Chapter Four
Nina
T he entire way home, I pretend I'm not seated beside the hottest giant I've ever met in my life. At least, I try to pretend I'm not seated beside the hottest giant I've ever met in my life. It's virtually impossible to ignore him when he keeps trying to talk to me.
About halfway to Granite Hills, he finally realizes that I'm not really listening and stops trying to engage me in conversation. I feel a little guilty about that, but honestly. The man told me he wanted me in his bed and then told me that I was going to sleep with him! What did he expect? That I'd wave my panties in the air and tell him to come and get some?
I mean, that's definitely what certain parts of my anatomy want to do. Those parts are traitors. I'm not sleeping with him, even if he is freaking gorgeous. And holy shit. He was hot in his firefighting gear. Without it, he's even better. That smirk and the tattoos covering his arms are weapons of mass panty destruction.
Thanks for nothing, Baby Jesus. He was supposed to be less attractive out of his fire gear.
The world isn't fair, and I'm not playing anymore.
I look like a drowned rat—mostly because I actually almost drowned myself in the freaking bathroom trying to survive a fire. He looks like the world's hottest firefighter.
Rude.
And he isn't just a firefighter. He's an arson investigator . I learned that tidbit when I looked him up while I was being held hostage in the emergency room.
He's the man responsible for finding out that my brother is responsible for the fire. Once he learns the truth, he isn't going to want to sleep with me at all. He's going to want to arrest my brother.
I can't let that happen. Nate is only seventeen. He has a football scholarship waiting for him and an entire future ahead of him. He did something monumentally idiotic out of fear. Was it the right thing to do? Of course not. But I doubt Emmett has ever had mobsters threatening to chop him and his sister into pieces over a debt his deceased dad owes.
I can't let Emmett send him to prison because he's a scared teenager.
He's my responsibility.
And I don't even know where he is right now. I've been trying to call him all night. He isn't answering his phone. None of his friends have seen him. My stomach is tied in freaking knots. Did he get scared and run off? Did my dad's bookies find him?
Was he in the house?
No.
No, he wasn't in the house.
Of course he wasn't. Rationally, I know that he wouldn't have stuck around after he set the stupid fire. But a little voice whispers fear like poison in my ear anyway.
"Um." I clear my throat as Emmett drives into town. "Did you find anything at the house?"
He looks over at me. "Like what?"
I glance down at my lap, gripping my fingers tightly. "I can't get ahold of my brother," I admit, my throat raw. "I d-don't think he was there. He had football practice last night, but…" I trail off, swallowing convulsively. "Did you…?"
Emmett reaches across the console, slipping his hand between mine. I cling to his fingers even though I don't mean to do it. "There was no one else in the house, baby."
I exhale a tiny breath, which comes out as a choked sob. "Are you s-sure?"
"I'm sure, Nina," he says quietly. Confidently. "I walked through every inch of it when it was safe. If your brother was inside, I would have found…"
A shudder rips through me when he doesn't finish that sentence. I know what he leaves unsaid, and the implications are terrifying. He would have found my brother's body.
My eyes flutter closed. But then, all I see is flames. All I hear is the way they roared and the pop and sizzle of everything burning. So I quickly pop them open again, staring out at Granite Hills as the sun creeps over the horizon.
Granite Hills is a small mountain town on the edge of a nature preserve. At least, it's what passes for a mountain town in this part of Texas. It's mostly just a series of small hills, with miles of unincorporated forest, hiking trails, and prime fishing spots stretching between them. A massive wildfire burned through acres of the forested area and parts of town a few months ago, taking the elementary school and several other important businesses with it. Everyone is slowly rebuilding, but the town feels a little less like a haven now than it did then.
It feels even less like one this morning. Or maybe I simply feel less safe this morning than I did yesterday or the day before. I suppose that happens when mobsters come knocking and then your brother almost kills you in a fire.
How is this my life? I'm supposed to be teaching third graders fractions, spelling, and the joy of reading chapter books.
I keep my eyes peeled, looking everywhere for Nate as I direct Emmett toward the small house at the very end of a dead-end gravel lane. It isn't much, just a blue Craftsman on two acres that butts up against the back end of the preserve, but it's ours. I worked hard to buy it and turn it into a home for Nate.
As soon as Emmett pulls into the gravel driveway, I fling off the seatbelt and hop out. Not surprisingly, he follows me to the door.
"Nate?" I call, rushing inside.
"You don't lock your door?" Emmett asks from behind me.
"We live in the middle of nowhere."
"You need to lock your door, Nina."
I ignore him, flipping on lights as I check for Nate. My knees literally shake as I make my way down the hall to his bedroom.
My heart turns a flip in my chest when I see the note tacked to the board on his door.
I grab it with shaking hands.
Nina,
Going camping for the weekend with a friend. Love you.
-N
I know it's a load of crap before I even finish reading it. I called all his friends. None of them have seen him or know where he is. But at least he was here. He's running scared, but he's safe.
My knees sag.
"Easy, baby." Emmett catches me around the waist, hauling me up against his chest. "Your brother is fine."
Maybe. Hopefully. I just need to keep him that way.
"Which way is your bedroom?"
"I'm not sleeping with you," I mumble as he sweeps me up into his arms.
"No, but you are sleeping. You were in a fire. And Belle said you didn't sleep at all in the emergency room. So which way is your room, Red?"
