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Her eyes opened as he held her at arm’s length, and his grip tightened with the effort it took not to pull her back against him and kiss the living daylights out of her.
“I can’t do this.” His voice was so low that he had to clear his throat.
“Why not?”
“Because, I…” There was a reason, a good reason, but staring into her confused eyes, he couldn’t remember it right now. He shook his head as he frowned. “I’m just not…”
She swallowed, dropped her gaze and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
Wes closed his eyes against the mortification in her expression and raked a hand through his hair. He fisted his hand until pain radiated through his scalp, then dropped his arm to his side with a rough half- growl.
“It’s not you, you’re very—” beautiful, and sexy, and God—he wanted her “—nice. And I had fun tonight, but…”
She held up a hand, looking even more miserable, and he felt like a jerk. “You can stop right there,” she said. “Let’s just leave it at that. Goodnight, Westin.”
She turned her back to him as she stepped onto the porch. He took a breath, but didn’t know what to say when she’d used his full name so formally. Backing away slowly, he waited until she unlocked and opened the door before turning onto the sidewalk.
“Are you staying at the Bonnie Blue, or the Ryker’s Inn?”
Her question stopped him cold. The tempting fantasy of Tara Russell showing up at his hotel room revved up his pulse all over again. Get a grip, Carter. Turning around, he asked, “Why?”
He cringed at the suspicion in his tone, especially when he saw her stiffen.
“I assume you want your suit back?”
That’s right, he’d forgotten about his clothes. She was being nice while he’d immediately jumped to the wrong conclusions. His gaze fell to the scoop neck of her tank top and then jerked back to her face. “I’ll just stop by in the morning, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.” She started to close her door.
“Does it matter what time?”
“Unless you want to join my family for a grill-Tara-as-she-pretends-to-enjoy-Sunday-breakfast, then I’d say anytime after eleven.” She slammed the door without waiting for a reply.
Amazingly, family breakfast sounded quite nice to Wes—minus the grilling, of course.
Chapter 7
Tara glared at Charlie as she lifted her first steaming cup of coffee for a cautious sip. If only it were the last one of the morning, then she could be on the way home instead of having this conversation about Wes with her overbearing family. It didn’t matter anyway, he didn’t want her, but she wasn’t about to let them know that. She’d keep that hurt to herself.
“Did you know he’s in a gang?” Charlie asked as if he’d been waiting for just the right moment to drop that little bomb.
She gulped her coffee and burned her tongue.
“A gang?” her dad roared.
Even her mom paused.
Charlie nodded as he spread jam on his toast. “From Detroit.”
“He said that?” Tara demanded, trying hard not to let anyone know her mouth was on fire. “He actually came out and told you?” She took a long drink of cold orange juice.
Charlie shrugged, confident in the support he had from their father. “He claims he left, but he’s still got the tatt, and you know what they say…”
“He lives in Denver—I saw his driver’s license,” Tara argued, even as she pictured every intricate detail of the dragon on Wes’s shoulder. A gang tattoo.
“You can take the boy out of the gang, but you can never really take the gang out of the boy,” her dad prophesized in a low tone.
Tara thought about the way Wes had handled Kenny and Adam. She pictured the scar she’d glimpsed on his back and wondered if it was from a bullet. And if it was, fresh-looking as it’d been, maybe he hadn’t left the gang as he’d told Charlie.
