Page 55 of Wreck Me

Whelp, time for another round of pacing!

As he neared the entrance to the gravel drive, the faint crunch of approaching footsteps reached his ears. Was it Ginny,or just Sadie coming to tell him it was a no-go (or even laugh at him)?

Taking a few steps down the drive, his spirits lifted to see that Sadie had delivered on her promise. Ginny herself was striding up the ridge in cut-off jean shorts and a faded lavender tee. He longed to see the expression on her face, but her gaze seemed resolutely glued to the stones under her hand-painted, day-glow sneakers.

His heart squeezed out several unnecessary and unnerving beats as a roil of terrifying emotions replaced his relief. He had imagined meeting Ginny here a thousand times, yet he somehow forgot to mentally and emotionally prepare for the mere sight of her. Even the purposeful way she moved up the ridge set the air aquiver with her energy. How could such an outsized personality fit into so tiny and perfect a form? He’d seen it in the way she wielded her paint brush high on a ladder at their very first meeting. He’d felt it in the way she talked about how much the home he had abandoned meant to her. What a fool he had been not to realize in that long-ago moment that there was no point trying to escape his fate.

It didn’t help that her shorts showed off her shapely legs and her tee clung to her skin in ways that suggested thin cotton weave had been invented with Ginny’s curves in mind. A few short months ago, he’d discovered how perfectly that body nestled against his. Then, like a royal idiot, he went and ruined everything.

She continued walking until she was level with him, then looked up. She was still half a dozen paces away. And if a gaze could brand skin, there’d be a black and smoking mark etched across his forehead. He winced at the thought but reminded himself that things could be worse. She could have done an about-face when she spotted him. She could be hurlingexpletives as she ordered him to leave what was legally her property. Perhaps he could salvage this after all?

But instead of the heartfelt speech he’d rehearsed, his spasming throat coughed out, “Ginny.” It sounded more like the croak of a dying frog than her beautiful name.

“Nico,” she said coolly. “I guess my little sister is to blame for this. What are you doing here?” She apparently wasn’t having the same difficulties finding her tongue.

He forced himself to look directly into those burning green eyes. “I had to talk to you.”

“Telephones were invented some time ago.”

“There’s…something I want you to see.”

Her lips pressed into a thin, skeptical line as she tilted her head toward the lot. “Up there?”

He nodded.Breathe, Nico, breathe.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What is it?”

“It’s best if I don’t try to explain, but it won’t take a minute. Please?”

Her eyebrows formed into a deep V. “This isn’t just another trick of yours?”

His body stiffened as it absorbed the expected blow. “I promise it’s not.”

She started walking up. “You’ve got one minute.”

He followed without speaking, keeping two paces behind her. He had broken her trust—even if inadvertently—and he’d do anything now to afford her some sense of control over the situation. He also didn’t want to miss one scintilla of her reaction when she reached the top, knowing full well it would mean either his salvation or his ruin.

26

Ginny wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to keep her limbs moving in a coordinated way as she marched the remaining yards to the top of the driveway, Nico at her heels. How could there be something she needed to see at an empty lot? But she welcomed any excuse to put distance between them, because the more she inhaled his scent, the weaker and more vulnerable she became. She’d forced her voice to behave, but barely. Short sentences only.

At least she’d managed a decent death stare. He’d even cringed! But that small triumph had backfired, because once again she’d seen the hurt little boy in him—the one who’d asked Santa to protect his mother from his abusive father for Christmas—and her resolve to keep him cowering had nearly collapsed.

She was moving now too, and moving always felt better than not moving. She’d go up and see the lot like he asked, decide whether Sadie’s promises about him had any basis in fact, and then give Monique the green light to sell the lot. With any luck, somebody in one of these mansions needed a potato shed with a view.

“Ah!” she yelled as a tiny flying creature suicided straight into her left eye.

Nico was instantly beside her. “What’s wrong?”

Her cornea erupted in burning protest at having six tiny, jagged, flailing legs on its tender surface. “B-bug!” she cried as her eye gushed with tears.

“Okay, okay, give it ten seconds,” he said. “Don’t rub at it. Just let your tears clear it. That’s their job.” He clamped a hand on her upper arm, but just enough to steady her on the steep slope while she alternately blinked and held her eye closed. After about eight seconds, he gave her arm the gentlest squeeze. “Perfect. You’re doing great.” The sensation of his fingers, strong but supportive, in combination with his soothing voice, reminded her of the morning he’d checked her ankle for breaks. “Is it feeling any better?”

And, as if he had willed it so, suddenly it was. She fluttered her eyelid, feeling for any lingering irritation, but there was none. “I think it’s all gone. Stupid bug.”

“Insects may play an important role in art history, but not so much in ophthalmology, huh?”

She didn’t laugh but was touched he remembered their conversation. “No, not so much.”

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