I point to the door at the far end of the hall, and he immediately takes off in that direction, holding me against his chest like I'm a small child.
"I can walk."
"And I can carry you," he says firmly, his chest rumbling against my ear.
I decide not to argue with him. I don't think there's much of a point. He's just going to do what he wants to do anyway. He strikes me as that type of guy. Bossy jerk.
"Yeah, baby." He chuckles. "I am bossy as hell. Especially when you're the one being stubborn."
"Oh. I said that out loud."
"Yeah." His lips graze my ear. "But I'm going to let you get away with calling me names this time because you've had a hell of a night. Next time, you'll feel my palm against your gorgeous ass."
I glower up at him, trying like hell to ignore the way my clit throbs. "You're not spanking me, Emmett. I'm a big girl."
"Then stop being stubborn and let someone take care of you for once."
"I've never had that," I whisper as he carries me into my bedroom. The confession just kind of slips out, but it's true. I've never had that. At least, not since my mom died. Our dad started drinking right after she passed, and I was responsible for taking care of him and Nate. For a while, he promised he was going to get it together, but I don't think he wanted to get it together. He didn't want to function without her so he just…didn't. By the time I turned eighteen, I realized it was never going to happen.
I left and took Nate with me. And our father never tried to stop me. He just said it was probably for the best. I never really forgave him for that. Nate deserved better.
I worked full-time and took night classes to put myself through college to give us a chance at a better life. It was hard as hell, but I don't regret it. There was no way I was leaving him behind. He would have ended up in foster care before the year was out. And my dad may not have remembered what it meant to be family, but I did.
I've been holding it together for Nate ever since. It hasn't been easy, but it's been worth it. He's had stability and a home. And he didn't have to watch our father slowly drink himself to death. No kid should have to watch that.
Emmett pulls the covers back on the bed before trying to deposit me in the middle.
"Not on my clean sheets!" I squeak indignantly, freezing him in his tracks.
His jade eyes flicker to my face. For some reason, my cheeks heat. Maybe because his face is inches from mine, his lips so close I smell the mint on his breath. And part of me wants to taste it.
"I need a shower," I mumble, my heart pounding so loud he probably hears it. "I smell like stuff."
His lips kick up into a grin. "Stuff?"
"Smoke and the hospital and stuff." I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to block out that smirk. It's far too attractive and my mind is not firing on all cylinders. Why can't I find words around this man? What is it about him that makes my heart race and my palms sweaty?
His nose drifts down the side of my face before nuzzling into the crook of my neck. His deep inhale has my core clenching and my nipples turning to hard points. "Mm," he practically purrs at me. "You smell delicious, Red."
Death. Dying. That's what's happening right now.
"Put me down," I squeak, desperate to escape before I do something I'm only half sure I'll regret—like kiss him. "And not on the bed! I'm dirty."
He lifts his head, and I know what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth. I'm not mentally prepared for him to call me a dirty girl right now. Can. Not. Handle. It.
"Don't even think about saying it," I whisper-hiss, my cheeks blazing.
His body shakes with laughter as he spins and slowly lowers me to my feet. I feel every one of his ridiculously hard abs on the way down.
Somehow, I'm still lucid enough to flee for my life into the bathroom…for the second time tonight.
Jesus. This is really becoming a habit with me.
By the time I've scrubbed as much of the night from my skin as possible and given myself no less than seven peptalks about not letting my guard down no matter what ridiculously hot things Emmett says or does, I'm out of hot water. I reluctantly comb my hair, brush my teeth, and put on my pajamas before cracking the bathroom door open to check for him.
And that is not disappointment I feel when I don't see him in my bedroom. Nope. Not at all. It's overwhelming relief that he skipped out while I was showering. No need to say goodbye. No chance for things to get weird. Simple.
I scurry across the floor, preparing to dive beneath the blankets.
And then I spot the bottle of water and two pain relievers sitting on the nightstand beside a package of peanut butter crackers. He brought me medicine and a snack before he left?
Who the heck is this man?
More importantly, what does he want?
There's no way he's being this nice to me just because he pulled me out of a fire. I doubt it's because he wants to sleep with me either. I may not have ever had time to date, but I know guys who look like him don't have to put in this much effort. They probably just point, and panties drop all across the land.
So…what's his endgame here?
The possibility that he already knows Nate started the fire and brought up my dad's bookies to see how I'd react is terrifying. So is the possibility that he's doing all of this simply because he likes me.
I don't know what to do with a man like him. Hell, I don't know what to do with one at all. And I'm too exhausted to even try to figure it out right now.
I quickly swallow the pills, drink half the bottle of water, and then slip into bed with the crackers. I try calling Nate again while I nibble on one, but he sends me right to voicemail just like he did all night.
I send him another carefully worded text, trying to avoid anything that might incriminate him.
Me: Please call me. I need to speak with you immediately.
It doesn't say nearly enough. I want him to know that I'm not mad, that I love him, and that I'm worried. But I'm not stupid. If anyone suspects that he started the fire, the first thing they're going to do is look at his texts. And one from me saying that I'm not mad will be a giant flaming arrow pointing toward his guilt.
I hold my breath, waiting for a response, but my phone remains stubbornly silent.
"Dammit, Nate," I whisper, sinking down into the bed as tears well in my eyes. "Where are you?"