Page 22 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)

It’s not much. But it’s warm and dry, and it has running water.”

As Lyric stepped into a studio apartment that was bare as a college dorm room before it was moved into, her heart was pounding like she’d run up the stairs instead of taken an elevator to the fourth floor.

“You’re very neat,” she remarked. And then wanted to smack herself in the head. “I mean—”

“When you don’t have much, it’s easy to be clean.”

“Yes, it is.” OMG, what was she saying. “Ah, how long have you been here?”

“A year.”

She looked over her shoulder. Dev was back by the door, at a coatrack that had been mounted on the white wall, and as he hung up the jacket she’d returned to him on the only vacant peg, she let her eyes go wherever they wanted on him—and what do you know, it was straight to his absolutely perfect—

“Ass?” he said as he turned around, his expression confused.

“I’m sorry?” Except then she did a two plus two on things. Had she really said that out loud? “Ass-tounding, I mean.”

“That I’ve been here for a year?” He raised a brow. “You’re a woman with a deep appreciation for the calendar, then.”

No, it was ass-tounding that she was allowed out of the house without a minder. Because clearly, she was insane. And also, this wasn’t her, this was not something she did, going to a male’s—a man’s —place alone, because…

Well, she wanted to have sex with the guy.

“Can we start over?” She unwrapped her scarf and took off the puffy jacket. Then glanced around for somewhere to put her things. “I was commenting on how neat everything was, and you were apologizing for things being not much.”

His eyes grew hooded. “And then I hung the jacket up… and you looked at my ass. Did it pass inspection?”

“Oh, my God.” She put her heated face in her hands. “Have I mentioned I’m terrible at this?”

The chuckle that came back at her was a low rumble. “I’m just giving you a hard time. And don’t feel bad. I suck at… whatever this is, too.”

“And yes, your ass is spectacular,” she muttered.

Now he laughed, good and properly, and she drank the sight of him in as the man arched back on his solid hips, his muscular legs flexing in their second-skin running tights, the hard cut of his chin raised.

So his throat was exposed.

The tingling in her fangs was sudden and strong, and as a blast of heat went through her body, the hunger to bite and suck and have him inside her was nearly overwhelming—

He righted his head. And then stilled as their eyes met.

Over day, she had been able to remember his face, but now that she was staring at it again in person? His rugged features and his dark hair and his arching brows were hitting her anew.

“Sorry,” she said as she walked—anywhere.

Oh, look. A window with a blackout drape.

Annnnnnnd here was another one. The apartment was a standard studio, with a galley kitchen running down one wall, and a door on the far side of the bed that had to be the bathroom.

The furnishings probably came with the place, she decided, as he didn’t seem like a man who would bother to think about decor, and yet everything matched, was neither too big nor too small, and worked off a pale pinewood and white accent vibe.

“Lyric.” When she stopped and turned back to him, he shook his head. “Don’t apologize for the way you just stared at me. Ever.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she said in a low voice.

“I don’t care. I want that. Whatever it is.”

Her fangs throbbed as they descended in the dental equivalent of a round of applause, and as she measured the span of his chest, the power in his legs, and the thick bulges of his biceps, she imagined herself stretched out on top of him, feeding from his vein.

She was pretty sure he could defend himself against her if she lost control and bit him.

But not completely sure.

And oh, yeah, the news flash that vampires were alive and well in Caldwell would be one hell of an icebreaker.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t have come after all,” she whispered.

He shook his head again on his way over to her. When they were nearly chest to breast, she had to tilt her head to keep meeting his eyes, and she was relieved by how much bigger than her he was—and that he worked construction as a job, so none of it was fat.

There had to be a good chance he’d be able to keep her from killing him—

Guilt over everything she wasn’t talking about made her take a step back. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever it is, you’re forgiven.”

“Are you always so reckless?” She tacked on, “Running into the street to arm-wrestle a billboard… being here alone with me.”

She expected some kind of he-man put-down at that, but only got a raised brow. And then his shrug was offhand, even as the statement that followed was not: “I’m not afraid of anything or anyone.”

So much confidence, and going by the size of him, she could well imagine he hadn’t yet met anybody he couldn’t beat.

Yet.

In the silence that followed, he took her parka and scarf and laid them out on top of the dresser.

