Page 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The second I open the door to Morrison’s house and see her, I accept that my interactions with Alexis will never follow a script.

I’m far from being a boy, and I don’t get swept up by the emotions that seem to affect most people, but when our eyes lock, a wave of scorching, powerful lust crashes over me.

As I walk toward her without saying a word, a voice inside me warns that the force this girl awakens in me isn’t just intense—it’s one of a kind.

I can feel the tension radiating from Alexis too, and as I let my gaze travel over her body and face, I try to keep my expression neutral, though I’m not sure I’m succeeding this time.

My hand lifts to touch her cheek. The backs of my fingers caress the fevered skin that feels like silk. It’s a simple, innocent gesture, but her response is tilting her head back, offering both lips and neck, and that shatters my restraint.

It’s an invitation my hunger can’t resist. I lower my mouth to hers, devouring her, reason giving way—gladly—to the rawest kind of desire.

The feeling of having her in my arms again after days without touching her, kissing that hot, wet mouth, feeling her soft, willing body mold to mine—it's a short-circuit inside me.

My hands roam over every inch of her, and Alexis grips my forearms, pulling me closer, matching my urgency.

She sighs and moans into the kiss. Her tongue mirrors mine, following the dizzying rhythm of pure lust.

She’s the most passionate and responsive woman I’ve ever been with. The only one who’s ever made me forget the world around me.

But suddenly, her hands press to my chest, pushing gently, and it takes me a second to understand why she’s trying to pull away.

"What is it?"

"Someone’s coming. I heard a car pulling up."

"Relax. It’s a delivery from the restaurant. During the flight, I ordered a full dinner from the second-best place around. I didn’t have time to cook, and I figured you wouldn’t want one of your friends seeing you here if I ordered from The Ugly Shrimp ."

"Thank you for thinking of that," she says formally, and I can tell it’s because she’s embarrassed at the idea of anyone knowing about us.

Alexis

He keeps staring at me for a few more seconds without saying anything, but when the doorbell rings, he gestures for me to wait and walks off, his expression unreadable.

A moment later, I see a guy enter with insulated bags—probably our dinner.

Only then do I notice a small suitcase near the entrance. I was so overwhelmed when LJ arrived that I didn’t see anything else—only him.

The moment he walked in, he took my breath away. It was the first time I saw him in a suit, and in my mind, I start piecing together all his different versions, like a puzzle.

The annoyed tourist I met that morning. The sophisticated man who dined at The Ugly Shrimp . The sexy surfer who gave me chills with a kiss on the beach. And now, the magnate who just landed at a house with its own helipad.

And yet, all of them converge into someone who is absolutely irresistible to me. I have no idea where this is heading, but I know I don’t want it to stop.

"Would you mind setting the table while I take a quick shower? I’ve been working all day."

And he still smells amazing.

"Uh . . . sure, no problem."

"Ten minutes tops," he says, looking at me in a way that makes me melt.

I nod, too speechless to say a single word, and as if he senses it, he walks away with a hint of a sinful smile on his lips.

LJ returns exactly when he promised, but the moment he steps into the kitchen again, dinner is the last thing on my mind.

He’s barefoot, in jeans and a black T-shirt. His narrow waist contrasts with his broad, muscular shoulders. His hair is messy and damp from the shower.

I take a mental picture, storing it away for future fantasies.

"I set the table, like you asked," I say, afraid that if I don’t speak, there will be a puddle of drool forming at my feet.

He walks slowly toward me, which only heightens my anxiety. When we’re about a foot apart, I breathe in his clean, masculine scent—a mix of soap and man.

His eyes hypnotize me, keeping me frozen in place. I’m not even sure I’m breathing.

I didn’t tell him it’s my birthday, because from what little I know about him, I think he’d be embarrassed for not having a gift. I don’t want anything but him. If he gave me something, I’d feel even more out of place, as if the massive social gap between us wasn’t already enough.

However, all my doubts vanish the moment he reaches out to me. It feels symbolic—proof to both of us that I’m stepping into this willingly.

Does LJ think I don’t want to be here? That he’s taking advantage of me because I’m younger?

I decide to make it clear. Instead of taking his hand, I wrap my arms around his neck and, standing on tiptoe, kiss his jaw. "I’m not fragile, and I’m not afraid of you. I came because I wanted to. As long as we’re honest with each other, I’ll be fine. I just can’t stand lies."

"I don’t lie."

"Never?"

"Never."

I sigh and give in when his hand pulls me close.

I surrender to the kiss like never before. I don’t want to resist this feeling anymore—I want to make this the best birthday of my life.

Lazarus

Her nipples are so hard they’re practically piercing through the light fabric of her dress, and even though I promised myself I’d take it slow, I can’t resist brushing my thumb over one of them, circling gently. Alexis reacts with such raw intensity that my restrained desire turns visceral.

I draw in a sharp breath—sharper than I’ve ever needed—and step back, though I don’t let her go.

I kiss her forehead, then press a softer kiss to her lips. But when she parts them, silently begging for more, I force myself to say, "We have dinner waiting."

"I'm not hungry."

I chuckle, and Alexis opens her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, and she clearly feels embarrassed—but she doesn’t pull away.

