Page 41 of July 27

As soon as he stepped onto the pathway to the front door, he stopped. "Unless you're ready to die, you better get the fuck off my property."

"Don't shoot me." She scrambled to her feet. "It's me. Rachel."

"Jesus Christ, woman." He approached her. "You don't sit in the dark. It's a good way to lose your life."

He reached around her, unlocked the door, and walked inside the cottage. She hesitated. He'd left the door open but hadn't invited her inside. She swallowed repeatedly when he walked into the kitchen and out of sight. What was she supposed to do?

She looked over her shoulder. The thought of walking away not only struck fear in her, but she also grew angry. Why was it always Ruger who made all the decisions? Why was she following him around, trying to keep in contact with him?

If he felt anything for her, why wasn't he fighting for her?

He'd saved her life—she wasn't downplaying all he'd gone through. He'd done things no other person had ever done for her—or even thought to do for her.

She stepped over the threshold, feeling braver.

"Ruger." She walked into the kitchen.

He stood, bent over, and gripped the edge of the sink with both hands. His back was to her, and his head dropped below his arms.

She stopped. Never once had she witnessed him distraught, weakened, or unsure of what he was doing. His body position had her questioning her reasons for coming over here.

"Get out," he whispered hoarsely. "Go home."

The pain and roughness in his voice paralyzed her. Ruger had always made her feel safe and secure. His rejection wounded her.

"What did I do wrong?" she whispered back.

He pushed off the counter and whirled around. She stepped back at the fire in his eyes.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" He growled.

At that moment, she was petrified of losing the Ruger she knew and loved.

Yes, she loved him. They'd gone through too much for her to question her feelings.

The man in front of her was a stranger. He'd never turned her away before. She couldn't even read his thoughts through his eyes. He'd closed himself off.

"I am." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "You are scaring me."

"Bullshit." He strode across the kitchen. "You need to get out of here."

"Why?"

He stared into her eyes, tormented and fighting something she had no knowledge of. "You're doing my head in."

The anguished confession unglued her from the spot. She stepped forward and put her hand on his whiskered cheek. His brows lowered. Her touch broke the barrier he'd erected around him.

"Fuck this." He grabbed her face, pulling her against his body.

His mouth slammed down on hers and he slipped his tongue past her lips. She whimpered, melting into him. She grabbed the front of Ruger's vest, trying to hold on to him and her sanity.

She pushed against his broad chest and ripped her lips away from his. "We need to talk."

"Fuck it." He lowered his head to kiss her again. "I want you."

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, but she had questions and doubts.

"Why now and not a couple weeks ago when you kicked me out of your house." She fisted the leather of his vest in her hands, not wanting to scare him away with her need for answers.

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