3. Cash
Chapter Three
Cash
Riley is grinning when I get back to the garage, which sends my stomach into free fall.
“Get back to work,” I growl at her, even though she’s clearly in the middle of something, and I’ve never minded teasing before. “You didn’t see anything.”
“Yes, boss.”
And when I send her home early, so I can lock up the garage before the library closes, she keeps a neutral expression and gets the heck out of Dodge without saying another word.
Upstairs, I crank on the shower, my thoughts careening from wanting to get clean for Haven, to wondering what the fuck happened, to darkly thinking I should just call the library and tell her I’m busy with work tonight.
But I can’t do that.
I gave her my word, not that she asked for it. I don’t think she knew what she was getting herself into when she threw herself into my arms.
That didn’t stop her from kissing the ever-loving-fuck out of me, though.
Jesus, her mouth.
My cock thickens in my hand as I relive the soft press of her lips against mine. The boldness, the urgency.
I’ve wondered how she felt about returning to Dragonfly Creek. Noticed that she wasn’t going to church on Sundays, and wasn’t seen with that circle of people.
But I never in a million years would have thought she’d take one look at Jeb Martin and glue her mouth to mine.
I don’t hate it, as far as a fuck off strategy goes. I’ll shield her from him without question. From everyone in her uncle’s circle, if need be. But she’s never given me any indication that she would want that, so I need to let go of my dick and stop thinking about her mouth.
Or how easily she parted her lips for me and let me have a little taste of her tongue.
Instead of releasing my cock, I stroke it again, making sure it’s extra clean. I have no good reason to do that. My hands need to be clean, absolutely. Arms and pits, yes, sure. She might need a hug.
But pulling my foreskin back and doing a double stroke of soap…there’s no chance that’s necessary for Haven’s purposes.
My cock grows heavier, not respecting the plan at all, so I give in and stroke myself roughly. The new knowledge of how hot and eager her kiss is just adds to my usual Haven fantasy, and I spill seed embarrassingly quickly.
Or, given the agenda today, appropriately efficiently.
I get to the library five minutes before closing.
As I stride in, a woman who I know attends Fred Bingham’s church, New Harvest, is frostily scanning a book at the self-checkout kiosk.
I don’t know if I’m reading too much into her lack of eye contact with Haven behind the desk, but I’m probably not.
I’m probably reading that situation exactly as fucking awkward as it is.
“Come on, Kaitlyn,” she says as she turns away from the counter.
A lanky teenage girl in a long dress unfurls herself from one of the chairs by the exit and follows her mother out the door, gliding like an apparition.
I wait until they’re gone before I approach.
Haven gives me a rueful smile. “Still getting the silent treatment from some people.”
“Their loss.” Then I wait, because I’m not about to say ready to go out loud.
I’m not the type of man who will ever have the right to walk Haven Bingham home. I’m going to anyway, but it’s going to make that silent treatment she’s receiving even worse.
The least I can do is be discreet about it.
One minute, she mouths, then her silky ponytail slides over her shoulder as she glances at her co-worker, and my cock immediately forgets that it just had some relief in the shower. Oh, how I want to wrap my fist in those dark red strands.
But I can’t.
I never will, because six years ago, Haven Bingham disappeared. Nobody knew where she went.
Nobody except me.
I got a letter in jail, a sweet outpouring of regret and confusion. An apology of sorts, although she hadn’t done me wrong. Not personally. But she felt connected to the choices made by her uncle, and she couldn’t be a part of his community anymore.
And she had a secret—she’d been accepted into university.
I might never see you again, but I want you to know that I’ll never forget that you stood up for someone in trouble. I’m sorry that got twisted.
Her belief in me got me through my time behind bars.
It dragged me back to Dragonfly Creek, inspired me to hold my fucking head up high and get a job at the garage in town, too.
And I know exactly how fucking hard it must be for her now. Six months is nothing. Every single day she’s gotta be bumping into people who see her for the first time and give her a cold shoulder based on nothing more than gossip.
It would be so, so much worse if she were my girl on top of that. I don’t want that for her.
Without saying a word, she collects her purse and leads me outside into the late afternoon sun. Main Street is reasonably busy at this hour with people stopping to run errands on their way home from work or coming into town for dinner at The Friendly Table.
It’s not as obvious as a kiss, but there will be eyeballs inside the restaurant who notice Pastor Bingham’s niece walking with the ex-soldier he helped put in jail.
Still, she doesn’t hesitate to fall into step beside me. And she doesn’t shy away from the topic of what happened earlier, either. “I want to apologize for earlier.”
I cut her off. “That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is,” she repeats. “You were right. I didn’t think through what the consequences of…”
“Kissing me?”
“Yes.” A surprised little smile tugs at her mouth. “I didn’t think through the consequences of… kissing you.”
“I talked to Riley. She won’t say anything.
And Jeb definitely isn’t going to say anything.
” I scowl at the thought of him. “And if anyone else saw, we’d probably have heard about it by now.
