Page 74 of Hearts Storm

“Brex.”

“What? I’m agreeing with you.” Keeping one hand firmly on the wheel, he raises the other, pressing his first two fingers together. “No funny business. Scout’s honor.”

“Puh-lease, like you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“How do you know? Maybe I was the most dedicated Boy Scout in the history of Boy Scouting.”

I roll my eyes, smile teasing my lips as I turn to look out the window again. God, being around him makes it so easy to forget everything else. Like Logan acting like an overbearing, closed-off dick, and how my nightmares about Becca have come back with a vengeance. Even the pain in my head has subsided to a dull throb.

Sitting here with him in his truck, Shaboozey’s Let It Burn humming in the background as the world rushes past, I feel lighter than I have in days.

Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of my cottage.

Brex kills the engine and turns to me. “I’ll come in, make sure you’re settled.”

“I’m fine, Brex. Really.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I reach for the door handle. “Pretty sure I can manage walking into my own house.”

A flicker of frustration crosses his face. “At least let me walk you to the door.”

Just the thought of him being back on a porch with me sends a flutter through my belly as I thank my lucky stars it’s not dark outside.

“Fine,” I huff.

Out of the truck before I can blink, he rounds the hood with an easy, confident stride. Just as my feet touch the ground, he’s there, standing in front of me. All six foot five of him.

Popping one eyebrow, he gives me a sideways smirk and leans in close. Brown eyes, warm and molten, lock onto my mouth, and for one dizzying second, I swear he’s about to kiss me.

My breath catches, heart instantly in my throat.

Reaching around me, his forearm brushes against the side of my breast as he goes to grab my bag from the back seat.

Clean soap, cinnamon and smoke hits my nose, chasing my disappointment away as my knees go weak.

For a second, I don’t think he realizes what he’s done. But when he steps back, and his eyes drop to mine, the spark in them says otherwise.

Wait. Did he do that on purpose, or is he just choosing not to act on it?

My guess? It’s both.

Bastard.

“After you, Pretty,” he whisper-growls, waving a gallant hand.

Cheeks burning, gravel crunches under my shoes as I walk to my door, hyper-aware of how close he is as he follows.

Every step I take feels like it’s being cataloged and assessed, heat licking through my core knowing that he’s absolutely checking out my ass.

The afternoon sun casts long shadows through the pines, dappling the ground with patches of gold. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers.

When we reach the door, Brex hands me my bag, fingers brushing mine.

My core pulses and I shiver.

“You still have my number?” His voice is soft and slightly raspy, like he’s doing everything he can to keep from pouncing, shattering every last one of my defenses.

I nod, clutching the strap. “Yeah.”

“Text me.”