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I know, somewhere in the back of my brain, that I’m being ridiculous. I’m not dressed to be seen in public. It’s just I need to put distance between us. Because he shakes me down to my core.
And speaking of shaking, that’s what my hand is doing as I try and shove the key into the ignition.
I get it on the fourth try.
And in the gathering darkness, broken by the light spilling from the porch, he’s there, just waiting, watching.
Looking like something I want with a desperation that scares me.
He’s lean, tall, and muscled. The man has power. Even from here, I can see that, harnessed and waiting to be unleashed.
And his face, that handsome, devastating face. It’s still carved, cold rock. It’s his business face, the one I’ve seen countless times, the one that appeared when he rescued me. The one that metes out all kinds of dark punishment. One I secretly covet.
That closely leashed violence.
The unmitigated stone-cold justice.
The seeming lack of emotion.
It’s the face of a man with no fucks to give. A man who will bring down hell if and when needed. A man who will show no mercy once he’s decided someone isn’t worthy of breath.
This is the man who will kill for me. And somewhere inside, enjoy it.
And I want that.
I want him to slay all the demons, past, present, and future.
I want him to do the things I can’t. I want him to kill.
Which is why I need to get away.
Why I need to find somewhere to breathe and put the walls back in place. Refill and strengthen their foundations.
Because right now? I’m dangerously close to losing my shit and everything crumbling.
I know he’ll protect me. It’s the violence, old-school biblical streak in him I want to soak in.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe in, willing myself not to shake.
I also want the other Christian, the one who scares me more than this one. I want the softness, the sweetness, the humor, and the lazy times on the porch Christian. I want to explore a side I never thought was there. A side I think I might have always known existed.
I’m in knots and it’s all his fault.
Snapping open my eyes, I twist the key in the ignition.
Absolutely nothing happens.
I do it again. Then again. And three more times after that.
Nothing at all.
Gulping back a cry, I fist my hands and bring them down hard on the wheel. I press the horn and it blares out, splitting the silence of the fresh night.
Christian’s dark head tilts, and he raises an eyebrow.
I do it again.
This time, he drops his gaze, pulls out his phone, and starts doing something on it. The light from it hits his face, and my heart twists.
