Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The faint scent of cologne tickled her nose.
Not the familiar scent of pepper and citrus he used to wear but something lighter and woodsy.
After gathering her wits in the bathroom, she’d urged him out and changed into her gym clothes—too bad her gym shoes were still on the seat of her car.
The leather of the chair in front of the desk crinkled as she curled her legs tighter under her.
She dipped her chin again and inhaled the fabric of the black pullover sweater he’d given her.
The office door opened and she dropped the material from her nose.
“Food will be ready in ten minutes.” He shut the door behind him and strode to the desk, lifting his hip to rest on the edge. “Talk,” he commanded. It would be so much easier to talk if he were closer to her. Back in the day, just his touch had been enough to melt away all her troubles.
No. She couldn’t get attached to him again.
He’d pushed her out of his life twice before.
Being here should be putting a huge ding in her pride, but instead it was filling her with longing.
Not just for his hot body, but for him. And for the good old days of kissing under the stars, nineties music bumping in the night, and his roaming hands all over her.
Milo had cared about her and protected her. Until her uncle—the useless, scheming prick—had ratted out Milo’s dad, putting him behind bars.
Bitterness crept in but she pushed it away. Regardless of what had happened in the past, Milo wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
He raised his dark eyebrows. She tucked her ankles under her and toyed with the drawstring that dangled from one side of the hood.
“I was driving home from a potential client’s house and someone smashed into me.
I . . . I thought it was an accident, but he accelerated when I was in the middle of the intersection. ”
Milo frowned. “Did you see the driver?”
“He opened my door and pointed a gun at my face, but he wore a mask.” Her voice wavered. The memory of the mouth of the weapon was branded in her consciousness. She wound and unwound the string around her finger, over and over.
She’d stabbed someone. He might have been planning to kill her, but she’d done it first. She held her focus on the desk beyond Milo’s thighs. Her nose burned with the need to let loose the dam of welled-up tears, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—cry again.
“Hey, it’s okay, you can talk to me.” He lowered himself to his knees in front of her and pressed his warm palms on the tops of her thighs.
He gripped her hands and wrapped them in his much larger ones.
Heat blossomed in that cocoon, melting the tension in her fingers.
Pain flowed through her heart, and it had nothing to do with the man she’d stabbed and everything to do with the man she missed.
Milo had always been her rock. Moving on with her life without him had been a double blow.
The loss of him had also been the loss of her friend.
Her mouth was resisting her brain’s desire to talk to him. Why?
Because if she did, letting go again would be that much harder.
She pulled one hand away and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. She shouldn’t have come here.
His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “Serena, please.”
She lowered her palm to her thigh. The skin around his eyes crinkled. An ache opened in her chest. She wanted to trust him. God, why did it have to be so hard? Why did he have to screw everything up?
“Babe,” he growled, more insistently.
The endearment sent ripples of pleasure through her. Memories of him drawling out that four-letter word assaulted her. Jeez, he was teleporting her into the past with one damn word. She lifted her shoulders. “I grabbed the switchblade you gave me and stabbed him in the neck.”
His eyes sharpened and his head pulled back an inch.
Oh, crap.
“The knife I had engraved?”
If she could have shoved her foot in her mouth she would have. After they broke up, the only thing she’d had to remind her of Milo was the switchblade. He’d given it to her on one of their first jobs. He’d wanted her to be safe when he wasn’t with her.
If it weren’t for that knife, she’d probably be dead now.
“Yeah.”
His face didn’t change. He rubbed his thumb over the dip in the center of his chin. Her fingers ached to drag over the stubble of his beard. She curled her hand until her fingernails dug into her palm.
“Do you have any reason to think someone would want to hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No.” She’d gone over and over that possibility in her mind. Two years ago, maybe. Not now.
“What about Dani?”
Tension radiated down her spine at the mention of her sister’s name. Dani territory—or the past—wasn’t a place he should travel with her.
“What about her?”
