by Nicole Snow
I nod, hugging my knees to my chest. “I might not even kill you for patching me up.”
“So gracious.”
With a chuckle, he ducks away and reappears with the little box I made when I was a little girl. It’s popsicle sticks with a big red cross painted on it.
Even when I was barely knee-high to a cricket, I had to do things for myself.
Holt starts to approach, but stops, looking me over, his brows lowering.
“Hey,” he says, settling down on the couch next to me, the box propped up on his knee. “You scared? They didn’t hurt you bad, did they?”
“No,” I growl, glowering over the forearm I have draped over my knees. “They just made me mad. Where the hell do they get off?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” The look that slides over me is warm, almost approving. “What’d they want, anyway?”
I hesitate, then curse, closing my eyes. “They were talking about treasure, the ghost town...and they know about Bostrom. Threatened to go to the cops if I didn’t tell them where to find the artifacts or some shit.”
“Damn,” he says grimly—right before something wet and burning presses against my lower lip. “Thought so.”
“Ah!” I flinch, opening one eye and glowering at him. “The hell do you mean, you thought so?”
He’s still holding a cotton ball dipped in peroxide. “You gonna hold still? I’ll tell you.”
“You’ll tell me even if I don’t.”
“Yeah, but then we’re gonna argue, and let’s not tonight.” He raises both brows. “Hold still and I’ll explain.”
I wrinkle my nose at him, scowling.
Finally, I sigh and lift my head, jutting my chin and giving him my swollen mouth.
Holt chuckles, this rich, deep, strangely soothing sound.
“Brat.” He presses the peroxide-soaked cotton ball to my lower lip again, his smile fading as he studies me solemnly. “You saw they came in trucks?”
I start to answer—but I’m not allowed to talk, so I nod.
“And who else do we know who drives a rig?” he asks.
“Declan.” I suck in a gasp.
“Mouth closed, honey,” Holt says, pulling back the peroxide swab until I comply. With another wrinkling of my nose, he presses the swab against my cut. “Declan. Right. Makes sense, don’t you think? He knows about the ghost town, and he was talking about priceless antiques. And that’s not all.”
What now? I wonder.
Holt swabs at my lip with a surprisingly tender touch, and I know if I try to talk again, he’ll just wait for me to stop.
So I just glower some more, holding my tongue.
He better enjoy the reprieve.
“I wrote down his license plate number a few days ago,” he says. “Seemed weird to me that a banker drove a semi like that. What was even weirder, I stopped by the Confederated branch the other day, and your pal Cherish said he’d never heard of Declan Eckhard. He sure as hell doesn’t work at the bank in Heart’s Edge.”
My eyes widen.
Forget seeing halos.
Now I’m seeing ragey red.
“Jesus. That lying, two-timing, conniving piece of chicken—”
I actually stop mid-sentence, waiting for Holt to chide me.
Instead, he just moves his hand to let the swab dangle, watching me with a sort of cynical amusement.
“Go ahead,” he tells me.
“—chickenshit son of a fuck!” I finish, balling my fists. “He’s been faking it this whole time. Trying to swipe my land and Sierra’s money all in one go! God, we have to—”
“I doubt he wants the land,” Holt says. “I Googled his plate. He’s got a nasty reputation in the long-haul community. He doesn’t do long cons. Short swindles are more his style. Then he hits the road and leaves a lot of angry mobs in the dirt.”
“I’ll put him in the dirt,” I snarl. “And Sierra too. Ugh, I can’t believe the two of them...I’ll turn her and her boyfriend in to Langley myself.”
“Not so fast,” Holt growls. “There’s still Gerald Bostrom.”
Oh.
A lead weight pools in my belly, dragging everything down.
“You mean the dead guy everyone and their grandma knows about now?” I whisper, flumping back against the couch and folding my arms over my chest, wincing as the movement pulls on my bruised stomach. “Eff my life. I hate this, Holt. All of it.”
He nods, empathy shining in his gaze.
I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “I still hate you, too.”
“Still mad at me, huh?” There’s a sheepish smile on his lips.
“You know what you did.”
“What it looked like, you mean. I didn’t brush you off, Libby,” he says. “When you came by the office, my main worksite was on fire, the Paradise Hotel—and I think Declan’s the prick who set it.”
I blink.
Then flush, scrunching down into my shoulders.
Okay.
Crap.
Okay, maybe I jumped to the wrong conclusions.
“So, what?” I mutter, avoiding his eyes. “You didn’t just brush me off because you’re a kiss-and-run playboy who likes playing mind games with women?”
“Not lately, no.” I’m not looking at him, but I can hear the grin in his voice.
“...and you weren’t treating me like a client in our text messages just so I’d come begging after you?”
“Nope,” he says mildly, restrained laughter edging at his voice. “Shit, I thought I was treading lightly until you were ready to talk about the fact that you kissed me and then told me to get out, but now I’m wondering...would you have come begging, honey?”
“No way!” I shoot back.
If I’m honest, though...I’m not so freaking sure.
If I knew he wasn’t playing games, I just might’ve embarrassed myself.
