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My hands tighten on the wheel.
“Unless you killed him yourself,” I ask, “how’s it your fault again?”
“It just is.” She hisses it out, pressing her tongue against her upper lip, pink tip curling. “My father was involved in bad things. I told you that. A few years ago, there was a friend of mine, this older guy, Dennis Bress...”
Her eyes mist over, and she tilts her head against the window again, staring out at the sun shafts sliding through the trees.
“Go on,” I urge her.
“He was so sweet, but always so sad. He had his own issues. He was big into local real estate and trying to help me with working out collateral for a loan. Back then I didn’t know the slightest thing about working with banks or how to safely use my café as collateral without losing it. Not to mention my credit’s so bad I’d need ten cosigners to take out a thousand dollars. All he wanted was to help me because he loved my coffee so much. And then this other guy who was caught up in my dad’s hot mess just up and murdered him. All because he was using poor Mr. Bress to cover himself.”
“Your friend died because some asshole thought he was disposable,” I point out firmly. “Just because he knew you doesn’t mean his death was on your hands.”
“It was,” she repeats, clenching her fists against her thighs. “It’s a butterfly effect. Because maybe if Dad never did the things he did that entire chain of events wouldn’t have—”
“No point worrying about if when if is never gonna happen.” I frown.
Yeah, her old man was involved with drug runners—but he wasn’t around anymore, and I doubt Felicity’s taken up in his footsteps.
“Look, you can only worry about the now, and what’s to come. And right now, you can’t carry the cross of blame for your father’s mistakes. They’re his to bear and he’s gone.”
“...try telling that to everyone else,” she mutters miserably. “I just don’t want to see you or Eli hurt.”
“You think anything can hurt me?” I flash her a grin. “And you can be damned sure Papa Bear isn’t letting anyone near his son.”
She blinks at me, her mouth twitching in little spasms, almost like she can’t control it.
She finally loses the battle and her soft, sweet red lips turn up at the corners, a snort of amusement escaping her lips.
“Papa Bear, huh?”
“Got a smile out of you, didn’t it?”
“Yeah. You did. Congratulations.” Her eyes soften. “Thanks for that.”
“Anytime, Fliss.”
She just looks at me for a few long seconds, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
The woman’s an odd one. Seems like she’s got her heart on her sleeve, but there’s always something held back, too.
Like she’s keeping a secret in those shining eyes that study me like she’s trying to suss out my true motives. I’ve got a skittish one on my hands here, all right, and that gorgeous creature is trying to figure out if I want to have her for dinner.
I mean. Shit.
There’s a terrible joke or two I could make here about eating her—and about being an overgrown wild thing myself, looking for a mate.
I’m holding it in.
Barely.
Let me tell you, it’s a feat of goddamned strength.
I glue my eyes back on the road and not on the pretty girl I want to gravitate to with every breath.
“Hope you’re not too worried about heading up here with me. I’ve done riskier jobs in the SEALs. I won’t let anything happen to you,” I tell her.
“What if you’re what I need to worry about?” she asks solemnly.
I jerk so hard it’s a miracle I don’t stomp my foot on the brake.
“Uh.” I glance at her, wide-eyed. “Ma’am, I am not that kind of guy. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll turn right back around and go back for Eli. You can sure as hell bet I wouldn’t mess with a girl without her consent, but least of all in front of my kid.”
I’m not expecting the stifled snickering.
Or for it to turn into full-blown, playful, belly-busting laughter.
Vixen.
I scowl at her. “What’s so damn funny?”
“Nothing, I just...the look on your face! Oh my God.” She’s laughing behind her hand, her eyes bright above her curled fingers. “I wasn’t serious, Alaska. I wouldn’t be in this truck if I didn’t think you were a hundred percent safe.”
I don’t know if that warms me or rustles my jimmies just a little.
I’m glad she knows I’m safe.
I’m glad she feels safe with me.
But hell, I wonder if she even sees me as a man at all, if she doesn’t think I might just be looking her way. While I’ll keep my hands to myself without an invitation, sometimes that Cupid’s bow of her lips makes my wayward thoughts filthy things without my invitation.
