Touch of Amber: Hot Rods, Book 7

by Jayne Rylon

  After escaping Holden, she’d wait out her buzz in her locked car. Maybe take a nap or something before heading home. Slamming her drink on an empty stomach had probably been a mistake. She’d made plenty lately. What was one more?

  “Well, I don’t care, lightweight. Give me your keys. You’re not driving like this. Are you crazy? Kill yourself if you want, but other people out there are innocent. They don’t deserve your reckless endangerment.” Holden snatched her purse from her fingers with hardly any effort. When he caught her stunned—and hurt—gaze, he grimaced. “That sounded harsh. I wasn’t talking about the other stuff. With Kae and Bryce, I mean.”

  “Whatever.” She shoved his chest and tried to wobble in as straight a line as possible toward the road. If she had to walk to get away from him, she’d do it. His judgment stung, even if he didn’t know she’d done the right thing in the end.

  “Hey, wait.” He jogged a few steps to catch up with her, U-turning her with mild pressure on her shoulder. Maybe because she secretly wanted to stop. To have company. Funny, when she compared isolation to spending time with him, being alone didn’t seem so attractive after all. If only he didn’t despise her. “Sorry, let me drive you. I’m not such a douche that I’d let a woman—you…wander home drunk by yourself.”

  “Do me a favor, okay?” She couldn’t take anything else today.

  “Sure.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair then over the beard stubble she wanted to rub against like her cat when it smooshed its face against the corner of the couch in a compulsive scent-marking display.

  “Don’t talk to me. I can’t argue right now. Not with you or anyone else. Shut up and drive. Fast.” Sabra knew she was weak where this guy was concerned. His disgust had prompted her resignation. Shameless, she licked her lips as she scanned him from head to toe. Unruly hair, a strong jaw and a mouth that was quick to curve into a crooked smile—complete with dimples—for the right person. Badass prep defined his style. A soft, worn hoodie covered a Henley. A navy-and-gray wide-striped scarf somehow only made him look sexier instead of dorky. Trim and fit, she bet he had more definition than it appeared beneath his clothes. Jeans tattered by work and genuine wear versus a fashion factory hugged his perfect ass and framed his package just right. If he lingered, she might make another request of him. One she would regret in the morning. Like so many other things that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

  “Can do.” He didn’t ask for permission. Instead, he simply plucked her from the ground and swung her into his surprisingly strong arms. Within seconds, he’d used her fob to unlock her car, whisked her toward the vehicle that lit up in response, then deposited her gently on the passenger seat before rounding the hood to join her.

  “Lincoln and Town, above the pizza shop,” she instructed as if he were a cabbie instead of a hot-rodder. Sabra leaned her head on the window and tried not to catch glimpses of his capable handling as he quickly rearranged the mirrors then pulled onto the dark street, heading toward her apartment.

  Why the hell did he have to choose now to reappear in her life?

  She ignored the stinging in her eyes and the part of her that would love to unload on him. To confess what she’d done. Try to make amends. Or use him to erase the pain ripping her apart. Truth was, she didn’t deserve him. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to cross those lines, tangling pleasure and pain, reminding them both of what had happened. Because of her.

  When they pulled into the alley behind her apartment, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or sad at how quickly they’d gotten there. It took her three tries to find her door handle. Holden appeared outside, opening it for her and hauling her from the vehicle before she had herself together.

  Pathetic. Why couldn’t she do anything right around this man? And why did she want to prove to him that she wasn’t as lame as he assumed she was?

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and practically carried her up the exterior stairs. At the top, he used the only other key on her ring to unlock her apartment. When he attempted to usher her inside, she stumbled over the threshold, ending up plastered full-length against him.

  Heat flared through her core. Before she could think better of it, she’d coiled her arms around his neck. With that much contact, she had no hope of resisting the magnetism between them. Instead, she fused their mouths. He didn’t shove her away.

  Several heartbeats pounded through her as Holden returned the kiss with interest, making her toes curl. If the world hadn’t already been off kilter, he’d have tilted it on its axis. His taste, the suave seduction of his mouth on hers and his palms cupping her ass all combined to fire her up.

  He inched forward, then pivoted, trapping her against the door jamb. His hands pinned her wrists over her head, and his body held her still as he plundered her parted lips.

  Sabra let him take, allowed him to use her and guide them both through blazing pleasure. She gave herself into his care and he rewarded her trust with rapture.

  Until he yanked backward. She nearly fell on her ass without his support.

  “Damn you.” He banged his fist on the doorframe above her head, making her jump. “That isn’t what I came here for.”

  “S-sorry.” A flush stained her cheeks. How much mortification could one woman withstand in a day? Quitting before she could get fired for insubordination had sucked. Holden’s rejection was twice as bad. “Really. I screwed up. Everything.”

  Before he could reach out for her or bash her again—his disgust wounding her much more than fists ever could—she tucked inside and closed the door, locking him out of her home.

  And her life.

  Even then she couldn’t help but peek at him, knowing it would be the last time she saw the man of her dreams. From behind the corner of a curtain, she watched him struggle with his too-tight jeans until he yanked his phone from his back pocket then swiped his thumb across its screen. After a brief pause, he said, “Pick me up at Tortelli’s.”

  Holden pinched the bridge of his nose as he started slowly down her staircase.

  “No. I’m not staying the night. I don’t care how quick that was. If you get here in the next fifteen minutes, I’ll buy you a pizza. No. I don’t need time for that either. Hurry up, Meep. I just want to go home. And not a word of this gets spilled to the rest of the guys or I’ll tell them about the time you blacked out and pissed yourself, got it?”

  Sabra stumbled away from the window as his voice faded when he picked up steam, jogging down the rest of the stairs. He hated her so much that he didn’t want his friends to know he’d done her a simple favor?

  She supposed she understood. Without the energy to find her bedroom or get undressed, she collapsed onto her sofa, hugged a pillow to her chest and buried her face in the cushions as she sobbed.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  Touch of Amber

  Copyright © 2015 by Jayne Rylon

  ISBN: 978-1-61922-732-3

  Edited by Amy Sherwood

  Cover by Angela Waters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2015

  www.samhainpublishing.com

   

  Jayne Rylon, Touch of Amber: Hot Rods, Book 7