Though I don’t know if anything can be more shameful than how I feel now, when it hits me like a whirlwind.
“I was a brat, wasn’t I?” I huff out. “I’m sorry. God. Your whole site burned down?”
“Yep. I’m surprised you didn’t hear, what with the never-ending small-town gossip stream.”
“I haven’t been to town in a few days. Been kinda busy trying to figure out the process for that whole protected site thing. Then there was...”
I flick a tired arm toward the door, all I need to say about the incident outside.
He nods.
“This whole thing is totally messed.” Then I let my arm drop, wincing. “Ow. Dammit. Why do my arms hurt?”
“Because you took one hell of a bruising.” He leans forward, angling to catch my eye. “Libby, seriously—you need a doctor? I’ll drive you.”
I shake my head firmly. “Just need some painkillers and some rest. I’m not even bleeding anywhere else. I’m more mad than hurt.”
“Sounds about right,” he grunts.
But it’s not mocking.
It’s soft. So is the look in those flaming gold eyes, mingling with something else.
Oh, no.
Holt Silverton’s worried about me.
“Libby,” he says, catching my hand gently—and it’s amazing that even as battered as I am, I can still feel the zing that cuts through me when he touches my skin. It’s lighter now, breathless, and it’s not just my body getting too hot. It’s my heart when he tugs on my hand and says, “Come here. Just for a little bit.”
Maybe it’s the concussion.
Maybe it’s the blinding fact that I’ve had a really rotten night.
Or maybe I don’t need an excuse, and it’s okay to want this because it feels good.
Whatever it is, I don’t resist when he pulls me into his arms.
I just let him wrap me up, and burrow into him with a rough, achy breath. I won’t let it become a sob because even now, I’ve got too much damn pride.
That pride could’ve gotten me killed tonight if Holt hadn’t saved my bacon.
“Y
ou were brave,” Holt rumbles, resting his chin on top of my head. His hands are so steady, so sure, just like he’s made to hold me together. “Don’t think I didn’t hear your smart-ass mouth before I got my warning shot off. I’m amazed they didn’t flee from your tongue.”
There are a thousand snarky comments on my lips.
About my tongue.
About his.
But I don’t have it in me tonight to snipe back and forth.
“Stop trying to soothe my ego,” I mumble, burying my face in his chest. “...and thank you.”
A simple thanks shouldn’t be so hard.
He takes it with a soft, appreciative sound that casts a wonderful shiver down my spine, like thunder felt at a distance, vibrating on the air.
“What’re you thanking me for?” he asks.
“Ummm...”
He wants me to say it?
But I can’t just say I was afraid I was about to die out loud.
“For having good timing,” I whisper.
That makes him chuckle, his big shoulders shaking, bouncing us both. “It’s not a proper white knight rescue if I don’t come riding in at the perfect moment.”
“Yeah, well, drama’s your middle name, dude.” I tentatively loop my arms around his torso, though I can barely reach, hugging him tight. Holt just smiles and holds me closer while my heart somersaults. “Holt...what are we gonna do?”
“Don’t know yet, Libby. If we can’t go to the cops, our hands are tied.”
That’s when I realize I said we.
Like we’re in this together.
Then again, if a perfectly lickable man chases off masked bandits for you...
...that’s enough to earn a few trust points.
I bite my lip, turning my head to rest my cheek over his heart. “I can’t believe I’m giving you another chance. So much for thinking you were just another deadbeat playboy.”
“You know my reputation. And you know I earned it.” He’s speaking honestly, frankly, even if it’s with regret.
I’m not sure what to do with it.
Especially when he continues. “I thought that was the life I wanted, turning over beds. I know now I was wrong. I ran from this town because I was afraid to admit that everything I ever wanted was here all along...and I damn near ruined myself in the process. I’m starting over. New life, new me. I’ll claw myself up from the muck if I have to, just as long as I can build something honest and real.”
I try to tell myself he means his construction business.
A self-made man after honest work.
But some secret, longing part of me feels like he’s talking about me.
Hopes he’s talking about us.
Like I could be that girl who tames the wild stallion.
It scares me a little.
Just thinking he’s a stallion who can’t be broken. If I’m starting to feel something for him, then this ends in something magnificent or a heart-stompy cataclysm.
I’m quiet for so long I guess he thinks I don’t want to talk about it.
In some ways, he’d probably be right. I’m too tired and beat up for this kind of heavy conversation right now.
“I don’t think you should be alone here for a while,” he finally says.
I smile faintly. “What? You think I’m ever alone? The animals are better than any alarm system.”
“Sheep and horses can’t knock a man out cold or call 9-1-1.” He pauses, keeping one broad hand warm against my back, holding me close to him.
“You underestimate how well I train my horses.” I wink.
“Libby. Be serious for a minute.”
Uh-oh.
He’s looking at me that way again.
That way that gets me all riled.
All quiet and gentle and concerned. All sexy and heroic.
Maybe I’m steel wool on the outside, but just like any girl, I’ve got a million soft spots. But it ain’t so often we meet a man who shows his, too.
Men don’t like to show their weaknesses ’cause other dudes make them feel like shit about it.
