Page 25 of Overkill

“Truck’s running, the heat’s going.” He stepped back, giving me room to step out while I fixated on the fact that he must have noticed I was cold.

“Let me just get my wallet,” I said as an excuse to run inside and wash my hands…but also to get my wallet and phone. Once I was ready, and had a chance to throw some water on my face, I looked at the bags under my eyes and shrugged. There was nothing I could do about it now.

I closed the door behind me—locking it tightly—and let the keys jangle as the fuzzy yellow ball of my keychain spun. Stuffing the big thing into the pocket of my thick flannel, I dug my hands in to keep them warm.

I had gloves. They were nice and made of soft leather, but they’d been a gift from Luke. I hated that about them. But the gloves didn’t mean any harm. Though, I was pretty sure Marc or Miriam took them, because they were not where I had left them on the hook by the front door.

Greg opened the passenger door of his truck like he was some prince holding a carriage door on our way to a fantasy ball. He almost bowed his head as I passed him, holding out a hand in case I needed to steady myself.

Chivalry. I thought it was dead, but it was actually alive and well in this guy. And it didn’t feel forced. It didn’t feel as if he were trying to show off or win me over, but it was simply something he did naturally. Because he was considerate and kind. Paired with his fierce eyes, that was one hell of a lethal combination.

He shut the door while I tugged on the seatbelt to buckle myself in, but I watched like a lovesick puppy as he walked around the front of the truck.

Get it together, Mel, before you creep him out.

I put my hands out over his large vents. The heat was blasting, and I wanted to moan in satisfaction as it almost scalded my icy fingers.

Even though I hated being cold, I loved the fall and winter in upstate New York. It didn’t make sense, but it was just as I hated this town despite the magic in the valley.

The truck shifted under his weight as he pulled himself into the seat, smirking at me. He bit his lip then slowly let it slide out, looking thicker and pinker as his tongue darted out to wet them.

“You should”—he swallowed, his eyes falling down my body—“pull the seat back. Get some shut eye for a minute. It’ll be about an hour to get to the Forensic Pathology Facility. You should try to get some rest.”

I bristled, suddenly clamping my arms around my waist.

“No…” I said, breaking eye contact. Breaking the hold his eyes had on me. “I don’t sleep well in cars.”

Lies. A bad one, too. I could feel that he didn’t believe me.

I looked at him, because curiosity was going to kill me. What I saw in his expression was exactly as I’d suspected. Doubt and a healthy dose of sympathy. He looked so sad, I almost told him the truth. I almost let it slip.

I didn’t sleep well unless I was alone. I didn’t like to be unconscious when someone could do anything to me…and I wouldn’t be able to fight back. It was my absolute nightmare to be catatonic and feeling someone doing things to me.

“Your eyes are going to do me in,” he whispered. “I swear, I’m going to fall right into them, and never climb my way out.”

I gasped. I felt exactly the same.

He reached out, his knuckles grazing my cheek.

“I’m as cooked as a hot dog on the fourth of July,” he said with a chuckle.

“That’s not fair,” I mumbled.

I reached out, too. Because apparently this was okay, now. I ran the very tips of my fingers over a wavy lock that had fallen forward on his face, curling right below his eye before tightening into a spiral ending at his jaw line. It was soft. He obviously took care of it.

“What’s not fair?” He wrapped his thick fingers around my forearm, pulling it in until his lips grazed the inside of my wrist.

Not a kiss. Just a soft touch of lips and breath.

I had never felt anything more intimate.

“You’re too nice to me.” I pulled away fast, almost knocking my elbow onto the door with my disjointed movement. Graceful, Mel. Real graceful. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t make sense?” He flinched too, grabbing the strand of hair I’d been playing with and tucking it behind his ear.

Then he did the absolute sluttiest thing a man has ever done in the history of mankind. He pulled the hair tie off his wrist, bunched his long hair in a fist, wrapped it into a ponytail, and secured it at the top of his head. Like a fucking Viking warrior who was half sex god!

I watched every single nanosecond, imagining what he’d look like wearing nothing but that damn tie.