Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) by Shana Vanterpool

I’ve ever said to you. I’m a prick. I just wanted to hurt you. That’s what I do. I hurt things. People. Myself. I don’t mean any of it. You’re a beautiful, sexy, good, woman. You don’t want to be that girl. You want to be better. You are better. Don’t let people like me and Dylan change who you are.”
    Tears fill my eyes until I can barely see him. Blinking them away, I press my forehead to his. “Why did you cover my leg?”
    It takes him a second before he understands. When he does he smiles sadly. “You don’t want me to see your leg. I’ll break it. You have phenomenal legs. So long and sexy. You really want me to break them?”
    His warm breath brushes against my lips. His body heat, his eyes, the way he’s looking at me like I’m better than any other woman he’s ever had makes me want to kiss him. Dylan never looked at me like that. He looked at me like I was everyone else’s instead of his. Dylan left. He lied. He cheated.
    Dylan’s gone.
    “Yes.”
    Bach’s hands slide down my face, my shoulders, and settle on my waist. “You don’t mean that. You’re vulnerable right now because you’re hurting. You don’t really want me. You want someone to take your sadness out on. You can take it out on me, just not this way.”
    When I lean in to kiss him he moves his face so my lips land on his cheek. I kiss it, sliding my lips over his stubble. He smells so different than Dylan. Like sweat and sadness and desire. It’s musky and intoxicating. If desire had a smell it would smell like Bach. Wanting something you know you shouldn’t want. And wanting it more because you know deep down that want is going to break you apart. The desire is new and overwhelming, rushing over me like a wildfire. I am swept up in it.
    “Harley.”
    The sound of his voice makes heat erupt between my legs. I urge closer to him. “Please, Bach.”
    He groans. His hands tighten around my waist and his eyes fill with something dark and bad. He wants me too. But then again this is Bach. His cut off age is ninety. He doesn’t want to touch me. The want I see could be wishful thinking. He wants to put me in a display case. I’m really the only one who wants anything right now.
    I brace my hands on either side of his head and kiss his cheek again, rubbing them over his strong jaw. “Break them.”
    “For the first time I don’t want to break something.” He gently pushes me away from him. “But we can break other things. Like Dylan’s fish tank. He loves that thing. Or his jeep. It’s parked under the house. We can smash that.”
    “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I admit. My head’s been screwed up ever since Dylan texted me.
    I move off his lap, sitting in the middle of the couch. The rush of emotions disappear as fast as they came, leaving me empty and confused.
    “Me either,” he mumbles, reaching for the remote like I didn’t just throw myself at him and he didn’t want me at all. I can’t believe I threw myself at him. He props his feet up on the table and sighs. “It’s Dylan’s fault though, I can tell you that. Before he left I was fine. I was great.”
    He wasn’t either. When Dylan left he forced Bach to be alone with himself. He left him with his nightmares and shaking hands. And when he left me, he left me alone with Bach. My hands aren’t shaking yet, but I have this uneasy feeling they’re going to.
    “Were you going to do anything tonight?”
    “With who?” My tone is unapologetically petulant. “My boyfriend? No. He’s a lying sack of shit. With his best friend? No. His best friend doesn’t want anything to do with me. Does with every other girl, just not me. Len? Nope. My roommate has an intact family who can’t wait for her to come home for college in the summer. Oh, and I’m stuck in this drunk orgy college town because I refuse to lose my apartment and live in the dorms next year for school. Does that answer your question?”
    He smiles at the TV.