Page 18 of Hemlock

Feeling like a stalker is nothing new for me.

I can't count the number of times I've literally hunted someone down in order to glean information from them.

However, I can't convince my mind that Zara is prey.

I had to make myself scarce when Wilkinson made his way to the business part of the bar, using the opportunity to go to the bathroom and demand my reflection get better control of himself. The way I thickened in my jeans when she refused to give me a beer, pouring a glass of whiskey instead, had me questioning my own sanity, which, let's face it, I do regularly. Only she has me feeling completely different. Feeling out of control is commonplace for me. Not being able to control those urges is a whole other story, and it seems Zara Hailey somehow has the ability to reach inside of me and strum those cords, as if she'd known how to play me her entire life.

It should piss me off. I should want to steer clear of her completely, but that's not the case. I feel this magnetic pull to her, a tug of curiosity that makes me want to know what crawling inside of her and strumming her cords would feel like. To say I'm completely out of my element where she's concerned is an understatement.

What I can control is my timeline. Although I'm no closer to figuring out what the hell Wilkinson is doing here, I can give myself two more weeks to figure it out before resorting to certain tactics I am urged to only use when absolutely necessary.

Sitting back down at my spot at the bar makes me feel like a failure. Jericho came back home after only two days and had already cleared another case. That makes his third one since I got to Tennessee. Ace isn't on my ass, and Jericho doesn't brag or give me shit for not closing out my case, but it doesn't keep that self-recrimination from whispering how incompetent I've been.

My whiskey glass hasn't been touched that I know of. I don't know if she even noticed that I was gone, but I wasn't planning to drink the whiskey anyway. Knowing I won't consume it doesn't keep me from wrapping my hands around it and watching her.

As I figured she would, she scarcely even looks in my direction, purposely ignoring me. I don’t know if she knows how much it turns me on, but I fight the unfamiliar urge to grin when she steps close enough that I can smell her skin but doesn’t acknowledge me.

I don’t get up and leave until that other prick who has been staring at her and engaging her in conversation leaves. I could see the warning in his eyes every time he glanced over at me, as if I’m the one she needs to worry about. Seems the man forgot about the gold band on his left hand the entire time he was flirting with her. Disloyal men make my skin crawl. Why promise yourself to someone, only to turn around and break those vows? Just keep your fucking mouth shut, or, better yet, be a real man and tell your partner that they don’t have a chance of being your one and only. People are so fucking selfish and will pick have their cake and eat it too over staying faithful.

I’m pulling my helmet onto my head when the front door of the bar opens, and I watch as Zara locks it up.

She doesn’t seem frightened of me as she approaches, but I can see her struggle as she tries her best to ignore me now, the same way she has most of the night. I have no doubt it’s a little more difficult when she doesn’t have someone else to talk to and there isn’t a squeaky-clean bar top to wipe down for the millionth time.

“I was—"

I hate the way she jolts at the sound of my voice, as if she didn’t think I’d speak to her at all.

“I was planning on going for a ride,” I continue. “Thought maybe you’d like to go.”

She turns her attention in my direction, my skin coming alive when she sweeps her eyes down my body before taking a long hard look at the bike positioned between my legs.

“It’s nearly three in the morning,” she mutters.

With a shrug, I reach up and clip the helmet into place, my hands reaching up to hit the ignition switch.

I’m not going to beg her.

Going to lunch like she offered the other day puts us face-to-face, talking, socializing. That just won’t work for me. But I can spend time with her, gain some of her trust, with a bike ride, and we won't have to speak to each other. Hell, other than yelling, speaking while on a ride is barely even possible. It seems like the best solution I could come up with, although I hadn't even considered it until my mouth opened with the suggestion.

Just as I turn over the ignition, I feel her hands on my shoulders. I realize with the way she mounts the bike that this isn't going to be her first ride on such a machine, and, for some reason, that annoys me a little. The woman works at a dive bar with a drug-dealing ex who worked at a garage. Of course, she's lived a little and has ridden on a motorcycle before.

Instead of hitting the road, I climb off the bike, watching as she narrows her eyes at me.

"Are you kidding?" she snaps. "Is this some sort of game to you? You're the biggest—"

Her words screech to a halt when I unclip my helmet and move to put it on her head.

"It's a little big," I explain as I tighten the strap. "My melon is twice the size of yours, but it's just a precaution."

Once I'm done and take a step back, she lifts her hands to touch the strap, and something akin to warmth fills my chest when it's clear that she doesn't feel the need to make further adjustments. I can't really call it trust, but it feels a little like that.

Her smile widens as I continue to stand there and just stare at her. Unlike me, it seems Zara doesn't have a problem being the center of attention. I can't decide if I like or loathe the way she sits a little higher on the bike when she notices me watching her lips. Does she think she can manipulate me? Is she just happy to have my attention there?

Despite thinking it could be either of those choices, it doesn't stop me from wanting to trace the upper curve of her mouth with the very tip of my finger or maybe my tongue.

Then her hands are reaching out, her fingers gripping the bottom hem of my leather jacket, and my first instinct, the initial reaction I have to her pull, is to step in closer to her. That's when I know that maybe this woman does have at least a little power over me, and that just can't happen.

I open my mouth to tell her to get the fuck off my bike, but the shake of her head stops those words before they can form on my tongue.

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