Page 112 of Tell Me Something True

“I’m taking you home.”

Out of all the things she’d thought he’d say, that one hadn’t even made the list.

“I’m not going home,” she told him. “I’m going to get my car.”

“How were you going to do that?”

“I’m still working on that.”

He smirked, somehow managing to look smug and superior despite his damp hair falling over his forehead, the wet spots on his shoulders and the dark smudges under his eyes. “Get in.”

That was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Okay, not as horrible as when she’d followed him home from The Cockeyed Chameleon that first night, but pretty close.

At least then she’d known what he wanted.

I want to fuck you.

That night, he’d been perfectly clear.

Now, though? She had no idea.

All she knew was that she was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Tonight had torn her apart in its own way and she was feeling raw and vulnerable. She didn’t have the strength to even get into the ring, let alone go a few rounds with Miles.

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I can get an Uber.”

“You could. Or you could let me help you.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Let me help you.”

“You don’t always have to ride to the rescue.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I have no doubt you can get yourself home all on your own. That you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself. You don’t have to be alone.”Well, that was just patently unfair of him. Dangling her greatest wish in front of her that way, knowing he could snatch it away should she be foolish—or courageous—enough to try and grab it.

Unfair and, as it turned out, extremely effective.

Damn him.

She brushed past him, rounded the front of his cruiser, and opened the front passenger side door.

And got in.

***

Miles was saying her name.

Tabitha frowned, her eyes squeezed shut. She must be dreaming. God knew he’d starred in her dreams nightly ever since she’d moved to Mount Laurel. And in them, he often said her name, something he withheld from her as often as possible in reality.

As if he couldn’t be bothered to use it.

“Tabitha. Wake up.”

Sitting up, her eyes flew open.

Not a dream. Miles had said her name in his low, husky voice.

She bit back a groan. She’d fallen asleep in the front seat of his police cruiser.

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