Page 12 of Forbidden Love

“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet and steady, but something in her eyes—resignation, exhaustion—made him pause. “It’s not worth it. I’m leaving anyway.”

“The hell it isn’t,” he growled, his jaw tight as he shot the men a glare that promised this wasn’t over.

Deb shook her head, reaching for her bag. “Don’t make a scene. Please.”

“Deb,” Brock started, his voice rough with frustration.

She shook her head, pulled out some money, and set it on the table. “I’m just going to go.”

Brock exhaled sharply, snatching up the bills and pressing them back into her hand. “I’ve got this,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. He pulled out his wallet, dropping his own money on the table in its place.

For a second, she just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she exhaled and nodded. “Thanks.”

Without another word, Brock guided her toward the door, his presence solid beside her as they stepped out into the night. The door shut behind them, cutting off the laughter lingering inside.

Brock clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. “They shouldn’t have said that.”

Deb let out a short, humorless laugh. “Brock, you think that’s the worst thing people have said about me?”

“That’s not the point.”

She stopped walking, turning to face him under the dim glow of the streetlight. “Then what is the point?”

“The point is, they don’t get to talk to you like that.” His voice was low, rough. “I don’t care what you did in your past. You are still a lady and should be treated as such.”

Deb looked at him for a long moment. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. “Let it go, Brock.”

That was the last fucking thing he wanted to do, but he would...for now. She stopped once they reached the road, looking up at him.

“Thanks for dinner.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked embarrassed, and that pissed him off even more. “Next one...”

“Next one...what?” He pressed when she let her words trail off.

“Nothing. Just thanks.” She started to walk away but stopped when he began walking with her. “Ah, you don’t have to walk me home.”

“Yes. I do.” Brock said with a frown, and he knew what she had been about to say. “And yes, there will be a next time because I enjoy your company, and no, you will not be paying.”

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” She said, giving him a narrowed eye stare.

“Look at you, knowing me so well,” Brock threw her words back at her.

A genuine smile broke over her face. “Okay, fine.”

Brock nodded, satisfied, and they continued walking. The night air was warm, carrying the distant hum of crickets, and the faint scent of rain filled the air.

He didn’t know what it was about this complex woman that made him want to know her—to really know her—but he wasn’t going to ignore it.

And if he had to be stubborn to get past her walls? Then so be it.

CHAPTER 7

Brock walked away from Deb’s house, his rage returning full force.

The walk had been mostly silent, tension hanging thick between them. Deb had thanked him again—first for dinner, then for walking her home—but her voice had been quiet, almost distant. And when she’d glanced up at him, her eyes kept shifting away from his gaze as if she was still embarrassed by what had happened in the diner.

That sat wrong with him. Real fucking wrong.

He didn’t know Deb well, but he knew enough. Working with her on the Crumpton property, talking to her over dinner, watching the way she carried herself—she was a proud woman. But this town, these people, had chipped away at that pride until she was folding in on herself, piece by damn piece.

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