"Is there a set script for tonight?" she asks.

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I’ve never been with someone so inexperienced. I’m trying to be a gentleman."

She looks up at me, and I can see the storm in her eyes. But there’s something else there too—confusion—before she finally nods. "Dinner first sounds like a good idea."

Half an hour later, as we eat, despite my seemingly relaxed demeanor, every one of my instincts is attuned to her.

The smallest movement—like lifting her fork to her mouth—completely captures my attention.

It’s both irritating and electrifying. I’ve never met anyone who could steal my focus like this.

Instability doesn’t sit well in my world. Beneath the polished layer my last name provides as a legacy, there’s an animalistic instinct waiting to surface—and I keep it on a tight leash, always.

If I gave in to my desire right now, I’d forget the dinner, scoop her into my arms, and put an end to this overwhelming lust once and for all.

I need to prove to myself that what Alexis awakens in me is just novelty—she doesn’t belong to my world, she’s exotic, unexplored.

Though deep down, I suspect I’m lying to myself.

All week long, while we were apart, I tried to label her, to give my mind a reason for this pull I feel. I failed every time.

She’s stunning in her honesty, her desire, her courage. Obviously inexperienced but confident in her choices. Since the moment we met, she’s never let me bend her to my will.

"I'm sorry we don’t have someone to serve us," I say, mostly to break the silence—she’s been awfully quiet.

"Oh, what a terrible oversight, sir. Maybe we should end the night now, just because of that sin?" She flashes a teasing smile, and I watch her closely as she lifts her water glass—she didn’t want any alcohol—to her lips.

The softer side of her personality is just as tempting as the fiery one.

She seems suddenly self-conscious under my gaze and quickly adds, "Most of the time, I eat dinner in front of the TV."

I wince unintentionally. I despise television.

"Hmm . . . So you’re part of that cult," she says.

"Cult?"

"The intellectuals who don’t watch TV."

I shake my head, hiding a small smile. "I don’t like having my thoughts shaped by someone else’s agenda. Most people today are too lazy to think for themselves. They follow the herd and build their worldview based on the last thing they heard—online or on some program."

"I agree. I don’t watch TV for series, movies, or even the news. I don’t have the patience for it. If I want a good story, I’d rather read than watch a movie. And mini-series? Not for me. I get anxious to know what happens next, and that throws me off."

I stop pretending to eat and set my fork down.

Why do you have to be so unique? Why can’t there be anything unremarkable about you? Something dull, boring, hidden behind a pretty face?

The more time I spend with her, the more certain I am I’ve found a gem among flashy costume jewelry.

Alexis doesn’t need designer clothes or sophistication. She’s so perfect in her complex simplicity that she stands out effortlessly, wherever she is.

Or maybe she just affects you this way, a mocking voice suggests. Maybe she’s like a toxin in your bloodstream, crafted specifically to numb you.

I refocus, forcing myself to stay in the moment. "So why do you watch TV, then?"

"I’m obsessed with serial killer documentaries."

"What?"

"I’m not sure I should be telling you my secrets. You haven’t earned it yet."

"I’ll find out either way. I’m good at getting people to talk."

"I have a YouTube channel. And a podcast. Both anonymous—nobody knows who I am."

I smile, certain she’s joking, but then I notice the blush on her cheeks and realize she’s serious. "You’re not joking?"

"I’m not. One day, I want to make a living from it. Actually, I already could—if it were just up to me. The audience is growing, and I’ve saved some money, but right now I . . . uh . . . I have other responsibilities."

"Tell me about them. The responsibilities."

"No. This is already going too fast for my liking. You said this wasn’t about forming permanent bonds, so I see no reason to open up about my life."

I suppress an annoyed sigh, wondering why her words drive me insane.

Maybe because, for the first time, I’m getting a taste of my own medicine? I’m the one who never wants to get too close, and now here I am, breaking all the rules, hoping she’ll tell me what puts that shadow in her eyes.

Yes, I saw it. When she mentioned “other responsibilities,” her expression dropped. I wanted to step in. Fix it. Push away whatever pain is clinging to her. And I have no idea why that matters to me.

"Tell me about your show, then."

"Have you heard of armchair detectives?"

"Yes. Investigative enthusiasts who anonymously try to solve cases even the police couldn’t crack."

"Exactly. And now, with advances in technology, a lot of cold cases are finally being solved. Not just identifying victims who used to be listed as John and Jane Does, but also catching criminals who’ve stayed free for thirty, forty years. Many of them are being sentenced now, in their seventies."

"Are you telling me you’re a modern-day vigilante?"

"Actually, when I started, it was more about the unidentified bodies." She pauses, glancing around the table, clearly uneasy. "Oh God, we just finished dinner and I’m talking about death."

"I’m a surgeon, Alexis. Trust me, blood and bodies don’t ruin my appetite."

"Either way, I don’t think we should talk about that now."

A small part of me—the controlling one—wants to push. But the bigger part clings to that one word she just said: now . A slip that tells me there will be a later. Not that I doubted it, but her quiet surrender feels like receiving a rare gift.

"So what do you suggest we do, then?"

Once again, her face flushes. "Show me the house."