Page 142 of Tell Me Something True

When her heart was racing this hard. Her skin tingling where his fingers were wrapped around her.

When she still wanted him so much.

He stepped closer, the hard planes of his chest pressing against her shoulder blades as he dipped his head even lower, his lips moving against the outer edge of her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

“Tabitha.” He paused, his hesitation like a living, breathing pulse between them. And then, even closer, even quieter, “Please.”

She trembled as a wave of longing flowed through her.

Her name had been a demand, low and impatient.

But the please had been a plea, soft and gruff.

She gave herself a moment to pretend that things between them—the lingering feelings and ceaseless want—weren’t so complicated. That they could get past the mistakes they’d both made.

That they really could move forward.

But while she’d always been good at lying to others, it was becoming harder to convincingly do it to herself.

Straightening, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Not. Interested.”

But whereas the Miles she’d known a decade ago would have given in and let go of her immediately, this Miles only narrowed his eyes further. And while he did loosen his grip, his fingers still caged her arm.

Then he slowly dragged his hand down, down, down—the rough pad of his thumb brushing against the soft skin of her inner elbow; the circle of his fingers closing slightly to accommodate the narrowing of her forearm; his fingertips brushing the inside of her wrist where her pulse beat quicky and unsteady. Where it leapt under his touch.

Where it gave too much away.

It was just a touch. Just his fingers on her arm, but it was as if a current ran from his fingers, igniting her blood. Lighting her up from the inside. She made a sound, unable to stop it or to suppress her light shiver. The pebbling of goosebumps along her skin.

His gaze turned downright triumphant. His fingertips twitched as they skimmed across her palm. Trailed down her fingers.

He linked his fingers firmly with hers, then tugged her away from the bar, his long, determined strides through the crowd forcing her to take quick, short steps to keep up with him.

They were garnering more than their fair share of attention. Double-takes and outright stares. She may have only been in Mount Laurel a few weeks, but she’d already learned how hungry the citizens in this town were for juicy gossip.

And Mount Laurel’s assistant police chief dragging a woman through The Cockeyed Chameleon was going to feed them for days. Maybe even weeks.

They stepped into the narrow, short hallway behind the pool table. The Ladies’ Room door opened and a thirty-something white woman in cropped jeans and a pink floral tank top stepped out, her eyes widening as she took in Miles’s expression.

Whatever she saw on his face was enough to have her pressing her back against the wall as she scooted toward the bar, her scandalized gaze locked on him, one hand at the base of her throat.

Seemed a bit dramatic, the whole clutching at imaginary pearls thing, but then again, Tabitha wasn’t one to shock easily.

Miles stormed past the Ladies’ Room, turned left, taking them down a shorter, darker hall that led to an emergency exit, then went up to a door clearly marked Employees Only and opened it. It must have been on a motion sensor because an overhead light came on as Miles marched into the room, pulling Tabitha along with him.

Seemed she could be shocked, after all.

Miles had dragged her into a supply closet.

A small, well-organized supply closet with neatly lined shelves of liquor bottles, cases of beer, and stacked boxes of straws, cups and napkins, sure, but a supply closet, nonetheless.

Her shock only grew when he tugged her into the middle of the closet, let go of her hand, turned on his heel, stormed back to the door.

And locked it.

She gaped at him, eyes wide, mouth open, that earlier anger increasing in intensity, turning into something hotter. Mixing with something bright and sharp and dangerous.

Something explosive. Untamed and wild.

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