Page 11 of Hothead

He didn’t regret asking though. He needed to know. Considering the content. “Okay, fine. How exactly did you meet my brother? Just through work?”

“He’s your brother now?” He simply shrugged at her dig. “Okay. Fine. I metyour brothera long time ago. When I was living on the street. He was working on his first solo documentary, and he asked if he could interview me.”

She was living on the goddamn street?

She said it so matter-of-factly. No emotion. Nothing. As if it wasn’t a big deal. It was a huge fucking deal. He must have blinked a few too many times because she took pity on him and elaborated.

“It’s not a big deal, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. But I will tell you about your brother. Anything you want to know. Like I said before, he was an amazing man. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him. I owe him everything.”

What does that mean?

Damnit. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he couldn’t do this. He could feel the pulse in his neck thumping. Surely that wasn’t a normal thing to feel?

Bella’s hand came to him, landing on his thigh as she leaned forward, offering him the same comfort he’d offered her earlier that day. Only doing it better.

“Why now?” Luke ground out. “Why not come to me a year ago ... five years ago ... ten? Why write this creepy ass death letter and have you hand deliver it to me? I mean, the guy was thirty-seven for fucks sake, it’s not like he was sitting around waiting to die ... not like he knew some psycho killer was gonna get him. I just don’t get it.”

He watched as her hand lifted and began fiddling with the hem of her shorts. He wasn’t going to let himself think about how much he missed her touch though.

“You’re right, thirty-seven is no age to be preparing for your death. But ... you have to understand that because of what he did, he put himself in dangerous situations. A lot. And y’know, there was this one time that we both got shot and I think—”

His scramble across the cushions cut her off. That and his hand cupping her face, lifting it all the way up until he was looking into silver again. “You got fucking shot?”

She didn’t speak, just nodded. Her eyes roamed his face with a curiosity he’d not seen before.

“Who the hell shot you?”

“Uh, well.” She batted her eyelashes at him then. Like they were talking about the weather and not her almost fucking dying. “We were in the Central African Republic, and we may have accidentally ended up in the middle of a shootout between rebels and security forces.”

Who is this woman?

“Central African Republic,” he repeated. Not even sure why. It was like his brain was melting. “Youaccidentallyended up in the middle of a shootout?”

Another nod. “It’s not like we planned to get shot, Luke. We’re not idiots.”

Oh, well. That’s fine then.

Fucking hell.

“I’m gonna have to take your word for that, angel.” He realized then that his hand was still on her, thumbing an impossibly silky cheek. But he didn’t move it. He just kept gliding. “Where were you shot?”

His eyes followed her movement as her fingers trailed along her left side. “Here. I was lucky, the bullet skimmed my side, so other than a gnarly scar, it wasn’t too bad. Marco, though ... he got shot in the leg. That was bad.”

His hand dropped from her face to her waist, a single digit slowly dragging her top up. She should have stopped him; he had no right to see and no right to touch her. But she didn’t. She kept her eyes on him. Even as his gaze dipped, he could feel the heat of her stare.

Letting his finger glide over the darkened skin and dip into the curve, he felt his heart speed up. He didn’t understand what was happening. But somehow he knew it was something he wasn’t equipped to handle. Which was enough to jolt him into action.

Pulling his hand back, he abruptly stood, swallowing hard as he got his first look at her confused expression.

“I have to go,” he announced. Not waiting for a reply, he went straight to the door and let himself out, shaking his head the whole way back to the car.

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