There was absolutely nothing sexy about Brea’s appearance, yet everything about her made him harder than hell.
One-Mile made his living listening to his gut, and it was telling him there was something between him and this woman. So he didn’t give a damn if she had a boyfriend. To hell with being polite. And fuck walking away.
Finally, a man he presumed was her father approached. After they exchanged a few words, she nodded. He cupped her shoulder and brushed a kiss across her cheek before disappearing inside the church again.
Then Brea headed for her little white Toyota. One-Mile already knew the make, model, license plate, and VIN, so he wasn’t surprised when she hopped into the vehicle and pulled out of the lot. She drove right past him without so much as a glance in his direction. No surprise she didn’t take stock of her surroundings. Why should she? She probably didn’t have a care in the world, much less any enemies. She’d certainly never made her living by her gun, and he doubted anything ever happened in this sleepy town.
He was about to blow through Brea Bell’s life and change it forever.
One-Mile turned his Jeep over and followed her down the road, then out of Sunset, south on I-49 toward Lafayette. On the outskirts of town, she pulled off. He followed at a discreet distance, though it wouldn’t have mattered. She only looked in the rearview mirror when she changed lanes.
“Where are you going?” he mused aloud when she putt-putted down a bumpy two-lane road and pulled into an overwhelmingly brown strip mall that had seen better decades.
Was she stopping in for donuts? Or meeting someone, like Bryant, at the diner on the corner for lunch?
One-Mile pulled in and parked on the far side of the lot, near a barber shop, then watched as she bypassed all of those establishments in favor of the beauty supply on the end. She exited her car and locked it, then fished her phone out of her purse as she crossed the lot, not paying a lick of attention to her surroundings.
As long as he was around, she could have her head in the clouds. He’d keep her safe. But he’d be damned if he set foot in the foreign territory dominated by hair dye and nail polish. He’d rather clean a loaded gun.
As she disappeared inside, he rolled down his window, cut off his engine, then turned up Fall Out Boy. He tapped his thumb against his steering wheel to the beat of the music and stared at the glass door. As “Centuries” faded out and Radiohead’s “Creep” filled his ears instead, he had to smile. Yeah, he felt a bit like a creep following Brea just to get a few minutes alone with her. All he needed now was Sting crooning “Every Breath You Take” to feel like a full-on stalker.
At somewhere near the ten-minute mark, instinct poked him between the shoulder blades. He rolled up his windows, then hopped from his Jeep. He’d no more navigated the lot and positioned himself against her car door, ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest, when she stepped out of the shop. Halfway across the lot, she looked up from the contents of her bag. Her gaze found his feet. He watched it climb his legs, his torso, his shoulders…and finally settle on his face.
As recognition dawned, Brea stopped where she stood. The bag fell from her fingers and onto the roasting asphalt. Surprise flared across her face. “Pierce.”
He could imagine her whispering to him just like that when he shocked her in bed. The thought made him harder. “Brea.”
“Did you…follow me here?” She scrambled to recover her purchases, looking anywhere but at him.
He debated on the best way to answer. But why lie? “Yeah. You knew I was coming for you. Can we talk?”
She looked around as if she was expecting someone. One of her girlfriends? Or a rescuer, maybe Bryant?
“I-I have to go.”
“Five minutes.”
She shook her head. “I can’t stay. The heat… It’s oppressive.”
One-Mile couldn’t argue. Since moving here, he’d quickly discovered that summer in Louisiana was like the crotch pit of hell. Today was particularly sweltering. But he also didn’t think the sudden flush of her cheeks had much to do with the temperature. “Then let me take you to lunch. There’s an air-conditioned diner right there.”
“I can’t.”
“Is your father expecting you home?”
Brea frowned. “How would you know that?”
He ventured closer. “After last night, I learned more about you.”
“You snooped?”
“Researched,” he corrected.
“Why?”
“You want me to spell it out for you, pretty girl?”
“Please.”
Her prim response did something perverse to his libido. He crooked his finger at her. “Come here, and I will.”
She backed away with wide eyes. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Because?”
“Cutter made me promise I wouldn’t.”
One-Mile couldn’t keep the cynical smirk off his face. So the good guy was afraid the bad boy would steal his woman? He ought to be. But One-Mile refused to make Bryant’s tactical mistake and put Brea in the middle.