” That’s the way the gossip mill works in a small town.
“News spreads like wildfire and since none of my brothers called me this afternoon, I think you’ll be all right. ”
Haven frowns.
“I probably shouldn’t even be walking you home,” I add.
“Then why are you?”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “I don’t know. I said I would. And I figured we should talk.”
“That’s a good idea. And I owe you dinner.”
“I won’t hold you to that.”
“I don’t mind.” Her voice goes small, uncertain. “Unless you’ve got other plans.”
“No,” I answer hastily. “I have no plans tonight.”
And if I did, I would cancel them.
When she climbs the porch to the converted house where she rents the main floor, she spins around. “Are you sure—”
I lean in and ghost my mouth right over hers. Almost a kiss, but it’s not. Not like what we shared at the garage. Instead, my lips move against hers as I murmur instructions for her ears only. “Invite me inside, Haven. Like you said, we need to talk.”
She sucks in a shocked little breath.
But she doesn’t argue.
She twists away and unlocks the door.
Inside, her cozy space is colourful and a little retro, just like Haven. The front of the apartment is a small living room and kitchenette combo, and I know the little hallway toward the back of the house leads to a bedroom and bathroom.
A footstep above us immediately alerts me to the fact that we aren’t exactly alone. Not fully. And Haven flinches, even though she’s putting on a brave face about having me over. “That’s my landlady. She lives upstairs.”
“How you feel about her maybe knowing that I’m here?” Or any of her other nosy neighbours. Anyone could have seen me follow her inside.
She blows out her cheeks in a huff. “It’s fine. No, it’s good.”
All right, then. I lean over and untie my boots at the door.
And I don’t know what it is about that that pushes Haven over the edge, but when I unfold myself back to my full height, she whirls around and disappears into her bedroom, the door firmly closing between us.
The girl needs a minute to compose herself, to think through whatever it is that we’re doing here.
What are you doing?
That remains to be seen.
I prowl around her living room, looking for more clues to this private side of Haven I’m just discovering.
I’m a naturally curious man. It’s gotten me into trouble, but it’s also proven useful over the years. Now, I need to use it to get a crash course on the pretty librarian from a completely different perspective.
For years, I thought of her as the off-limits good girl I could only admire from afar. Now…
Now I know that good girl exterior hides a lot more curiosity and impulsiveness than I ever could have imagined.
A wild heat, too. And a furious self-protective instinct that could get her into trouble.
Get her out of it, too. But she might need guidance.
And maybe it’s time I more formally apply for the role of being Haven’s bodyguard.
Not surprisingly, she has a lot of books. There are a few library books on the small couch, and she has a bookcase that is carefully curated. Not just a clearly precious book collection, but decorative elements to match, stickers and bookmarks from some series, and a few 3D printed figurines.
Haven Bingham isn’t just a bookworm, she’s a serious fangirl. She loves fantasy and paranormal series. Demons and angels abound, which is fascinating for a girl who never missed a week of teen bible study.
There’s a new hardcover on the couch with a bookmark in it. The Mist at Dawn’s Edge. I make a mental note to look it up as the bedroom door opens.
She’s changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and I bet she means it to be no-nonsense casual armour, but she left her feet bare.
The sight of her toes, the nails painted red to match her hair, does something funny inside my chest. I don’t think I’ve seen her barefoot before, and it’s just as distracting as her delightfully wobbly cleavage was earlier.
She goes to the kitchen and starts opening and closing cupboard doors, looking at what food she has—and burning off some nervous energy.
I’ve learned there’s no point in beating around the bush. Gotta just rip the bandage off. Which means talking about what happened this afternoon.
“Hey,” I say, following her. “So Jeb isn’t going to forget that you’ve kissed me. He’s going to stew on that. Maybe make trouble for you.”
“I’m not scared of him.” She lifts her chin defiantly.
“Good. You shouldn’t be. But I remember how he was when we were in high school.”
Her natural pink blush darkens to a dull, embarrassed burn.
We’ve never talked about it. Not directly.
“Sorry for bringing that up,” I mutter. “But I’m just saying, the guy is a creep, and he’s been obsessed with you for a long time. I get why you wanted to send him a clear message. I support that fully. But now that you’ve done that, you need to be safe, you know?”
She stops pretending she’s looking for something to cook for dinner, and she finally gives me her full attention. Her eyes glitter, but her chin stays stubborn. “This is my hometown. Not his. He doesn’t get to scare me.”
“Hell—” I cut myself off from cursing. “Heck yeah.”
She smiles reluctantly. “You can swear.”
“Thank fuck.”
That makes her laugh. Good.
“Listen, I’m not just a pretty face, you know? I’m a big, thick, scary looking dude. So while the kissing plan was good—definitely sent him a message—I think I can be more useful in a…protective capacity.”
“What do you mean?”
“You got a scary email earlier.” Yeah, I didn’t forget that. I don’t forget anything. “You need a bodyguard.”