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“Did you drive?” she asked.
Monk pointed to the motorcycle parked nearby.
She couldn’t explain why, but the sight of it rankled her. There was so much she didn’t know about the man who held her hand in his. She knew his name and that he was from the South, but not where exactly. She knew nothing about his family or his history or even that he had a motorcycle.
She could say that she based her trust in him on the fact that he worked for her brother, but that would be a lie. For the second time in her life, she’d fallen for a man solely by trusting her own instincts. The promises she’d made to herself, even her assurances to her brother and her best friend, were lies too.
“I can’t do this,” she said. “It’s over, Monk.”
He looked into her eyes for a long time without speaking. Saylor should’ve walked away, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
“Say something. Anything.”
When he stepped forward and gripped her neck, Saylor expected him to kiss her like he had earlier. Instead, he kissed her forehead, released her, and walked over to his motorcycle.
Saylor watched him, incredulous that he would leave without a word. He didn’t get on the bike, though. He took something out of the saddle bag, walked back over, and held it out.
“What is it?”
“It’s a gift, Saylor. Please take it.”
She let him place the soft bundle in her hand and watched him walk back to the bike.
“Thank you,” she said after him, but doubted he heard. She turned and walked back to her car, trying to decide whether to go straight home or drive to the cabin where her mom and girls were, so she wouldn’t have to be alone.
She set the package next to her, put on her seatbelt, and started the engine. She was about to back up when she saw that Monk had pulled the motorcycle up next to her. She turned the car off, unfastened her seatbelt, opened the door, and got out.
“What just happened?” he asked, getting off the bike and walking over to her.
“I don’t know anything about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
She sighed. “That isn’t the point.”
He stood close but didn’t touch her. “What’s the point, Saylor?”
“I said I wouldn’t do this. I don’t want this.”
“This? What’s between us?”
“Yes.” Saylor stepped forward and rested her head against his chest. Monk put his arms around her and rested his head against hers.
“You know me better than you think,” he murmured.
“I don’t know where you grew up.”
“Just outside Nashville, in a place called Franklin.”
“Does your family still live there?”
She could feel him shake his head. “I don’t have any family left. My mother died five years ago, while I was undercover.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Saylor, look at me.” She raised her head. “Whatever you want to know, all you have to do is ask.”
“Have you ever been married?”
