Page 4 of Keep Me Close

It just sucks that whenever I think about getting serious, it’s Cheyenne’s face that flashes through my head before I can stop it.

And that’s problematic for a variety of reasons.

No one knows about my fascination with her.

Least of all my family.

My older brother, Colby, would probably string me up by my balls if he caught wind of it. In the beginning, I’d assumed it was a passing fixation. No woman has ever held my interest for more than a few weeks.

A month, tops.

Whatever this is with Cheyenne is uncharted territory. And I wish to hell it would fade. I don’t need it. More than that, I don’t want it.

I don’t trust myself where that woman is concerned. Not even a little. One taste and I’d be fucked. She’d carve herself even deeper into me than she already is and then what?

I’d wake up the next morning with all the same reasons she’s off-limits and a whole new set of other problems.

End of story.

Thoughts of the reality star reluctantly circle through my brain as I head into the kitchen, open the cabinet, and grab a glass before filling it from the tap. I guzzle down half of it and then step toward the living room, flicking on the lights. Maybe I’ll watch a little game film or a movie. I need a distraction to take my mind off Chey, or I’ll end up jacking off.

And that never works out well for me. I only end up hating myself more than I already do.

As soon as the place is lit up, I catch movement from the corner of my eye.

“It’s about time you came home, McNichols. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

For a second, maybe two, I can only stare. Part of me wonders if I’m hallucinating. Or maybe I’ve actually lost my fucking mind.

With the chokehold she has on me, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least.

I stare at the woman stretched out on my couch, one leg crossed over the other, her clutch tossed beside her. The soft lamplight spills over auburn waves and bronzed skin, catching the green of her eyes and the glossy shine of her lips.

She looks unexpectedly perfect in my space.

Too damn natural.

Not to mention, tempting.

It’s as if every fantasy I’ve ever entertained about the woman decided to show up and make itself at home in my penthouse.

When I remain silent, she lifts a brow. “And you’re actually alone? Wow. It really must be my lucky day.”

It takes effort to keep my features carefully blank. “What are you doing here, Cheyenne? Actually, first things first—how’d you get into my penthouse?”

She holds up a keycard between manicured nails. My guess is that it’s the one I gave my parents in case there was an emergency.

Except, Cheyenne fucking Benson is no emergency.

I set the glass down on the counter with a thud. “Want to tell me the reason you decided to break into my place?”

She tips her head. “Break in? The word choice seems a little dramatic, McNichols.”

I pop a brow. “You used my family’s emergency keycard to sneak into my home.”

Her mouth twitches. “Sneak also feels dramatic.”

I huff out a breath that’s not quite a laugh.