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“This will help keep the swelling down. And it’ll make the bruise less noticeable tomorrow, too.”
“Familiar with treating bruises, are you, Ms. Lake?” he asks.
The subtle tease in his voice makes my pulse kick up—so much so that it takes me a second to realize what he just said. My last name. “Well, I am pretty clumsy generally, so, yeah. Never had to ice anyone else, though, and especially not because of a fistfight.”
“First time for everything.” He leans back against the wall again, still holding the ice to his eye. With the other, he studies me. “So you don’t make a practice of getting cornered in dark alleys, then?”
I bristle. “I could have handled it.” I could’ve run. Or yelled. Someone inside the bar would have heard me if I’d screamed. Right?
“Sure you could.” His good eye narrows.
I cross my arms. “Look, thank you, but next time, just don’t get involved. I’d rather fight my own battles.”
He cocks his head. “You know, you’re pretty terrible at saying thank you.”
My cheeks flush. Damn it. I thought I did already, but… I shake my head. Something about him throws me off my game. Makes me say things I never would normally. “Look, I…” He catches my gaze. Whenever he looks at me like that, it’s hard to keep my head on straight. “Why are you helping me?”
“What do you mean, exactly?” He lifts one eyebrow, his tone teasing, and yet…
“With…” I gesture vaguely at the street, in the direction my would-be attacker ran toward. “That. But also, why are you keeping my secret? At school.”
Something flashes in his gaze. His smile widens, just a tad. I’m not sure what it means exactly, but it makes me want to keep talking, just to fill the space. Because otherwise, the tension between us feels like it’s starting to thicken. Growing unbearable.
“I mean, I sort of thought you’d leap at the chance to tell everyone I’m some poor working class kid who has to serve drinks to guys like that.” I gesture up the street again. I tilt my head, when he doesn’t reply. “Am I wrong, or would that sort of gossip be valuable as hell at this school?”
“You’re not wrong,” he says finally, still with that unreadable look in his eye. “Secrets are a valuable commodity in any society. Tanglewood especially.” He pushes off the wall. Moves toward me.
“So.” I find myself doing the same. Stepping toward him, even though I know I should be moving in the other direction. My instincts scream at me to run, but… “Why are you helping me?”
“You’ve got it all wrong.” He stops just an inch from me. We’re so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body in the cool fall evening air. “I’m not helping you. I’m not a good person, Missy.”
I raise my chin. Keep my eyes fixed on his. He’s lowered the ice pack now, and the bruise looks angrier, redder. But it only serves to make his dark eyes seem even sharper, more focused. I’ve never felt so wide-open—as if with one glance he’s tearing down all my defenses. Zeroing in on the core of me.
I feel stripped bare. Naked before him.
My throat tightens, but I can’t make myself swallow. “Then why?” I ask, but the words come out a whisper. A breath.
Doesn’t matter. He’s close enough to hear them. They draw a sharp smile on his dangerous lips. “Because,” he says, bending closer, and I catch his scent. There’s no alcohol on is breath. Just a sharp, heady mix of something spicy and a little oaken, almost. It makes my breath catch, my lips part.
He smells good. Incredible, really.
“I’m a bad guy,” he says, so low I almost don’t think I heard him right. “Terrible, actually.” His gaze drops, taking in my body. Slow, like he knows I won’t move a muscle until he’s finished looking me over. His smile widens, and when his eyes meet mine again, he arches an eyebrow. “I haven’t said anything at school because I enjoy knowing something about you that no one else does. I told you. Secrets have power.”
The way his says power makes my mouth go dry, my heart skip.
We’re so close. Another inch and he could close the gap between us. Kiss me.
I want him to, I realize, sudden and fierce. I’ve kissed guys before, but never guys like this. Never guys who could destroy me with a word. Never guys who get into fistfights to defend my honor, either.
Never guys who look at me the way Keanen Kross is right now.
I tilt my chin up, toward him. “Kiss me,” I breathe. And he does.
5
The second Keanen’s lips meet mine, my whole body arches up toward him. I feel like I’m on fire. My stomach clenches, and my hands move of their own accord, sliding up his chest—God, he has hard muscles. He’s lean, but he’s not scrawny. My hands reach his neck, loop around it, and his hands are moving too. Far more distractingly.