“Now, about the food.” He went over to his shallow countertop where a tray with many bowls had been set. “My neighbor is determined to put me on a bulking diet.”

Lyric glanced at the door that led out into the hall and told herself to turn it into an exit. Except she didn’t really want to leave. She’d said she wanted to do something important.

And this felt… important.

He got some plates out of the cupboard. “So I was surprised to see you out there. And not just because I didn’t give you my address.”

“Do you think I’m a stalker?”

His eyes flashed over his shoulder, and she couldn’t read his expression. “Are you?”

“No, my granmah —my grandmother… told me to come over here tonight.”

“Did she.” He pivoted back to the food. “Why?”

Lyric opened her mouth. Closed it. “She thought it was unfair to keep your coat.”

“So, do you like Lebanese food?”

Oh, that was right, she’d been so flustered, she hadn’t answered earlier. “Ah, actually, I’ve never had it before.”

“Come over and take a look at Mrs. Aoun’s best efforts. She’s appointed herself my honorary grandmother.” When she hesitated, he drawled, “I don’t bite, you know.”

Well, that makes one of us , she thought.

But she went over to him and— “Oh, wow. That smells amazing.”

Dev started to peel the saran wrap off of the serving dishes. “She told me what it all was, but I think I’m just going to call it delicious.”

“For sure.”

The next thing she knew, they were sitting across from each other at his little two-top, full plates in front of them, cutlery ready to do the duty, a pair of mismatched beers uncapped.

“Cheers,” he said as he lifted his bottle.

She did the same with the one he’d given her. “Cheers.”

She didn’t try the Michelob, but the food—which they’d sent for a couple of carousel rides around in his microwave—was warm and tasty and fragrant, and the silence was…

Not comfortable. Not at all.

Every move he made was like a fishing lure for her instinct to feed, and she told herself she was going to leave as soon as she was done eating. God knew, she was still going to be hungry—

“So your grandmother told you to come find me and give me back my jacket?” He wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “That’s a bold directive from an older woman, but maybe I underestimate the elder generation.”

“She’s dying,” Lyric blurted.

As his fork paused on the way to his mouth, she sat back in defeat. “Look, I can’t get even close to light and flirtatious tonight—”

“Who said I’m looking for that.” He followed through with his bite, and finished chewing before tacking on, “Although I got to be honest, I’m not looking for anything.”

“That’s okay.” She told herself this was good. Just a short fling. A one-night, something-sexual to take the edge off. “I’m not either.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He shook his head slowly. “You definitely came here in search of something.”

As she flushed, he forked up some more of the absolutely gorgeous meat. “What’s happening with your grandmother?”

“Old age.” Lyric thought about falling asleep in that flowered bedroom, and had to wonder if it had been the last time. “She’s not ill in the disease sense—and that makes it harder in a way. She’s mentally still with us, but her body has just decided…”

“That it’s her time.”

“Yes.” She mostly kept the wobble out of her voice. “None of us want her to go, and I don’t think she’s ready, either. Whoa. Sorry, this is getting way too heavy—”

“Let me guess. She told you to come here and live a little while you can.”

Lyric searched his hard, compelling face. “Exactly.”

“Well.” He wiped his mouth again. “At the risk of overpromising, you’ve come to the right place. For a certain… kind of living.”

“Have I?” Lyric said in a husky way.

His eyes dropped to her mouth, and then went lower, to the V of her flannel shirt. As his lids dropped down, she knew he was imagining her naked. Maybe on her back on his bed. Maybe as he hovered over her, in between her legs.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied in a deep voice. “Most definitely.”

Dev was very sure that the food was as good as the last three times Mrs. Aoun had forced dinner on him, but he couldn’t say he was tasting anything much. The woman across the table from him was his sole focus, and if there was a way to look past or through her, he wasn’t interested in knowing it.

After she left tonight? That was when he was going to start searching for ways to forget her—and hey, in a way, he was paying that graft forward. If they fucked? Then he’d get her out of his system easier. No problem.

And on her part? No doubt she just wanted to live a little on the wild side, the classic pretty, rich princess slumming it with a manual laborer storyline. Perfect compatibility right there.

Both of them were scratching itches, and neither was personal.

“So this was really good,” she deflected as she put her fork down and pushed her plate off a little.

“Glad it’s not just me.” He put his last bite in his mouth. “About the food, that is. Good to know.”