No Saint (Wild Men 6)

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his kiss gentling, and when I open my eyes, I find his lashes lifting, too. He draws back, his lips brushing over mine as our lips part.

Oh God, what have I done? Have I gone crazy? He’ll use this to tease me mercilessly. I showed him a weakness, something I should never have done. Have I learned nothing?

I stumble to my feet, afraid and furious. “There’s your payment, and screw you, Ross Jones. How are you gonna repay me for mocking me for so long, for breaking me—”

Clapping a hand over my mouth, horrified that I let that slip out, let him know how badly he hurt me, how weak I am, I was, I scramble to my feet and all but run home, not looking behind.

***

“How are you gonna repay me.”

Am I really looking for payback? When will I get over it? Does he really have to apologize for me to turn a corner and leave the past in the rearview mirror?

A day passes without seeing him again, and another, more days with long nights in between where I stare at the ceiling, counting cracks and stains and trying not to remember that kiss, his taste, his lips, his low moans. The way his hands held my face, strong but gentle. The way he took the brunt of the violence to keep me safe, that he sent me away and stayed to fight.

Trying to forget his face, those long-lashed, blue eyes, and the way they made my heart race.

Whoever said love is blind is an idiot.

Love isn’t blind, it’s just stupid.

Anyhow, this isn’t love. Duh. It’s lust, pure and simple. Chemistry. Desire, with a light dose of gratitude and confusion thrown into the mix. How’s a girl to think straight and keep a cool head like that? I cling to that excuse for the kiss, for my wayward thoughts and the hum in my veins, the dreams that leave me with an ache inside I don’t want to think too hard about.

Confusion. That’s all.

And Ross is still a no show and I can’t help wondering if it was my ultimatum about talking to Mike that is the reason.

Then one day I see him.

Boom, there he is in the flesh. I stumble to a halt, both physically and mentally. Funny how my mind empties, thoughts and doubts and questions snuffed out just at the

sight of him.

It’s enough. Seeing Ross is always a blow to my senses, a punch in the heart.

He’s sitting on the front steps of the only drugstore in town, blond head down, ever-present cigarette in hand. He’s dressed like usual in worn jeans and a T-shirt, heavy work boots on his feet, pale hair glinting like silver in the glare of the sun. The black lines of a tattoo slither around one corded arm. I itch to know what it is.

Yes, I’m staring. Can’t help it, and I tell myself that it’s because I’ve been worried, feeling guilty for not checking on him after that fight in the street. I stomped off, righteously angry, and didn’t even ask if he was okay. After all that kicking he took...

As if called forth by my thoughts, bruises seem to materialize on his arms and his face when he lifts his face to take a drag from his cigarette. His jaw is swollen, and he has one black eye.

I wince, and wonder if it is from that afternoon near my house.

The guilt punches me again in the stomach. When it shouldn’t. I paid him back what he asked for, didn’t I? He used my worry and gratitude to cop a feel and...

That kiss was hot.

I tell myself I didn’t want it, didn’t ask for it, didn’t fall in it. Didn’t dream about it every night. That it wasn’t something I’d imagined a million times before, even when I hated him.

I still hate him, I tell myself.

But do I believe it?

Quickly I cross the street, to avoid passing in front of him, keeping my head down, my bags of groceries firmly held close to my chest. Dad will cook his world-famous beef stew and I got him everything he put on my shopping list from our one and only grocery store. We’re running low on provisions, and should soon drive out of town to the big Walmart, but for now this will do.

As long as I don’t have to face Ross and the memory of his mouth on mine.

“Luna!”