I was preparing myself to place the cake on the ground when the door opened suddenly. I jumped a little, jostling the cake as I locked in on dark brown eyes. He stiffened in surprise as he registered who I was. His eyes seemed to turn black with fury.
Zane wasn’t wearing his cut for once. Actually, he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all. His huge expanse of chest seemed to take up the entire doorway and my eyes feasted on it. He was buff. Beyond buff. I didn’t think a word had been created yet for the amount of muscles on him. That wasn’t what transfixed me though—okay, it was for a second. It was the fact that every inch of his chest seemed to be covered in ink. Not black and dark, but vibrant, colorful artwork. I yearned to inspect every square inch, but I realized standing and drooling at someone’s chest after knocking on their front door was hardly good manners. Looking back up at his black eyes, I realized how long I had gone without speaking. His expression was hard with fury and he seemed to be holding himself back from saying something.
“Um, hi,” I greeted nervously, my eyes darting around. “I just came over to deliver this,” I lifted the plate in my hands but his eyes didn’t move to it; his glare was locked on mine. I foraged on. “Lexie made it. As a thank you for the tire, and the movies.” I spoke quickly. The sooner this was done the sooner I could run away and drown my sorrows in a bottle of Pinot and a box of Oreos. “It’s cake,” I explained quickly, filling the loaded silence. “I made Lexie swear it doesn’t contain beetroot, coconut flour or any other weird substance she consumes on a regular basis,” I joked.
Zane’s face stayed hard. I gulped.
“Although she did make a beetroot chocolate cake once, and it wasn’t half bad. But the whole point of eating chocolate cake is to indulge, so putting beetroot in it kind of defeats the purpose—beetroot is hardly decadent. It’s healthy. You don’t eat cake to be healthy, you eat it to be naughty,” I babbled.
More silence. And the withering glare. If I wasn’t mistaken something changed in that glare; I swear if I didn’t know better, it was desire. But I did know better and this dude definitely hated me, so I had to blow this popsicle stand. He had given me enough eye candy to take back to my vibrator, sans the glare.
“Well, anyway, I don’t want to keep you from—” I glanced down at his chest again. Bad move. I snapped my head back up. “Whatever it is you’re doing. I am just here under Lexie’s orders to deliver the cake.”
I thrust the plate up at him, using it as a sort of glare shield, letting out a breath of relief that I had finished my clumsy and embarrassing explanation. Apparently the embarrassment portion of this exchange was yet to be concluded. Zane did not take the plate; his fists stayed clenched at his sides and his eyes burned into mine. We simmered in the heated silence, me still extending the cake.
“Um, I know you might not like me, for whatever reason but my kid seems to be mighty fond of you. Because of this, if I don’t deliver this cake I’ll face her wrath, which I’m sure you don’t give two shards about. But it will also hurt her feelings, and I’d do anything to avoid that happening, so I’m afraid I can’t leave this spot until you take the cake,” I declared, pointing with my finger at the ground on which I stood. “So unless you want me to take up residence on your doorstep....” I continued, only to be cut off by Zane snatching the cake out of my hands.
I relaxed. Finally.
“Thanks. Now I’ll leave you alone and never darken your door again,” I promised, not eager to repeat this experience again, no matter how nice the view was.
I was turning to leave when he snatched my wrist and yanked my body to his, dropping the cake to the ground. I barely noticed it clatter but not smash.
“What...?”
I didn’t get past the shocked shriek as I was plastered against his hard naked torso and his mouth latched to mine.
I let him in, thanks to shock more than anything else. Of all the things I expected Zane to do, kiss me was not one. Shoot me, maybe. Running me over with his car also featured on the list in my mind. Playing tonsil hockey appeared nowhere on this list.
So I was shocked at the rough, desperate plundering his tongue did as strong arms locked me in place. I wasn’t shocked at the sharp flame of arousal that flew through my stomach and dampened my panties at his touch.