Ballrooms & Blackmail (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #4)

Chapter 1

One

River

I spent years learning how to survive dangerous men.

Then, in a few short moments, Thorn Wilkenson manages to sneak right past my defenses.

As I hurry through the dimly lit parking lot beneath my boss’s apartment building, my gaze searching the shadows for monsters I hope to God aren’t there, I know I should’ve left much earlier.

Instead, I lingered and I fussed and I spent long moments pretending my life isn’t my life.

And now—because of that idiocy—I’m rushing through the dark space toward my beat-up sedan, fumbling for my keys while my pulse thrums beneath my skin and panic nips at my heels.

All while still searching those shadows.

Is this going to be the time he finds me?

I extract my car keys and shove them into the lock, twisting them to the side as I scan the back seat, making sure it’s empty of vicious, abusive exes.

The lock gives.

The back seat is empty.

Exhaling in relief, I pull the keys free, reach for the handle and—

“You shouldn’t park this far from the entrance.”

I scream, whipping around, clenching my keys in my fist and shouting, “Go away!”

Then I freeze, the terror that just ripped through my insides fading in an instant.

Not him.

Not Preston.

Instead, it’s…Thorn Wilkenson.

I close my eyes briefly.

Exhale.

Then open them again.

“Why are you here?” I ask rudely—or rudely for me, anyway.

Politeness used to rule my life. Politeness with powerful, strong men was one of those survival skills I honed so carefully.

But my rudeness doesn’t seem to bother Thorn.

He stands a few feet away, his hands loose at his sides, his dark coat open over a charcoal sweater that probably costs more than my monthly rent.

And he looks unfairly good in the dim lighting.

Actually, he looks unfairly good all the time.

Jerk.

Of course, it would be better if he actually was a jerk. Instead, he’s…nice. A bit grumpy. A bit quiet. But…nice.

Which is all well and good—until nice turns into not nice.

And I’m not looking to relive that nightmare.

My friends can have their men, their happily-ever-afters. I’ll stick with my books and my movies and my quiet, peaceful life.

Thorn doesn’t move closer, just keeps those hands where I can see them. “Making sure you get to your car.”

“Why?”

He just looks at me. “Because it’s what I do.”

“Well,” I grit out, “don’t do it with me.” I make a shooing motion and turn back to my car. “Now go away.”

“No.”

I rotate back to face him, my brows lifting in surprise. And annoyance. “Are you always this stubborn?”

He lifts one shoulder in an indolent shrug. “I’m usually worse.”

The dry reply catches me so off guard I almost laugh.

Almost.

I cross my arms instead. “Congratulations.” A beat. “Now go.”

“No.”

No. No?

Silence stretches between us as I study this stubborn, annoying, freaking beautiful specimen of a man while he just calmly stares back at me.

It’s not comfortable. Not by any measure.

But it’s not exactly uncomfortable either.

Rather, it’s like I’m standing too close to a power line, the buzzing filling my ears, my nerves, disorienting my senses, making it difficult for me to draw in air.

“Breathe, little hen.”

I jerk, dropping back into the world so abruptly it’s like I get whiplash.

The sound of traffic in the distance fills my ears.

The damp scent of cold concrete and engine fumes clogs my nose.

The heavy weight of Thorn’s deep green eyes is like lightning shooting through my veins.

The last is the worst—because the man notices too much. Most people see me exactly how I want to be seen. Friendly. Hardworking. Extroverted and easy to get along with. Thorn looks at me like he can see all the frantic little gears turning through my mind at any given moment.

Be careful. Be safe. Be smart and flexible and unnoticed. Because there’s danger in the brightness, danger in hoping and wanting and needing.

Better to be a cardboard cutout of a woman than a real one. Better to have that shield.

Thorn’s green eyes seem to see right through my protective barriers. It makes me want to run—which is ridiculous. He’s never done anything remotely threatening toward me. If anything, he’s careful with me. That should be a relief.

Instead, it scares me in ways I don’t entirely understand.

His gaze drops briefly toward my hands.

I follow his eyes down, realize I’m clenching them together and immediately drop them to my sides.

“Get in the car, River,” he murmurs.

I huff out an aggrieved breath. “I’m trying to.”

“It’s late. And you’re cold.”

Why is he still talking? “I’m fine,” I snap.

“You’re shaking.”

Immediately, I shove my hands into my coat pockets. “I’m fine.”

“Except you’re shaking.”

Ugh. “Do you have to argue with everything I say?”

“No.”

He pauses. Then—because apparently the man doesn’t know how normal human conversation works—he says, “You haven’t been sleeping.”

I blink. “How could you possibly know that?”

His green eyes search mine. “You have dark circles.”

I gape at him. “Seriously?”

A shrug. “It’s true.”

The thing is?

He’s not wrong.

I haven’t slept properly in weeks.

Not since Brooks—my boss—and Briar’s—the woman he loves—mess escalated. Dangerous criminals and an FBI investigation and too many things that don’t add up will do that to a girl.

So no, I haven’t been sleeping.

I’ve been staring at my ceiling and searching shadows and…noticing this man far too much.

And apparently he’s noticed me right back.

Which definitely shouldn’t send a curl of heat through my belly.

Because, seriously, haven’t I learned my lesson about men?

I clear my throat. “Well, thanks for pointing out I look like crap.” I hitch my head toward my open car door. “I’ll just be going now.”

His eyes narrow faintly and he takes a step toward me, wafting his spicy scent forward, filling the air around me. “You’re beautiful, River.”

“Right,” I mutter. “I’m leaving.”

The corner of his mouth hitches up.

It’s not a smile. Thorn doesn’t smile—at least not that I’ve seen. He glowers and watches and glares people into submission.

But that little twitch of his mouth just now?

It sends something warm and strange fluttering through my chest.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

I grab the edge of the car door, pull it wider.

His gaze moves over the garage slowly before returning to me. “You checked your backseat before unlocking your car.”

I freeze.

“And you scan the shadows like you’re expecting a monster to emerge from them.”

My throat tightens. Because that’s exactly what I expect.

“Do you have problems I should know about?”

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp little rush. “No.”

Those piercing green eyes fix on mine. “You sure?”

“Yup,” I clip.

“Your ex?” he says, not letting it go.

“I haven’t seen my ex in years.” That’s the truth. I just…worry I will. I worry with every freaking fiber of my being.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not still afraid of him.”

Something strange cracks open inside my chest. “Thorn,” I whisper.

His face changes. Gentles.

Shit. I need to leave. Immediately. Before I do something profoundly stupid…like ask him what he’s thinking when he looks at me like that.

I drop into the driver’s seat quickly. “Goodbye, Thorn.”

He steps back from the car without argument. “Ocean sounds,” he says incongruently.

I stare at him. “Uh, what?”

“It’ll help you sleep.”

“I—”

He leans forward, carefully shuts the door, then steps back again.

I stare at him for a moment through the window, trying to make sense of him.

When I don’t—or can’t—I turn on my car and back out of the spot.

As I drive away, I catch one last glimpse of him through my rearview.

He’s standing there, watching me.

Looking like a dangerous man full of far too many secrets.

And, despite that, I still think of little else but Thorn Wilkenson the entire drive home.

And ocean sounds.

I think about those too.

Especially as they soothe me into the first full night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks.