3. Chapter 3
Gavin
“I’m not running.”
Bullshit.
She picked my lock after midnight, six hours from home, with rain soaking through her clothes and enough fear in her eyes to put me on edge. Whatever she wants to call it, she ran.
I step away from her because I need pants before this situation gets any worse.
The towel around my hips has become a problem for reasons that have nothing to do with modesty. I recognized Hannah less than five minutes ago, and my cock reacted like the last two years never happened.
Seeing her pinned against my wall did not help.
Neither did the way her eyes moved over me after she recognized me.
She does not need to see what that is doing to me.
“Stay here.”
Her eyebrows lift. “I already broke in. Where exactly do you think I’m going?”
That mouth has not changed.
I turn toward the hallway. “Try not to pick any more locks.”
“I make no promises.”
I almost smile.
Definitely has not changed.
I shut the bedroom door and drag on boxer briefs, worn sweatpants, and a black T-shirt. By the time I pull the shirt over my head, my body has settled enough to keep the rest of the night from becoming embarrassing.
My head is another matter.
Two years should have been enough to put Hannah Vance back where she belonged: off-limits.
It wasn’t.
The first time Kaden brought her here, I spent the whole weekend pretending I was not interested.
I was.
More than I had been interested in any woman since Emma.
That was the problem.
After Emma, I kept women simple. No promises, no expectations, no reason to care where they went after they left my bed. I knew what I wanted, they knew what they wanted, and nobody walked away expecting more.
It worked.
Then Kaden brought Hannah into my house, and simple went to hell.
She was twenty-one. Twelve years younger than me. His little sister.
I had known about her for years because Kaden talked about her the way a man talks about the one person on earth he would burn everything down to protect. Smart. Stubborn. Talented. Too independent for her own good.
None of that prepared me for seeing her.
Dark curls. Brown eyes. A mouth that made me think things I had no business thinking about Kaden’s sister.
And that body.
Soft everywhere a man wanted softness. Full breasts, broad hips, thick thighs, curves I had spent the better part of that weekend trying not to look at and the next two years remembering anyway.
Wanting to fuck her would have been bad enough.
Then I started wanting to hear her laugh again. Wanted her sitting in my kitchen. Wanted to know what she was drawing when she bent over that napkin with her lower lip caught between her teeth.
That was worse.
I’d made damn sure no woman mattered enough to get under my skin. Hannah did it in a weekend without touching me once.
So I left.
Kaden could not complain about what I did not do.
It did not stop me thinking about her afterward, and it sure as hell did not stop my body from remembering her the second I saw her tonight.
I open the bedroom door.
She is where I left her, looking like she is trying to decide whether climbing through a window would count as an overreaction.
“Give me your phone.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to see the messages.”
“I can handle it.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
That slows her down.
I hold out my hand.
She looks at it, then at me.
“I’m having a complicated evening with men telling me what to do.”
“With me?”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
“No.”
“Then let me see the phone.”
She mutters something I do not catch and digs it out of her coat. The screen shows one weak bar.
She unlocks it and hands it over.
I scan the messages. There are no names, no direct threat, nothing she could hand to the police and expect an easy answer.
Whoever wrote them knows what he is doing.
I hand the phone back.
“How much?”
Her face changes.
“Sixty-eight thousand.”
Fuck.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
I look at her.
“I don’t.”
“Who took it?”
“Declan.”
“Who is Declan?”
She hesitates just long enough to irritate me.
“My ex.”
Good.
The relief hits hard and possessive, and I do not give a damn that I have no right to it.
“How long were you with him?”
“Four months.”
“How long since he disappeared?”
“Three days.”
“When did you find out about the loan?”
“Two days ago.”
“What happened?”
Her gaze shifts away.
There it is.
“Three men came to my apartment.”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did they get inside?”
“No.”
“Did they touch you?”
She hesitates again.
My jaw locks.
“One grabbed my arm when I tried to leave.”
Something cold settles low in my gut.
“What did you do?”
“I got loose.”
“How?”
“Kaden taught me.”
I think about the move she tried against me when I had her on the wall.
Turn into the grip. Drop the weight. Bring the knee up.
Good instincts.
Not enough against someone who knows how to shut the move down before it starts.
“He taught you some.”
Her chin comes up. “I got away.”
“You did.”
I do not take that from her.
But if some bastard put his hands on her once, I want to make damn sure he never gets the chance again.
“Did they follow you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I changed roads twice. Stopped once. Drove through town before coming up here. I watched for the same cars.”
Better.
“Kaden teach you that too?”
“He was very committed to keeping me alive.”
“So am I.”
The words come out before I bother stopping them.
Her eyes lift to mine.
There is a beat between us that lasts longer than it should.
I break it first and turn toward the kitchen.
