(Lena’s POV)

The ride back to my place was quieter than the night before, but the silence felt heavier.

Marcus kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh, fingers loosely curled. Every time the truck hit a bump the thick shape under his jeans shifted, and I felt it like a pulse between my legs. I kept my eyes on the road. It didn’t help. I could still see him in my peripheral vision broad shoulders, the line of his jaw, the way his work shirt pulled across his chest whenever he breathed deeper than usual.

He pulled into the same alley as last night...