Lord help me, he seems sincere. And that, more than anything, terrifies me.
The cat and dog frenemy thing we had going worked for me. I knew how to play it. But this? This I can’t handle.
He wraps a big paw behind my head and pulls my face up to his for another knee-weakening kiss. I want to surrender to it. Want to surrender to him—to just give into whatever the hell this is, whatever the hell he wants.
But it’s too dangerous.
My heart can’t be in play here.
I need to have enough cash by the time mafia dude gets back, or I’m screwed. And Bo is a distraction, at best. More of a liability. And if we get caught together by the police, they will be quick to draw lines between us. I could end up in jail. Bo could end up with charges against him, and he’s done nothing. And Rikki would end up naked in a cage with a ball gag in her mouth.
“Bo.” I press my hands against his chest and turn my face away. “It’s time for you to leave.”
He catches my jaw and turns me back to him. Our foreheads almost touch, but the mood has shifted dramatically. A wire of tension runs through him. He’s hyper alert, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. What I’m up to. “Not happening, sugar.”
“You’re not solving Winslow’s problems sticking around. You hang with me tomorrow, and your life could turn out way worse.”
“You’re on another job?”
Not much gets by this guy.
I swallow and nod. I have to steal and sell a car tomorrow, which means there’s no time for getting a title. I’ll have to go the most dangerous, stupid route for car thieves. Take it across the border to Mexico and be lucky to get a third of its value.
I have a name and a phone number of a guy to call when I get a car, and he’ll give me instructions for the meet up.
My chances of even making it out of the country without getting picked up are slim, but I have to try.
His grip on my jaw tightens. “Why, Sloane? What’s the pinch?”
I can’t pull away, he’s holding me too tightly. I catch his wrist and tap it, pleading for mercy. “Let me go.”
His eyes narrow, but after a beat, he releases me and curses. He stalks over and picks up his boxer briefs and steps into them.
“Winslow wouldn’t want you to be a part of this. So walk away now, Bo. You’ve punished me enough. Don’t fuck up your own life.”
He stands still, staring out the window like he’s thinking it over. I try to walk past him to find some shorts to pull on, but he catches me around the waist, pulling my back up against his front.
My breath leaves me in a whoosh.
His arm is like an iron band, but his head rests against mine, like we’re slow dancing. “I’ll leave in the morning,” he murmurs against my ear.
A flush of warm tingles wash over me.
He’s staying for me. I mean, for him. Because he wants to be with me.
Not to torture me. Not to find Winslow.
He wants to spend the night.
I want him to spend the night, too.
Especially now that I know he’ll leave. I cover his forearm with my hand and squeeze. He nips my ear, and then suddenly, I’m off my feet, up in his arms.
He carries me to the bed and tosses me on it.
The head board hits the wall, and I put a finger to my lips in warning.
He just grins down at me, his silver eyes glinting dangerously in the lamplight. Beautiful.
“How do you not have a girlfriend?” I blurt. It really seems impossible.
He shrugs. “Because I’m a dick.”
I laugh because it’s true. He is a dick. And also because it’s a lie. There’s so much more to him than that cocky swagger.
He crawls over me. The dogtag slides across his perfect chest as he moves. “You wanna know what they call me and my friends at school?”
More warmth floods me. He’s sharing a piece of himself. It’s a moment of normalcy between us. Something we haven’t had much of. “What?”
“The alpha-holes. Because we’re all walking dicks.”
I bring my hands to his thighs, squeeze to feel their hardness. Then I reach up and catch the military tag.
Almost immediately, the air changes. He catches my hand to stop me from looking. We stare at each other.
“Who died?” I ask softly.
He’s silent for a moment. There’s an air of resentment in his stare, but he finally answers, “My dad.”
“I’m sorry.”
He releases my hand, lets me turn the tag over and read it.
Theodore Fenton, Navy SEAL.
“How old were you?” I whisper.
“Eight.”
He drops beside me, the playfulness gone. But I can’t regret this moment. Seeing Bo’s wounds exposed.
“Tell me yours,” he says after a beat.