But no matter how I look at it, I know at this moment, I don’t have a choice anymore. I’m here for a reason, and I couldn’t turn around if I tried. Strangely, it’s not my brother’s request that has me standing here, even though that’s what it should be. No, there’s something more intense pulling me in.

I knock three times, slowly so he knows it’s me.

It’s quiet a moment before I hear his voice. “Come in.” It’s not a warm offer, more like a command. And I obey.

His apartment is dim. The setting sun in the window behind him is all that illuminates the great room, casting him in a silhouette in front of the window. I can see the scowl on his face. He’s still in his work clothes, which almost always seems to be a black button-up shirt, tight and rolled to the elbows over a pair of dark jeans.

He begins to remove his gun holster, and my mouth goes dry. “Took you long enough.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” I answer, still standing by the door. There’s a part of my brain that realizes I haven’t moved because he hasn’t told me to. I retreat quickly to that thought because it separates me from every other fucked up thought I’ve had today.

“I do,” he answers as he moves toward the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“Yes, please,” I croak. Without a word, he opens a bottle of red wine from his counter and pours a glass for each of us. Then he stalks toward me, handing me mine and never taking his eyes off of my face. For some reason, all I can think about is his bed that I know is just in the room to the right. The words of the bartender come back to me about Rafe waging wars in his bedroom, and I start to wonder if he hides ropes and whips under the mattress. What exactly did she mean by that? Is he just into rough sex and why the fuck didn’t I think about this before this moment?

I certainly do not trust him enough for this, and I feel like an idiot for even coming over. Panic settles in as my eyes roam his sculpted shoulders hiding under that shirt. He’s a lot bigger than me and definitely a lot stronger than me. Every rational thought in my head is screaming at me to get out of there, but the part of my brain being run by my body, which desperately needs to be fucked, is telling me to stay.

My brain wins out.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I stammer, dropping the wine on the counter and turning toward the door. I only get about three steps when his booming voice behind me stops me in my tracks.

“Stop.”

Facing the door, I feel his presence behind me. He steps so close, his body brushes mine, and I wait, my breath stuck in my throat. When his lips finally meet the back of my neck, I let out a shudder. Soft lips trails over my shoulder until his rough hand is twisting my head so his mouth can meet mine.