“C’mon, Serena. I heard she and Peyton are still in that lifestyle. It’s not farfetched that someone would come after you to get to her.”
“Dani would never endanger me.”
He chortled, shook his head, and rose to his feet. “All right then, what about you? Are you still stealing?”
She bristled. “No, I’m not.”
He sank down on the desk again. “Ah, that’s right. You’re a big-time realtor now, huh?”
Delight wormed through her heart. He’d checked up on her?
Don’t be stupid. Your face and name are plastered over half the city.
“I wouldn’t say ‘big time.’” She shrugged but didn’t stop her nose from turning up. She’d done damn good for herself. Had gotten out all on her own, without his help and despite her sister. “But I’m successful, yes.”
His bright green eyes sparkled with amusement and . . . pride? He moved behind the desk and placed his hands on the top. His large palms swallowed up a good portion of the cheap wood. The motion was casual, but something told her he wanted distance between them.
“I’m proud of you, S. You deserve it.” Her gaze shifted to his chiseled cheekbones. “If all is peachy in paradise, who do you think is after you?”
“If I knew that I wouldn’t be here.”
“Why are you?”
She shrugged. That was the million-dollar question.
“Don’t play games. You know why you came here.”
She seethed. He wanted her to say that she needed him or some bullshit. Well, he’d never hear it. Not after he’d so kindly told her to fuck off. She stood suddenly and moved to the door, but he stepped in front of her.
I never want to see you again.
The emptiness that had twisted her heart since that night clamored up her throat.
Her fingers balled inside the sweater, and it took every ounce of her control not to shove him out of the way.
Which wouldn’t do any good. She wouldn’t be able to budge him an inch, even though she worked out five days a week.
No point embarrassing herself. No, she’d have to fight the urge to battle with him and keep her cool if she wanted to get out of here.
But there’s nowhere to go . . .
The tiny voice inside her head reminded her of how much trouble she was in. Dammit, she didn’t have time for this. She had an open house tomorrow afternoon and an older couple’s listing contract she’d landed this morning to submit tonight.
She shrugged again. “I didn’t have time to figure out a plan. I acted on impulse.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Do all of your impulsions lead you to me?”
“I never said my impulses were smart.” She jerked her head to the side. “Now move.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He slid his hands into his front pockets and leaned back against the door.
Don’t hit him, don’t hit him . . .
She squeezed her eyes tight and rubbed the pounding spot above her nose. “Look Milo, I can’t do this right now, okay? My nerves are on edge and we’re just going to fight.”
“Who’s fighting?”
She dropped her hand and studied the lines of his face. Interest prickled her senses. He’d changed in the last two years. Not just his hair, but his demeanor. More . . . chill. Or maybe that was because he’d stopped stealing from criminals.
“Come on. We’re barely keeping tempers in check as it is.”
The quirk at his mouth spread into a full, wide grin.
“See, that’s your problem. You’ve always been so hotheaded.
You’re the only one struggling with that temper.
” He reached out and flicked the tip of her nose.
The action should have irritated her, but instead, warmth spread through her, collecting between her thighs.
God, how could she still have it so bad? How could one touch to her nose and a playful smirk make butterflies thump against the wall of her belly?
His face turned serious and the green of his eyes reminded her of calm, open water. “Stay, Serena.” His tone was soft, pleading. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”
Her rigid muscles relaxed. She looked around the room. To stay, or to go . . .
His hand circled her wrist, and as if they had a mind of their own, her fingers locked with his.
How could he do this to her every time? Since the last time he gave her the boot, she’d had a speech—more like a damn annihilation—of curses ready to hurl at him.
She’d been waiting for the moment to tear into him and then walk away with as much ease as he had.
But for the life of her, she couldn’t.
No, she didn’t want to.
“All right, Milo. What do we do from here?”
Knock, knock, knock
The window behind Milo’s head shook, and he smiled. “We eat.” He opened the door, accepted the plates of food, and kicked the door shut. “Then we call the cops and report the accident.”
How the hell had the body disappeared?