Fool Me Forever (The Confidence Game 2)

Her heart was still galloping around her chest, adrenaline making her tremble as she took his hand and held it under the water, watching him screw up his face as it stung. “I’m fine. He’d have run off if I’d have let go of my purse strap as soon as he grabbed it.”

“Maybe. He could’ve hurt you anyway. Made you go with him to an ATM. He wasn’t alone.”

She turned off the water. Two figures had run into the traffic. “I didn’t see the second man.” She’d been shoved against someone, that cabbagey sauerkraut smell, before Halsey snatched her up. “It was all so quick.”

“You had your head down.” He reached over with the hand she wasn’t drying and tucked her hair behind her ear. She almost pressed her face into his palm for the comfort of his touch, catching herself just in time. “They were watching for the right opportunity.”

Her stomach was rioting. “I should’ve been more aware.”

“It’s not your fault.”

It felt that way. Thousands of times she’d stood on the street with her face in her phone, unconscious of anything that wasn’t in the palm of her hand. Another feeling of security that was false, while the man in front of her was bad and wrong and inexplicably making her feel safe.

She made him wince when she used the antibacterial ointment on his knuckles. “I’m grateful you were there, and you know how to throw a punch.”

“I know how to throw a punch at a bag. That’s the first time I’ve ever hit a flesh-and-blood person.”

“Really?” She checked his expression, and he shrugged.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

It might’ve been his words, or the fact he was so steady and capable, or because he looked like Paul Newman, or simply the desire to thank him in a more palpable way, but she leaned into his side, and when he shifted, opened up to her, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got you,” he said, both of his arms folding around her back. It was all the welcome she needed. She wanted to rest her face on his chest, but she didn’t dare because she might never want to leave the thrill of his embrace.

That was obviously the shock talking. She’d feel okay in a moment. There was no sunlight glinting off a knife blade, no crazed eyes, no tug-of-war over a hunk of dumb leather that cost more than was sensible, and no need to blame herself for being oblivious or rage against the vicious outbursts of men.

“I’m only hugging you because I’m shaking,” she said, lest he got the wrong idea.

“I’m hugging you because I like you in my arms. I’d prefer if it wasn’t because you’d just been attacked, and you’re worried you might rattle to pieces. It might also be better if we weren’t in the restroom.”

“Right.” He must feel her trembling. She moved to pull away, expecting him to drop his arms, but he kept them loosely around her.

“Give me a minute, I might not get this chance again.”

She looked up to catch his expression. Was he joking? She’d said that about dancing. “Never hugged an emotional girl in the ladies’ room before?”

“It’s another first.”

He was difficult to read, despite his gentle smile. She so wanted this moment to be real, not some manipulation. It was no hardship watching his face to try to see behind his words. “You look like you could do with a drink.”

He touched her hair, gently stroking down to the ends. “Sounds like a plan.”

The gesture pulled all the air out of her lungs and sent her survival instincts on vacation. Jesus, what were they doing? She’d told him she’d take out a restraining order on him, and he’d come to her aid and looked like he wanted to kiss her. “A drink,” she said, voice so tight she had to clear her throat. “We should get that drink.” She wanted him to kiss her.

He dropped his arms. They decided to leave his knuckles uncovered and both ordered whiskey at the bar.

She swirled the ice in her glass, imagined it going to work cooling her temperature. She normally preferred fancy cocktails with amusing names in neon colors, but this was medicinal. “They’re going to do that again, those men.” They’d run off without their knife, though it wouldn’t be difficult to get a new one.

“Most likely,” Halsey agreed. “It wasn’t spur of the moment. They didn’t wake up this morning and decide to be purse snatchers. They’ve done that before.”

And despite Halsey landing a punch, they’d gotten away free.

Just like Cookie Jar.

“I hate that. I hate that they’ll pull that stunt again, maybe hurt some woman. I hate that Cookie Jar is just a purse snatcher on a grand scale, and he’ll get up every morning, shower under his gold taps, dress in his ten-thousand-dollar handmade suits ready to do it again.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said.