Inspire (23 page)

I slip my journal underneath my mattress for safekeeping, and check myself over in the mirror once more. I’m wearing slim fitting jeans, boots, a simple shirt and a black leather jacket that I’d chosen specifically because I know Wilder will most likely be wearing his. Not that I want to be all matchy-matchy, but I like the idea of feeling like we belong together. I tie a turquoise scarf around my neck, and am pulling my hair out from under it when my doorbell rings.

I glance at the clock.

He’s ten minutes early.

I wipe my palms against my jeans and head for the front door. When I pull it open, he looks even better than I remember. He’s leaning against the railing just outside my door in that familiar leather jacket. No glasses tonight. Just sinful blue eyes and tousled hair and enough scruff to make him look absolutely irresistible.

“You’re early.”

Millennia of experience, and I’m still stating the obvious.

“Correction,” he says, crossing to stand in front of me. He bends to say in my ear, “I’m eager.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to admit that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to keep your cards close to your vest or something? Not give up your power?”

His fingers graze my stomach before he flattens his palm there and pushes me back enough that he can step inside. He closes the door behind us, and then presses me into it.

“I’m not trying to keep any power here, sweet. If it’s not entirely clear that I’m powerless when it comes to you, then you haven’t been paying attention.” The tip of his nose grazes my jaw, tickling as he slides close to my ear. “And I don’t care if you know that I’m eager to see you. In fact, I’ve been dying for it.”

His words calm all the restlessness that’s been building in me the last few days, and I decide to go for honesty, too.

“Is it strange that I missed you? I know it has only been a few days, and I talked to you on the phone last night, but—”

“But it wasn’t enough? Yeah. I know the feeling.”

I face facts then. I’ve seen it often enough in others to recognize that I am utterly addicted to him. It won’t matter how often I see him or speak to him, I’ll always want more.      

“So this is your apartment?”

When he turns to take it in, I’m tempted to pull him back and use the few extra minutes we have to get reacquainted with his lips, but I know he’s curious.

“This is it.”

He looks around, and I can’t see the place through his eyes. It’s a relatively new building, and I got it already furnished since I tend to move semi-frequently. The furniture is all sleek and modern. It looks barely lived in at all, unlike his apartment. I have very few personal items, and all of them are hidden away in my bedroom.

He stops in the middle of the living room, and I can’t help but notice that his foot falls directly on the section of the carpet that covers the only remnant of the destruction I caused after Van and that whole mess. If he were to step aside and peel back the rug, he’d see where I wrote
Inspired
so many times that I scratched it into the floorboard.

“I could give you a tour of my bedroom,” I offer.

He shoots me a sly smile. “Always so tempting. How about we save that for later? If I got you in your bedroom, I’m not sure we’d leave it before the year ends.”

“I see what you did there, funny guy.”

“You don't think I'm funny?”

“I think you're hilarious. And sweet. And sexy. Are you sure you don't want to skip tonight and celebrate the New Year with just the two of us?”

He walks back to where I'm standing by the door and smoothes both his large hands up my arms before sinking them into my hair. His fingers tease at my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. “I'm starting to think you like trying to tempt me past control.”

His grip on me is firm, restrained, and I have to fight the inclination to arch up into him and surrender completely.

No sex, Kalli
.
Not yet.

I smile and say, “I don't hate it.”

He chuckles, but his laughs turn into a groan a moment later when he thumps his forehead against the door beside me. “We should go. Rook has been giving me shit all week because I haven't introduced you. And I've skipped every hangout since Owen got back into town.”

I frown. “Because of me?”

“Sometimes because of you. Sometimes for Gwen. Don't worry about it. It's been like this for the last year. They're used to it.”

He has so little free time as it is, and here I am, wanting more of it.

“Stop,” he says. “Whatever you're thinking, stop it.”

“You're a mind reader now?”

“I can just tell when you're thinking about pushing me away or shutting me out. The look you get. It's not one I'm fond of.”

I smile guiltily knowing I can't promise that will change. “Let's head out then. I wouldn't want to deprive your friends of your coveted company.”

