Page 74 of Hearts at War

He could—

“No.” I bit it out so harshly I swore my jaw would never stop aching from how tightly I clenched it. Shutting my mouth hard, I clacked my teeth and strained with tension. Bracing for danger.

“No?” he asked, his voice snaky as ever. At first I thought it was charm. Or humor. Now, I knew it to be his thinly veiled grip on his anger. “That’s how you greet me? No?”

“You deserve no greeting from me.” Tears threatened at the edge of my eyes, but I breathed through my nose to hold them back.

“No what?” he asked, shoving one hand into his pocket. He lifted his free hand to stroke his jaw, as if that made him look pensive or smart.

“Just no.” I shook my head just as the sound of tires crunched behind him on the path. Roarke’s rusty truck came into view, and I felt steadier. I wasn’t alone—if he stopped.

“Whatever you want, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, it’s not a matter of what I want,” David said in his slimy tone. “It’s a matter of what I deserve. What you owe me.”

Owe. That was how he operated, believing I always owed him something more.

A drone of deafening loudness filled my ears. My pulse thundered there as I feared him taking me back under his watch and control.

“Is there a problem here?” Roarke said, coming closer.

I’d dropped into such a panic, I hadn’t registered that he’d parked. That he stalked over here now to intervene.

Unlike when he intervened at the roadside yesterday, to talk Marty out of giving me a ticket, there was nothing but serious concern on his face. A hint of anger too.

“Nothing.” David sneered at him as he stepped up close.

The contrast between them couldn’t have been any clearer.

David with his gelled hair, plucked brows, smooth skin courtesy of facials and expensive products. He looked a posh and fancy as ever, compared to the rugged masculinity of Roarke next to him. He was filthy, dusty, and wearing jeans and flannel under his thick Carhart. No trim suit for him.

“I’m just here to have my girlfriend come home with me.”

“No.” I shook my head, taking a step toward Roarke. “No,” I repeated.

“I insist,” David said through clenched teeth. He stepped closer, likely to grab my hand.

But Roarke moved as well. He stood between me and my ex. His hard body blocked David from getting to me. Tucking me to his side, the rough and tumble ranch hand cleared his throat. “She’s home right here.” His fingers curved over my hip, keeping me close. “And she’s not going anywhere.”

THE END