Storm (Sex and Bullets 1)

“Small-town conman. A nobody who got in well over his head.”

“Okay.” He looks doubtful, and no wonder. “So why are his associates after you?”

“Because dear dad and even my brother pointed the finger at me. Told them I was behind the mess the two of them made, and that if they wanted answers, they should come to me.”

Answers and money, but I’m still not sure I should tell him that much, or the whole truth. Not like he can help me, anyway. He just needs to be aware, and careful. Life fucks you in every turn, and you need to keep your eyes peeled and your walls up.

“Those motherfuckers,” he says and takes my hand, his jaw clenching. “I’d kick their teeth in. How can they put you through this? Their own flesh and blood.”

And strangely, I have no doubt he’s serious. He holds my hand tightly, grinding the bones of my fingers together, but I like it. I like how my sadness and anger flows into him and returns to me through his crushing grip. I like how he doesn’t seem to doubt me for a second, the truth in what I’ve told him, and even though I want him to be suspicious, to watch out… I’m grateful.

Still, I have to push. “You believe me? You don’t think I’m lying?”

He lifts his other hand to my chin, grips it lightly, and studies my face. “I’ll take the risk.”

Oh God, he’s undoing me. “You’re nuts.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He releases my chin and waves his hand back and forth, glaring. “I know. You’ve said it often enough.”

Then he grins, and I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting back laughter. He’s funny, and cute, and so dis

armingly nice… I can’t even.

I should pinch myself. Soon I’ll be waking up, alone and on the run.

“They don’t know where I am,” I say. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

I shake my head.

“They won’t find you. I’ll hide you well. I swear. Stay.” His gaze is steady and earnest, his insistence breaking down my defenses.

I let myself go. “Maybe. For a few days.”

“That’s a start,” he says and leans back again, a frown marring his brow. He reaches down and shifts the cold compress. “Should be enough time for me to use filthy, hot sex as a means to convince you to stay longer. To take a risk on me, too.”

Only he doesn’t know it’s not the sex that’s tempting me—although it sure is hot. No, it’s him, his pain, his anger, his kindness, his faith in me. This man has a core of steel and gold, and he makes me want to trust.

Trust is something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

***

I bring Storm a glass of water to take some painkillers I found in the bathroom cabinet, and he promptly falls asleep, still sitting on the bed, propped on the headboard. It looks uncomfortable, but I don’t want to wake him up.

Don’t want to touch his face, either, his lips, those long lashes resting on his cheekbones, or cuddle up to him and rest my head on his shoulder.

That’d be cheesy. Unbearably romantic and sentimental. But damn, I almost give in before I tear myself away and wander the house. I check out the kitchen first. Breakfast would be good. The fridge contains some cheese and ham, and I remember the frozen baguettes.

I could work with that—but I hope there’s a plan B for lunch.

Leaving the baguettes in the sink to defrost, I explore the mansion Storm may or may not have broken into. The owners like him. Huh. I wonder if they know he’s here now.

Trust, Ray. Show some trust.

Yeah, well, it’s hard when you haven’t trusted anyone for most of your life. When your family has let you down in the worst way, and you haven’t been able to keep a friend for years, first because your dad won’t allow you to let anyone in, and then because you’re always looking over your shoulder for your pursuers.

Trusting isn’t easy. What if he’s playing me? What if he lied to me about the owners of the house I broke into? Or everything else for that matter?