Page 54 of Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)

KINSLEY

After I stuff myself with turkey, green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes drenched in homemade gravy, my belly screams at me to stop. Scraping the last little bit off my plate, I can’t help but take one more bite. I lay down my fork in surrender. “Oh my God, I can’t breathe.”

Uncle Trey is leaning back in his seat, rubbing his stomach. “You and me both, kid.”

After a few minutes of resting, I start to clear the table. Uncle Trey gets up with me, reaching for the platter in the center of the table. The kitchen looks as if we cooked for twenty people, not two. The warm bread and roasted turkey don’t smell as good as they did about thirty minutes ago.

There’s a knock on the door as we put the food away and wash dishes.

“I got it.” Grabbing a dish towel, I wipe the soapsuds off my hands.

When I open it, Edge is standing on the porch. I’m not only confused but downright shocked. One hand is tucked into his pressed pants while the other hangs at his side, holding his keys.

“Hi,” I say. The simple word is like a loaded gun exploding in my head.What the hell is he doing here?

“Hey.” His tone is laced with nervous tension as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing or how he ended up on my doorstep.

Edge fidgets with his key ring. He looks completely out of his element. I narrow my eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just thought I’d stop by to say Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Um… thanks.” I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” There’s definitely more to why he just showed up on my doorstep. I want to push, but something in his vulnerable expression has me hesitating.

He stands there, shifting his attention from me to the ground. “Listen, you want to go for a ride or something?”

I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen.

The sound of pots and pans clattering together comes from inside the house.

“Maybe after I help my uncle clean up. There’s still a ton of dishes to wash.

And we haven’t had dessert yet.” I open the door wider for him to come in.

“You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

He spins the key ring around once. Twice. “Yeah, okay.”

He steps over the threshold. As he enters the small foyer, his face is a mask of confusion. When he looks off to the right into the living room, I can’t help but laugh, covering my mouth with my hand. He jerks his head in my direction.

“I’m sorry. You look like you’ve never been in a house this small, and you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.”

“Actually, I have, and I’m fine,” he assures me as a rare smile forms on his lips. “I’m just taking it all in.”

I nod. “Okay then.”

It seems like something is wrong, but maybe he’s just nervous.

That thought alone makes me want to laugh again.

Edge, nervous?If that’s the case, then something happened that he had no control over.

I haven’t known him very long, but control is the one thing he likes.

I would even go as far as to say he needs to have it at any cost.

“What’s that smell? It smells like a campfire.”

I spin away from him on my heels. “That would be the very toasted marshmallows on the sweet potatoes.” I lead the way into the kitchen. My uncle has his back to us. I point at the charred heap in the garbage. “That’s what you smell.”

Edge chuckles. “Your doing?”

I place my hands on my hips. “Actually, no. My uncle is responsible for charring the tiny puffs of sweetness.”

Uncle Trey turns around, soapsuds falling off his hands.

“Uncle Trey, this is Edge. Ledger Hunt, this is Trey Mitchell.” I toss the dish towel to my uncle.

He wipes his hands, then juts out his hand to Edge. “Hey, Edge. How’s it going? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

A while? Do they know each other? What in the actual…?

“Good. Happy Thanksgiving.” Edge’s posture seems to relax slightly.

“How’s your father? I assume he’s doing well.” There’s a slight edge to my uncle’s tone that wasn’t there before.

Edge nods. His voice tightens as he answers, “Yes, sir. He’s well.”

Sir? Who is this equally delicious replica of the Edge standing in my kitchen? I’m a million percent sure I stepped into a different realm. I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I hope I get to keep this Edge for a bit longer.

I break my awkward ogling and stupidly state the obvious. “We were just cleaning up from dinner.”

“Yeah, Kins isn’t the most organized cook.” Uncle Trey laughs and then tosses the dish towel back at me.

I catch it. “Hey! You helped make this mess, marshmallow murderer.”

My uncle looks around the kitchen and raises his hands in surrender. “I take full responsibility for that.” His wandering gaze lands on the flour-dusted countertop. “And that, since I made the apple pie.”

I toss the dishrag over my shoulder. “That you did, and it better be good since that’s my favorite.”

Uncle Trey nods in the direction of the dining room. “I got this. Why don’t you set out the dessert?”

“Sure, and I’ll start some coffee,” I say.

“I’d normally have some with dessert, but I’m enjoying this wine.” My uncle holds up his glass in a mock toast, then takes a sip.

“Want some help?” Edge asks.

Help? Something isn’t right. With my uncle’s focus on the dishes, I pull Edge into the other room. The second we’re out of sight and earshot, I ask, “Who are you?”

