“…and you weren’t treating me like a client in our text messages just so I’d come begging after you?”
“Nope,” he says mildly, restrained laughter edging at his voice. “Shit, I thought I was treading lightly until you were ready to talk about the fact that you kissed me and then told me to get out, but now I’m wondering…would you have come begging, honey?”
“No way!” I shoot back.
If I’m honest, though…I’m not so freaking sure.
If I knew he wasn’t playing games, I just might’ve embarrassed myself.
Though I don’t know if anything can be more shameful than how I feel now, when it hits me like a whirlwind.
“I was a brat, wasn’t I?” I huff out. “I’m sorry. God. Your whole site burned down?”
“Yep. I’m surprised you didn’t hear, what with the never-ending small-town gossip stream.”
“I haven’t been to town in a few days. Been kinda busy trying to figure out the process for that whole protected site thing. Then there was…”
I flick a tired arm toward the door, all I need to say about the incident outside.
He nods.
“This whole thing is totally messed.” Then I let my arm drop, wincing. “Ow. Dammit. Why do my arms hurt?”
“Because you took one hell of a bruising.” He leans forward, angling to catch my eye. “Libby, seriously—you need a doctor? I’ll drive you.”
I shake my head firmly. “Just need some painkillers and some rest. I’m not even bleeding anywhere else. I’m more mad than hurt.”
“Sounds about right,” he grunts.
But it’s not mocking.
It’s soft. So is the look in those flaming gold eyes, mingling with something else.
Oh, no.
Holt Silverton’s worried about me.
“Libby,” he says, catching my hand gently—and it’s amazing that even as battered as I am, I can still feel the zing that cuts through me when he touches my skin. It’s lighter now, breathless, and it’s not just my body getting too hot. It’s my heart when he tugs on my hand and says, “Come here. Just for a little bit.”
Maybe it’s the concussion.
Maybe it’s the blinding fact that I’ve had a really rotten night.
Or maybe I don’t need an excuse, and it’s okay to want this because it feels good.
Whatever it is, I don’t resist when he pulls me into his arms.
I just let him wrap me up, and burrow into him with a rough, achy breath. I won’t let it become a sob because even now, I’ve got too much damn pride.
That pride could’ve gotten me killed tonight if Holt hadn’t saved my bacon.
“You were brave,” Holt rumbles, resting his chin on top of my head. His hands are so steady, so sure, just like he’s made to hold me together. “Don’t think I didn’t hear your smart-ass mouth before I got my warning shot off. I’m amazed they didn’t flee from your tongue.”
There are a thousand snarky comments on my lips.
About my tongue.
About his.
But I don’t have it in me tonight to snipe back and forth.
“Stop trying to soothe my ego,” I mumble, burying my face in his chest. “…and thank you.”
A simple thanks shouldn’t be so hard.
He takes it with a soft, appreciative sound that casts a wonderful shiver down my spine, like thunder felt at a distance, vibrating on the air.
“What’re you thanking me for?” he asks.
“Ummm…”
He wants me to say it?
But I can’t just say I was afraid I was about to die out loud.
“For having good timing,” I whisper.
That makes him chuckle, his big shoulders shaking, bouncing us both. “It’s not a proper white knight rescue if I don’t come riding in at the perfect moment.”
“Yeah, well, drama’s your middle name, dude.” I tentatively loop my arms around his torso, though I can barely reach, hugging him tight. Holt just smiles and holds me closer while my heart somersaults. “Holt…what are we gonna do?”
“Don’t know yet, Libby. If we can’t go to the cops, our hands are tied.”
That’s when I realize I said we.
Like we’re in this together.
Then again, if a perfectly lickable man chases off masked bandits for you…
…that’s enough to earn a few trust points.
I bite my lip, turning my head to rest my cheek over his heart. “I can’t believe I’m giving you another chance. So much for thinking you were just another deadbeat playboy.”
“You know my reputation. And you know I earned it.” He’s speaking honestly, frankly, even if it’s with regret.
I’m not sure what to do with it.
Especially when he continues. “I thought that was the life I wanted, turning over beds. I know now I was wrong. I ran from this town because I was afraid to admit that everything I ever wanted was here all along…and I damn near ruined myself in the process. I’m starting over. New life, new me. I’ll claw myself up from the muck if I have to, just as long as I can build something honest and real.”