Page 19 of Preacher

“You made me look harder,” I said. “You were right about the buyer, and I’m not too stubborn to admit that. But I’m keeping Curtis Freight for ninety days because I want time to decide what happens to it when nobody’s threatening me, rushing me or trying to manipulate the price. That’s my decision.”

A slow, unmistakably pleased smile moved across his face.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m trying not to, but you’re making it difficult.”

“You know, for a man who likes giving orders, you’re surprisingly happy when I ignore them.”

“Depends which orders.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, and the heat between us arrived so quickly it was almost ridiculous. Luis chose that moment to shout something from the yard about a leaking hose, and Preacher looked toward the warehouse with an expression that made me laugh.

“Later,” I said.

His eyes came back to mine. “Count on it.”

Later meant Preacher’s house after dark. I’d spent the afternoon on contracts with Luis while Preacher went back to the clubhouse, saying little beyond the fact that Vega wasn’t just a regional consultant. I didn’t push because I was learning Preacher didn’t talk until he had something solid enough to use.

I kicked off my shoes near his couch and watched him check the windows before locking the front door. “Do you always do a security sweep before you settle in?”

“Pretty much. I’ve never claimed to be normal.”

“Normal people just lock the door, you know.”

He stripped off his cut and laid it over the chair. The sight of his shoulder beneath a black T-shirt shouldn’t have been enough to distract me after everything we’d already done, but apparently it was.

Preacher caught me looking and gave me a knowing glance. “You’ve got something to say?”

“Probably not.” I followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I don’t want to keep having the same conversation in pieces.”

He closed the refrigerator and glanced over. “Which conversation?”

“Dad. You. Me. The fact that you still sometimes look like you expect Rowan to walk through a wall and punch you.”

His mouth flattened because he knew exactly which conversation I meant.

“I’m not asking you to pretend the history doesn’t matter. You were his best friend, you’re eighteen years older than me, and when I was a teenager you were part of his world. But I’m not eighteen now, and I’m not something Dad left you to take care of.”

His eyes sharpened as he stepped closer. “I know that. You’re not a responsibility I inherited from Rowan. I never thought that.”

He came toward me slowly, stopping when there was only a foot between us. “Rowan only ever asked me to look out for you if you ever needed it. That’s why I showed up at Curtis Freight, and that’s why I started asking questions.”

I waited because there was clearly more coming.

“It’s not why I took you home. It’s not why I kissed you, and it sure as hell isn’t why I’ve spent the last two days wanting you back in my bed.”

Heat moved through me, but I didn’t look away. “What about the age difference?”

“It’s there.”

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“It’s the answer that matters. I’m forty-five and you’re twenty-seven. I remember you being a kid, and I’m not pretending that history disappears just because I want you.”

For one horrible second I thought I knew where he was going. Then his hand settled at my waist.

“But I’m not giving you up over it either.”