He stared at me, his jaw flexing, and set the bags down. Then he rummaged through the one that held the clothes with his good arm, leaving the other hanging limply at his side. “This is all great. Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”
“You can pay me back by staying here till you’re actually better.” I took the clothes out of his hand and shoved them back in the bag. “How about that?”
He flexed his jaw, not bothering to deny he wasn’t healed yet. “No. I can’t stay. It’s too dangerous.”
“No one knows you’re here.” I turned back to him and crossed my arms. “And who would think to look for you at my house?”
“Bitter Hill. You can guarantee they’ve got a guy outside.”
“All the more reason to stay here, since they’re probably watching next door, not here.” I tapped my foot. His gaze dipped down and back up. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise, you’ll be safe here.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. If anyone somehow found out about me staying here, you’d be caught in a shit storm of a war that you have no part in, and I refuse to put you in danger.”
I crossed my arms, inspecting him. “I didn’t save you only to let you die. You stay. End of story.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. “First of all, you ‘saving’ me doesn’t give you any rights over me. And second, I don’t know when you got the impression I was a guy easily bossed around, but I’m not. I don’t take orders; I give them. So you can—”
“Not here, you don’t.” I frowned and did my best I saw you eat that paste look. “Here, we talk it out. And I say you stay.”
Amusement crossed his expression. “No matter how injured I might be, you can’t physically stop me from going.”
“You’re right. I can’t win against you.” I uncrossed my arms and walked up to him, resting my hand on his uninjured arm. “But believe it or not, I do like you. And I want to make sure you’re okay before you leave. Is that so bad?”
“Yes. It’s bad that you like me,” he said, his voice gruff. “Liking me will get you nowhere good. Trust me. I would know.”
“I’m sure there are people who like you. Like . . . ah, what’s his name?” I racked my brain for his friend’s name . . . the guy who used to come around with him. He had reddish brown hair and green eyes, and Chris had just said his name . . . “Aha! Lucas, for starters. And his little brother, Scotty.”
Something cold and hard slid over his expression. I stumbled back a step, because for the first time since I’d met him, he looked like a killer. I tripped over my purse, and he caught my arm tightly, saving me from going down. “Lucas is gone. Don’t bring him up again. Don’t even mention his damn name to me.”
My mouth dropped open at his angry tone, and I tried to tug free. His grip tightened painfully. “Okay, fine.” I tugged again, but he didn’t let go. He had a far-off look in his eye that, quite frankly, scared me. Wherever he was, whatever he saw right now, it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t here. “Chris. You’re hurting me. Let go.”
“I—” He glanced down at his grip on me, his brow furrowed. As soon as he saw how tight he held me, he dropped my arm and paled even more. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” He cut off and dragged a hand down his face. “I’m going now. Enjoy the dinner, and thanks for the help.” He started to walk past me but paused. Gently, he reached out and touched my cheek. “I’m sorry, Princess.”
I nodded once, rubbing my arm.
He fisted his hands and started for the door, limping. I watched him go, torn between wanting to stop him and being scared of that icy-coldness I’d just seen. I glanced at the fettuccine cooking on the stove, water bubbling happily, and swallowed hard.
Buttons followed Chris.
“Don’t go.” I stopped rubbing my arm and stepped closer. “It’s okay.”
“In no world, in no place, is it okay that I hurt you.” He spun on me, his face ravaged, and if there had been any doubt in my mind that he felt bad for grabbing me a little too tightly, it would be gone now. It was written all over his face, clear as day. “That’s what guys like me do. We hurt people. And if you let me, I’ll hurt you, too—worse than a sore arm. I’m no good for you. Just let me go.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, locking eyes with him. “I won’t.”
“Why the hell not?” he asked, his voice torn. “I’m nobody. Nothing.”
“That’s not true.” The way he watched me—half with fear, and half with something I couldn’t name—shook me to my core. “I don’t understand it, or the reasons behind it, but I can’t let you leave. And it sounds crazy, but I just know, somehow, that you’re supposed to be here right now. With me.”
It sounded crazy when I said it like that, but it didn’t make it any less true.
His jaw ticked, and he closed the distance between us, backing me into the wall. I sucked in a breath, but his touch was gentle as he caught my hands and trapped them above my head. “Is that what this is about? You want me to fuck you? Show you what it’s like to get in bed with a bad boy before you settle down with another Ivy League graduate like yourself? Take you for a ride on the wild side for a night?”
“I—no.” I shook my head, but it wasn’t entirely true. With his hard body pressed against mine, and his face inches from mine, it would be a lie to say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But that didn’t mean I would act on it. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?” He pressed against me even more, and despite my relative inexperience in this area . . . there was no denying that right now, right here, he wanted me. And knowing that? Yeah, it probably wasn’t the best thing for me. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” I licked my lips and a nervous laugh escaped me. “I swear, all I want to do is help you. That’s it.”
