Chapter 9
Location Unknown
Sabrina sat in bed, book in hand, trying to become engrossed in the story of dragons, fairies, and wars between realms. But she’d reread the same paragraph six times and still had no idea what was happening with the plot.
Her mind was too busy working through other things.
Namely, her sudden preoccupation with one particular helicopter pilot who hailed from the great state of Maine.
The whole group had celebrated that the last heads of the cartel had been apprehended and tossed in jail by taking Sabrina on her first trip to Red Delilah’s. With the danger to her deemed null and void, she was once again free to come and go as she pleased.
You know, like a regular human being.
She should have been dancing a jig. Howling at the moon. Shooting off finger guns.
Instead, she was a hurricane of doubt, spinning with thoughts she didn’t quite know how to name.
On one hand, she was delighted to finally see the infamous biker bar.
It was everything they’d hyped it up to be.
Loud, laid-back, and full of grizzled men in leather.
On the other hand, Hew had spent the first ten minutes standing at the bar, all bearded and broad, talking to a pert brunette like it was his full-time job.
From the way the woman had batted her lashes, laid a hand on his forearm, and grabbed his phone to punch in her number, Sabrina half-expected to get an invitation to their wedding next week.
Not that she cared. Not that she was jealous or anything, because there was nothing to be jealous of.
She didn’t like Hew that way. He was her friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Or at least that’s what she told herself.
To her dismay, herself answered back, Are you sure about that?
Yes, she was sure. Except...
“Except what?” she asked aloud as she stared at the brick wall across the way.
Hew’s bedroom was on the other side of that wall.
Knowing he was a stone’s throw away had been a comfort for months.
In a world turned upside down by the loss of her brother, the loss of her home, the loss of the life she’d built in Charleston, he had been her one constant.
The one thing she could depend on to be there, to give her the strength to pull herself up by her bootstraps and carry on.
She would always be grateful to him for that. For stepping into the shoes of the friends she’d left behind, the brother she’d lost. But earlier…
Something had shifted.
In the air.
In her.
Since coming to Chicago, her feelings for him had been decidedly platonic. After what Eddy Torres did to her, platonic feelings were all she was capable of.
But maybe being out in the world again had nudged her healing a little further down the track. Or maybe seeing how other women watched Hew with hungry eyes had peeled the scales from hers.
Whatever the reason, she’d looked at him and for the first time she’d seen something more than her confidant and colleague. She’d looked at him and had seen…man.
A strong, vigorous man with a large, muscular build. A big, beautiful man with luscious hair and a rawboned face. An undeniably sexy man with a high, tight ass and hands that looked like they knew all the ways a woman needed to be touched.
Attraction had slammed into her with a one-two punch.
The first had hit her in the chest.
The second had hit her in the belly.
And ever since they’d gotten back from Red Delilah’s, she’d been asking herself...what if?
What if it wasn’t just shared trauma that tethered them? What if this thing between them was more? Bigger? Better than—
Speak of the devil.
Hew stood in her open door, his hands gripping the frame above his head so his thick fisherman’s sweater pulled up and showed an inch of golden flesh above the waistband of his jeans.
He looked so very…New England-y. Like a lobster fisherman, or a maple syrup farmer, or an innkeeper for weary leaf peepers. So very rugged and outdoorsy. The model on the cover of L.L. Bean.
The social media guru in her imagined starting a YouTube channel featuring him chopping wood. He could do it shirtless…or wearing nothing but jeans and suspenders. She knew she’d have a hit on her hands. A million followers in under six months and monetizing views in under three.
“How was it being out at the bar?” he asked, and she was surprised she didn’t melt into the mattress at the sound of his deep voice. Out at the bah.
Why is my heart jittering in my chest? It’s just Hew.
Except, it wasn’t just Hew. Not anymore.
It was Hew like she’d never experienced him before when she’d been too battered and bruised to see much past the end of her own nose.
Her bedroom had always felt so spacious, but now she wondered if there was room for herself along with his broad shoulders, big arms, and steadfast stare.
“It was good.” She fought to keep the breathlessness from her voice. “Weird. But good.”
“Weird how?” He tilted his head, and her eyes tracked up to the whorl of deep, auburn hair that had fallen over his broad forehead to cover the little crescent-shaped scar there.
