Capture (Seaside Pictures 1)

I wanted adventure in the great wide somewhere. I wanted something. He'd made me want to feel alive, and then he had stomped out the match after lighting it.

I hated him for it.

As much as I hated myself for it being a guy who had pulled me from some of the darkness.

"Linc," I whispered, "you're going to be late."

Before I could protest, he pulled me in for a hug and kissed my head. "For what it's worth… I'm sorry."

He had no idea he was making it worse. I didn't want comfort! I didn't even want pretty words! I wanted him to kiss me! I wanted him to pick me up and slam me against the door, kiss me senseless, drive me insane. I wanted the scary. I finally wanted the scary again. Because I trusted him.

And he'd given me safe.

"Bye, Linc." I waited for him to walk away.

And then, like a teenager, because I could, I slammed the stupid door so hard I was pretty sure there would be a crack in the wood later.

"Whoa, there." Zane perked up from his spot on the couch. "I take it the honeymoon is over?"

I glared at his dark hair, easy smile, and stupid tattoos. Why was I surrounded by ridiculously good-looking men? ALL THE TIME. He hopped off the couch, making his way toward me. Shirtless.

"For the love!" I shouted. "People wear shirts!"

"Whoa." Zane held up his hands. "Are you mad because my shirt's off?"

"Yes!" I slammed my keys onto the table. "Real people wear clothes! Not everyone's paid to take their clothes off."

"I think you have me confused with a stripper." He frowned. "I mean, it's happened at least a handful of times, but never in my own home."

"This isn't your home."

"Is now." He grinned.

"I'll be in my room." I tried to brush past him, but he caught me by the arm and spun me around; his grip was strong. Then again, he was clearly the love child of Zeus.

"Nope." His clear, golden brown eyes saw right through me. Saw too many things. "Maybe we should talk about the fact that you're using words."

"I'm not five."

"Nope. You're seventeen." He said seventeen in a low authoritative voice that had me slightly relaxing in his arms. "Trust me, I know all about your age. So does Linc."

At the sound of his name.

I burst into tears.

Against Zane Andrews of all people.

My tears were staining his pretty gold skin, but I didn't care. He let me cry and cry and cry.

"Want me to kill him?" he whispered into my hair. "I'm half Italian. I know people, though they live in Chicago and despise my side of the family. I think it's because we're half Irish. But still, I'd like to think Nixon owes me a favor. After all, I did save his ass that one time in the sandbox, when the other little kid tried to take his Tonka."

"So he owes you a favor…" I sniffed. "… because you saved his Tonka."

"Never underestimate a toddler's relationship with his truck, Dani. Stealing a Tonka is grounds for war."

"O-okay." I let out one last sniffle and shook my head. "And are you telling me you're related to the mafia?"

"Shhh, rats die. I like living. And you'll kill my squeaky-clean image."

I rolled my eyes. "Squeaky-clean to you. Sodom and Gomorrah to others."

"Up top." He held up his hand for a high five. "Look at you, able to make jokes and using your words. Shouldn't we be celebrating your using full sentences, and it's not just a Linc fluke? And please don't cry because I said his name again."

"I'm seventeen. May as well tattoo it on his forehead," I whispered in a hostile tone.

"He doesn't seem to be the type to forget," Zane said helpfully.

"Oh, he didn't."

Zane nodded.

"Or at least he had a momentary lapse in judgment when I had my shirt off…"

Zane winced.

"… in his bed."

His nose scrunched up.

"And rejected me."

Zane let out a low whistle then chuckled. "When Linc messes up, he does it well, doesn't he? Damn. Tell me he at least explained why he rejected you?"

I pulled away from Zane and leaned across the counter. "Yup."

Zane's eyebrows shot up as if waiting for an explanation.

Scowling, I wiped at my wet cheeks and huffed out all the reasons that Linc had listed. When I finished, Zane gave me a blank stare.

"What?"

"It's weird. Part of you, really mature." He crossed his arms over his bare chest. "But the other part of you, the teen-girl part, is really, really stupid and immature. You do realize he was protecting you, right?"

"Do I look like I need protecting or something? I mean, what is it about me that screams damsel in distress?"

"Not sure, show me your guns." Zane pointed to my arms.

I flexed, trying hard not to smile.

"Hmm, and did you ever take karate? Self-defense? Or any of those weird dance classes at the YMCA that put crazy kickboxing moves to the beats of one of my songs?"

"'Hip Hop'?"

"Not that one."

"'Body Combat'?"

He snapped his fingers. "That one. That's it."

"No." I frowned. "Maybe it's because I've had a rough few years, but that doesn't mean I'm helpless! I can make big decisions."