The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,57

at home.”

Camden’s smile grew. “Well done. I don’t think anyone has ever beaten me at poker like this before.” He brought his cigar to his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Court, you chose well. You’re welcome next time.”

In that moment, it felt like I’d just been tapped into a secret society. Except this might be even more elite.

And while it felt good to be accepted…my mind was on Lark. Something about what Camden had said struck a chord in me. Now, I needed to figure out how to get what I wanted.

23

Lark

“What the hell?” I groaned.

I opened my bleary, tired eyes and reached for my phone, which was buzzing on the nightstand. Finally, it stopped. I flopped back onto the bed and searched desperately for the dream that I’d been in. But it wouldn’t return.

Then suddenly, I heard a banging on the door.

“Ugh,” I muttered as I pulled myself out of bed.

I rubbed a hand over my face and hurried through the apartment to the front door. It looked like English was sleeping through this racket. If it was another drunk ass who had the wrong apartment, I was going to fucking kill someone. I could see why my parents wanted me in another apartment. If this kept up, I might actually agree with them. My sleep was too fucking valuable.

I ripped the door open, ready to curse the asshole up and down for waking me. But instead, Sam stood there, taking up the entire doorframe. He was in navy slacks and a white-and-blue button-up with mussed hair and hazy eyes. He smelled like tobacco and bourbon. And my mouth went suddenly dry at the sight of him, as if conjured straight out of my dream.

“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.

“I came to see you,” he said, all smooth words and long vowels. He’d had plenty to drink, enough to make him lean against the doorframe, but he wasn’t drunk.

“I said that I wasn’t ready to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he said.

Then his hands were in my hair, and his lips sensually fitted to mine as if they had always belonged there. His tongue trailed along my bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. A moan broke free at the pure power of him. He stole the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my mind and power from my body. God, I fucking wanted this and him and everything.

He skimmed my shoulders, my sides, my waist. I shuddered at his touch. At the feel of him and how long I’d waited for it.

“Sam, you…you have things to figure out,” I said, gripping his shirt hard in my fists. I wasn’t sure if it was to bring him closer or push him further away.

“I figured them out.”

“You did?”

“You. I want you.” He nibbled along my jawline. “Just you, Lark.”

“Oh god,” I breathed and then yanked him into the apartment.

He toed the door closed behind him.

Our lips crashed back together, hungry and possessive.

“Yes,” he growled against my lips. “Yes.”

And I came apart.

“Please,” I groaned.

“Anything.”

What did I want? I wanted him. I’d just admitted that to English…and to myself. I’d just decided not to go on a date with anyone else. To figure out what was happening here. Even though we’d ended terribly in the past, that didn’t mean we had to be history repeating.

It was a fresh start. Turning over a new leaf. A blank slate. All those things and more. It was me and Sam. And in every way, we felt right.

Against the odds, we’d found our way back to each other. It was easier to stay mad at him. To harbor that inner fire that said this couldn’t be mended. We’d hurt each other too bad. Irreparable damage had been done. My paper heart had been cut up into little pieces, and no matter how I tried to tape it back together, it would never be the same. But there was hope.

Hope that we could survive what had happened and move on. That he could love that taped-together paper heart again. Find a few scattered pieces and put them back into place the correct way.

It was that hope that had me leading him back to my bedroom. Heedless that English was asleep in the guest bedroom. No protests left his lips.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed against me instead. “So fucking much.”

My insides melted at his words. “I missed you, too.”

“And this…I don’t remember you sleeping in this.” His hands trailed