Wylde (Arizona Vengeance 7)

I drop a hand on the nape of her neck, then press a long kiss to her mouth, bending her slightly backward while doing so.

Baden gives an uncomfortable-sounding cough, and Veronica says, “Just so you two know… guys who read are hot.”

“Really?” Kane asks curiously.

“Really,” she affirms.

I let Clarke up from my kiss, watching her eyes flutter open. She gives me a dopey smile, and I like that I dazed her. She does the same to me at times.

“See you tonight,” I murmur.

Kane and Baden follow me out onto the sidewalk, discussing what books they’ve read and whether women would find it sexy. I ignore them, pulling my phone out and returning the call I got right before I walked into Clarke’s store.

He answers on the second ring. “Walt Nichols.”

“It’s Aaron Wylde,” I say into the receiver, although I’m sure he already knows from caller ID.

“Mr. Wylde… I got the information you asked for.”

I listen to the man as we walk back to my truck, Baden and Kane following just one pace behind me. By the time I’m unlocking my vehicle, I’ve heard enough to give me several ideas.

“Can you send everything to my email?” I ask Walt, the private investigator I’d hired to look into Tripp Horschen, the man who destroyed Clarke’s heart and confidence.

“Sure thing,” he replies before disconnecting.

I pull my keys out of my pocket, looking across the bed of my truck to Kane and Baden. “Let me ask you guys something.”

“What’s up?” Baden replies.

“If someone hurt a person you cared about—not physically, but mentally and emotionally—would you do something about it?”

“Without a doubt,” Kane responds even as Baden nods his agreement.

“How far would you go?” I ask, calculating my options.

Kane leans his arms on top of my truck bed, narrowing his gaze on me. “I wouldn’t do anything that would put my career in jeopardy.”

“So kicking his ass is out of the question?” I posit.

“Can you hurt him in other ways?” Baden asks, all of this being hypothetical thoughts among friends.

“Seems like I can,” I reply, eager to see the stuff Walt Nichols promised to send me.

Baden and Kane shoot each other knowing looks, because they know me. Know once I set my sights on something, I don’t give up until my mission is accomplished.

They’d have to be idiots not to understand I’m talking about something that happened to Clarke. They just had a seat, front row and center, to the slightly foolish and punch-drunk way I act around her.

Still, they don’t ask for details, which I appreciate, because I’d never share with them what happened to her. I might have revealed it to Tacker and Nora, but he’s my best friend and she’s a licensed therapist. Their advice was gold.

I don’t need advice now, though.

No matter what the future holds for Clarke and me, the one thing I’m most certain of is I’m going to make Tripp Horschen pay tenfold for what he did to her.CHAPTER 14ClarkeAaron helps me out of his truck, which has become a natural event between us. We’ve been out every single night this week and outside of the one time I cooked him dinner three nights ago, we’ve gone out to different restaurants.

I have to say, I’m getting a little bit better about handling his fame. We haven’t had another incident like that night where the women swarmed him. In hindsight, I think that had to do more with the amount of alcohol they had imbibed.

But I’m finding the more time we spend out in public, the more often he’s recognized as a Vengeance player. Most of the time, people don’t even approach him, but I do see them pull out cameras to take pictures or videos. Those who do approach, for the most part, are polite and well aware they are intruding. There was only one occasion when a man interrupted us at dinner, and that was just this evening.

Aaron had chosen another small, out-of-the-way restaurant and even made the reservation requesting a private table near the back. The restaurant was dimly lit with flickering candles and soft music—definitely for the romantics. The man himself was there with a woman, whom he left at their table to approach us while we were just starting the main course. I held my breath, wondering what Aaron would do.

He was pissed at those women and hadn’t minded letting them know it. Later, he’d told me it was the one girl knocking over my drink that had tipped him over the edge.

But tonight, Aaron obliged the man, although I could tell he wasn’t overly happy about it. He indulged the fan’s request for an autograph and a photograph, but when the man tried to start talking hockey with him, Aaron had merely held up a hand. The guy’s mouth had snapped shut, his gaze settling on me when Aaron nodded my way and said, “Look… I’m out for a nice dinner with this amazingly beautiful woman, so I’d appreciate it if you could respect our privacy now.”