But this man, right here, twists me up inside.
All because he’s making it pretty undeniable that one of his soft spots is me.
“I’m gonna crash here tonight,” he says. “Maybe for a few nights. Don’t even start.”
My mouth hangs open.
Ohhh, he knows me too well. Because I’m about to shove him off with a comment about his libido, but he heads it right off.
“Don’t think I’m up to no good. I’ll sleep on the couch like a choir boy. Scout’s honor,” he says. “I’m only here to keep an eye on you, Libby. I just need to know you’ll be okay for an hour or so while I go get my stuff from the inn.”
That gets my attention.
I snap my head up, bracing my hands against his chest to glare at him. “Holt Silverton, are you telling me you’ve been back in Heart’s Edge this long and you’ve been living at the Charming Inn? You couldn’t have rented a freaking apartment or stayed with Blake?”
“My choice.”
“Why?”
“Shit.” He coughs, exaggerated and deliberate, turning his face away, rubbing the back of his hand over his beard. “I don’t want to bother settling in proper until I can find a real home. Just haven’t had the time to buy or build.”
“So you’re living like a typical bachelor? Out of a suitcase, with a stranger cleaning your home and washing your underwear.” With a growl, I shove at him playfully. “Go. Get your stuff. All your stuff. You’re staying here until further notice.”
He stares at me, his eyes wide. “I’m what? Obviously, I want to stay to protect you as long as it takes, but—”
“But nothing!” I snap, like this was my idea to start with when we both know it wasn’t. “I’m not having you living like that, even if the Fords run a tight ship. Go get your stuff.”
He stares me down, his eyes narrowed.
“You heard me.” I snap my hand out, pointing at the door. “Go.”
He just keeps looking at me for a few more dumbfounded seconds before a slow smile curls his lips.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t make me regret this. I will kill you.”
“And I’m being ever so obliging by giving you plenty more chances.” He’s laughing as he stands, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. “I’ll be back soon. Call me if anything else happens and I’ll turn right around. Phone’s fully charged this time. No more missing your calls.”
Missing calls?
Oh.
That’s why he hadn’t picked up, and I’d been so mad I could’ve spit nails.
Dear Lord.
I cannot let this man get under my skin this much.
“Out!” I jab my finger at the door again.
“I’m moving.” He turns and swaggers out, giving me a glimpse of a butt built like a god, pure devil-may-care smirk on his lips, which he throws back over his shoulder.
I don’t stop glaring until the door closes in his wake.
Then I rock forward, bending over my thighs, and bury my face in my hands.
Oh, my God.
What did I just do?
I practically begged the man who kisses me like wildfire to move on in.
Indefinitely.
He drives me up the flipping wall and through the roof.
And he comes marching right back through my door.
I lift my head, a question on my lips.
One that I never get to speak.
Because in one fluid motion, he drops down to his knees in front of me, captures my face in his palms, and kisses me like the whole world is ending now and this is his only chance.
Out here in Montana, in the dry season, we worry about wildfires constantly.
All it takes is a stray spark.
A little dry grass.
The right wind.
In seconds, you can go from a single orange ember to a roaring blaze that lights up sprawling acres like nothing, con
suming them completely.
That’s how I feel when Holt attacks my mouth.
Every square inch of me lit to burning intensity in a single instant.
From nothing to this twisting inferno of heat that rips me apart as his tongue slips deep and hot, as he teases my mouth with suggestions of what he can do with other parts.
My hands clench into helpless fists.
I’m a panting wreck in no time, my lips slack and greedy and begging against his.
I can promise you this: there’s no dry season right now.
Not for me.
I’m wetter than the Pacific.
I’m ready to throw caution to the wind and let him burn me down by the time he’s done ravaging my mouth.
I don’t even care that it hurts when his tongue teases my swollen lower lip. The pain and the coppery taste of blood between us only makes me hotter, wilder, gasping and clutching at his hair, pulling him into me.
I’m hungry. This frantic urge rips through me that I know won’t be sated until he fills me with those piston hips.
It’s wicked.
It’s wonderful.
And just as addictive as his kiss.
Then that bastard stops. Slowly, but I feel it coming.
I have just enough dignity not to cling to him when he pulls away with a smile that reminds me of the first time I saw him. I thought of Lucifer, fallen right out of Heaven and into sin and then onto his ass in the mud.
“This time I surprised you,” he growls. “Now we’re even.”
He stands, and I can’t miss what’s at eye level, thick and hard and ridiculously huge against his jeans. His bulge tells me I’m not the only one burning to death right now.
“Back soon,” he promises, and even though he said he was going to sleep on the couch...
There’s so much suggestion in those two words, it makes me shiver.
I’m left staring after him, frozen, as he turns and walks away.
My face hits my hands again the instant the door slams shut.
I let out a despairing little moan.
I’m not gonna fall for this demon that’s possessed me with his sexy voodoo.
I’m not.
Only trouble is, now that I’ve tasted him—the real him, not just his slick act and polished smiles, I’m worried.
If I’ve already fallen, I’ll never get up again.