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Because my mind was speeding in a direction it couldn’t go.

Fingers itching in a way I never let them.

I stormed into the kitchen, and I planted my palms on the counter. My head sagged between my shoulders as I drew a bunch of cleansing breaths into my lungs.

Like it might purge her from my thoughts and my senses.

Of course, my eye caught on the basket of red apples on the counter.

No escaping her here, either.

“Trevan? Hello? Did you get lost? My arms are getting tired!” That sweet, inexplicably sultry voice echoed down the hall.

I blew out a sigh, then forced myself to yank open the junk drawer that held a bunch of random tools. I pulled out the hammer and grabbed a box of nails and picture hooks. My hands shook as I opened the plastic container and pulled out one set, then headed back toward her room.

I attempted to prepare myself as I edged down the hall.

A whole lot slower than when I escaped two minutes before.

Nope.

Nothing had changed.

Not her position or the energy that slammed me like a fucking boulder dropping from the sky.

“It’s about time, slow poke. Get over here and help me so I don’t lose the spot. I think I have it centered pretty well.”

I glanced between her bare legs and the plush linens on her bed and my worn motorcycle boots.

“It’s fine. I’ve already done the damage.”

She certainly had.

Because I could feel the fractures splintering through my foundation as I inched across the floor.

On a giant gulp, I climbed onto her bed.

The mattress dipped drastically with my weight, and the frame creaked as I crept up behind her.

The atmosphere stirred, and I could feel every molecule within it snap like a rubber band against my skin.

A scattering of electricity that shivered through me like a short-circuiting light.

I knew she wasn’t immune since the hairs lifted on the nape of her neck, and a slow roll of goosebumps crawled across her flesh.

Her arms that she had lifted over her head shook, but I wasn’t convinced it had anything to do with the exertion of holding the picture in that position.

“Right there?” I rumbled it near her ear.

A sadist.

A masochist.

Inhaling her decadent scent.

Apples and cinnamon.

Forbidden fucking fruit.