This feels personal.
She feels personal to me.
Fated.
Like she belongs to me and always has.
She found her way back to me.
Chapter Two
Lola
For hours, I’ve been here. All I want to do is go home and shower, wash this night from my skin. Handing me my belongings, a nurse walks me out of the room, and my stomach dips. Detective Adams is waiting for me, the evidence bag the nurse put my clothes inside in his grip. It makes me anxious that he requested them. Why would he need them in a self-defense case? What proof could they get from my clothes? Is that the only reason he stayed? I tried to make him uncomfortable by dropping my top, testing him to see if he could keep eye contact. He failed, and internally, it made me smile. He’s just a man, after all. Most people would feel uncomfortable exposing flesh after experiencing something traumatic, but I don’t see myself as a victim of sexual assault tonight—he didn’t get that far. I’m a victor of a battle. The world has always felt that way to me—a war of darkness and sin.
“I’m going to take you home.” Adams smiles tightly and takes me by the arm like an adult would a child. It amuses me so I don’t pull out of his grip. The nurse asked me earlier if there was anyone she could call for me, and he must have felt sorry for me because I said no. I don’t need pity. I have no one because that’s what I choose. There are people in my life I consider friends of sorts, but I wouldn’t want any of them knowing my business, my past, them thinking they have access to more in-depth parts of me. I keep everyone at a distance—and that’s where they’ll stay.
“I can manage to get myself home,” I bite my lip, looking down at the hand gripping my arm. A flurry of emotions take over his face, contorting his features. He’s such a handsome man, those blue eyes almost supernatural in appearance. I bet women fawn over him. Hero-worship from rescuing victims.
“No, please allow me to take you,” he grunts out almost painfully.
“If you insist.” My words are laced with indifference, and the twist of his lip doesn’t go unnoticed.
The car ride is silent for the first few minutes before he breaks it. “Was tonight the first time you shot a gun?” He must be questioning why I fired so many times. Can I tell him it was an urge, a rush of disdain for the perverted attacker that forced me to shoot him more than once? I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to get back up. I pick at a thread on the gray sweatpants the hospital gave me, drawing his gaze there briefly.
“No. My father was a gun enthusiast. He taught me to shoot.”
“Do you own a gun?”
Am I being interrogated? “No. After what happened with my parents, I don’t keep them.”
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with where the conversation went. “Of course. I—”
“Adams, it’s here,” I tell him as we nearly pass my apartment. Pulling over, he looks down at his lap, not like a confident, alpha detective, but more like an awkward boy on a first date not knowing what to say, if to touch, offer to show me to my apartment.
“I didn’t mention my parents to make you feel bad.” I reach out and touch his arm. His eyes follow my action and draw up to hold my gaze in an intense, penetrating look that sends a wave of heat through me. “As far as guns, I just meant they can be used against you if you carry one. Why give the opportunity to arm your enemy? Look what happened tonight—I took his weapon from him.”
Nodding, he smiles a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and transforms his face. There’s no denying he’s a handsome man, but that smile is breathtaking. Images of him kissing me spark in my mind, heating my skin. I wonder what he tastes like after using those lips between my thighs.
“Night, Adams,” I say, turning my gaze from his and opening the car door.
Once I’m standing on the curb, I notice he’s exited the car also. “I want to see you to your door.” He looks around the dark, deserted street.
There’s a heaviness sitting between us as we take the short steps to my apartment. Opening the door, I curl my fingers, motioning for him to come in. There shouldn’t be any desire inside me after tonight, but there is. I want to shred him of his clothes and fuck his brains out on the living room floor while my skin is still stained in blood. An ache builds below as my breathing increases. I need to get a grip. “I’ll be back. Make yourself comfortable,” I tell him as I leave the room to gain control of myself.
Stripping out of the awful tracksuit, I slip on my silk nightgown and tie the belt in place. The fabric feels cool over my fevered flesh.
“You paint?” Adams calls out.
“It’s a kind of therapy for both me and my subjects,” I call out before coming back through and studying him. He takes in the space, trying to learn the woman I’ve become. His eyes dance over my paint brushes before he boldly removes a cloth covering a canvas. He’s broad and confident in his demeanour when he’s not asking questions he doesn’t like the answers to. In fact, you don’t think detective when you look at him, more CEO of some empire, expensive and alluring.
His reaction to the image on the canvas even from his back profile warms me