I grab my purse, and after locking up, he takes my hand to lead me to his car. He keeps that hold the entire time we drive, only pulling away for brief moments when he needs both of his hands on the wheel. We end up downtown, and I try to fight back the sense of déjà vu as he pulls into a parking garage. The place is packed, as was all of the street parking we saw as we drove. I guess that's to be expected downtown on New Year's Eve.

The streets are congested, and every bar we pass is already overflowing with people even though we've still got two hours until midnight. We eventually stop at a place a few blocks off of Sixth Street, where the streets are less crammed. But the bar he leads me into is plenty busy. There are booths on our left, and a bar to the right, and most of the open space is filled with bodies. I can hear live music, but I don't see a band, so I'm guessing they're up the stairs I spot in the back. It's definitely an eclectic place. There are pictures on the walls of various guys with mustaches. Some historical like Einstein. Others are celebrities. The two bartenders I spot behind the bar also have mustaches, and I can't help but laugh. There are other odd little statement pieces around the room. A few of those twenty-five cent kiddie rides that you find outside of grocery stores. Some strange taxidermy. But as another facial-hair-inclined waiter passes us, I can't help my laugh.

“What?” Wilder asks over the music.

I pantomime twirling up the ends of a mustache, and he smiles. “Rook likes this place. Good drinks. Good music. In the warmer months, they've got a great rooftop patio, too.”

I loop my arm around his elbow, pulling myself close to his side in the crowd. Honestly, I could care less about where we are as long as I'm with him. It only takes the amount of time for us to head for the back and climb the stairs before I rethink that statement. There is indeed a band upstairs, and the place is standing room only. Bodies are pressed tight together, dancing to the rhythm of the rock beat that's playing, and the déjà vu comes back full force. And not any good memories. The last time I was in sea of dancing bodies, it didn't work out so well for me. Or for the people dancing.

“Come on,” Wilder says, close to my ear. “Rook texted that they've got a table up front.”

He pulls me into the crowd, and I hold my breath against the panic that rises up in me. What if the energy gets too high in here? What if the same thing happens all over again? I could hurt all these people, hurt Wilder. Not to mention bringing the Argus down on me once and for all.

Each time I squeeze through another set of bodies, my pulse thrums a little faster. The sound of it in my ears mixes with the heavy drums of the band, and my head feels like it's being battered from the inside and out. I suck in a breath when we get past the standing crowd to the few tables up front, but even those are overflowing with people.

Wilder leads me over to the very first table on the left, crammed close to the wall. There are two guys and a girl already seated, and just one open chair. The guy on the left catches sight of us first, and stands to wave. He’s immensely tall. Enough that he stands with his shoulders hunched and his head bent as if he’s always having to duck under things and just got stuck that way. And the first thing that comes to my mind when I look at his face is
dark
. Dark hair sticking up every which way. A dark beard. Eyes so dark they look all pupil. Covered in ink. Not just his arms like Wilder, but his hands and his neck, and nearly every piece of visible skin except his face. Who knows, maybe the beard is hiding some ink, too. He calls out something to Wilder that I can’t hear over the music, and I see the glint of a silver piercing in his tongue before the two of them collide for a back-slapping, manly hug.

Then his eyes meet mine over Wilder’s shoulder, and I suck in a breath. The darkness lurks there too. Not anger really. Or sadness either. But some mixture of both, wrapped in a threatening aura of strength. This is not a man to be messed with. If I’d been looking for an artist, he might fit in several of the categories. His appearance and feel are definitely along the lines of a guy I might approach, but he’s the type I would have thrown back after an up-close look. He’s on an edge, this one. The kind whose reaction to my ability would definitely be … unpredictable. And the kind Mel would have gone for in a heartbeat. She would have seen the edge and wanted to find a way to get him off it. That’s probably one of the many reasons Mel is no longer with us, her willingness to dive into darkness better left untouched.

Wilder holds out a hand to me, and I take it, allowing myself to be pulled close to his side.

“Kalli,” he practically shouts. “This is my best friend, Ellis Rook.”

