Instead, I offered the plate. Some of the cookies had started to slide. “Mostly cookies. Maybe a minor chemical weapon in the ginger ones.” My hand was a little clammy, but I pretended it wasn’t.

Kane laughed, a low, warm sound I could feel all the way to my toes. “Good. I skipped breakfast, so this is perfect.” He took the plate right from my hands, fingers brushing mine. Warm, solid. He didn’t let go immediately, which did things to my insides.

“Come in,” he said, stepping back. “Unless you’ve got a cookie delivery service and you’re rushing off to the next address?”

I shrugged. “Not unless you want me to.”

“Not a chance.” He set the cookies on the console table by the wall, sweeping a set of keys and his phone aside to make room.

Stepping into his place was a shock. I’d pictured bare walls, boxes everywhere, maybe a ratty futon and beer cans. Instead, the apartment was nice. Actually nice-nice. Tasteful. The kitchen had granite counters. The living room held a broad, low-slung, chocolate-brown couch that looked criminally comfortable, a coffee table with books stacked up in neat piles, and a brushed-steel lamp in the corner glowing yellow against the gloom.

Boxes lined the walls, but they were labeled, stacked. Not chaos, just in-process.

Already, a Christmas tree stood by the window. Real, not plastic. Kane had strung it with tiny gold lights, nothing overdone but just enough to fill the corner with warmth.

Stockings hung from a makeshift hook on the wall, and someone had unpacked a set of moose-themed Christmas mugs.

The fresh pine smell surprised me.

I inhaled deep, lips parting.

A classic rock station buzzed softly from speakers somewhere down the hall, the kind of music that made you want to drive a muscle car through a thunderstorm.

I didn’t even try to hide my envy.

Kane caught me looking. “Trying to make it feel like a real place, you know?” His gaze flicked over me. “You want a drink? Coffee, Diet Coke, something stronger?”

Coffee was safe. I clung to it like a life raft. “Coffee’s perfect. Unless you want to up the ante with beer?”

He grinned. “I can do both, if you’re feeling bold.”

“Not that bold. I bruise easy.”

He padded to the kitchen, opening a drawer one-handed as I trailed after him, pretending I belonged anywhere near a countertop this clean.

After setting the cookies on the counter, he poured mugs with practiced ease, thumb along the rim. He offered me first pick then sat on a barstool, shoving a hand through his hair.

I tried to ignore the way he watched me over the edge of his mug.

“So,” I said, breaking the tension, “what’s the plan? Or do you just want someone to taste-test baked goods while you unpack your sock drawer?”

He gave a slow smile. “Bedroom’s the main issue,” he said. “Frame’s in pieces, mattress is living on the floor, and I’d like to stop tripping over my own shoes at three a.m.”

I sipped the coffee. Hot, strong, hint of cinnamon. “I’m not great with manual labor, but I do know how IKEA hex screws work,” I said. “My last boyfriend made me assemble all his furniture. I’m basically the queer Bob Vila of this building.”

Kane’s eyes sparkled, but he didn’t laugh this time. He simply gave a little head tilt, a tiny appraisal. “You’re more than you let on, aren’t you?”

Blood shot straight to my face.

Play it cool.

I shrugged. “If you mean, can I eat an entire spritz cookie in one bite, then, yes, I have hidden talents.”