Chapter 6 #4
Her jaw tightened, and she looked at Regan instead of me. “You’ll really tow it?”
“Yes.”
“And my stuff stays locked?”
“Yes.”
“And Bandit gets food and water and no one tries to cuddle him like he’s emotionally available?”
Regan’s mouth twitched. “I’ll warn everyone he’s basically Mason with fur.”
Sienna glanced at me.
I crossed my arms. “Cat’s meaner.”
“Debatable,” she said.
There she was again. Fire over fear.
Regan stepped closer and held out her hand, palm up. “Keys.”
Sienna clutched them like Regan had asked for a kidney.
“No.”
Regan waited.
Sienna looked at me. “Don’t look smug.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re always a little smug. It’s just sitting there on your face.”
“That’s my face.”
“My condolences.”
Amber made a delighted noise. “I love her.”
Regan wiggled her fingers. “Keys, Sienna.”
Sienna inhaled through her nose, slow and controlled. Then she dropped the keys into Regan’s hand like it physically pained her.
Regan closed her fist around them. “Good girl.”
Sienna immediately pointed at her. “No.”
Regan grinned. “Noted.”
I pushed off the truck and grabbed my Henley from where it hung through the open window. “You done negotiating custody?”
Sienna looked at me like she’d forgotten the worst part was still waiting.
My bike.
Her mouth tightened. “No.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I haven’t agreed.”
“You handed over your keys.”
“To Regan. Not to you.”
“You need to get to Santa Fe.”
“I know that.”
“My bike gets you there.”
“I know that too. I hate that more.”
I stepped close enough that she had to tip her head back. Not much. Just enough. Her eyes sharpened, but she didn’t move away. Damn if that didn’t do something stupid to me.
“You scared?” I asked.
Her gaze cut to my mouth, then back up. “Of the motorcycle? Sensibly.”
“Of me?”
She gave me a slow, unimpressed look. “Please.”
Liar.
Not because she feared me.
Because she felt it too.
That hot, mean pull sitting between us like a live wire neither of us had the sense to step over.
I lowered my voice. “Then get your bag.”
“I need clothes.”
“One bag.”
“I’m moving. I don’t have one bag.”
“One bag for today.”
“I have toiletries.”
“Bring ’em.”
“Laptop.”
“Bring it.”
“Field documents.”
“Bring what matters.”
“My French Vanilla creamer.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
“You’re joking.”
“I am emotionally dependent on flavored coffee and refusing shame.”
Regan lifted her mug. “Respect.”
I dragged a hand down my face. “Fine. Creamer too.”
Sienna smiled then. Quick. Sharp. Victorious in the smallest, most infuriating way.
I should not have liked it.
I did.
She turned toward the truck, and I watched her climb into the cab to gather what she needed.
The T-shirt stretched across her back when she leaned over the seat.
Denim hugged her hips. Her hair slid over one shoulder, and she muttered to Bandit under her breath like the cat was a difficult coworker and not a feral criminal.
I looked away.
Too late.
Amber was watching me.
“Problem?” I asked.
She sipped her coffee. “Nope.”
“Say it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is loud.”
She smiled. “You’re in trouble.”
“I’m driving her to Santa Fe.”
“Sure.”
“That’s it.”
“Of course.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t start.”
Amber looked past me to Sienna, then back. “Oh, honey. You already did.”
Sienna climbed down from the truck with a backpack, a laptop sleeve, a toiletry bag, and the bottle of creamer tucked under her arm like contraband. She handed the creamer to Regan with grave seriousness.
“If this gets warm, I’ll survive,” she said. “But emotionally, there will be consequences.”
Regan accepted it. “I’ll guard it with my life.”
“And Bandit.”
“Bandit too.”
The cat screamed.
Regan looked toward the cab. “Mostly the creamer.”
For the first time that morning, Sienna laughed. Not big. Not relaxed. But real.
It hit me in the chest like something thrown from close range.
I picked up her backpack before I could do something dumber, like stare. “This all?”
She reached for it. “I can carry my own bag.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you carrying it?”
“Because I’m going that way.”
“Convenient.”
“Efficient.”
“Controlling.”
“Practical.”
“Infuriating.”
I leaned closer as I passed her. “You forgot hot.”
She stopped dead.
Regan choked on her coffee.
Amber whispered, “Oh my God.”
Sienna turned slowly, eyes narrowed to dangerous little slits. Her cheeks had color again, but this time she didn’t look embarrassed. She looked ready to set something on fire and take notes.
“I did not forget,” she said.
The words landed low.
Hard.
Every laugh, every whisper, every sound around us faded for half a second.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
There it was.
I hate you, but if you touch me, I might combust.
Written all over her face.
Probably written all over mine too.
Then Bandit yowled from the truck and shattered the moment like a glass thrown at a wall.
Sienna closed her eyes. “He has terrible timing.”
“Or good instincts,” I said.
She opened one eye. “Don’t bond with my cat.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“He’d reject you.”
“Mutual.”
Regan tucked Sienna’s keys into her pocket and stepped between us like a woman who knew exactly how close dry brush had gotten to flame.
“Okay. Before the two of you burn down my spa weekend with sexual hostility, Mason, go get your bike ready. Sienna, helmet. Sunscreen. Water. And for the love of all things holy, both of you behave.”
Sienna and I answered at the same time.
“No promises.”
Regan stared at us.
Amber started laughing again.
And me?
I walked toward my bike with Sienna’s bag in one hand and a bad feeling in my gut.
Not danger.
Worse.
Want.