Page 39 of Jersey

Wordlessly, he pulls out his phone and shoots off a text, one I have to presume goes to whichever guy will come to get his bike. I swear I may lose my mind if Jericho shows up outside my house. There are only so many interactions I can have with this man before I'll be forced to have a conversation with my client's parents.

The drive is silent as Roman takes the roads to my house as if he has driven there a hundred times. It's curious the ease with which he finds my home in the darkness after only being there once.

When he takes the final turn, the one that will lead him right to my doorstep, I turn to watch him, wishing the dash lights had the ability to light up his face a little more than they do.

He's rugged. His features cast more in shadow than in light.

He's not a classically handsome guy. There's an edge to his jawline that's almost too sharp to be considered the boy-next-door type. The stubble along his jaw makes me want to lean over and run my tongue along it, and that brings a flash of him wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me closer.

My body responds to such an image, but not in the same way it would if I imagined someone else touching me.

He looks over when I gasp.

"What's wrong?" he asks as he pulls into my driveway. "Did you see someone?"

His eyes are locked outside of the vehicle, and I'm grateful he isn't analyzing me the same way he is the darkness surrounding us.

"No," I manage. "Sorry. Thank you for driving me."

He opens the driver's side door at the same time I open mine. I want to tell him he doesn't have to walk me to the door, but then I remember we're in my car, and he has to wait for someone to come get him.

I'm torn between asking him in and the trouble that would bring and insisting he stay outside, which would be incredibly rude.

Just because he offered to drive me home, so I stayed safe, doesn't force me into a situation where I owe him anything. There's no reciprocity here, although I do feel like common courtesy wouldn't leave him hanging out in the darkness.

I still haven't made up my mind by the time we're both standing on my porch. The sound of a car engine pulls my attention to the street, and my knees grow weak when I see the car that drives by.

I can't see into the vehicle, but the car is identical to the man who threw gravel up outside the club not half an hour ago. It's too similar to be a coincidence.

"That motherfucker," he growls as the taillights light up at the end of the street before the vehicle turns right and disappears. "Do you know him?"

I snap my head back. "Excuse me?"

He keeps his eyes on the street as if he expects the guy to walk out of the shadows at any moment.

"How far-fetched would it be, Caitlyn?"

I don't bother justifying his question with an answer, but I'm stuck on the porch with him because I'd never be brave enough to snatch my keys from his hand to unlock the front door. It could lead to him putting his hands on me in a way that wouldn't make me gasp with arousal the way it did in the car.

He's slow to turn his eyes to me.

"It's not like you haven't been followed home before. Need I remind you of what happened right here last week?"

I swallow, the memories of what we shared always at the forefront of my mind since it happened.

"I'd like you to leave," I manage, my voice weak.

He shakes his head. "That's not going to happen. How do you know him?"

"I don't," I explain. "He's always at the club. Whispers stuff about hurting me. Tonight was the first night he met me in the parking lot. I don't know if he has followed me home before."

"He had to have," he says, flipping through my keys before turning to unlock the front door.

As always, Kiva starts to bark from the inside.

"We didn't have a tail coming here, which means he knew where you lived before tonight."

The idea of being here alone and vulnerable makes my entire body shiver.

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