Wicked as Sin (Wicked & Devoted 1)

“Oatmeal about six this morning.” She blinked up at him. “What if he doesn’t make it?”

The terror on her face hurt him. “The fact he’s conscious and talking is a good sign. She wouldn’t perform the surgery if she believed he’d never pull through. I know you’re afraid—”

“You don’t understand.” She wrenched from him.

“Then help me.”

As quickly as the fight had filled her, it left. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. You’re very kindly letting me lean on you.”

“I’m also the only one around to hear your fears and frustration. So let me have it. I’m a tough guy. I can handle whatever you need to dish out.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re like a bottle of soda someone shook up. I can see you bubbling under the surface. Yank the lid off and spew.” He tried to smile to lighten the mood. “I’ll help you clean up the mess when you’re done.”

“I don’t let loose like that. Ever.”

“Maybe you should, pretty girl.”

He couldn’t push her anymore if she wasn’t ready…but someday she’d pop the top on all that repressed tension. Then, watch out. Brea with her hair down and her gloves off would be a sight. One-Mile hoped he was there for that.

Hell, he hoped he provoked it.

For now, he led her to the cafeteria, got her a sandwich and a salad, then encouraged her to eat.

“Thank you for staying with me,” she said as she pushed away the rest of her turkey on wheat. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did.” He would be here for her as long as she wanted him. Probably longer. She just didn’t know that yet.

“You barely know me.”

He shrugged. “I want to know more.”

But now wasn’t the time. In fact, his moments alone with her were likely ticking away. Soon, the parishioners, Mama Sweeney, and probably Cutter the asswipe would show up. Brea would feel obligated to give them her attention and support. Then he’d be in her way. He had to maximize his time with her now.

“Later,” he added. “Focus on your dad today.”

“You know it will never work between us.”

“Besides the sex thing, which I already answered, why not?” One-Mile was expecting a lot of blah-blah and bullshit about Cutter and their budding love or whatever the fuck she thought they shared.

“I don’t know you.”

“We can fix that. I’m game. How about you?”

She shook her head. “I know what you do for a living.”

She didn’t like it, but she also didn’t understand that he was doing the world a goddamn favor by offing scum. “Good. Then we won’t have to have that awkward conversation. What else?”

“You scare me.”

He had to give Brea credit; that was honest.

One-Mile took a risk and held her hand. “I said I’d never hurt you. I meant it.”

She squirmed in her seat. “Not that kind of scare.”

So he made her heart race and her female parts tingle, huh? And she’d never felt that before? Cutter must be a literal wet noodle in the sack, but that wasn’t his issue. Getting her to see a future without the Boy Scout was.

He dragged his thumb back and forth across her so-soft palm. “It’s the good kind of scare.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Are you this adamant with every woman you pursue?”

It was a fair question. “No. But I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“You really don’t know me.”

“I know my gut tells me that I shouldn’t let you get away.”

“Pierce…”

“One-Mile. Pierce was my father.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It wasn’t good, but she loved her dad, so she’d probably never comprehend the bleeding asshole his had been. “Having someone else’s name can be like wearing a too-tight jacket.”

She seemed to weigh his words. “At least it’s a nice name. And you could make it your own. But I can’t, in good conscience, call you something that celebrates another person’s death.”

Of course not. She only saw the loss of life, not the fact that if he hadn’t pulled the trigger for that fateful one-mile shot, a terrorist had been prepared to blow up a marketplace filled with women and children simply because American servicemen had been there. Still, now wasn’t the time to push her more.

“If Pierce makes you more comfortable, fine.” He’d rather her call him Pierce than not call him at all.

“Why don’t you and Cutter like each other?”

“Are you asking me questions to take your mind off your worries?”

She sent him a faint smile. “I might be.”

Reading people could sometimes be the difference between life and death. “Try not to worry too much.”

“I don’t think I can stop it.”

One-Mile palmed her crown, feeling the softness of her hair as he pulled her closer. “Think positive. You done here, pretty girl?”

She looked at her half-eaten sandwich and nodded. “We should get back to the ER.”

He’d rather linger where it was unlikely anyone—especially Cutter—would find them, but Brea would feel better if she were closer to her father. “Let’s go.”