I set my computer aside and stand up, walking into the living room. “Time to get pretty, boys. We’re going to a party.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Candace
Rick is back.
I wake to the memory of his kiss and his hands on my body, my thighs slick, nipples puckered. Lord help me, I’m having a wet dream about my ex while engaged to another man. Of course, I hate that other man the way I should hate Rick. I do hate Rick. What am I thinking? Of course, I hate him. He’s an assassin who killed people for a payday.
Throwing away the blankets, I quickly dress in leggings and a tank, heading for the door for my morning jog that is often my only version of sanity. Stepping to the porch, I draw to a halt as I find Rick standing there holding two Starbucks cups, his dark hair cut short. His black T-shirt is pulled snug across an even more impressive chest than I remember. But it’s the sunlight cutting down the scar on his cheek that has my attention, that has me wondering who cut him. It has me wondering what hell he’s lived through and why he chose it over me.
“Peppermint mocha,” he says, my gaze jerking to those rich, deep blue eyes of his as he adds, “your favorite holiday drink.” His lips, those full, sexy lips I know to be punishing and wicked in all the right ways curve above his goatee. “Truce?”
“We’re not fighting.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“A truce doesn’t shut down emotions, Savage.”
He scowls a familiar, intense scowl. Everything he does is intense, which I used to love. What I don’t love is his response. “Stop fucking calling me that.”
“Stop cursing at me,” I snap back.
“Make me.”
“You might kill me if I try. I don’t like my odds. I don’t have a gun on me right now. I’m going for a run.” His hands are full and I take a few steps, planning to pass him by, but that doesn’t work.
Somehow he gets rid of the cups, and catches my arm, turning me to face him, heat radiating up my arm and over my chest. And then I’m staring into his eyes again, the past punching between us, the attraction, the connection still so damn alive that it steals my breath.
“You think that’s all I am?” he challenges. “A killer?”
“I don’t pretend to know who you are,” I whisper, fighting the emotions balling in my chest again. “You left here a surgeon and came back ten years later an assassin.”
“Eight years,” he bites out. “And I wasn’t an assassin. I was—something far more complex. Something that got out of hand. I work for good men now, doing good things.”
“I need to take a run and get back.”
“I’ll go with you the way I used to.”
“No,” I say. “No, you will not go with me.”
“Then I’ll wait right here until you return.”
“Stop touching me,” I plead because I’m coming undone because I’m forgetting all the reasons he’s bad and this, us, is trouble.
“I don’t want to stop touching you. I’ve waited so damn long to touch you again. I didn’t think I’d ever touch you again.”
“You made that choice,” I say, my voice lifting. “You. Not me.”
“To protect you.”
“And yet you’re here now,” I counter.
“Protecting you is no longer about staying away.”
“That’s it?” I demand. “You were protecting me by staying away? Really, Rick? Because while I cried myself to sleep over you, I didn’t feel protected. I thought you were dead. And then that damn letter you wrote to me. You destroyed me. So forgive me if I don’t feel protected.” I jerk at my arm. “Let go. Let go now or I swear I will start screaming.”
His jaw clenches but he releases me, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not enough. It will never be enough. I’m engaged to another man.”
“Do you love him?”
I feel the punch of that question but I recover quickly. I hold up my finger and the ring. “I’m wearing his ring.”
“That’s not an answer. Just tell me you love him. Tell me you love him and I’ll go away.”
“You don’t get to give me an ultimatum. You don’t have that right. Goodbye, Savage.” I take off down the stairs and start running. I run hard and fast and I don’t stop until I can’t take a breath any longer. I tell myself not to turn around, but I do and he’s not there. Rick didn’t follow. It was that easy to get rid of him. Of course, it was. It was always easy to get rid of Rick Savage. I start running again, trying to beat down the pain spreading through my body and cutting at my heart.
When I finally reach my house again, I hate the blast of disappointment I feel when he’s not here. I climb the stairs and freeze at the sight of a note shoved in the door. And damn it, my knees are weak as I grab it and open it to read: See you tonight, beautiful.