He looked at me as if he didn’t understand. As if the mere concept of someone doing something out of the goodness of their heart wasn’t real. And in his world, it probably wasn’t. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I echoed.
Something in him softened, shifted, and his grip on my wrists loosened. He trailed his thumbs over my skin tenderly, but he didn’t back off me. If anything, his lower half pressed closer to me, showing me just how hard he was . . . everywhere. “You can’t be for real. No one is that selfless.”
“My dad helped people. Gave them places to go when they needed it. Set up a shelter for homeless women and children.” I bit down on my lip, because he was still staring at me as if I was an enigma he couldn’t figure out. “I’m simply following in his footsteps by helping you, like he would have. Trying to make him proud, even though he’s not here anymore. Can’t you understand that?”
His fingers flexed on my wrists. “Yeah. I get that.”
“So let me do it.”
“You’re fucking amazing,” he said, his voice low and almost . . . reverent. “You shouldn’t waste all that compassion on me.”
“I choose who gets it.” I wriggled against him, feeling restlessly trapped—but in a good way. In a way that made my pulse rush and my thighs ache to be filled with . . . something. Him, maybe. “I choose you, and nothing you say or do will change that.”
“Come on, now.” He leaned in closer. So close that all it would take was a small movement toward him, and our lips would touch. Neither of us moved. “I bet that’s not true. What if I kissed you, right here, right now, and showed you just how bad I can be? What if I fucked you against this wall, hard and rough, just the way I like it? How quickly would you push me away after? How fast would you regret letting a guy like me fuck you?”
We wouldn’t get that close, and we wouldn’t do that, because Chris scared me. He made me feel too much, too strongly, and I wasn’t about to let him closer.
Wasn’t about to let him make me feel even more.
“You’re just trying to scare me off again.�
� My breath caught in my throat and a small moan escaped me when he rolled his hips. There was no holding it back. “You have no idea how I would feel afterward. And you never will, because it’s a bad idea.”
“Most things that feel good are.” Slowly, his lids dropped, and he studied the way I bit my lower lip. “That’s what makes them so much fun. You know, I’ve been telling myself not to do this. Not to touch you. But maybe if I do, you’ll finally let me go.” He did that magical roll of his hips again. “All women do, after they get what they want out of me.”
I tried to squeeze my thighs together, but his knee slipped in between them. When he pressed against my core, I gasped. “Chris . . .”
“I can see it in your eyes, you know.” He lowered his face to mine. “The desire burning for me, for this. You want me. You want this.”
A ragged breath escaped me, and I nodded once. “But—”
“Shh.” For a minute—an intoxicating, thrilling, earth-shattering minute—I thought he was going to actually kiss me. He even leaned in, his nose brushing mine, and his warm breath fanned over my mouth. “It’ll be okay.”
I let my eyelids drift closed, knowing that I could say no but not making a sound.
Some part of me—some deep, dark part that I never listened to—whispered that this was what I’d wanted all along. That he was right. I had an ulterior motive for wanting to be with him. I didn’t. But I could still kiss him, couldn’t I? Just once, just for this one second, I wanted to see what it felt like to be held, touched, by a man I actually wanted.
Just this once, I wanted to live.
A desperate whimper escaped me.
Buttons sat on my foot and meowed.
“Shit.” Chris froze, his whole body held stiffly against mine. “I’m sorry, Princess.”
I shivered, frustration boiling inside of me until I was sure I would explode. “It’s okay. We just got caught up in the moment. No big deal.”
“It is.” His gaze dipped down to my mouth one last time, stealing my breath away. “It won’t happen again. I swear it.”
A muscle in his cheek ticked, and he pushed off the wall, letting me go.
I wasn’t sure whether to scream, cry, or sag in relief. I settled for collapsing against the wall, my breaths coming fast and uneven. “Now that you know I won’t require anything in return, will you stay a little longer?”
He gave me his back, gripping the counter, and laughed. “You’re either foolish, too compassionate for your own good, or completely insane. I’m not sure which.”
I ignored his possible insult. I wasn’t crazy for caring whether he lived or died. I was human. That was all. “Is that a yes?”
Shaking his head, he laughed again. “It’s a maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“I suppose that’s enough.”
Taking a deep breath, he headed for the stove. He still didn’t look at me. “It’ll have to be, because that’s all I have.”
“Deal,” I said, holding on to the counter behind me. It was the only thing keeping me up, because, oh my God, that almost kiss had almost floored me. “Dinner smells great. I love Alfredo.”
“I hoped as much,” he said, watching me as if he half expected me to bite him or something. “It’ll be ready in three minutes.”
“Great.”
We fell silent, and I watched as he stirred the sauce. His dark tattoos swirled down his arms. I saw a dragon and a Chinese symbol and a silhouette of a woman with big boobs. Words were on the backs of his biceps, but I couldn’t make them out.
Something about strength, maybe?
The flannel pajamas hugged him in all the right places, showing me just how hard and perfect his rear end was. And for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. I mean, it was hard and pert and would probably fill my—
“Molly?” he said, his voice amused.
