Page 55 of His Old Lady

Chapter 19

Faye

Faye shut off the car. Her hands shook, and until the engine stopped, she hadn't realized her whole body quivered as if exhausted. Highly aware of Curley standing beside his Harley in the driveway, she tried not to look at him.

Hating that he named the bar Promise, reminding her of all the times he'd promised to never leave her, she sat in the vehicle stripped of all her defenses and too tired to fight him or her damn attraction to him.

Unable to stop herself from glancing at him, she exited the car. His gaze never left her. Her lips pursed automatically, a mix of anxiety and resistance.

Her feet stopped working. For the longest moment, she connected with him. He connected with her. All her fear, her vulnerabilities, her heart was naked.

The past no longer threw caution signs at her. She wasn't swinging her arms left and right, fighting off her feelings toward him.

This was Curley.

This was her uncle.

This was the man who stubbornly and honorably stood in front of her when she lost her last family member, holding her and promising he'd never leave.

And, here he was, holding true to his word.

He was her sanity.

Her insanity.

No matter how many times he got in someone's face and declared she belonged to him, making sure no one else got close to her, he wasn't her man.

Not truly.

Not in the way she wanted to belong to him.

Granted, her opinion of relationships was skewed. She remembered Uncle Walker being with a lot of women. There were always girls/women who were around the house, babysitting her, sleeping in her uncle's bed. In her innocence, she'd enjoyed the extra company his wild life brought around the house.

Grandma June spoke highly of marriage and mourned for Grandpa Ed, who'd died before she was born, believing old-fashion traditions were the base of any relationship. Traditions Faye had never witnessed.

Even Tracy and Whip's parents, who were the perfect couple and seemed normal to her, came to a tragic end too soon—as if happily ever after was only a fairy tale.

Her breath came out in pants. Curley was the closest she'd been to having a relationship, and if this was how it felt to love someone, she rather be single for the rest of her life. Love hurt. It was the worst pain she'd ever experienced.

She moistened her lips. Her attraction to him was out of control, and she was only punishing herself.

Bolstering all her courage to walk into the house and away from him, she mentally patted herself on the back when she reached the front door and dug through her purse, only to remember she'd locked the house key inside that morning.

"Damnit," she muttered, closing her eyes in frustration.

Why tonight? Why with him here watching her screw up?

Warmth covered her back, and an arm circled her waist, holding her up. Warmth flooded her face as she opened her eyes and witnessed Curley using his key to unlock her door, knowing she was on the verge of falling apart.

The door opened, and he took her inside before letting her go. He took her hand and placed a key on her palm.

She looked up at him. "It's your key."

When Grandma June passed away, she'd given Curley a key just in case. Just in case he needed to get inside the house if she needed help. Just in case she was at work, and he needed something. Just in case he had the urge to come over and make love to her—but that had never happened.

He folded her fingers over the key, holding on to her hand. "Put that in the bottom of your purse or hide it out in the yard somewhere that nobody but you can find."

Her heart pounded. Was this the end? Could he be walking away from her for the last time?

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