Don’t worry, cupcake. You’re gonna get what you need. I don’t have it in me to wait too much longer.

She followed me out of the bedroom and into the living area, and I nodded toward the old turntable on top of the entertainment system. “Go flip through the vinyl and pick something.”

My collection was one of the things I’d always figured would suck to leave when I moved on, because I traveled light. Now that the possibility of staying in New Orleans was taking root, everything in me was lighter with a sense of relief.

I pulled open the fridge and grabbed the bowl of shrimp that had been thawing since noon, and a container of cooked rice. I was rinsing the shrimp when the sound of Louis Armstrong came on.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen, and I looked over my shoulder. “Nice choice. A favorite of mine.”

“I figured since it looked like it was near the top of the stack. I’ve always liked Louis too.”

“You want to help? It’s not required, but if you’re in the mood to chop vegetables, I could use a hand.”

A flash of uncertainty crossed her face. “I’m a terrible cook. Like honestly terrible. So if you don’t care what the vegetables look like, then I’m happy to help. If you care what they look like, you might not want my knife-wielding skills.”

“Grab the celery and carrots out of the fridge and go to town. They don’t have to be pretty.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

We worked in companionable silence for several minutes before Eden spoke.

“You don’t have a New Orleans accent. Where are you from?”

I kept my focus on deveining the shrimp as I rinsed each one. “A little bit of everywhere. I started out in the east and ended up down south.”

“What kept you moving?”

“A whole lot of things. Long story, not always pretty. Guess you could call me a wanderer.”

Eden paused in her chopping for a moment before saying, “Most stories aren’t always pretty. That’s what gives them true beauty. I’ve always wanted to wander.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t exactly have the option.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Another long story. Not so pretty. Mostly, my father wouldn’t allow it.”

I finished up the shrimp and grabbed a big pan from the cupboard. “And did you always do what your father said?”

Eden’s voice quieted. “I couldn’t ignore his orders and get away with it.”

“Tough guy?”

“When he was around. The rest of the time my aunt raised me, or I was by myself.”

“What was she like?”

“Fine. She was my father’s half sister and didn’t seem to have a whole lot of love for him. But he paid for her life, so it wasn’t like she could do anything but be passive-aggressive about it when he wasn’t around. Which was most of the time.”

With each piece she revealed, I got a clearer idea of why Eden seemed so sheltered and yet wanted to see the world and be a part of it.

“Anyway, that’s all boring. Tell me about you.”

I poured oil in the skillet before moving across the kitchen to rest a palm on the counter on either side of Eden. “How are the vegetables coming?”

I glanced down at the pile on the cutting board and leaned closer. The veggies looked like they’d been hacked to pieces, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. No, it was the scent of my shampoo on Eden’s hair. I leaned closer and breathed it in. I liked it. A whole fucking lot.

“It was a massacre,” she said with a laugh, laying the knife on the counter and turning around to face me. In the circle of my arms, Eden smiled up at me. “No survivors.”

I WANTED HIM TO KISS me. When he first walked into the apartment, I’d wanted him to rush into the bedroom and pick me up and kiss the hell out of me before throwing me down on the bed and climbing on top, or even better, letting me climb on top so I could finally explore him. But something had stopped Bishop, and I didn’t know how to change it.

Was I really so bad at sending signals that he wasn’t getting the all clear for forward movement sign? I wasn’t afraid to move this along. I was more afraid that he wouldn’t.

His head lowered until his lips were an inch from mine. “You seem to have survived just fine, cupcake.”

I wasn’t leaving it to chance this time. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I wrapped my hands around his shoulders before pressing my lips to his.

Instead of pulling back like I’d feared, Bishop cupped a hand around my cheek and tilted my head for a better angle before his tongue dived into my mouth. It was like he was starving—for me.

I wrapped a leg around his hip, and his free hand caught it and held me closer so I could press my center against the hardening bulge in his jeans. The T-shirt I wore rode up with each movement. Within moments, his palm was touching my bare skin, and I was in danger of leaving a wet spot on his jeans.

With a boldness I’d never felt before, I released my grip on one shoulder and reached down between us. Shifting my hips a few inches, I palmed his cock and squeezed.

Bishop’s sexy groan was my reward.

He pulled his lips away, but didn’t release my face. His gaze burned into mine as he spoke.

“You make me want a hell of a lot more than your hand on my cock, cupcake.”

I swallowed. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

“Not yet.”

“But—”

He released my face and lowered his hand to where mine was gripping him, and peeled my fingers away.

“First, I need to know.”

“Know what?”

“How bad you want me.”

He shifted his hand to cup my center. The heat already blooming between my legs rushed a dozen degrees hotter as he used one finger to stroke up and down the slick heat. My hips surged forward, grinding against his palm. I needed more pressure, more everything. My moaning sigh filled the kitchen, and I didn’t care how I sounded.

“So fucking sweet. You want to come on my hand? Fuck my fingers until you scream?”

His coarse words pushed me harder because I wanted that and more.

When one thick finger slid inside me, I moaned even louder.

“Fuck, you’re tight. You’re gonna strangle my cock when I finally get inside you.”