Page 71 of Hearts at War

I backed up, holding my hand up and shaking my head. “I’m joking. I didn’t mean...” A deep sigh left me in a whoosh. I didn’t want to fuck this up any further than it already was.

“No tab. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I’m holding you to anything.”

No matter what I said and tried to backtrack, she still looked at me with those guarded, skeptical eyes. That playful, sexy blush was gone.

“Please, Heather, please know that you can count on me—no obligations, no conditions—if you need anything. Especially something related to your safety.”

I didn’t want to come across as domineering or controlling, but I had to reiterated this fact. “Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you need help or security.”

When she didn’t acknowledge me with a nod, a look, anything, I gritted my teeth, hating that I could’ve messed up beyond repair. She did not like the idea of owing me anything.

“Here’s my number,” I said. I grabbed a notepad on her side table and leaned down to scribble my cell number on the surface. “Okay?”

Now she nodded. It was a brief couple of jerks, but she lowered her gaze as I reached for the doorknob.

I left, closing my eyes as I knew without a doubt that I’d screwed up in my goal of avoiding drama.

She was scared of something. She had baggage. Boy, did she have baggage and who knew what kind of skeletons in her closet.

If I was going to pursue her for anything, casual sex or more, I had to figure out what her deal was. Because now that I’d stated my intention to be a good neighbor and look out for her, it’d help to be aware of what kind of shit might be coming this way.

Chapter 25

Heather

The way Roarke made me explode with that orgasm should’ve left me sluggish and relaxed. A hot shower would’ve felt like heaven. Snuggling under a blanket would’ve been ideal.

I didn’t do either of those things, though. After he left, I slumped onto my armchair and stared at the opposite wall. It wasn’t a trance, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around what the hell had happened. Or how. Why?

It seemed impossible to go from such an unexpected high of an orgasm, a good one, far surpassing any of the mediocre “pleasure” David ever gave me, to plummeting so low with anger and doubt.

Keep tabs?

That reeked of expectations. That because he’d gotten me off, I had to do the same for him?

If Nevaeh hadn’t interrupted, I probably would have. I wanted to. He’d made me feel so good, so treasured and powerful that I wanted to see if I could give him a taste of his own medicine. I’d been eager to tug his pants down and see what he could do with that massive erection that tented his pants.

He was damned well skilled at making me come with his mouth and just two of his fingers. I could only imagine how awesome he’d been at slamming his hard length into me, too.

But to expect it?

To maintain a tally of give and take?

That wasn’t right. It reminded me too much of what had happened—in the beginning—with Davd. The expectations, the demands, the holding-off of returned gestures.

He’s not David.

Roarke is not David.

I had to remind myself that every time I panicked and spiraled with these thoughts.

Roarke is not David.

I needed to remember that and keep it forefront in my mind.

Because David was here. Or could be. And I had to prepare to face both of them.

After the shock of Roarke’s blurted comment about keeping tabs, I settled back into the strong emotions he’d distracted me from. The fear of seeing David, the confusion of doubting myself if I’d actually seen David in town. Then the fury and frustration of feeling like a cornered animal of prey. I didn’t want to know how David could’ve found me. But I needed to prepare myself in case he had.