Page 173 of Ruthless Creatures

I finish my glass of wine, then wander around the room, opening drawers and running my fingers over brushes and tubes of paint, my mind abuzz and my body so tired I can barely feel my feet.

Then I lie on my side on the floor and stare out at New York City until I fall asleep.

I wake up in Kage’s arms. He’s carrying me down a hallway.

Yawning, I mumble, “Where are you taking me?”

“To bed.”

I don’t bother fighting. I don’t have it in me right now.

He brings me into the master bedroom. It’s decorated in soothing shades of beige and brown with lots of wood accents. There’s another ridiculous view out the tall windows, but it disappears when he tells Alexa to close the drapes.

He sets me on the bed, removes my shoes, and pulls the covers over me.

Then he turns to leave.

“You’re going?”

He stops and looks back. A small smile plays around his full lips. I can tell my tone pleased him, but he’s trying not to be obnoxious about it.

“You don’t want me to?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I sigh and burrow deeper under the covers. “Maybe?”

“Let me know when you’re sure. Until then, sleep well.”

He leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

Now I’m wide awake again.

I roll to my back, fling off the covers, and stare at the ceiling for a long time, going over everything in my head. Except my head is full of mashed potatoes. It’s like I’m trying to do algebra. I can’t come up with anything that makes sense.

The only thing I know for sure is that no matter what he did or how mad I am at him, I’d feel better if Kage’s arms were around me.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed, go to the door, and open it. Then I pull up short.

Kage is standing there, leaning against the wall next to the door with his massive arms folded over his chest and his head bowed.

He looks up at me. Our eyes meet. A jolt like a thunderbolt goes through me, hot and powerful, all the way to my toes.

We stand there staring at each other in crackling silence until I say softly, “Will you please come in and—”

He pushes off the wall and grabs me, crushing his mouth to mine.

The kiss is desperate. Devouring. When we come up for air, I say breathlessly, “Hold me?”

Walking me backward toward the bed, he growls, “Holdyou? Sure. Right after I fuck you.”

“Kage—”

“Red or green, baby.” He pushes me onto the bed, kneels, plants his hands on either side of my head, and kisses me again, ravenously.

It’s like my hands have a mind of their own, because they instantly tangle themselves into his hair and start pulling.

He breaks away from my mouth, chuckling. “That’s what I thought.”

He rears up to his knees, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it away, grinning down at me.