Inspire (The Muse #1)(49)
Author: Cora Carmack

Then his eyes meet mine over Wilder’s shoulder, and I suck in a breath. The darkness lurks there too. Not anger really. Or sadness either. But some mixture of both, wrapped in a threatening aura of strength. This is not a man to be messed with. If I’d been looking for an artist, he might fit in several of the categories. His appearance and feel are definitely along the lines of a guy I might approach, but he’s the type I would have thrown back after an up-close look. He’s on an edge, this one. The kind whose reaction to my ability would definitely be … unpredictable. And the kind Mel would have gone for in a heartbeat. She would have seen the edge and wanted to find a way to get him off it. That’s probably one of the many reasons Mel is no longer with us, her willingness to dive into darkness better left untouched.

Wilder holds out a hand to me, and I take it, allowing myself to be pulled close to his side.

“Kalli,” he practically shouts. “This is my best friend, Ellis Rook.”

“Fuck, Wild.” He looks at me, and up close I can see that his irises are a deep brown. “It’s Rook. No one calls me Ellis.” He looks back at Wilder. “No one better call me Ellis,” he warns.

I can’t fathom how these two fit together. I’ve seen hurt and pain in Wilder, but he reacts to it constructively, normally. Most of the time anyway. He tends toward guilt a little too often. But at his core, he’s sweet and giving and steady. Ellis Rook is the very antithesis of steady.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rook.”

“Nice to finally meet the girl that has this one wrapped around her finger. You know, normally this idiot talks my ear off about girls he’s with. But with you, all is quiet on the Wilder front.”

I want to smile at his joke. Maybe he’s not all darkness after all, but I’m too pre-occupied by his words. He doesn’t talk about me? Is that a bad thing? It has to be, right? Wilder must see the dilemma written across my face because he leans down, pressing his lips to my ear and says, “He means I complained when things didn’t go right. I don’t have anything to complain about where you’re concerned, Kalli. And God knows, I’d tell him the good things if I knew how to put into words the way you make me feel.”

I can’t help it. I kiss him then, right in front of his friends. I mean it to be quick, just a better thank you than the shouted one I would have had to give him over the music. But as soon as our lips touch, his arm tightens around my waist, fingers digging in to my hip. His mouth opens, sweeping his tongue over the seam of my lips, and I immediately open to him, eager to taste and twine together. His kiss makes me forget about the noises and the bodies and my worries—he just blocks it all out. Always does. And the only thing I know is the crush of his mouth on mine, the plunge of his tongue, the heat building between my thighs. I won’t be able to hold out much longer without letting our relationship turn physical again. I want him too much. I need to feel connected with him more than I’ve needed anything else in my life.

A trickle of energy unwinds in my chest, tickling at my lungs, wanting me to breathe it out.

Immediately, I pull back, panting.

Wilder’s eyes are hooded as he looks at me, and I can see how badly he wishes he’d taken me up on my offer to stay in tonight.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Rook says. “I like a little voyeurism as much as the next guy.”

A blush detonates across my cheek, and when Wilder pulls me under his arm, I keep going until I bury my face in his chest.

“Don’t be a dick, Rook.”

“Easier said than done, man.”

My face is still heated when Wilder introduces me to the other guy at the table, Owen. He has long brown hair, tucked underneath a gray beanie. And unlike Rook, he’s all smiles.

“Don’t listen to anything Rook says. He’s a bitter old man trapped in a punk dude’s body.” Rook scowls, and Owen amends, “I think there might be multiple bitter old dudes in him actually. Like he’s some soul-eating demon that feeds on wasted lives.”

“Yes, thank you, Owen. Please tell my girlfriend that my best friend is a soul-eating demon. That’s always the best way to start.”

All of the guys laugh, and I smile so wide I feel as if my cheeks might separate from my face. His girlfriend.

“He’s a lovable soul-eating demon,” Owen tries.

The glow fades just a smidge when I realize that if anyone is a soul-eating demon here, I’m the closest in nature. But I shake that off, too happy with Wilder’s arm around me to let anything bring me down.

Then I meet the final friend in the group.

Bridget.

She’s stunningly blonde, stick thin, and she really doesn’t like me.

I offer a quick wave. “I’m Kalli.” And she barely smiles in response, and then retakes her seat. “Will you guys sit down already before some vultures swoop in and steal our table?”

Wilder tenses beside me, but doesn’t comment. And my stomach sinks when Rook and Owen take a seat, only to leave the one for Wilder and me. I glance around, looking for another chair, but as expected, there are none available. Before I can think beyond that issue, Wilder’s hands are on my hips, and he’s pulling me over and down to sit in his lap. He grips my thighs, turning me sideways and pulling me in tight to his hips. I feel the beginning of a bulge against my leg, and my gaze meets his knowing eyes. I wrap an arm around his neck to steady myself, and it brings the side of my chest against the front of his.

“This worked out rather well for me,” he says with a smile.

I laugh and roll my eyes. And then a wicked idea occurs to me. Ever so slightly, I shift so that my thigh rubs against his groin, over and then back again. He drops down to rest his forehead against my temple and groans. “I don’t know,” I say. “Are you really going to hold me like this all night long?”

That earns me a quick nip on my earlobe, and it’s my turn to stifle a reaction.

“We’re out of here right after midnight,” he growls. “I’m talking one minute after. Mom doesn’t work tonight, and I don’t want to share you with anyone else longer than I have to.”

Wilder gets a text then, and he shifts me on his lap to fish out his phone. It’s Lennox. He sends her a quick message to explain where we are in the bar, and a few minutes later, I see her pushing through the crowd with Mick, Jack, and Avery in her wake. Jack’s eyes immediately find mine, and I stiffen.

“So you told them to come?” I ask.

“Yeah. Lennox called this afternoon. I figured the more the merrier.” He takes a strand of my hair between his finger and thumb and adds, “Plus, I thought if our friends became friends, we could all hangout together. That will mean more time for us together.”