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Without knowing the answer to that, I’d likely sign up. Because whatever Kool-Aid this guy drank, I wanted some. Bad.
Harper told me once that prey could recognize predators and, while most run, some go into shock from the predator’s power. I think she had been on her third shot of tequila and was only half listening to The Animal planet episode that was on, but it made some sense.
True or not. I felt like prey, transfixed by a predator. And I didn’t have the good sense to flee just yet.
“You don’t have to lend me your jacket,” I said, kind of wishing I hadn’t. But manners were manners. “I’ll be fine.” I caught a heavy whiff of his scent again, and it instantly swarmed my senses, warming me from the inside out.
“Please, I insist.” His words were kind, but there was a definitive tone that made me not want to challenge him. The man had to be a couple inches over six foot, and the large jacket covered me well, reinstating a bit of security.
“Are you sure you didn’t get hit or injured?” He tilted his head and examined me. The low light of the bar made shadows dance across his face, like some mythical underworld god.
I smiled a little because while he might look fierce, his concern was sweet. Actually, he was the only one who’d asked. Everyone else just stared. Then I realized why he must be asking. I hadn’t gasped, I had yipped like a spooked puppy.
“I was just surprised, but I’m really okay. Wasn’t even touched. Well,” I glanced down the front of me again, “aside from a little water.”
He did that body scanning thing with his eyes again, leaving a trail of hot shivers along my skin.
“Good, I’m glad.”
I went to thank him one more time, but something near the entrance caught my attention. My eyes went to the door and I froze...it couldn’t be. Oh, God, it was…him.
He was here. Walking into the same bar I was currently sitting in. My throat closed up and the sudden urge to bolt, to vomit, to scream, overwhelmed me. An unfortunate reaction, but one I’d had many times whenever I encountered my step-brother. I’d seen him thousands of times over the years, and yet, it never got easier. I just learned how to remain silent and pretend I wasn’t terrified.
That I was okay.
“Brock.” I whispered.
What the hell was he doing in Denver? He worked for my father too, and was supposed to be overseeing the New York branch. Which meant he hadn’t been around in six months. Six months of blessed peace that allowed me to actually work at my father’s company.
He took another step into the bar. I watched his beady eyes scan the room as he adjusted his tie. He was only six years older than me, but his dull brown hair had flecks of gray, and his chest puffed out a little extra to make up for the fact that he was five-nine on a good day. Since he was still in his suit, he’d likely come from the office, but which one?
Everything else in the world blurred, because all I could think about was getting away. Gripping the table with one hand, I tensed to move, to leave, but he was right at the entrance, and there was no way I could get out without him seeing me. Granted, the way he kept looking around, he’d likely notice me any moment.
My blood pumped faster and a kick of anxiety laced with a heavy dose of fear surged until all I could hear was my pulse beating. I couldn’t escape.
I looked around, wishing I had a wall, something to hide behind. But I didn’t. Just like I didn’t that night ten years ago when he came into my bedroom.
When Brock shifted his stance in my direction, my nerves short-circuited. He was going to see me. Huddling the best I could, I tried to make myself smaller. I wished I could disappear. I wished for the thousandth time that I could just be someone else. Somebody braver.
Somebody who mattered.
But, once again, I was alone. Like a laser beam, his gaze was drawn closer…closer…
“Hey, hey,” the man who gave me his coat whispered. He’d obviously read my body language, and the fact that I was bouncing in my seat, yet not making a move to stand. “It’s okay, those guys are gone,” he said, referring to the men who had been fighting.
It was a reasonable assumption on his part that I was having some kind of post traumatic freak out moment. Which was half true, just the wrong moment.
He sat right next to me and turned his body so that I faced him head on, and his back was toward the crowd and the bar.
A wall.
“I…” I couldn’t get words out. Because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want him to go. Between his broad shoulders and strong chest, he effectively kept me hidden from Brock.
He just sat there, one arm on the table, the other gripping the back of my seat, boxing me in and shielding me with his entire body.
“Y-yes, I’m fine.” It was what I always said. What I had rehearsed over and over as a girl. Even at thirteen, I knew that if I didn’t pretend that I wasn’t broken, I would really break and I’d have no one to help put me back together.
I looked into the stranger’s eyes. They were like smoldering obsidian. He was so intense and in control. I should have felt threatened, but I didn’t. There was an intensity, sure, but also a gentle understanding and heat that warmed me instantly…made me feel safe. And, suddenly, I didn't want to lie…not to him.
