Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Where are you from?” Hannah asked, still making conversation like this was normal, like we were normal people in a normal place.
“Here. Nashville.” I shifted my weight. “Well, just outside the city.”
“You grow up here?”
“No.” The word came out clipped. I didn’t elaborate. Hannah didn’t push. She seemed to have a way of paying attention to my body language and feeling me out.
Hannah glanced toward Rancor, who was emerging from the clubhouse again. When she looked back at me, something knowing glinted in her hazel eyes. “I’m glad you came back. Hopefully I can make a friend because you did.”
Rancor collected the last of the bags. His fingers brushed the trunk’s edge near where mine rested. We weren’t touching, but we were close enough that I felt the heat of his skin.
He straightened with the final bags and paused. Looked at me full-on, not just a glance but actual eye contact that held for three long heartbeats. Then he walked away, and I remembered how to breathe.
When I finally brought my attention back to Hannah, I found her watching me with that same knowing expression, approval written in the curve of her mouth. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with desire I had no business feeling.
Rancor must have set his load down somewhere because he now stood near the clubhouse door, hands loose at his sides, watching us. Watching me. The weight of his gaze pressed against my skin like humidity before a storm.
Hannah shifted closer, close enough that her voice dropped to something almost conspiratorial. “You know,” she said, quiet enough that Rancor probably couldn’t hear her. “You couldn’t pick a better protector than any of the men from Kiss of Death.”
The words hit me wrong. Too direct. Too knowing. Like she’d reached inside my head and pulled out thoughts I hadn’t fully formed yet. “I’m just delivering groceries.” I kept my voice light, aiming for casual and probably missing by miles. “I don’t need protection.”
But even as I said the words, I felt the lie in them. I was one bad day’s work away from being homeless. I lived in a really shitty part of town because I couldn’t afford anything better.
Hannah’s smile suggested she heard everything I didn’t say. “Of course.” I didn’t know what to do with the implication hanging between us. That I needed protecting. That I might want protecting. Or, more aptly, that the men here, Rancor specifically, could provide the safety I longed for.
The idea should have offended me. I’d spent years learning to protect myself, to need no one, to be self-sufficient in every way that mattered. I’d always been stubborn. At least, I had been after I left my parents’ sphere of influence.
“I should probably get going.” I glanced at my phone, checking for new orders. Nothing yet. “Other deliveries.” I hated lying to them, but I felt more than a little vulnerable.
“Sure.” Hannah didn’t move, didn’t make space for me to leave. She looked over at Rancor, then back to me. “He’s getting your tip.”
Right. The tip. The reason I was here in the first place. The only reason I should care about being here. But my gaze drifted to Rancor anyway. He’d moved from the door, heading back toward us. He carried an envelope, white against his tanned skin. My throat went dry and I could practically hear myself gulp as he approached.
Hannah made a small sound, almost a laugh, barely vocalized. When I glanced at her, she was smiling with unconcealed amusement. Caught. She’d caught me staring and we both knew it. Heat flooded my face. I looked away, studied the camo netting overhead like I’d never seen anything so fascinating.
Rancor reached us. Close enough now that I caught his scent again. Clean. He smelled clean and masculine and entirely too appealing. “We all pitched in for a tip.” He held out the envelope. His voice maintained that quiet, measured quality, each word separated by space. Like he thought carefully before speaking. Like words cost something. “Appreciate you deliverin’ supplies.” He was definitely a man of few words.
I reached for the envelope. Tried to take it without touching him and failed. Our fingers brushed during the exchange. Just the barest contact, his skin against mine for less than a second. But static sparked between us. It jolted through me and I hissed in a breath, jerking my hand back as my breath caught in my throat.
Rancor met my gaze steadily. Up close his eyes weren’t quite black. More a very dark brown, almost the color of coffee without cream. They studied me with that intensity I’d felt before, but now I was close enough to see something else in them. Something that looked almost like curiosity. Or hunger. Or both.