Long legs pushed against her own and she had to tip her face back to see him. The thick black fringe of his lashes hung low on his blue green eyes, half shielding his gaze. His hands remained on her arms, steadying her, and it was embarrassing as hell to realize she actually needed that for a minute because her knees felt just a little too weak.
Sucking a breath, she eased back from him. “Sorry about that,” she said.
“My fault.” A muscle pulsed in his jaw and he let go, stepping back. “Since you’re done for the night, why don’t we grab something to eat?”
He’d asked her, a dozen times over the years. And in the past few months, it had been probably at least half that. She’d never once said yes, although recently, she’d been more and more tempted. It was just that . . . he scared her. So much.
Keelie didn’t even know why.
The word yes danced on the tip of her tongue.
Yes . . .
Reality crashed in before she could give in. “I can’t.” She swallowed and looked away. “I’ve . . . I’ve got a date.”
Tension slammed into the air. She backed up, looking around and spying her phone, her purse on the floor. She grabbed her phone, shoved it into her back pocket, and hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Zane watching her.
“A date.” He drew the word out slowly, almost like he wasn’t familiar with it. “You’re seeing somebody.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw.
“No.” She closed her eyes, rubbed at her temple before looking back at him. “Ani set it up . . . it’s a blind date. I was . . . shit. It’s just a thing.”
“A thing.” He nodded, bent down. She saw another phone on the floor and realized he’d dropped his as well. He pocketed it without even looking at it. “Sounds like a blast.” Without saying anything else, he headed off down the street.
She thought of the times before, not even six months ago, when he’d drop by and tease her, flirt with her, ask her out . . . she thought about his hands on her at the wedding, the way he’d kissed her.
She thought of the question Anais had thrown at her.
When was the last time a guy knocked you off your feet?
That guy was walking away from her.
“Zane!”
He glanced back at her.
“I’m sorry. I’d . . .” She blew out a breath. “I’d rather be going out with you. I just . . .”
A faint smile quirked his lips. “Yeah. Sure.” Then he shrugged and kept on walking. “Some other time, maybe.”
Then he was gone, turning the corner and disappearing out of sight.
But did he mean it?
She just didn’t know and suddenly, that thought bothered her. A lot.
* * *
It had been twenty minutes since he’d walked away from Keelie.
Parking was shit around here on a Friday night and it had taken him close to ten minutes just to get to his car, but had he left?
Nope.
He was leaning against the hood of the rental and contemplating the blue sky. No, what he was really contemplating was how much he wanted to figure out where Keelie was, so he could shove his fist down some poor bastard’s throat.
Jealousy really didn’t sit well with him, but it was chewing him up nonetheless.
A date.
She had a date.
He’d asked her out a good six times, maybe more, since that kiss and she’d said no each time.
And now she was going out on a blind date.
“What am I doing?” he muttered, tugging off his glasses. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he pondered that question. He couldn’t get her out of his head, the taste of her out of his blood.
The very feel of her was now imprinted on his skin and he could hear the echo of her moan when he lay alone in his bed at night.
She was out with another guy, somebody she’d never met.
Maybe he should just move on.
Except that was why he was here. Because he wanted to move on.
He was tired of spinning his wheels. He was almost thirty-five and at some point, he needed to get serious about the things that mattered. Namely, his photography.
Last week, he’d told the owner of the bar where he’d worked for nearly a decade that he was quitting.
Jake had thought he was joking, but Zane was serious.
He had started looking around, hoping to find a decent spot to set up his own place. No more random shoots when somebody got his name via friends or word of mouth.
He wanted to see his name out there with the masters.
But in order to do that, he had to start focusing and building a name. So he was going into business . . . as a fucking photographer. He’d shot his brother’s wedding. He definitely didn’t see himself as a wedding photographer, but he had to start somewhere. With the portfolio he had already started, and the wedding would build on it.
He had connections—you couldn’t spend any amount of time in this field and not have them. He’d reached out, talked to some other photographers, including some guys who knew their shit way better than he did, and he at least had a focus, and a direction. He thought.
Although he’d look at a few places in San Francisco, he was almost positive he’d be settling down here, in Tucson. Because of Keelie.
He was ready to get serious about more than one thing, but was he wasting his time here? With her?
Lowering his hand, he tipped his head back to stare up at the sky, but there were no answers for him. Of course, it was hard to really think any of this through because he kept seeing Keelie out with some nameless, faceless—
“Never Say Never!”
He jolted at the sound of the music blaring from his phone.
Scowling, he pulled it from his pocket and then groaned. Sliding his glasses back on, he stared at the phone as the alarm continued to play.
Over and over.
He turned the alarm off and couldn’t help but notice the label for the alarm: Have a drink or two—
That was all there was room for.
Shoving off the car, he muttered, “Clearly, fate is out to fuck with me today.”
Keelie’s. He’d grabbed Keelie’s phone.