“What are you talking about?” His voice drops to a whisper-yell to match mine.

“You’re, like, being nice and polite.”

Wickedly, his full lips tilt up on one side. “And? Is that a crime?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It might be for Ledger Hunt.”

He laughs. “Not quite.”

His playful expression sobers as his gaze strolls down the length of my body. “You’re wearing a dress, so I could ask you the same question. Where’s my badass girl and her boots?”

My badass girl. I let his possessive words slide through the moment without comment. Their meaning and intent still warm my core. I glance down at the simple slim waist, short dress, and flats. “You’ve seen me in a dress before.”

Grasping my hand, he pulls me farther down the hallway.

Long shadows coat the walls, darkening the small space.

My dress rises as his hand glides up my bare thigh to settle on my hip.

The thin line of my panties is my only barrier against the warmth of his palm.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his throat.

He never takes his eyes off mine as he leans down to kiss me.

“Mine,” he whispers against my mouth. His lips barely brush mine.

Now, this control freak of a person is the Edge I know.

My body instantly reacts to the carnal need in his heated gaze.

Without hesitation, he crashes his mouth to mine.

His insatiable hunger is unmistakable with every swipe of his tongue.

Dominance intertwines with fevered passion as he claims me.

His hand tightens on my waist, threatening to bruise my skin.

This kiss is different than the other times.

This one is all-consuming, like the night chasing away the sun, the dark swallowing the light.

The swirl of his tongue around mine sends vibrations to every one of my cells.

His other arm curls around my lower back, pulling me to him until I’m firmly pressed against his hard body.

He clings to me as if he’s taking precisely what he needs to get him through to the next moment.

My hands follow the lines of his rigid muscles as I glide them up his arms until they settle around his neck.

He moans into my mouth. Tremors dance low in my belly even as he slows his rhythm.

Simmering heat leaves me dizzy as he breaks the kiss. Our breaths come out in low gasps as we try to catch our breath. I lower my hands to his waist.

He touches his forehead against mine. “I had to see you,” he confesses.

Those simple words have guilt stampeding over my complicated feelings for this man.

As I stand in the dimly lit hallway, fully content with being in Edge's arms, I can’t help but think that our possible beginning or our end is right under my fingertips.

Only a thin layer of fabric separates his innocence or his punishment.

Wanting to stop the torture this man is putting my heart through and needing to know the truth once and for all, I’m seconds away from asking him to lift his shirt to see his tattoo when my uncle calls out for me.

“Be right there,” I answer. I hate and cherish the relief I’m spared to still have the possibility of the truth.

Edge’s stormy eyes never stop penetrating me with need and desire.

I tilt my head when I notice more than the blazing heat in his stare.

There’s familiarity. I don’t want to see it, but it’s there.

In that tiny moment, a fraction of time, I realize that we are the same.

Like me, he has demons haunting him. My only question is if they’re as arresting and monstrous as mine.

“Kinsley…”

I wait for him to whisper more, but he doesn’t. He says only my name. Not Ninja, my name.

I trace my fingers over the smooth line of his jaw, lightly skimming his swollen lips with my thumb. His mouth parts. Soft, warm breaths curl around the tips of my fingers.

“What do you want?” I don’t know what possessed me to ask him such a personal or open-ended question. Maybe it’s the vulnerability I sense. It’s as if his walls are crumbling, and this is my only moment to claim a fragile truth.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You.” Delicately, he kisses the pad of my thumb. “Only you.”

My hand slides from his mouth, down his throat, to rest on his chest. The beating of his heart pulses against my palm.

His simple answer drives away the rest of my curiosity…

at least for tonight. I reach up onto my toes and tenderly kiss him.

I don’t give him a response. He doesn’t need or want one.

His naked truth of wanting me says everything.

Him being here is proof of that. Taking his hand in mine, I guide him back to the dining room.

The drive never happens. Edge seems happy just hanging out and eating apple pie and pumpkin pie with Uncle Trey and me.

The conversation is easy, and the company is nice.

He sits next to me at the table. His hand gently rests on my thigh.

He doesn’t try to move it. Fleeting hopes of him being naughty tease my imagination, but despite my cravings for his touch, he stays respectful with my uncle sitting directly across from us.

He and my uncle seem to be more familiar with each other than I thought.

There are a few conversations I don’t have anything to add to: past events they both attended, tournaments, and competitors.

But the UG never comes up in conversation.

I almost ask about it, then decide not to.

I’m not ready to show that hand yet. Not only that but Edge is relaxed with no one to impress or kick the shit out of.

He’s just being who I can only assume is normal, low-key Edge. And fuck me, do I like this Edge—a lot.

He’s making my mission anything but easy.