NINE
Harry
This woman will be the death of me.
“I am not spending my evening chasing after some girl,” I grunt under my breath.
The beer is bitter on my tongue as my eyes bore into the wall. It tastes vile in my mouth, like it’s cursing me for refusing to run after her.
No.
I’m not doing it.
She made her peace – let her lie in it. I don’t care. I’m not the gentleman who’ll go save the damsel in distress. Look at the shit that landed me in the first place: another tally on my kill list and blood on my bike.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
My ears prick with awareness, the ticking of the clock forcing me to shudder inwardly.
I’m not sure why, in that moment of weakness, the mere thought of doe-brown eyes, silky brunette hair, and plump pink lips causes the back of my neck to bead with sweat. As if I want to torment myself further, my mind drifts to the image of Gigi in my T-shirt. Seeing her in my clothes was so damn toxic for my brain that I’m researching electroconvulsive therapy, for crying out loud .
On instinct, just as I’d analyse a typical scenario for threats, worst-case possibilities slip into my brain and refuse to leave, like an aggravating itch I can’t reach.
What if someone kidnaps her? What if some serial killer just happens to be on a rampage in Surrey?
I had a brother – I know how to protect myself, she said.
I tsk and grind my teeth.
She thought she was a sneaky little minx, waiting until I turned off the lights. She snuck out through my fucking window like some escapee. Her stealth needs some work, that’s for damn sure.
“I’m not doing it,” I say aloud in sheer desperation that it’ll solidify the decision.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Fuck my life.”
I rise to my feet, spitting the f-bomb as if it’s as easy as breathing. Storming out the front door, I slam it shut behind me and throw open the garage that houses my Harley. Tugging the helmet over my head, I start the engine, kick off the stabiliser of my bike, and fucking drive.
If, by some miracle, a serial killer hasn’t killed her, then I’ll save them the job and do it myself for her sheer stupidity. Thankfully, that fantasy arrives sooner than anticipated as I find the little fuckwit walking down the pavement, arms huddled close to her chest to protect herself from the nighttime chill.
The roar of the engine diverts her attention.
I pull up beside her, dragging my foot along the pavement to balance the bike. Her body goes rigid and she blinks multiple times, shock swirling deep in those pretty brown eyes before it’s quickly replaced by panic.
“I didn’t even make it two miles before I was kidnapped,” she mutters under her breath. “Great.”
“Get on the bike. ”
Recognising my voice, her body stills and her emotions slowly coil into anger. Huffing like a child in a tantrum, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Leave me alone, Harry.”
Oh, she’s feisty.
You don’t have to tell me twice.
“Suit yourself.” I press my foot against the gas and pull off from the pavement, driving the bike back towards my house.
The bike’s engine growls as I push on the accelerator.
I saved her from that sick freak outside the nightclub, I offered her a place to stay in my home – which is a whole other issue – and she’s giving me shit for it? It’d make my life ten times easier if she hated me and stayed far, far away.
That’s why I’m eating up the distance back towards my house and leaving her there alone. Being around a woman like that is guaranteed to fuck you up a little bit inside. This needs to stop before she strings her web and we both get caught in something dark and twisted.
I don’t want to help her. I don’t. Fucking hell, but I do. I will.
And I hate her for it.
But not as much as I loathe myself for allowing it to happen.
I growl, turning the bike back round.
I’m no gentleman. And just to make sure she’s aware of that, I stop the bike less than a metre in front of her, cutting her off mid-step and causing her to stumble.
She trips over herself with clumsy footing. “Are you mad? You could have hit me!”
I really need to rein in my emotions before I lose my shit with her.
The words taste bitter on my tongue as I say, “This is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night. Chasing after some girl .”
I climb off my bike, prepared to take her back to my house even if it means carrying her the rest of the way home and retrieving the Harley later .
“Please just leave,” she says, tearing her gaze away. “I’m not staying somewhere I’m not welcome.”
“I told you to stay, didn’t I?”
She huffs. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“No, I don’t, princess. Enlighten me.”
I pull off the helmet and tuck it underneath my bicep as I take a step forwards. The moment she sees the fury in my eyes her brave little exterior cracks. The front of her chest brushes mine as she’s forced to crane her neck to look up at me, releasing a panty little breath that does something to my cock I will never admit out loud.
