Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Sami
Standing at Gibbo’s living room window, I watch Sergeant Moore escort Allen across Gibbo’s yard, deposit him in the backseat of his police Landcruiser, and then turn to talk to Gibbo.
Gibbo.
My gaze lingers on him, and an invisible band squeezes my chest.
Tall, muscles on muscles, the most amazing, gentle, funny, intimidating man I’ve ever met.
He’s still only dressed in his boxer briefs, but there’s no shame or self-consciousness in his body language.
He owns the space around him. He towers over Sergeant Moore.
He’d towered over Allen as well. Could have snapped Allen over his knee without breaking a sweat. He’d looked like he wanted to.
Was Allen lucky I was here? Or am I lucky Gibbo was?
I jiggle my car keys in one hand and chew on my thumbnail on the other as the sergeant and Gibbo shake hands. I watch the police officer climb behind the wheel.
The engine of the 4x4 kicks over, and Sergeant Moore begins driving away, taking Allen with him.
The band around my chest squeezes tighter. Dropping my head, I study my keys. Allen had planted a Tile tracker under the back wheel arch of my car and followed me here. If not for Gibbo, who knows what might have happened.
What do I do with it all? Not just the Allen thing—holy shit, the Allen thing!—but my unexpected feelings for Gibbo. I’m in love with him. Which is even more holy shit.
No, it’s impossible. People don’t fall in love that quickly.
It’s stress-induced adrenaline. Think of the reason you came up here—to escape a possible creep.
And then Gibbo saves you from one at the pub and then saves you again from Allen.
You think you love him because he protected you when you felt vulnerable.
That’s not love, that’s…that’s transference.
Closing my eyes, I jiggle my keys again. I write horror for a living. I know how powerful the deluded mind can be. Allen was deluded about us, and I’m deluded about how I feel for Tony Gibson.
But what if he feels the same?
“Stop it,” I mutter, opening my eyes and closing my fist around my keys. I pivot on my heel, hurriedly collect my stuff—thank God, I travel light—and head for the front door.
I stop as Gibbo walks through it.
His eyes jump from my laptop bag, to my suitcase, to me. “Hey.”
Aching want flutters in my chest. He is incredible, but if he knew how powerful my feelings for him are, after a mere night, he’d be running for the hills. I would.
My mouth turns to a desert. “I…” Thank you. Like you. Love you. Want to spend the rest of my life with you. “I have to go.”
He frowns. “Now?”
“It’s probably better,” I reply. Inside, I’m screaming. I want to step into the warm strength of his body, slip my arms around his waist, press my cheek to his chest, and exist there with him. Forever.
But doesn’t that make me as unhinged as Allen?
“Mr. Shakespeare needs me,” I continue. In my fist, my keys dig into my palm. “My axolotl. Allen was meant to be taking care of him, and he’s been alone for at least twenty-four hours. Maybe longer.”
Just over twenty-four hours. That’s all it took to turn my world upside down.
Gibbo studies me, his expression unreadable.
Ask me to stay. Please ask me to stay. If you ask me to stay, I will. For as long as you want.
“Fair enough,” he says.
A cold rock drops in my stomach, and my throat constricts. Oh.
He clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck, his gaze sliding to the window.
“That works out, actually. I have to head into the Ridge and fill the captain in on what’s happened.
We’ll need an arson report written up on the cabana.
” He flicks a quick look my way, expression almost bored.
“Someone will contact you in a few days about it.”
Someone. Not even him.
Oh God, I’m so glad I didn’t open my mouth and pour out how I feel about him.
Felt. Time to stop being an idiot.
“Okay.” I plaster a broad smile on my face. “Well, I guess I helped give you a wild birthday, yes? One you won’t forget?” Before he can respond, I jiggle my keys at him. “I’m going now. Thank you.”
I hurry past him, my shoulder brushing his bare chest. Desire and embarrassment burn in my veins, hot and itchy, and I’m damn near running by the time I descend the stairs to his front yard, my eyes hot as I stare at my car.
Kookaburras bray with laughter as I grab the door handle, but it’s the crunch of feet on gravel that turns me around.
Gibbo is behind me. Not close enough to touch, but there.
He’s followed me. He’s looking at me, a question in his eyes I can’t understand.
Maybe I should tell him how I feel? Or at least tell him I don’t want to go, that I’ve never felt more comfortable, more content, more alive with anyone else?
What if I’m running away from something amazing?
Maybe we—
“I enjoyed spending my birthday with you,” he says, crossing his arms over his naked chest and tucking his hands in his armpits. His Adam’s apple slides up and down his throat, and then he dips his head in a single nod as if his mind has come to a conclusion. “Drive safe.”