Chapter Twenty-One
Jo
He’s so lucky I don’t want to hurt him.
I could have. He didn’t know that, but I did. He didn’t know the dozens of different ways I’d been trained to end a confrontation abruptly. He didn’t know the only reason he’d made it to the porch in one piece was because I loved the sound of his voice too damn much to silence it.
He also didn’t know that being that close to him made thinking impossible.
Now, there he was, smug like he’d won. “You done throwing punches?” he growled.
“You done kidnapping people?”
“All I did was bring you inside.”
“Without consent,” I shot back.
He smiled. “Is that necessary when someone appears to be robbing your uncle?”
I hated that he had a point.
And that it was good to see him again.
So good.
I tried to deny the heat of the chase that still buzzed in my blood, half adrenaline, half desire. This was a disaster.
I couldn’t have planned a worse way for him to catch me leaving. So, why did I want to throw myself in his arms and blubber on about how glad I was that he was back?
Because I’m human and stretched to my limit.
And he’s hot.
And great in bed.
Oh, God.
I turned toward the living room, needing distance, but he followed all quiet, focused, and deliberate. Predators moved that way. Was that the game he thought we were now playing?
How could I explain to him how serious the situation was without putting either of us in danger?
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“Because you manhandled me,” I snapped.
Concern darkened his gaze. “Did I hurt you?”
I could have lied. I probably should have. “No.”
“Good.”
That stopped me. I turned slowly, eyes locking with his. “When I say this, I need to be clear that it has nothing to do with what we did last night, but it’s time for me to move on.”
He looked me over again, from my freshly dyed hair to the designs I’d drawn on my face. He touched a finger to his upper cheek in question.
“It’s an AI adversarial design.” I cleared my throat. “If done correctly it stops traffic cameras from identifying a person.”
He frowned. “Are you on the run from the law?”
“No,” I said hoarsely. “Listen, I don’t want to involve you. The less you know the better.”
His arms folded across his chest. “I’m already involved. You’ve been staying on property I own.”
“If I leave now, there’s a good chance no one will ever know I was here.”
Eyes narrowing, he asked, “Who are you hiding from? An old lover?”
I snort laughed. “I wish.”
His eyebrows arched.
I continued, “Sorry. That’s probably horrible too. It just sounded easier to deal with.”
“Than what?”
Short of knocking him out and bolting, there wasn’t much chance of me convincing him to stop asking questions. I needed to give him something. So I gave him part of the truth. The part that hurt the least.
“My father’s in prison.”
That made him blink. Not with shock—calculation. “For what?”
“For taking something that was actually his.”
“And you’re implicated in what he did?”
“Not in the way you’d think.”
“Are you hiding what he stole?”
“No.” I winced. “It’s not stealing if you made it.”
His jaw flexed. “So, your father stole something he made, and you are hiding it from someone who wants it back?”
“Allegedly. He allegedly stole it. But he’s innocent and I need to clear his name.”
“For not taking what he took?”
I growled, “It’s complicated.”
He glanced back at the door. “Is the motorcycle what he took without taking that you’re hiding because someone wants it back but neither of you stole it?”
My lips pressed together for a moment, before I decided his summary wasn’t totally wrong. “Yes.”
He reached for his phone and started texting someone.
“What are you doing?” I asked in a rush.
“Calling my security team.”
“You’re what?”
“They’ll be here shortly. You’re not leaving with that truck until I know exactly what’s in it.”
“You think they could stop me?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “But they won’t have to, because you’re too smart to test me.”
Was it possible to be angry with someone, more than a little turned on by them, while also reluctantly be relieved they’d returned? I looked around in confused desperation.
“If you ran now,” he continued, “you wouldn’t get far. They’d track your plates before you hit the highway. And when they found you, it would be public—news vans, cameras, everything you’re trying to avoid. Is that what you want?”
I swallowed hard. “Of course not.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
“What makes you think you deserve it?” Or could handle it.
That did it. The edge in his eyes turned molten. He took a single step forward—close enough that I felt the heat of him through my clothes. “I don’t know what’s stopping me from calling the police right now and letting you be their problem.”
“If it’s that you think I’ll fuck you again, that’s not happening.”
He barked out a laugh. “Is your name actually Jo?”
I huffed a breath out of my nose. “Yes.”
“Arlington?” He read my expression. “No. So, what is it?”
I refused to answer.
“Maybe you’ll tell me the next time I make you come.”
My pulse kicked hard—not fear, not even close. Just fury and heat tangled up in ways I didn’t want to unpack. Heat rushed to my face. “You wish.”
“I do. Honesty, and tasting your sweet come again. It wouldn’t be a bad combination.”
It wasn’t fair—how gently he could tempt me even while essentially holding me captive.
“You really don’t understand what you’re getting yourself involved in.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I can’t.”
He exhaled, long and slow. “Then we wait.”
“For what?”
“For my team.”
“And then?” Nothing I knew about him hinted that he’d torture information out of me. Or let someone else do it. But still, it was unnerving to not know what was coming. I shook my head. “You’re making a big mistake.”
“Probably not a bigger one than you did when you didn’t steal the stolen bike.”