They both had iPhones, both used a plain black OtterBox. He needed it because he dropped it all the time, especially when he was out hiking. He hadn’t thought to make sure he had the right phone. Apparently neither did she.
And . . . she had a picture he’d taken as her wallpaper. The haphazard blog he used where he posted pictures had downloads set up for just that sort of thing.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that she seemed to like his photography—she had some of his prints in her workstation and she’d emailed him a couple of times over this print or that one. Still, it was kind of weird, seeing one of them on her phone.
Personal, somehow.
Looking at the calendar message, he rubbed the back of his neck.
Apparently that was what Anais had been doing with Keelie’s phone. Because no way in hell would Keelie be setting up reminders to have a drink.
He tapped the reminder to dismiss it, but the entire calendar came up and all of the reminders were right there for him to read. Yeah. It had been Anais, all right.
Have a beer or two tonight. But don’t get drunk. Love . . . Anais.
That one might have made him smile.
Don’t expect anything . . . just have fun. Love . . . Anais. That message was supposed to come up at seven fifteen, roughly an hour from now.
Don’t expect anything? Hell, what kind of loser was she seeing? Keelie had every right to expect plenty. A nice guy. Somebody who’d look at her and realize how amazing she was. How funny. How beautiful. And that there was a kind heart under that ball-busting exterior. She deserved somebody who’d make her melt when he touched her, like she had with him, and somebody who’d be careful with her, because she needed it.
She deserved so much.
“Shit,” he bit off, and eyed the phone, fighting the need to throw it down and forget he’d seen it.
If she wasn’t going to go out with him, fine. He’d have to deal with that. But if she was going to brush him off, couldn’t she do it for somebody who at least deserved her?
But all of those thoughts fizzled to a halt and then died in a furious fire as he processed the seven forty-five message.
Don’t give him a blow job tonight. I don’t care how hot he is.
Zane started to see red. Or maybe it was green. All he knew was the jealousy was going to kill him as he stood there, thinking about some faceless, nameless bastard who might be on the receiving end of Keelie’s attention.
That wide, lush mouth sliding down somebody else’s skin, closing over—
He clenched a hand into a fist. “Stop it,” he told himself, tearing his eyes away from the screen. He shoved the phone into his pocket and focused on blanking his brain. “It doesn’t matter.”
He couldn’t think if he was tormenting himself.
Although . . .
He spun around and drove his foot into the hubcap and then slumped forward, hands braced on the hood of the car.
For one long moment, he stood there, jealousy an ugly, breathing monster that rolled down his spine.
Okay. He needed to figure out where she was, get his phone back. Then get settled in for the night—preferably with a six-pack so he could blur out those images and try to sleep.
He started to head back to Steel Ink, but before he made it five feet, he realized he didn’t need to go anywhere.
If he had her phone, she probably had his.
Plus, she was probably halfway to wherever in the hell she was meeting this loser she was seeing.
Chapter Three
As she was climbing out of her car, an unfamiliar ringtone shattered the night air.
Something haunting and beautiful—it sent shivers running up her spine and it was unlike anything she’d ever heard in her life.
It was most definitely not her ringtone. She’d told people she used it because it was too annoying for her to miss—“Never Say Never” did kind of stand out. The truth was, she just liked the song. She didn’t like anything else by that annoying kid, but she liked that one.
And if that wasn’t her ringtone . . . grimacing, she pulled the phone out and saw her number on the display. Her number. With a groan, she answered just before the call probably would have gone to voice mail. “We picked up the wrong phones, didn’t we?”
“Appears so,” Zane said, his voice neutral. “Where are you? We can trade.”
“You . . .” She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face, eying the neon sign flashing in front of her. “Look, you don’t have to do that.”
“Well, I need my phone. You probably need your phone, especially if you’re out on a blind date. Are you meeting whoever soon?”
She checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes.” She’d gotten here early so she could follow through on Anais’s advice. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a drink. She was going to try not to go in there expecting the guy to be an asshole, too. There was no question about it—the guy could be Jeremy Renner–hot and she wasn’t giving him a blow job.
All in all, she had every intention of following through on Anais’s advice. Then she’d tell her friend to never set her up on a blind date again. Once that was done, she’d figure out a way to maybe call Zane, ask him out. Except he was on the phone with her now.
“So where are you?” he asked, his voice cutting into her thoughts. That voice, low and deep, the timbre of it stroking against her senses and making it hard for her to concentrate. “It will be easier for me to run it by than for you to meet me anywhere.”
She named a popular Mexican restaurant and gave him the address. “Think you can find it okay?” She tried not to think about the fact that now she’d at least have something to look forward to in a little while. And maybe the blind date wouldn’t show, and she could ask Zane to stay. How awful was that?
“Yeah, I know where it is. Abby loves their prickly pear margaritas. I end up eating there almost every other time I’m in town.” There was a pause and she heard a car horn before Zane said, “I’ll probably take about twenty or thirty minutes to get there, though. That’s if traffic doesn’t suck.”
