Page 40 of Jersey

"I'm not leaving you alone. Get inside."

I don't bother to argue this time, reaching down to pick up Kiva the second I step inside. He stays on the porch in complete darkness as he pulls out his phone.

Chapter 16

Jersey

It all makes perfect sense now.

I just read the clues wrong.

I wasn't put in her path because she was here to tempt me or ruin my life.

She's a woman in need like so many others I've come face-to-face with.

We've done things I was never meant to do, but those are issues I'll have to deal with at a later time.

I shoot off a text to Lark to give him a broad explanation of what's going on before stepping back into her house.

Most people would want to curl up and hide, but that's not how I operate. She's standing across the room, holding that little dog as if the thing could provide some sort of protection. Besides an early warning bark, it doesn't look like it could do much. Hell, the thing seems to be shaking just as hard as she is, and I have no doubt it's feeding off her fears.

I pull the cord on her blinds, opening them all the way so I can see if that piece of shit drives by. I have no idea how he plans to react after I hit him in the nose in the club parking lot, but it might've brought on more trouble than he was initially planning. It annoys the shit out of me that my inability to control my temper might've put her in more danger, but nothing good comes from a man following a woman home without her permission.

I try not to internalize that thought, considering that's exactly what I did. I don't like comparing myself to other assholes who might mean someone harm, but the facts are there like a beacon in the darkness, telling me that I have some shit of my own to work on.

"Shouldn't you keep that closed?" she asks.

"Need to see what's going on," I mutter, standing by the window when the whisper in my head tells me I should be comforting her right now.

I can't believe that whisper any longer. Before her, it would be what kept me out of trouble. It kept me safe. My intuition has been spot-on for years. I've never been put in a situation where I needed to doubt it until her.

Now, I don't know what to trust.

I'm just grateful to be inside and off the damn porch because the memories of the two of us out there last week were enough that I swear I could still smell the scent of her arousal on my skin, and now is not the time to be thinking about the grip of her pussy on my cock. Not when she's in real danger.

"Would you like something to drink?"

I look over my shoulder, a second away from asking her what she thinks this is, but that seems rude. The woman might've put herself in the path of someone else, someone who might want to hurt her, but she doesn't deserve to be victimized any more than she deserves my judgment over her choices.

"What do you have?" I ask.

"Milk."

She gives me a faint smile when I scrunch up my nose, and it makes her look so young, nothing like a woman who is seeking something in a sex club.

"Whiskey?" I ask instead of openly questioning why she'd put herself in danger, rather than offering to give her exactly what it is she's seeking just to keep her safe.

She shakes her head. "I don't drink. There's no alcohol here."

"Good girl," I whisper, my tone raspy and full of more suggestion than it should be.

She swallows, her hand running down her dog's back differently from before.

"Water would be great," I say, needing a reprieve from the way she's staring at me right now. "Anything wet really."

Jesus, did I just say that?

Good girl?

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