Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

I wince. Jesus, Megan. Can you be any lamer than that?

But he just nods. “I’m up early.”

“Can’t sleep?” The words are out of my mouth before I think—thinking isn’t easy around him at the best of times, certainly not so early in the morning—and his smile falls.

No, no, no! I want his smile back. I want his hands on me.

I don’t know what I want. Crap.

“Run with me?” he asks, his voice rough.

The question thrills me, and yet I don’t move. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t wanna talk.”

“Why not?”

“What do you want from me?” he mutters and takes a step toward me, his strong chest rising and falling with a deep breath.

Reflexively, I take a step back.

He cocks his head to the side, and a blond brow goes up. A storm brews in his eyes. “Do I fucking scare you?”

“No,” I whisper, but that’s a lie. The way he makes me feel, makes me need, is scaring me to death.

“But you are scared.” His eyes narrow. “Something frightens you. What is it?”

“It’s a long story.” And we’ve never really talked before, so why do we have to start with my own sordid past?

“I have time.” He closes the distance between us and reaches up, touches my cheek with the rough pads of his fingers. Somehow that small touch shatters my resistance, and I can’t think of one good reason not to tell him.

It’s not like it’s a big secret.

“I ran away from my home in Philly. Mom’s ex-boyfriend, Carson, used to beat her up, and one day he went too far, and I...” My breath hitches, and his hand smooths over my cheekbone, soothing. “I drove Mom to the hospital, and I reported him to the police. I told the cops everything. He went to prison.”

Darkness seeps into his cat-like eyes like ink, dimming their light. A vein ticks in his neck. “He hurt you.”

My breath gusts out. “He punched me. Doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course it fucking matters.”

It makes me feel warm, the way he gets mad on my behalf. “He’s behind bars now. But I’m afraid...”

“Of his friends?” he guesses.

I nod. “I’m afraid he might find out where I am and send them after me.” I shake my head. “Violence scares me. Violent men. Fighting, brutal force, blood.”

He pales, and his hand falls away.

“Then you should stay away from me,” he says. “I’m exactly what you fear.”

“Not true,” I whisper. “You’re not a violent man.”

His beautiful mouth tightens. “You don’t know me,” he whispers as he brushes past me and jogs away.

But I would like to know him, if he’d let me.

***