“That’s fine. Sorry, Zane.”
No, she thought, as the line disconnected, I’m not. Not really.
* * *
An hour.
Zane still hadn’t shown up.
That was bad because if she had her phone, she would have already been out of there.
The great guy Anais had paired her up with—or according to one of the guys she knew—wasn’t great. At all.
He was actually worse than all of her previous dates in recent memory, combined. Well, except Todd. Todd hadn’t been bad. He’d just been boring.
This guy—Call me Hawk—was one of those jackasses who thought all his tattoos and his Harley and his habit of talking down to everybody around him made him a badass.
He’d attempted to order for her.
He’d attempted to tell her which beer she should try, since he was something of a beer aficionado. Not that he’d used that word.
He’d erroneously deduced the meaning behind her tattoos and when she’d told him, Sorry, that’s not what the roses are for, he’d laughingly said, So you’re just into flowers?
He was a dominating, domineering egotistical son of a bitch and she was more than a little tempted to throw the pitcher of beer he’d ordered in his face.
Jackwagon.
She’d give him credit, he’d managed to keep his eyes off her tits, but when one of the college kids she knew from the shop stopped by to ask her about doing another tattoo, he’d stood and gone all menacing. Don’t you see me talking with the lady?
The kid had laughed it off and kept talking.
If Keelie hadn’t intercepted, she suspected the son of a bitch might have tried to take a swing at the kid. Tayvione was a twenty-year-old jock with more muscles than sense, but he was a nice kid. Nice, but that wouldn’t stop him and his friends from jumping into a mess if Hawk decided to pick a fight.
Because Hawk went through his life looking for trouble.
Keelie had avoided trouble most of her life just by realizing what trouble looked like.
An asshole who tried to pick a fight with a kid wasn’t her idea of a great guy.
And if Zane would just—
“So. When you want to go out again?”
She gave him a tight smile and reached for her Coke. Now was the fun part. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Hawk . . . like hell she was calling him that name.
His face underwent a slow, subtle change. She pretended not to see as she flagged down the waitress. “Can we get our checks? Split the ticket.” She’d already mentally calculated her food and had a twenty in her pocket. Once the bill was paid, she was out of there. She’d call Zane from the road.
As the waitress disappeared, Hawk leaned back in the seat, eying her, his dark gaze slitted and glinting.
“What . . . did I do something wrong?” He smiled, and it was a good effort, she had to admit. “I don’t mind picking up the tab, ya know. My mom raised a gentleman.”
Yeah? Then why didn’t Ani set me up on a date with him? She barely managed to keep the question behind her teeth. Out loud, she said, “I usually pay my way on the first date.”
If a date tanked, she always paid. Otherwise, she went with the flow. There was just no way she was letting a guy like this buy her anything—even a peppermint from the dish up front. He’d want something in return. Men like him just did. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago.
The waitress came by and deposited the ticket and Keelie had the money out before she could disappear. “Okay, Hawk. Thanks. You have a good night.”
She didn’t bother lying and saying she had a good time.
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Keelie didn’t see the point.
* * *
Traffic sucked.
Zane almost sent her a message, several times over, but figured she wouldn’t want to be bothered during the date. That made him want to chew nails, but again, he had no reason to be angry.
He might not be able to help being jealous, but he could damn well deal with the anger and he’d keep it under control if it killed him.
Climbing out of the car, he surveyed the parking lot. The battered VW Bug she drove was parked near one of the lights, so she was still—
The sound of a scuffle caught his ears.
Then, a low, angry voice.
One he knew very well . . . and not just because he’d heard Keelie tell people off more than once.
He’d heard that voice in his dreams. He dreamed of hearing that voice as he crouched over her body and sheathed himself inside her. He’d heard that voice gasp out his name as he slid his hands over her body.
He’d heard her angry.
He’d heard her amused.
He’d heard her aroused.
But he’d never heard her like this . . . scared.
He took off running and rounded the SUV near her Bug just as she wheeled around and slammed her foot into the side of a man’s head.
The guy’s mouth went slack and he stumbled, shaking his head as he slammed into a Jeep a few feet away. He shook it off quick, too quick, and shot out a hand.
Zane grabbed the back of Keelie’s jeans, jerking her backward.
She yelped as she crashed into him, driving her elbow into his stomach. Half expecting it, he tensed his muscles just in time to avoid totally losing his air and managed not to be winded as he eased her aside. Her gaze flew up to his, but he didn’t look at her. He was totally focused on the man in front of them.
Big bastard. Mean. The high school bully who’d never quite learned that he couldn’t have everything he wanted—Zane knew his type better than he cared to admit.
“Who the fuck are you?” The guy’s lip peeled back from his teeth. “What did you do, text Clark Kent or something on your way out to the car, babe?”
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