Page 15 of Engaging with Her Enemy

Becky smiled as he opened the truck door and placed a foot on his step rail. His hand gripped her elbow, helping her in and then brushing down the side of her hip before closing the door. Completely unnecessary.

She held her breath to calm her pulse. She had to stop reading into every little thing he did. He hadn't meant to flirt like that. He'd confessed to liking her in high school, not now. She smoothed a hand along the seam of her short dress. Sure, she'd worn this to getexactlythat type of reaction, but it still didn't mean that he had the same thoughts. The tumble-in-the-hay kind of ideas that didn't sneak out of the friend-zone but destroyed the line forever.

He opened his door as she remembered her purse.

“Oh, Hudson, can you grab my purse. It's in my car.”

In a few seconds, he was back in his truck, purse in hand, and a confused expression. “Here.”

“Thanks. What's wrong?”

“Why do you have a college-level accounting book in your backseat floorboard?”

The air vanished around her. She tried not to gasp to get a breath. Crap. She hadn't even thought of that. She'd been so careful with everyone in town. It must have slid out of her backpack.

“Uh...”

“Friends tell each other things.” He gave her a crooked smile, a reminder of the boy he used to be in high school. But instead of being cute, it was dangerously sexy and made her toes curl in anticipation of what those lips could do. “Are you going to tell me?”

Oh. The book. Right. “No.”

“Just a little light reading on the side?”

“Something like that.”

“Do you still have your numbers issue?”

Becky crossed her arms and turned to face the window. “I don't want to discuss this.”

He laid his hand on her knee, the warmth traveling up her thigh. “I know after our past this may sound like a lie, but you can trust me, Becky. Really.”

He lazily caressed her knee. He didn't have a damn clue what it did to her body.

Should she tell him about her night classes? Would he laugh? She sighed and continued to stare out the window. Trusting him, even with their history, didn't feel like an issue. Owning up to the fact that she'd faked it in her other college classes until now seemed like confessing a mortal sin to the man that knew everything about everything. But she couldn't fake it in accounting. This one class might be the reason the past six years were a waste of effort and money.

“Tell me, Becky. Something's going on.”

“Why do you think I should tell you?”

“Answer another question then. Whatever you're going through, or doing, have you talked to Juliana about it?”

Damn. Becky rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms, letting her hands fall into her lap. “I don’t know why that matters.” Did he sense that she felt alone?

“Don’t go through this by yourself. Not when I’m here.”

He'd gotten mad that she was concerned about his leg, and now he was only worried about her own disability.

Hell, but she needed the help. Closing her eyes for a moment, she mustered up the courage, but it didn't take much. He knew her issues. He'd understand. He wouldn’t judge.

He laid his hand along the back of the truck seat as he drove down the highway toward Rhonda’s. Not touching her, but she knew exactly how close his hand sat to her shoulder. “It's not like my butt can accidentally turn the P.A. system on this time.”

She tried for a laugh, but the image of his butt made it sound strange.

“Here’s my phone,” he announced, giving it to her. “So, you know it’s not on. And I'll tell you a secret.”

She waited, interested in what he’d consider a secret like hers.

He ran a hand over his scruffy, short beard. Her fingers gripped the seat, wanting to touch him the same way. “The nurse told me when I first became conscious in the hospital that I asked for Scoochy Bear.”

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