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I think I’m about to hyperventilate. There’s air, but it doesn’t go in, and my throat starts to close.
Waves of horror come over me. All of them are flavored differently. Some are the bitterness of humiliation. Others the salt of humiliation, some the stinging burn of old pain.
“Breathe, Princess,” a low voice says, as a large hand slips around my arm.
Mack soothes me, and I find I can breathe, which makes me all agitated again.
With one touch he can do that? It’s like I’ve traded the smother of Mom for him. Instead of coming through flames to stand truly on my own, I’ve found another cage, even if it’s perfect and warm and made of Mack.
All around me are voices and people, and even though one of those people is Gran, I want to run.
The guy is whining. “I wasn’t going to hurt her, just scare her a bit, show I could find someone even if they didn’t ask.”
“No, you got hired by my silly daughter and decided to take matters into your own hands even though Eddie the Idiot wasn’t going to do anything, and you screwed up. You sent people everywhere on my daughter’s dime to track down Sidney for your boss,” Gran says.
“Vic!” Lawson grabs Gran. “Don’t kick him in the head.”
“But he deserves it,” Vic says.
Leland grins. “As her attorney, I’d say it was self-defense.”
“Not helping, Conley.” Lawson cuts a glance at Sarah’s fiancé.
“Preemptive self-defense?” Leland asks.
Mack uses gentle pressure on me to take me outside. “Checking the garage,” he says, on our way out the door.
He breathes out a sigh. “You could have told me your Gran’s called Vic.”
“You seemed to think there was some kind of hot stud muffin after me called Victor. And since that’s never happened, at least until you pulled me from my car, I went with it. And I didn’t know you. I didn’t know who to trust, or if anything I knew would bring down trouble.”
He pulls his keys from his pocket and presses a button, and the garage door creaks and groans, metal on metal as it rolls up.
His garage is big, which I’d guessed, but bigger than I thought. There’s a space, stained with oil and grease, where he can work or park a vehicle.
Next to that is a car that’s so not him. I wonder if it’s either sentimental or for someone.
There’s so much I don’t know about him, and I want to. Almost as much as I want to run. Or perhaps that’s the other way around. I don’t know, and I’m not ready to examine it.
“That’s a graduation present for Rose. It’s gonna get custom-painted turquoise.”
I raise my brows. I’ve met his sister a few times and turquoise is a bold choice. “Really?”
“Not bright enough? Something day-glow?”
I stare at him.
“Fucking hell, Princess, no. It’s staying black. But I’m pimping the fuck out of the engine and everything else. Making it safe, smooth, and ready for driving where she needs to go.” He runs a hand over the top. “London taxicab. She’s always loved them, and it’s classy. Lawson and I are splitting the costs.”
I blink hard. To be loved like these people love . . .
“W-where’s your Jag?”
“Back there, under cover.” He points behind him with his thumb. “But I didn’t bring you here for a tour.”
He kisses me slowly, and I melt into him, opening for him because I can’t help myself.
Kissing him is heat, magic, and coming home. I want to stay in that place forever, but I can’t because it isn’t real. It’s just a kiss. A really good kiss, but a kiss. And when we part, I sigh.