I jumped. “Yeah?”
“I asked you if you’d like to open the wine,” he said, straight-faced but clearly laughing internally. So. He’d caught me admiring his rear. Greeeat. “I saw you brought some home?”
“Oh. Right. Wine.” I nodded a little too enthusiastically. “That’s a great idea.”
He laughed, and his face lit up. I could count on one hand—maybe one finger—the number of times I’d seen him smile with actual amusement. And when he did—God, he had dimples in his cheeks, too. And he seemed softer. Less scary.
But when he laughed . . .
God, he was like a completely different man.
Like he didn’t do what he did for a living, his hands clean of blood, and he was just a normal guy, in a kitchen, cooking dinner. When he laughed, it was as if he wasn’t carrying the weight of all the things he’d done in his life on his shoulders in that moment. Something told me he needed that. He needed to forget.
I wanted to make him laugh every day he was here.
Show him what life could be, if you stopped to enjoy it.
“Can you open it yourself?” he asked, still smiling.
If I say no, will I get to watch you flex those muscles for me? “Yes, of course.” I opened the drawer that held the corkscrew but didn’t get it out. Instead, I shut it again before reopening it. “Huh. That’s weird.”
“What?” he asked, craning his neck to look down at the floor. Buttons sat behind him, grooming himself. “What’s wrong?”
“This drawer always got stuck halfway open.”
“Oh. That.” He turned back to the stove. “I noticed it was stuck earlier when I was looking for measuring cups, so I fixed it.”
I blinked down at it. “Wow. Thank you.”
“It was nothing,” he said quickly, not meeting my eyes.
But it wasn’t nothing. I wasn’t handy, and I had no idea how to fix anything, so I’d been putting off calling a guy to come look at it until I had enough projects to make it worth the handyman’s time. Knowing Chris had seen it and fixed it for me without being asked made my heart wrench. It wasn’t a huge thing. It wasn’t much at all, really. But it had been a long time since I’d had a man in the house who would help out, and it showed me just how alone I was, and how long I’d been that way. Five years and one day.
I’d found him yesterday, on the anniversary of my father’s death, bleeding in that alley, only because I’d stupidly slashed open my palm. My father had been watching over me last night, and he’d led me straight to Chris . . .
A man clearly in need of some benevolence in his life.
It only made me all the more certain that keeping him around was the right thing to do. That a guy like Chris, who fixed things without being asked, had a softness inside that his life couldn’t destroy, no matter how dark it might be. That some way, somehow, my father had led me to him so I could follow in his footsteps and help people like he had when he’d been alive. That Chris could be saved . . .
And I would be the one to do it.
CHAPTER 7
CHRIS
Molly sat on the couch, hugging her knees, staring at a couple making out on a beach. I walked into the living room slowly, watching her watch them. She bit down on her lip, her fingers tightening on her calves, and leaned in, completely enamored with the couple on the screen. When they broke off the kiss, she let out a soft exhalation and leaned back against the couch cushions again.
She kind of deflated.
I’d been at her house for two days now, and that was two days too long. All this time to sit here and think had been good for me, but my time at Molly’s was drawing to a close. After some deep meditation and lots of internal debating, I’d decided on a course of action that would set me on the path of redemption.
I knew what I had to do.
I was ready.
She glanced over her shoulder, jumping slightly when she saw me standing there. “Geez. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I offered her a gr
in. “I was just watching the show.”
“You like The Bachelor?”
Hell no. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” She scooted over and patted the spot on the couch next to her. “Then sit. Watch it with me.”
Swearing internally, I walked around the side of the couch and sank into the softness. “Who was just kissing?”
“Aaron and Maggie.”
I nodded as if I had an idea who the fuck they were. “Is she your top pick?”
“Yeah. She’s a teacher, like me.” She looked at me but quickly turned away. “And he’s a doctor. They seem like a good fit.”
“Is that who you want in your life? A doctor?”
Buttons hopped up on the couch and curled up on my lap. Molly side-eyed the cat and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I don’t really think about that much.”
“Why not?” I scratched the cat’s head, right between his ears, where he liked it. “You seem the type to plan your life out like that. The man. The kids. The school district.”
She shook her head. “No. I meant that I don’t think about what type of guy I’m going to marry. I obviously haven’t met him yet, and might never.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’m sure your guy is out there.” I frowned down at the cat, not liking how murderous the idea of her with another man made me feel. Like I wanted to be a real bad guy and kill a good guy for once. “You just haven’t found him yet.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not exactly looking, if we’re being honest.”
“Why not?”
She pursed her lips. “Why aren’t you?”
“Have you seen the life I lead?” I asked, raising a brow. “It’s not exactly conducive to getting married and starting a family. I’m better off on my own.”
“Maybe I feel that way, too.”
I snorted. “That your life is too dangerous for a man to handle?”
Dare to Stay Page 7
