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The air in my lungs left me. “I-I-you don’t know me.”
“Denver does,” he returned, stepping away from me.
I shook my head. “We barely know each other. This is crazy.”
He smiled again, stopping at the steps. “Life usually is, Valerie. Gotta live it.”
“Val?”
I looked up from my laptop. I was currently on the couch in the living room, my legs tucked under me, my hair pulled back by a big clip. I had spent the rest of the afternoon doing research on my old employer, digging up anything I could find, which wasn’t much.
The Moonie’s were good at covering their tracks. There were whispers through the company grape vine of course, but I never really paid any attention to them. I was focused on one thing. My mom.
“Valerie.”
I blinked; my thoughts of Moonie were pushed away by gray smoke. Denver was standing in the living room entryway. His dark washed Wranglers were dirty, along with his black shirt. He still had his hat on, probably just to torture me.
I looked up into his eyes and his smoke came at me in a slow, gentle, teasing crawl, like a predator stalking its prey. His bearded jaw was tight as those eyes dropped down to my chest, then to my lap.
“Been busy, baby,” he murmured.
“Hi,” I breathed. He stared at me for another beat, something that looked a lot like longing drifting over his face. When he looked away, his eyes went to the rocking chair in the corner. I followed his gaze, then looked back at him.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He looked back at me, confusion masking his handsome, dark features.
“I don’t—I don’t really…” I trailed off. What was I apologizing for?
Trying to uproot his life.
Watching him kill a man.
Having him take care of you.
Him saving you and then killing another man.
Taking me in.
Him listening to my life story in the middle of the street.
Me developing feelings for him.
“Why in the hell are you apologizing?” he asked, his voice stern. He moved closer to me, his boots pounding against the hardwood floors.
I ran my hand through my hair and looked down at my keyboard. “I don’t know, really. I just felt like I should apologize.”
I felt his warm, rough fingers slide underneath my chin, gripping it firmly and tilting my face up to look at him.
“If you’ re apologizing for not giving me a fucking kiss, then I’ll accept it, but for anything else, no. There’s no need to apologize, Val.”
I blinked. “Kiss you?”
He cocked his head to the right, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Yeah,” he whispered.
“I did kiss you—”
“Baby, I just got done with a long day of work. You sit on my couch in a pretty dress, I’m going to want a kiss.” His voice was deeper now, thicker, but somehow gentle. He leaned down closer stopping when our lips were a centimeter apart.