I wonder if his hair feels as soft as it looks? I wonder if it’d curl around my fingers if I ran my hands along his scalp? I wonder if it’s warm or cool or—
She shook her head. Not in answer to his question, but to jangle her errant thoughts back into place.
“Weird being around strangers. Weird not expecting someone from the cartel to come crashing through the door. Weird feeling...free.” She shot him a teasing look. “Weird watching you flirt.”
His expression blanked so quickly it was comical. “I wasn’t flirtin’.”
“Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “I saw that woman give you her phone number. And I saw how you looked at her when she did it.” She gave him a curious once-over. “So no dice with the blonde at the bagel shop, huh? The brunette in the cowgirl boots is more your type?”
“Not sure I have a type, actually.”
“Every man has a type, Hew.” She tossed the covers off her legs to get out of bed.
Her type used to be the suave and sophisticated sort. Smooth talkers in expensive suits with hard, ambitious eyes. The kind of guys who were so very different from her father or her brother. The types who’d always disappointed her when she realized their pretty packagings hid disingenuous hearts.
Hew was the opposite.
Not that his outer trappings weren’t pretty. They were. All the appreciative looks he’d gotten from the clientele at Red Delilah’s proved that.
But his dedication and loyalty to his team, his quiet consideration, and the kindness with which he moved through life despite his warrior’s training, these were the things that made him truly beautiful.
Maybe that was why the thought of pursuing something more than friendship with him scared her as much as it thrilled her. If he ended up disappointing her, she might not recover.
“Where ya goin’?” he asked when she headed toward him.
“I’m hungry. There are still a couple of strawberry scones left over from this morning.”
That’s what she told him. The truth was, she needed air.
Hew hanging onto her doorframe, looking so big and beautiful and…big, had sucked all the oxygen out of her lungs.
He dropped his hands when she stopped in front of him. She breathed a sigh of relief that she no longer had to work to keep her eyes averted from that hint of love trail that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
“Sorry.” He winced. “Ate the last one five minutes ago.”
She faked annoyance. “I should’ve known.” Then, “The lemon tarts?” she asked hopefully.
It was incongruous to see such boyish guilt on such a manly face. “Graham inhaled ’em as soon as we got home. Didn’t even chew.”
She sighed in exasperation. “Bottomless pits, the both of you.”
She could have stepped into the hall. He’d given her plenty of room. But she stopped with her back against the doorframe and her bare toes touching the tips of his socked feet.
Studying his face, she tried to see…something. Anything that would tell her she wasn’t the only one to notice the shift in the atmosphere between them.
Could he feel how the air vibrated? Could he smell how her soap mixed with his aftershave to create an intoxicating blend? Could he see how her pupils dilated and her breath came too fast?
“What?” He blinked down at her. “Ya wanna punch me in the gut for eatin’ the last strawberry scone? Gotta warn ya, strawberry scones on top of beer do not make a pretty picture when they’re revisited.”
Why had she never noticed the flecks of brown in the green surrounding his pupils? And had his mouth always been so luscious, his bottom lip just the littlest bit fuller than the top?
It’s now or never, Sabrina, a voice whispered urgently. You’ll never know if he’s feeling what you’re feeling unless you put him to the test.
Desperate to reclaim the part of herself she’d lost the night her brother died, she lowered her lids to half-mast and slowly walked her fingers up his chest until she could grab his bearded chin and give it a little shake.
“I know how you can make it up to me,” she whispered in her most seductive voice.
It was rusty. It’d been a good long while since she’d used it.
Time seemed to stretch and slow as she waited for him to say something. Anything. But he just stood there, not moving. Barely breathing.
Oh, shit, she thought as the tips of her ears heated. He isn’t feeling what I’m feeling.
“Okay.” She forced a laugh as humiliation took hold. “So you’re not attracted to me that way. I get it. But you can’t blame a gal for giving it the ol’ college try.”
She shoved into the hall and walked toward the stairs. Refusing to let her shoulders droop in defeat. Refusing to allow her embarrassment to quicken her steps.
Dignity, Sabrina, she coached herself. Don’t you dare tuck tail and run.
She felt the warm, manacled grip of his hand before she heard his footsteps behind her. He yanked her around so quickly that her hand jumped to her throat.