Page 18 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

“Wait until you’ve shared a bathroom for a week with Joaquin and me before you say that.”

Jefferson stares so intently I grow self-conscious.

And there’s so much to think about that my mind reels from one subject to another.

“I’m going to pull my weight, you know.”

His heavy brows come together. “What?”

“I think I’d like to go to nursing school. I hear nursing pays well? Don’t worry, you don’t have to pay for my education. I’m very industrious. And I can cook. If money’s tight, I can whip up a cabbage stew that’ll blow your socks off.”

A smile plays on his lips. “Georgie, what are you doing? Giving me your resume?”

I stare at the ceiling, my tongue wagging as ideas fall from the sky. “I can work at a garden center and save money for nursing school. Or I could work at a garden center during the day while I take nursing classes at night…”

My voice trails off when his hand squeezes my hip, the sensation sending sexy sparks up and down my legs.

Jefferson reaches a hand up to my chin. “Georgie. Look at me.”

He holds me still, with his big, rough hand cupping my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye.

I blink. “Sorry. I haven’t figured anything out yet, financially speaking.”

He gives my hip another delicious squeeze. “Stop. You don’t need to worry about any of that today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. You only have two jobs. To heal, and to be with me. And after that, if you hate it here, you can go somewhere else. If you want to go stay with Olivia and company, I’ll take you there. Hell, I won’t stop you if you tell me you want to go to another town, or to Brazil, for that matter. Nobody is pressuring you to contribute anything. And nobody is pressuring you to stay.”

I nod, swallowing down the emotion in my throat that builds as a result of his kindness. But the other thing he said—about me leaving if I want to leave—makes me sad. He’d leave me at a hotel if I asked? Dump me off with the rescue group? He would not try to stop me if I wanted to go far away?

Well, what did I expect? A marriage proposal? A long-term boyfriend? He never promised anything except to help me if I needed help.

“I don’t want you to take me to a hotel,” I say, my throat aching at the thought of being alone again. “And I don’t want to bring more trouble to my friends.”

He nods, still holding my face. His hand is warm and reassuring and steady.

“I just want to do things,” I add, my voice shaking. “I’ve missed … doing things.”

His brow comes together in concern and I almost spill everything. “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to figure anything out. You just have to stay here. And not escape my sight ever again.”

I let his words settle over me. He has the same face I remember from 31 days ago, but he looks more drawn and weary. And his hair has been shorn. He looks so different.

But he’s the same person who made me feel wrapped in warmth and kindness. I’ve been dreaming of feeling like that again.

And now that I’m here, basking in those amber eyes, I don’t want to go without that feeling again.

“I promise not to run away,” I say.

Slowly, carefully, Jefferson’s hand moves up toward my ear, brushing my hair away from my face.

“I’m gonna get you a phone if you want to call Olivia and your other friends.”

I shake my head at the thought of leaving with them. As much as I appreciate everything they did for me the last time I got away, I don’t want to drain any more of their resources. They’re so busy making plans, I imagine.

“Soon.”

I would like to see them at some point. Just not today.

He nods, then runs his hand down my arm from my shoulder, eventually taking my hand in his. My body tingling, I watch him lift my hand to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips over thesharp edges of my dry, cracked knuckles. I suck in a breath at the sensation. The skin there is rough from a month spent in the cold with nothing but a thin wool blanket. From drawing on concrete. From gripping the steel security bars in my cell window, hoisting myself up to try to see the sun.

“I’m sorry.”

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