“Don’t call me that,” she says.
“I have plenty of other things I can call you, Gigi. None of them nice.”
Silence stretches between us. A single streetlamp flickers above her head, and the dull bulb still manages to highlight the redness in her cheeks.
She shakes her head. “I’m happy to go home, and I’m far from a child that needs babysitting. I’m doing you a favour, so just let me leave.”
My composure cracks, ties severing. “Get on the fucking bike!”
Her hands tighten at her sides. “No.”
“Just get on the bike. We’ll talk about this at the house.”
She stops, seemingly pleased with herself. “My house?”
“Fuck no.”
Appearing exasperated, Gigi shakes her head and turns to look at something in the distance. Then I’m forced to say something that makes my insides fucking crawl and my body cringe.
“Please.”
It’s easy to see the moment her body starts to ease, muscles loosening. When you’ve read people like I have your whole life, these little signs are as evident as breathing.
She turns her head to me slowly then nods .
About damn time.
Walking back over to my bike, I swing my leg over it and hand the helmet out to her. “Don’t even try making up some shit that it’ll ruin your hair or something.”
“You really think too little of me.”
She pulls the helmet over her head without a fight. Yet once she’s climbed onto the bike she sits far back against the seat. Putting that much distance between us will either break her back or cause her to fall before we’ve even pulled off the pavement.
I turn the key and the engine roars to life. Her body stiffens behind me, and when I peer over my shoulder I notice her fingertips digging into the leather of the seat, knuckles whitening.
“Put your arms round me.”
“I’m fine,” she protests.
This. Fucking. Woman.
Clutching the brakes with a tight fist, I pump the clutch with my foot, deliberately stalling the engine. The action propels her body forwards, and she’s thrown against my back. I reach back and grab onto her forearms, pulling them round my middle.
“Don’t play smart. Just keep your hands round me.”
GIGI
My body is pumping with adrenaline by the time we get back to the house. Before Harry even turned off the bike, I’d already climbed off, set the helmet aside, and run to the comfort of his room. I’d closed the door, hoping it would form some kind of barricade against my emotions.
That was ten minutes ago.
I press my forehead against the wood and inhale deeply.
Only ever having wanted to save him the bother of my company, I’m now cursing the consequences of my decision with the way the ache between my legs pulses with a heartbeat.
I can’t be attracted to my ex-boyfriend’s brother. The only man in existence who is untouchable beyond a shadow of a doubt. The idea is simply unfathomable. And bad.
So, so incredibly bad.
But he could give you everything you’ve ever wanted, that taunting voice in the back of my head says. You want this .
No, I don’t.
Deciding to give him a piece of my mind and deadpan my emotions to oblivion, I throw open the door and storm forwards. My body collides with something hard, and I’m forced to take a step back.
Harry leans his weight against the top of the doorframe, directly above our heads. My eyes are like magnets, drawn to the muscles tightening on his forearms and biceps as he stares down at me.
“Thinking of running away from me again?” He smirks, tilting his head.
I want to slap the smirk right off his beautiful fucking face.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I remain composed despite how much his presence is tempting me to screw all my morals.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I’d rather you not be around either.” His eyes roam over my body, most likely in disgust. “But running out in the middle of the night – are you mad!”
Now, that comment sobers me like no tomorrow.
“I know how to protect myself.”
The wood underneath his palms creaks with the pressure he’s enforcing. His body tightens to the extent it looks painful, and the flare in his eyes is enough to tell me he’s seething at the fact I ran away.
“What? Because you had a brother, right?” he practically spits .
My eyes flare. “I beg your pardon?”
He turns his head away, something running wild behind his eyes. “You don’t know what’s out there.”
“And you do?”
His nostrils flare, and he pushes himself off from the doorframe, separating us by several steps. “Don’t run away again.”
“And if I do?”
He huffs and turns his back towards me, calling over his shoulder, “If you don’t run away, then tomorrow night I promise to tell you what really happened between me and Greg.”
“Why not tonight?”
He’s silent for a beat. “Because it gives you a reason to stay.”