Chapter 8
A few minutes later, the turn signal on the truck clicks as he exits the highway. The lights from the freeway fade behind us as we drive deeper into an area dark with trees rising on either side of the road.
The place feels ominous and the idea of staying in any house with Diesel, sets me on edge. Especially a house with lots of locks.
The place looks like a deserted cabin in a small clearing with nothing around for miles.
Diesel stretches his wrists, pops his knuckles and leans back in the seat. “Finally.”
Yes. Thank the angels. I can’t take being caged in with him a second longer.
“Stay here. Lock the doors. There’s a pistol in the glove box. Use it if you have to.”
He’s out of the truck, already scanning the tree line like threats might materialize from the darkness.
A shiver runs down my arms. The trees sway, their inky shadows moving against the night sky. The hair on the back of my neck crawls.
Diesel circles the house. Goes inside and strides back toward me, the shape of his massive body looking even bigger in the night.
He’s all shadows and scowls when he returns to my side of the truck.
“Clear.” He grabs my saddle from the back. “Come on.”
We walk up the sidewalk, him hulking beside me as we approach a small cabin.
This place won’t win any awards for looking inviting. The windows are covered by security shutters. Solar panels coat the roof. The door looks strange. When he said safe house, he wasn’t kidding.
To the side of the entrance, there’s a keypad, security panel, a palm scanner, and some kind of lens. Not to mention cameras in both eaves on the front of the house.
Who knows how many others are trained on us right now.
“You own this place?”
His reply is tight as he guides me inside. “No. But I can’t say who does.”
“Why didn’t I suspect that kind of answer?”
Automatic lights illuminate as I step inside.
“Home sweet home, for tonight.”
“More like a nightmare,” I counter. “I understand what you’re doing, but the reality is, I can’t stay here beyond tonight.
I have a horse to take care of, a ranch, a life.
My things are at my house. Tomorrow we have to go there, you can add a security system or whatever you need so I’ll be safe there alone. ”
His head swivels my direction when I say the last word.
One of his brows lifts. “Yeah, there will be a new alarm. There will also be a two-hundred-fifty pound human guard dog too. But that won’t be at your house until this is over.”
I consider arguing, but the way he’s chewing that gum, the locked position of his shoulders, and the way he studies my expression with a proverbial microscope tells me this is an argument he’s already geared up to win.
So, I huff. “Where’s my room?”
“Back there.”
“Where are you staying?”
Please god, he cannot stay in my room. I can’t take it.
He nods toward one of the bedroom doors. “You get the back bedroom. I’ll take the front. That puts me between you and any threat.”
Damn.
I should be joyful, overwhelmed with gratitude, but for some reason he just makes me see red.
The room is small. There’s a double bed with clean sheets and a minimalist dresser. The only window has security shutters locked tight.
The attached bathroom is stocked with basic supplies. Soap, shampoo, toothbrush still in packaging, and a first aid kit under the sink.
I go through all of the bathroom drawers like I might find an escape hatch.
Resigned, I sink onto the edge of the bed and finally let myself shake.
My truck is gone.
My brother is halfway around the world.
I’m trapped in a safe house with a man I don’t know, and my life is in a blender, with my career in the mix.
This sucks.
I need a shower to wash the smoke out of my hair, the dirt off my skin, the feeling of Diesel’s body too close to mine and his hand wrapped dominantly around my wrists.
Ugh. Not thinking about that.
I’m pulling off my boots when the door opens without a knock.
Diesel fills the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Brought you food.” He holds up a plate, then he holds up a military-grade first-aid kit. “And came to deal with your arm.”
He steps inside, places a sandwich on the night-stand and lifts my arm.
“You need to clean this properly. You’re right-handed. That’s your right arm. You’ll do a half-assed job and it’ll get infected.”
His attitude crawls all over me.
“I don’t care. Get out of my room.”
“No.”
He’s already moving into the bathroom, walking with that infuriatingly competent male swagger. He puts the kit on the counter and turns to look at me. “You can be pissed at me while I bandage you up. Won’t change anything.”
I follow him into the bathroom, fury making my vision sharp. “You can’t just barge into my room whenever you feel like it.”
“This is a safe house, not a hotel.”
He turns on the shower faucet, testing the water temperature without looking at me.
“Says the man who just delivered room service.”
He ignores me.
“That wound needs to be taken care of before you sleep on it. Get a shower. I’ll come back and bandage it.”
My hands clench against my jeans and I consider my options. None.
He looks down at me for a few seconds before he walks out, his boot heels sharp against the wooden floor.
I’m shaking still, but this feels different.
Instead of letting myself think too much, I jerk off my plaid shirt and shove down my jeans. That’s when I realize the bedroom door leading to the hallway is open.
The jerk.
I stomp to the door to slam it, but he’s leaning against the wall across from it.
He keeps his eyes on my face, but he doesn’t need to look down at my pink bra and panties for me to feel his awareness there. In all my feminine places.
For a few seconds neither of us moves, me with my hand on the door. Him leaning there, perfectly still except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes normally.
Unlike me. I’m breathing way too fast and hard.
I slam the door, stumble back, both hands coming to my mouth.
Ugh! How can he make me burn with one look?
On legs that feel gangly and awkward, I storm back to shower where I scald my skin off.
He’s right outside that door.
I hate him. I can’t want him.
Dammit.
I scrub my face, my hair, my everything, praying when I step out of the shower I’ll be in a hotel at some rodeo and Diesel Drake will be a figment of my imagination that I left in the shower.
Only I’m not so lucky.
And I don’t have any clean clothes to put on.