“Take off your coat.”
Her brows rise. “Wow. You move fast.”
I glance back.
She is trying not to smile.
Good.
“Coat.”
She peels it off and drops it over the back of a chair.
Then I see what the wet sweater underneath is doing to her body.
Fuck me.
I open the refrigerator before staring becomes a problem.
Two steaks.
That’ll do.
“When did you eat?”
“I ate.”
“When?”
Silence.
I look over.
“A muffin.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“It had blueberries.”
I pull out the steaks. “That isn’t food.”
“It came wrapped in plastic and everything.”
“Sit.”
Her eyebrows climb.
“You know, people usually ask.”
“Fine.”
I point at the chair. “Sit. Please.”
She stares at me.
“Was that physically painful?”
“Getting there.”
She laughs.
The sound is soft, still edged with nerves, but it does something to the tightness in my chest.
I set the cast iron on the stove and turn on the heat.
Salt. Butter. Potatoes left from earlier.
Nothing complicated.
“You don’t have to feed me.”
“I know.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“You will be.”
“That sounds ominous.”
I leave that one alone.
The pan gets hot, and the steaks go in with a hard hiss.
I light the fire while they cook. By the time I come back, the cabin is warmer and the flames give me enough light to make another mistake.
The sweater clings to her breasts and stomach. Wet denim hugs broad hips and thick thighs. Her curls are starting to dry around her face, darker at the ends where the water still weighs them down.
Two years ago, I convinced myself I had remembered her body too generously.
I had not.
If anything, memory had been stingy.
My cock thickens against my sweatpants.
Christ.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
I grab a dry hoodie from the back of a chair and toss it to her.
She catches it.
“Yours?”
“No. Belongs to the other six-foot-four bastard living here.”
Her mouth twitches before she pulls it over her head.
The hoodie swallows her shoulders and hangs past her hips.
It should help.
Instead, seeing her in my clothes does something primitive to me that I refuse to examine.
I turn back to the steaks.
I plate the food and set hers in front of her.
She looks down, then up.
“That is a lot of steak.”
“Eat what you want.”
“I don’t need all of this.”
There is something in the way she says it that has nothing to do with hunger.
I look at her.
She looks away.
Not tonight.
“Then don’t finish it.”
Her eyes come back to mine.
“No lecture?”
“About steak?”
“Never mind.”
She cuts into it and takes a bite.
Her eyes close.
For one second, her lips part as she exhales.
My cock presses harder against my sweatpants.
I look down at my own plate.
“This is really good.”
I grunt.
Her eyes open.
“Was that a thank-you grunt?”
“Yes.”
“I’m learning your language.”
I take a bite before I say what comes to mind.
Her in my bed.
Her under me.
Her legs wrapped around my waist while that smart mouth finally stops talking because I have given it something better to do.
I shut that down hard.
She is scared.
She is under my roof because she needs somewhere safe.
Whatever I want from her is my problem.
She eats, and the tension slowly leaves her shoulders.
I let her make it through half the plate before asking the question that has been bothering me since she walked through my door.
“Why here?”
Her fork pauses.
“I told you. I thought you were away.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She knows it.
“Kaden mentioned the assignment. Nobody who knows Declan knows about this place. I figured I could hide here for a night or two until Kaden called me back.”
She came because I was supposed to be gone.
I do not like that answer nearly as much as I should.
“And tomorrow?”
“I figure something else out.”
“No.”
Her head comes up.
“No?”
“You’re staying.”
Her eyes flash. “That is not your decision.”
“No.”
I hold her gaze.
“It’s yours.”
That takes some of the fight out of her expression.
“You can walk out that door whenever you want. I’m not keeping you here.”
Her shoulders loosen a fraction.
“But until I know who those men are, where they are, and what Declan gave them besides your name and address, this is the safest place you’ve got.”
She watches me.
“And if I decide to leave?”
“I go with you.”
Her lips part.
“Kaden put you up to this?”
“Kaden doesn’t know you’re here.”
The worry hits her face fast.
“I’ve been trying to reach him.”
“I figured.”
“You did?”
“You drove six hours because you couldn’t.”
She looks down at her plate, and the fight finally drains out of her.
Exhaustion settles into the lines of her body. She drove through rain, scared enough to hide in an empty cabin, and she is still trying to convince herself she has to handle this alone.
That part ends here.
I’ll find Kaden. I’ll find out who those men are. Until then, she stays somewhere I can keep her safe.
I stand and take her plate.
“The guest room is down the hall. I’ll get you clothes.”
“I can leave in the morning.”
I look at her.
Two years ago, I walked away because wanting Hannah Vance was a problem I could solve by putting distance between us.
Tonight she walked into my house.
Distance is no longer an option.
And neither is letting her walk back out into whatever the hell followed her here.