Page 13 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

I’ll ask questions later.

In the back of the building, Stranger Danger hands me the keys to the dingy restroom. “Here you go.”

That voice calms my hasty pulse. I take the keys from his rough, calloused hands. They’re like sandpaper against my palm. He has a couple of inches on me, his lean frame casting a shadow on the dusty ground.

“Hum...” I scan his abdomen, searching for the blood trace I saw earlier.

He squints. “Something wrong?”

With a push, I guide him inside the restroom, giving him what I want to be a stern glare. He stumbles backward, falling onto the dirty toilet seat with a thud.

When I slam the door shut, his expression is a mosaic of confusion, bewilderment, and disbelief. “What are you doing?”

My eyes meet his in a fiery gaze. “Take off your T-shirt,” I whisper.

The scent of concentrated urine stings my eyes. The dirty floors are sticky underfoot, and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead give the narrow room a frightening glow. I take in the peeling paint and mold growing on the ceiling before returning to Stranger Danger’s face.

He responds with a cocky grin, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?”

“Get rid of that T-shirt, first.”

His eyes rake up and down my frame, and the mysterious glint in his eyes increases to give way to the delirious killer locked inside him. I’ve awakened a bloodthirsty, sexy beast.

Save yourself! Or not.

He shrugs off his jacket. My eyes are glued to how his muscles flex under his tanned skin as he moves. He gets up so slowly that the smooth motion hastens my pulse in a primal way. Each movement is fluid and powerful.

I’m going to run out of air if I keep breathing this fast. Stranger Danger smirks at me, and I want to fuse with the wall. My need to help might lead to something I can’t survive.

I’m drawn to the thrill of danger that radiates from him as he approaches me with a predatory poise. With a single finger, he caresses my cheek and sweeps a dark brown lock away from my face with a surprisingly tender touch.

That’s when I had the brilliant idea of taking the box out of my beach bag. I wave it in front of his nose, and he stills. A derisive snort escapes his nose as he takes three steps back, and his fingers curl on his T-shirt’s hem.

His expression changes to resignation.

I should’ve shown him the first-aid kit before.

Had I intentionally toyed with fire? As if I want this intensity, his intensity.

That was hot!

He removes his stained T-shirt, revealing a hairless, muscular chest that makes my mouth water. Black strands of hair fall in front of his face, giving him an air of naughty, naughty boy. My jaw laxes in awe as my eyes wander and heat invades my abdomen.

Yum. With a side of fries.

The artificial lighting throws a dramatic shadow over every sharp line of his chiseled contours, unveiling a silky skin despite some scars and a rowdy whisper of hair trailing from his navel to his jeans’ edge. But beneath the seductive façade lies a wound, at least five centimeters wide on his toned right side.

Steamy vacation mode off, nurse mode activated!

I gasp. “How did you get that?”

“I’ll have to kill you if I tell you.” His gruff voice sinks into my soul and resonates far beyond reason to a space below my stomach. I don’t insist. It might have something to do with the gun in his coat or how he says “kill” with such intensity, like a forbidden promise.

Kill me, Stranger Danger.

“Tell me which instrument gave you that cut.”

The glint in his eye softens, his lips pressed to stay silent as if he had intended to scare me but found the minute too amusing to keep up the facade.

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