Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I let go of her hand only when she’s clear and put my palm on the edge of the door.
Only then do I glance back at him.
He’s standing in the driveway, face blotchy red, fists clenched, chest heaving under his cheap jacket. He looks like the kind of man who’s used to being the center of his own universe, suddenly realizing he’s not even a blip on anyone else’s radar.
“Like I said,” I tell him, voice calm, cool. “This isn’t the time or place. She doesn’t owe you a damn thing out here.”
He opens his mouth to fire back, but I move to the door lock, entering the code, then the cabin, and shut the door before he gets a syllable out.
I flip the deadbolt with a solid, satisfying thunk.
Silence drops over the cabin like a blanket.
For a few seconds, all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart and the faint, thin edge of my breath. I’m suddenly aware of the heat of the place, the homey smell of pine cleaner and coffee, the wood tones of the walls and floor.
And Holley.
She stands a few feet inside the door, arms wrapped tight around herself, eyes fixed on the handle like she can still see right through it.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her chest rises and falls fast, like she just sprinted up a hill.
My body is aware of her. More than I’d like.
I scrub a hand over my chin, clearing my throat. “You okay?” I ask, voice a shade gruffer than usual.
She blinks like she’s just remembered I exist.
Her hand comes up to her lips, fingertips touching them, as if checking they’re still there. “What the hell was that?” she whispers more to herself than me.
Fair question.
“Exit strategy,” I explain. “He was ramping up. You were trapped. I needed to get you away from him without it turning into a full-scale brawl in your front yard.”
Her eyes snap to mine, wide. “So you kissed me?”
“Seemed like language he’d understand,” I share. “You got a new man; he backs off. Territorial bullshit. Male egos are fragile, baby. Cheaper than bail money.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again.
“You should’ve asked,” she says, but there’s no real heat in it. Just bewilderment. A flicker of humor, even. “Consent is kind of a thing.”
“Which is why I looked at you first,” I point out. “You nodded.”
She frowns, replaying. “I thought you were,” she pauses, “I don’t know what I thought you were doing.”
“Was gonna grab your hand and tell him you and I had plans inside,” I admit. “But then he moved in closer again, and I didn’t like his eyes. And you weren’t pushing me off, figured we could enjoy the moment.”
She shivers while nodding her head. “Okay, I didn’t hate the kiss. He’s just changed. He’s never been this volatile before.”
I lean my shoulder against the door, watching her.
She’s not fragile, this woman. That much is clear. She’s got a temper, a backbone, some steel under all the polite “please leave” she was trying to use on him. But that doesn’t mean she deserved to be cornered like that.
“You need me to call someone?” I ask. “Sheriff? Friend? Big brother with a baseball bat?”
One corner of her mouth twitches. “The sheriff already hates him. And my brother lives three states away.” She shakes her head, some of the color returning to her face. “No. Thank you. But no. I’ll handle it.”
“That your ex I gathered.” I state the obvious.
She nods, lips pressing tight. “Unfortunately.”
“He always just show up, yelling about his own bullshit?” I ask.
“Lately?” She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“You want me to talk to him man-to-man next time?” I ask. “Explain how it’s gonna go if he keeps pulling this crap.”
Her eyes flick to mine, searching. “Why would you do that?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Because I like my quiet. Because I don’t enjoy watching a woman get cornered in her own driveway. Because I’ve seen too many men like him in my life and I’m sick to death of their faces.”
Her stare holds mine for a long, tight second.
Then she exhales, shoulders slumping a little. “For what it’s worth thank you. For stepping in.”
“And for kissing you in front of your ex?” I ask with humor.
A flush spreads across her cheeks. Her gaze drops to my mouth for a half-second before she yanks it back up, flustered. “That was unnecessary, but I won’t complain.” She’s softening.
“Effective, though,” I point out. “He’ll go home and drink about it instead of punching holes in your drywall.”
She huffs out something that’s almost a laugh. “You sound very sure.”
“Like I said,” I answer, a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips. “I read situations. He was pissed, yeah, but he was more pissed at being made to look like a fool than anything else. Men like that will go lick their wounds before they come up with their next brilliant idea.”