“Fuck, Wild.” He looks at me, and up close I can see that his irises are a deep brown. “It’s Rook. No one calls me Ellis.” He looks back at Wilder. “No one better call me Ellis,” he warns.

I can’t fathom how these two fit together. I’ve seen hurt and pain in Wilder, but he reacts to it constructively, normally. Most of the time anyway. He tends toward guilt a little too often. But at his core, he’s sweet and giving and steady. Ellis Rook is the very antithesis of steady.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rook.”

“Nice to finally meet the girl that has this one wrapped around her finger. You know, normally this idiot talks my ear off about girls he’s with. But with you, all is quiet on the Wilder front.”

I want to smile at his joke. Maybe he’s not all darkness after all, but I’m too pre-occupied by his words. He doesn’t talk about me? Is that a bad thing? It has to be, right? Wilder must see the dilemma written across my face because he leans down, pressing his lips to my ear and says, “He means I complained when things didn’t go right. I don’t have anything to complain about where you’re concerned, Kalli. And God knows, I’d tell him the good things if I knew how to put into words the way you make me feel.”

I can’t help it. I kiss him then, right in front of his friends. I mean it to be quick, just a better thank you than the shouted one I would have had to give him over the music. But as soon as our lips touch, his arm tightens around my waist, fingers digging in to my hip. His mouth opens, sweeping his tongue over the seam of my lips, and I immediately open to him, eager to taste and twine together. His kiss makes me forget about the noises and the bodies and my worries—he just blocks it all out. Always does. And the only thing I know is the crush of his mouth on mine, the plunge of his tongue, the heat building between my thighs. I won't be able to hold out much longer without letting our relationship turn physical again. I want him too much. I need to feel
connected
with him more than I've needed anything else in my life.

A trickle of energy unwinds in my chest, tickling at my lungs, wanting me to breathe it out.

Immediately, I pull back, panting.

Wilder's eyes are hooded as he looks at me, and I can see how badly he wishes he'd taken me up on my offer to stay in tonight.

“Don't stop on my account,” Rook says. “I like a little voyeurism as much as the next guy.”

A blush detonates across my cheek, and when Wilder pulls me under his arm, I keep going until I bury my face in his chest.

“Don't be a dick, Rook.”

“Easier said than done, man.”

My face is still heated when Wilder introduces me to the other guy at the table, Owen. He has long brown hair, tucked underneath a gray beanie. And unlike Rook, he's all smiles.

“Don't listen to anything Rook says. He's a bitter old man trapped in a punk dude's body.” Rook scowls, and Owen amends, “I think there might be multiple bitter old dudes in him actually. Like he's some soul-eating demon that feeds on wasted lives.”

“Yes, thank you, Owen. Please tell my girlfriend that my best friend is a soul-eating demon. That's always the best way to start.”

All of the guys laugh, and I smile so wide I feel as if my cheeks might separate from my face.
His girlfriend
.

“He's a lovable soul-eating demon,” Owen tries.

The glow fades just a smidge when I realize that if anyone is a soul-eating demon here, I'm the closest in nature. But I shake that off, too happy with Wilder's arm around me to let anything bring me down.

Then I meet the final friend in the group.

Bridget.

She's stunningly blonde, stick thin, and she
really
doesn't like me.

I offer a quick wave. “I'm Kalli.” And she barely smiles in response, and then retakes her seat. “Will you guys sit down already before some vultures swoop in and steal our table?”

Wilder tenses beside me, but doesn't comment. And my stomach sinks when Rook and Owen take a seat, only to leave the one for Wilder and me. I glance around, looking for another chair, but as expected, there are none available. Before I can think beyond that issue, Wilder's hands are on my hips, and he's pulling me over and down to sit in his lap. He grips my thighs, turning me sideways and pulling me in tight to his hips. I feel the beginning of a bulge against my leg, and my gaze meets his knowing eyes. I wrap an arm around his neck to steady myself, and it brings the side of my chest against the front of his.

“This worked out rather well for me,” he says with a smile.