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A frown pulled tight. She thought I’d been upset by the fucking scratch on my car? Like I gave a shit?
“I can assure you that my frustration had nothing to do with my car, Ms. Dae.” I led her around to the passenger door, opened it, and helped her to sit.
“Could have fooled me.”
“The car is inconsequential.”
Her eyes narrowed, the green coming in and out of focus.
I quirked a brow at her. “But I still would prefer if you didn’t throw up in my car.”
She giggled then hiccupped, and I flinched as she tossed her booted foot onto the dash and canted me a grin. “That would be priceless.”
Her leg was toned and bare, and I itched with the impulse to run my palm up its length. Dip my fingers under the frayed edge of her cut-offs.
Would she let me?
Before I tested the theory, I slammed her door shut, walked around the front, and slipped into the driver’s seat.
Her aura punched me in the gut, thicker this time in the enclosed space.
A riot of warmth and candy and the sun.
My jaw clutched as I started the engine and carefully drove out of the lot. “Where do you live?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She dragged her fingertip down the side of my arm.
Fire flashed.
She was literally trying to torment me.
Little devil with the angel face.
I deserved it. I did. That didn’t mean I would let her get away with it.
“You’re playing with fire, Ms. Dae. Now give me your address so I can get you home safely like I promised Ryder I would do.”
She went for the doorhandle. “Maybe I will just walk.”
“Don’t you dare, not if you don’t want me to physically chase you down and tie you to that seat,” I grated.
My stomach fisted at the thought of her roaming alone, my hands curled tight around the steering wheel, that irrational anger making a rebound, a thousand degrees as it burned beneath my flesh.
Kimberly had been alone.
Afraid.
I braced myself against the grief that slashed through my spirit.
“Why do you always look so mad?” Paisley’s voice took me by surprise, soft and quiet and gentle as it penetrated the dense air. I glanced that way, finding the side of her face pressed to the seat as she gazed over at me like I was a riddle to make out.
“I’m not mad,” I grunted.
I was fucking irate.
Filled with animosity and a shame so distinct most days I couldn’t see straight.
“I think you’re a liar, Mr. Greyson. I think you’re sad and mad.” Care whispered from her simple, profound words, winding me in undeserved comfort, wrapping around my soul that had already been bled dry.
I returned my attention to the road. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Ms. Dae.”
Hurt blasted from her being at my statement, so heavy I felt it ricochet around the cab. She turned all the way around in her seat and faced the passenger side window.
I scrubbed a palm over my face. Fuck. I was an asshole. A total prick. Completely without the capacity not to destroy everything I came into contact with.
But she couldn’t go to those places scarred inside me. I was a danger to anyone who got close.
“Two ‘o’ two Canter Lane,” she mumbled, refusing to look my direction.
At the light, I tapped her address into the screen, and I made a right, winding back through the center of the small town.
Silence held fast to the cab, oppressive and dark, my regret so thick it clotted the flow of air.
Paisley had gone quiet, and I got the striking sense that when she did, that was her true breaking point. It was the moment she’d cut you off. When she’d decided you weren’t worth her time or effort because you were only going to bring her misery and pain, and she was far too strong to put up with that.
I headed north up Manchester. At this time of night, Time River was desolate, the window fronts darkened and exuding a peace that seeped from the sleeping souls from within. The town glowed with that quaint country vibe that should be comforting but only served to set me on edge.
Coaxing me into letting down my guard.
It only intensified my vigilance.
Restaurants and shops hugged each side of the road, a mix of older two-story brick buildings with colorful awnings marking their storefronts, interspersed with quaint cottages, their patios overflowing with colorful shrubs and flowering plants. There were a few upscale restaurants, and at the corner of Manchester and Rhoads was a three-story hotel that had been standing for more than a century. It had been renovated, but still oozed character and country charm.
It felt a million miles from what I knew.
No city sounds. No shriek of ambulances. No call of the depraved hunting in the night.
I glanced to where she was twisted away from me, her pale skin painted in a red glow from a neon light cast from a dive bar we passed, the woman rippling with disappointment and disgust.
