Page 26 of Damned
Chapter Thirteen
Am I going in or not?Bree fluttered her fingertips on her steering wheel, wishing she knew the answer to that million-dollar question. Dr. Packard had already waved when he’d walked by on his way into Morristown Community Center. A good-looking man, he was compassionate. Certainly worth following into that brightly lit brick building. Everything about the place looked cheery. Lively. Downright chipper, as her dad would say.
Yet Bree still sat frozen in her car, paralyzed with fear, like a panicked deer when it stepped into some car’s high beams on the freeway. Everyone within a hundred square miles would be able to see her once she stepped out of her car. She’d be a target. A skinny target, but still…
Am I going in or not?
Probably…
Maybe...
Maybe not...
She didn’t want to sit through any group therapy session, no matter how cute or kind the moderator. She wasn’t even sure she could, given her claustrophobia. Wouldn’t that be the worst, her screaming her head off and running out the door? Her hysteria was not what these other people needed. Besides, what possible good could come out of listening to their traumas and problems? