by Lori Wilde
“Hey.” He cupped her cheek and raised her face up. “That’s not true. We haven’t seen each other for a long time, so I’m not quite sure what you are. But I know what you aren’t. And you aren’t a bimbo. Bimbos don’t steal their uncle’s Ducati and go tearing out of town with a phone shoved down their pants while barefoot.” His eyes danced with humor, and she felt her own spirits rise.
She smiled weakly. “Borrowed, not stolen.”
Hank brushed his thumb over her skin, and the hair on her nape lifted. He was close. A big, solid man wearing jeans with a small tear at the knee and a shirt that looked like it had gone through the dryer a thousand and one times. Completely unlike the well-groomed Chance Worthington, but something about Hank felt completely right.
She leaned forward and inhaled his musky scent. Hank’s eyelids dropped to half-mast. The tip of his boot brushed against her toe as he stepped close. Heart pounding, she flicked her gaze from his hooded eyes to his full lips and back again. Was she crazy? She was supposed to be on her honeymoon right now with another man, but she wanted nothing more than to kiss Hank Evans.
He lowered his head, achingly slowly, and her breath sped up every inch he got closer.
Her stomach growled, the sound loud and echoing in his spartan living room.
The tension broke, and Hank stepped back, chuckling. “Since I ruined your dinner, how ’bout you get your shoes on, and I’ll take you out.” He glanced down at her feet. “You did buy shoes, right?”
“Yes, the first drugstore I came to.” That and pedicure supplies, a King-sized Snickers bar, and the latest thriller to hit the best-seller list. She trotted into the bedroom and slid the flip-flops onto her feet. Slapping back into the living room, she went to the built-in shelf and folded her cash neatly around her driver’s license and credit card before slipping them into her bra cup. She tucked the phone back in her pants and looked up at Hank.
He was staring at the ceiling, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Problem?” She tilted her head.
“You didn’t manage to find a purse while you were at that store?”
“I didn’t look.” Swiping up her keys, she walked to the door and pulled it open. “Purses don’t really work while driving a motorcycle.”
“Of course.” With a martyred look, he followed her outside and pulled the door shut.
Hank’s condo was on the second story, so they climbed down the stairs. At the parking lot, he guided her to a Jeep streaked with mud. He held the passenger door open, and she slid inside, finding the interior as clean as the outside was dirty. The dash was buffed a glossy black, the floors spotless. A plastic crate was nestled behind the driver’s seat, a coil of neatly tied black nylon rope, a large flashlight, and a tub of plastic zip-ties stacked within. Not a candy-bar wrapper in sight.
Hank rounded the hood and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Interesting tools you keep in back. Preparing for a kidnapping?”
He twisted around and saw what she was looking at. He shrugged. “You never know when you’ll have to tie down a load. Or restrain a crazy woman.”
“Funny man,” she muttered.
“What are you in the mood for? Something other than Chinese, please. After having sweet-and-sour pork pounded into my head, I can’t say I’m up for it.”
“I don’t care. Something I can’t get back in Serendipity.”
He nodded and started the ignition. He took back roads, avoiding the congested freeways, until he finally pulled into a parking lot near Cotton Bowl Stadium. A side street was closed off to traffic and was filled with food trucks and picnic tables. Strings of white and colored lights circled the trucks, and someone had filled the area with large potted plants.
On the sidewalk in front of the parking lot, a tent had been erected. A tarp stretched from a shopping cart handle to the fence behind the tent, a makeshift shelter for one of the city’s homeless. A lump filled Savannah’s throat. She’d run from a beautiful home that most people would be lucky to have.
“There.” Hank pointed, getting her attention.
“A taco truck? You’re taking me to a taco truck?”
“Can’t get it in Serendipity.” Cutting the engine, he stepped out. Hank walked to the back of the Jeep and opened the rear door. He unzipped a black bag and pulled out a sweatshirt with the emblem of a Dallas PD badge on the back. “And trust me. You haven’t tasted anything until you’ve tasted a Sanchez taco.”
He held up the sweatshirt, and she stared at him. He shook it. “Here. Put this on.”
“I’m not cold.”
“The sun will be setting soon, and the temperature drops quickly. Besides”—he stepped behind her and held it out while she slid one arm in the sleeve—“it’s an extra-large. It should keep everyone from staring at your butt in those yoga pants.”
She paused, trying to determine if she should be offended. “Are you implying something about the size of my butt? Or that a woman should cover up so men don’t behave badly? ’Cause neither one of those suggestions will end well for you.”
“I’m not worried about a jackass behaving badly. I can handle that. I just don’t want every jackass getting a look.” Slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he shrugged. “Anything wrong with that?”
Her heart tripped. “No,” she said slowly. Nothing wrong. Only a bit unsettling. “I guess I’m just not used to anyone’s caring about things like that.” She turned for the taco truck, passing one that sold calzones and another selling Indian food. Examining the menu board next to Sanchez’s truck, she felt Hank move behind her, his body heat warmer than the sweatshirt.
She ordered tacos al pastor and a diet soda, changed it to a full-sugar soda, and started to dig in her bra for cash.
Hank put his hand over hers, his fingertips grazing the skin right over her breasts. “I’ve got it.”
She nodded, her breath coming quicker, and looked for a spot at a picnic table. She slid onto the bench seat, and Hank dropped down next to her, placing her soda before her.
“What do you mean you’re not used to it?” he asked.
Her cheeks burned. She should have kept her mouth shut. Tugging at the drawstring on one side of the hoodie, she shook her head. “Forget it. I didn’t mean anything.”
He opened his mouth, and their order was called. Pressing a hand to her shoulder, he pushed her back down. “I’ll get it.” He came back carrying two large paper plates, with two sets of forks and knives rolled up in napkins tucked under one arm.
She helped him set everything down. Scooping some rice that was piled on the side of her plate onto a taco, she rolled it up and took a bite. The adobo marinade of the pork exploded on her tongue, the spicy heat tempered by the sweet juices of the pineapple slice that topped the meat. “Hot damn, this is good.” She went in for another bite.
Using his napkin, Hank dabbed at her chin. “You’re not the only one who can be stubborn. What did you mean that you weren’t used to my behavior? I can’t imagine your fiancé’s being happy when other men looked at you.” A line creased his forehead at the word “fiancé,” as if the reminder made him less than happy.
She took a long sip from her soda, wanting to just enjoy all the sugar and fat she was consuming. But he kept waiting. His dark eyes never left her face.
“This is embarrassing,” she muttered, and looked at the couple across from them. They were wrapped up in their own little world, feeding each other bits of food, giving each other sweet little pecks on the lips.
“I think we’ve moved past embarrassing today.” He knocked her shoulder with his. “I almost arrested you. You assaulted me with chopsticks.”
Her lips curved up. She couldn’t help it.
“Come on now,” he coaxed. “Spill.”
“Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“Now I’m really interested.” He shifted closer.
“Promise?”
His eyes went serious. “On my fat
her’s grave.”
She took another bite and tried to sort her thoughts. This was probably something a man like Hank wouldn’t understand. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Rugged, sexy, full of testosterone. Nope, he wouldn’t understand at all.
“Chance and I had been dating for two years—the last year of that we were engaged.” The fact that her sentence came in the past tense didn’t escape her notice. In her heart, their relationship was over. Maybe had never truly begun. “Before that, I’d dated a bit, had some fun in college, but nothing too serious.”
Hank nodded and kept silent, letting her take her time.
“Chance was very . . . proper when we began dating. Very respectful.” Something she’d appreciated, at first. Especially as they’d had very little chemistry. She’d hoped it would develop as they got to know each other better. As their relationship deepened.
She swirled her soda can, feeling the cola slosh about. “Everyone thought we were the perfect couple. The pediatrician and the schoolteacher. A Worthington and a Loving. So we kept dating, even though there wasn’t much heat. But we had fun together. He’s a good guy. A good friend.” She wanted to stress that point. Didn’t want anyone to think it had been any failing on Chance’s part that had made her run.
“But we never . . .” She bit her lip. “And then everyone thought it was time for us to get engaged. It was expected. We’d been dating a year, were perfect for each other, our parents really wanted the match, so he proposed—in front of my family. And I said yes.” Even though the tacos were delicious, she pushed the plate away, her appetite gone. “And then, since we’d already waited so long, we decided to wait until we were married.”
“Hold up.” Hank raised his hands, palms out. “Are you telling me that you and your fiancé never slept together?”
That earned a curious glance from the couple across from them, and Savannah’s body flushed with heat. “Why don’t you say that a little louder? I don’t think Mr. Sanchez heard you in his truck.”
Putting his hand on her knee, he leaned in close. In a low voice, he said, “Savannah, are you trying to tell me that you haven’t, I mean that you’re a . . .”
She shot him a disgusted look. “I’m twenty-five, and I told you that I’d had fun in college. No, I’m not a virgin.”
His cheeks went pink, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Right. Sorry.”
“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that Chance was never jealous over me. If other men looked, he didn’t notice.” She blew out a long breath. “I should have realized. I kept trying to convince myself that heat wasn’t important in a relationship. That having a stable guy you could depend on was what mattered. And my parents just loved him so much . . .”
“When did you start toeing the parental line?” He took a swig from his IPA. “I always thought you’d turn out a hell-raiser. Like you were today.” He smiled.
“My parents are kind people. I hate disappointing them.” She’d more than made up for all those years of biting her tongue today. She rubbed the knuckle of her thumb over her breastbone. She’d let her parents down, and their disapproval must be monumental. How was she ever to face them? Face Chance? Hell, anyone in Serendipity?
They sipped their drinks in silence, and Hank finished his tacos. She stood, picking up their plates to clear their spots. He grabbed her wrist, and she looked down at him.
“If you were mine, I’d knock out any man’s teeth who looked wrong at you. Any boyfriend worth his salt would do the same.”
Her pulse leapt beneath his fingers. He must have felt it. “Chance is a good man.” Just not good for her. Tears burned her eyes at the thought of the two years she’d wasted. The people she’d hurt. All because she hadn’t realized that sooner. Hadn’t developed a spine and broken things off with Chance a year and a half ago when she’d known he’d never get her heart racing.
She tugged at her wrist. “I’ll be right back.” Hank let her go, and she threw away their trash. She went back to Sanchez’s and ordered another plate to go and a water. Grabbing the bag, she took a deep breath and turned to face Hank. “Ready to go?”
“Still hungry?” With a hand on her lower back, he guided her back to the parking lot.
“This one’s not for me.” She found the man curled up in his tent, a thick blanket pulled up to his hips. Savannah knelt by the half-zipped tent door. “Hi. I thought you might be hungry.” She held up the bag. “The tacos here are really amazing.”
The man pushed himself up and blinked. Savannah couldn’t see much of him in the growing dark, but she saw when he smiled.
“I love Sanchez’s tacos. Thanks.” Stretching his hand through the flap, he grabbed the bag.
“And some water to wash it down.” She gave him the bottle. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and stood.
Hank was right beside her, his eyes soft. Dropping his arm over her shoulders, he raised a hand in farewell to the man in the tent, and guided her to his Jeep. “That was sweet.”
She shrugged. “Someone buys me dinner, seems the least I can do is pay it forward.”
At the passenger door, he turned her and cupped the back of her neck. “I know you’re tired of being reserved, and you sure busted out of your mold today. But that doesn’t mean you have to pretend you aren’t sweet. A person can be both caring and crazy.” One side of his mouth hitched up.
Maybe. She didn’t know who she was anymore. But she liked whomever it was Hank saw. “Thanks,” she whispered.
He opened the door. “Let’s get you back to the condo. You’ve had quite the day and must be tired.”
She got in and waited for him to walk around to the driver’s seat. “Can we stop by a store? I want to get some cleaning supplies. Paper towels, bleach wipes.” She bit her lower lip. “And maybe some stain remover. I might have ruined your comforter.”
He grunted. “Not mine. Everything in there belongs to Kat.”
Turning on her seat, she watched Hank as he pulled out into traffic. “Who’s Kat?”
“My real estate agent. And an old friend.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “We were stationed in Heidelberg at the same time.”
“Your real estate agent was in the Army?”
He nodded, like it was no big thing.
Savannah settled back in her seat. It probably wasn’t. Everyone needed a job coming out of the military. Real estate was as good as any. Better than a lot. But that experience was so far removed from her own, she had a hard time imagining it. If she’d served in the military, it would have been an even bigger shock to her parents than her escape on the back of a motorcycle. She bit back a giggle at the thought of the princess in a camo uniform.
Hank slid his gaze to her, then flicked on his blinker and turned into a grocery store’s parking lot.
“You can wait here if you want.” Savannah hopped out of the Jeep. “I know guys don’t like to shop.”
“I’m good.” He padded after her and grabbed a cart at the front door, spinning it to wheel in front of him.
They shopped quickly, and before long they were pulling back into his condo’s parking lot.
He cut the engine, and they sat there in silence for a beat.
“Well, I’ll carry the bags in. Then I should get going.” Hank rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye socket.
“It’s late. You should stay. It’s your place.” Savannah rested her hand on his forearm. The muscles flexed beneath her touch, and she swallowed. “I can find a hotel.”
“Which would defeat the purpose of my giving you a safe place to crash.” He shook his head. “At this time of night, the drive back to Serendipity shouldn’t be too bad.”
“And have me worrying all night that you fell asleep behind the wheel? I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips. “We’re two adults. There’s no reason we both can’t stay here. Right?” She wanted to sound light, unconcerned, like spending the night with a man was no big deal. But something about Hank made it
a big deal. She trusted him not to make a move if she didn’t want him to. But did she want him to?
“I have my sleeping bag in the back. I can take the couch,” he said. “If you’re sure it’s all right?”
“Perfectly sure.” She climbed out and grabbed two bags.
Hank grabbed the others and retrieved his sleeping bag.
They climbed up the stairs. “I’m shorter than you,” she said. “I can take the couch.”
“Not when you’re a guest in my home,” Hank said, his voice final.
In the end she got the bed and the sleeping bag, since the comforter was still damp from her cleaning attempts.
And that was just the kind of guy Hank Evans was. She curled up on the bed, squeezing her pillow tight to her chest, and tried to forget that a kind, sexy man who appreciated her crazy lay not twenty feet away.
Chapter Four
“Hank?” Savannah called out softly from the bedroom.
His watch told him it was 2:38 a.m. Catching z’s had been an exercise in futility. Seemed Savannah wasn’t having any better luck. Or maybe he’d woken her when he’d gone to the john.
Hank tried to get comfortable on the couch. “Yeah?”
“Are you sleeping?”
Hank smiled. Only a woman would ask such an obvious question. “Yep. Having this conversation in my sleep.”
“Oh.” The nylon of his sleeping bag rustled, and he could just imagine her tossing and turning. Had she taken off her clothes to go to sleep? Her underwear? “I can’t sleep,” she said. “It’s hot in here.”
“Unzip the sleeping bag.”
“That won’t help. I’m already sleeping on top of it.”
Good Christ Almighty. Was she sleeping naked on top of his bed just twenty feet away? His own temperature skyrocketed. “I’ll turn up the A/C.” They could both use it.
“Thanks.” She sighed. “Why can’t you sleep?”
After adjusting the thermostat, he plodded back to the sofa. “Because someone keeps talking to me.”
“The gruff act isn’t working for you,” she said. “I can hear you smiling.”