Page 10 of Rebel Hawke

Of course, it was.

I didn’t want anyone to know I was coming back. Didn’t want to deal with the expectations they’d all hold—especially where Atlas was concerned. And now that we’re here together, the space that always seemed so small feelsbeyondtiny and confining.

Downright suffocating.

My chest tightens, like dozens of bands wrapping around my ribcage and squeezing the air right out of my lungs—a feeling I am all too familiar with. If I don’t calm myself down and manage my reaction to him, I’m going to end up needing my inhaler from just standing in this man’s presence.

Embarrassing as hell.

When I don’t answer his question, don’t admit my motives for keeping my return a secret, he moves closer, until I can smell crisp soap and something else so familiar—Atlas himself.

Leather and coconut…

From his boxing gloves and the polish he and Gramps use on them.

How can I still remember that when I haven’t seen him since I was eight?

I struggle to breathe it in while keeping my attention focused away from him, but my body so badlywantsto turn and lean into it. To give myself over to the comfort that scent has always provided.

“Were you trying to avoid me, Wren?” He takes another step closer, his shoes squeaking on the wood planks. “Because, when you abandon your husband and leave town, you can’t just come back and pretend everything’s all right.”

I finally crack a smile and glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.

He stands only a few feet away, grinning, one sandy-blond eyebrow raised playfully. Humor dances in his blue eyes, warming them like Caribbean waters, making me want to dive straight in. With his chest bare save for a simple silver chain and a string of black beads hanging around his neck and tattoos on display, he crosses his arms, making his biceps bulge even more.

And he looks every bit the vicious fighter Gramps trained him to be.

Sweet mother of God…

Atlas is even more beautiful in person.

An inked-up, brutal Adonis.

A gift to women.

A curse to me.

An infatuation I haven’t been able to shake even after all these years.

The boy who was my best friend, first crush,andfirst kiss has grown into a stunningly lethal man, but my gaze can’t help but drift to the massive scar marring his left shoulder.

Red, raised, puckered, still fresh-looking even months after his surgery.

A constant reminder of what he went through and undoubtedly wants to forget.

I know what it’s like to have people stare, so I quickly avert my eyes back to his and shake my head. “Not avoiding you, Atlas, just have a lot to do to get set up and didn’t want any distractions.”

Like you coming in here and short-circuiting my ability to think.

His lips press together in a firm line, like he doesn’t quite buy my dismissal of his accusation. “When do you plan on opening?”

Turning fully away from him, I finish adjusting all the straps and no longer have anything to occupy my hands or attention without being obvious. “Hopefully by next Monday.”

“You’re going to do all this in just over a week?”

The disbelief in his voice makes my hackles rise. “That’s the plan.”

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