“Yeah. I sure as hell am.” He reached for her wrist. He still had bandages on the back of his right hand. One on his left. She could see some scrapes on his fingers. Bruising. But he didn’t seem to care about his injuries. His gaze was on the darkening line that the handcuff had left on her wrist.
Sloane wet her lips. “You should get a tracker for yourself. Atlas always has one so that he can be located if, um, circumstances deteriorate.”
His fingers slid along the growing bruise on her wrist. “I’m sorry.” He brought her hand up. To his mouth. Kissed the dark band. “I…don’t trust easily.”
“No, really?” Fake shock.
Another kiss. “I don’t let people close.” His voice was low.
Frankie would be able to hear them up front. This wasn’t the type of conversation that should be overheard. So she leaned toward Preston. Her fingers curled around his neck as she pulled him closer to her. Sloane’s mouth pressed near his ear. “I’m close. Right now, I am very, very close to you.”
He nodded.
Her lips slid against his earlobe. “What changed your mind about me?” Low. Husky.
His head turned. He dipped in again so that now, he was at her ear. His breath blew lightly against her, and Sloane couldn’t control the little shiver that slid over her skin.
“I think you and I…” Preston rasped, “might be very similar.”
She felt the lick of his tongue against her lobe. And maybe, the faintest tug of his teeth on her.
Desire surged through Sloane’s body.
He eased back. Stared into her eyes. “You aren’t scared of me.”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting evil over the years.”
He laughed. Rough. Deep. Bitter. “Then maybe you need to take another hard glance at me.”
No, she didn’t. She knew what she was getting with him. Exactly what she needed. But they had to come to an agreement. “You don’t hurt me. I don’t hurt you.”
A furrow appeared between his brows.
“You don’t hurt me,” she repeated. “I don’t hurt you.” That was the only way their partnership would work.
His jaw locked. Frankie kept driving. Sloane didn’t think that Preston was going to respond at all until?—
“Angel, there’s something you need to realize.”
She waited, all her attention on him.
“From here on out, consider me your attack dog. Anyone tries to hurt you in any way, and I’ll rip out the bastard’s throat.”
Well, that was promising.
I will not walk into her shower again. I will not walk into the shower.
Preston stood in the bedroom. His bedroom. He’d had new clothing picked up and brought over for Sloane because her belongings were still at the sheriff’s station. Her clothes and her bags. Though Debra was supposed to be delivering the items to his home. Including Sloane’s laptop.
In the meantime, though, he’d had his assistant pick up new clothing for Sloane. An assortment of makeup, too. And new shoes. Sloane had given him all her sizes.
Now he was just waiting around like a dumbass for her to come out of the shower.
Bullshit. You’re trying to come up with a reason to go in that shower. You want to see her naked again. You want her coming against your mouth. You want to fucking fix what you might have already broken when you let doubt drive you from her.
