Cordelia closed the apartment door behind her, leaning her back against it for a moment. The air inside was still, faintly smelling of chamomile tea and laundry detergent—a stark contrast to the heady mix of leather, smoke, and gasoline that clung to her clothes from the Highway Demons compound.
Her cheeks were still warm.
She’d told herself the visit was just to check on Ash, to see the garage where he spent so much of his time which he told her right now. But she hadn’t counted on the way he’d looked at her, the way his voice had dipped, the weight of him standing so close she could feel his heat. The almost-kiss had left her both rattled and… wanting.
Cordelia shook her head hard, tossing her bag onto the couch. “Get a grip,” she muttered, heading toward the kitchen. A glass of water
