Prowler wasn’t the dating type, but he was making an effort, so she’d be damned if her brother would spoil the night for her.
Her makeup for the night was a breeze. Skipping the foundation, she opted for heavy eyeliner and mascara, with a red lip.
She donned a red lace thong and push-up bra that Prowler had yet to see before rummaging through her closet.
“There you are. Come to mama.” She pulled out her favorite ripped jeans. The pair that every girl has for date night that makes her ass look amazing. Yeah, those.
She paired it with a sliced-up Exmortus tee from the last time she saw them live and her concert boots. They were black and covered in chains and buckles, plus a silver CU dangling down the back of the left one and NT hanging down the back of the right one.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt beautiful. “One finishing touch.” She told her reflection, reaching for her battle vest, until she remembered they were riding to the show, and sheneeded sleeves. Trading the denim vest for a long-sleeved, faux leather jacket.
No sooner had she pushed her arms through the sleeves than her doorbell rang.
Opening it without checking the peephole, she found a sexier than sin Prowler looking every inch a predator. A yummy, ferocious, blond-haired Viking-looking predator ready to pillage and plunder?—
“Wow.” He interrupted her naughty thoughts. “I was ready to paddle your ass raw for just flinging the door open without checking who it was, but damn, mama, you stole the words right out of my mouth.”
Prowler stepped just inside the door, widening his stance and wrapping his arms around her waist. He nibbled her neck and ear as always. While it still stung her that his initial greeting wasn’t a kiss, she had to admit, she loved their special way too. Besides, he’d kissed her last night, and that had to count for something.
“How do you know I just flung it open?” she challenged breathlessly.
“Because.” Nip. “No shadow.” Suck.
“Maybe I checked my app and saw it was you.”
Prowler pulled back with narrowed eyes. She was a shit liar, and she knew it. The truth was always right there on the surface.
“So, where’s your phone then?”
“Um.” Searching her pockets, she knew she wouldn’t find it and, from the look on his face, so did he. “Right …”
“Right not fucking here.” His words were harsh, but his tone was concerned. She couldn’t meet his gaze. With the curled knuckle of his index finger, he lifted her chin. “Babe, promise me this is a one-off. You’ll check every time from now on.”
His concern was so genuine. The look in his eyes almost pulled three words from her lips she was not ready to say, so instead she opted for two. “I promise.”
“Good girl.” He did a hit-and-run style kiss. An all too brief meeting of the lips that left her kissing air when he pulled back.
“Now, go find your phone, and let’s get going.” He swatted her ass as she turned toward her room. This more playful side of Prowler was surprising but not unwelcome. She’d caught glimpses of it before with Cass, but now he seemed more relaxed with her … with them.
His lips.
It was twice now she’d felt his lips on hers, but it was nowhere near enough. She craved more. More of the sexy man she’d left standing in her living room in all his bad-boy hotness.
When she finally found her phone, she returned to catch him dragging his finger across the spines of her books, which she’d arranged by spice level on her bookshelf, but he didn’t need to know that.
She was taking inventory of how yummy he looked—from the faded black jeans that cupped his ass just right, to the way his biceps pushed the thread holding the seams of his black Henley together to its limits.
Her gaze traveled up his back, past the bottom rocker that read NEVADA, over the crowned skull wearing a bandana, and the lettering above it proclaiming him a King, to the messy bun gathered low.
The little peeks of his neck she glimpsed through the strands escaping were sexier than she ever would’ve imagined. She hated man-buns with a passion, or so she thought.
“Boy, was I wrong,” she breathed out.
Taylor hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until his finger stopped and traveled to the top of the book he was touching as he spoke.
“Wrong about what?” He asked without turning away from the shelf, while at the same time tipping the book out of the row and leaning over to see the now half-exposed cover.
Her gaze laser-focused in on the book he had tipped out and was now holding in his hands. Fuck. Why it bothered her, she didn’t know. She wasn’t ashamed of her reading choices, never was and never would be. She was an unapologetic smut slut. But something about himHis Lost Mateby Theresa Hissong caused goose bumps to break out all over her skin.
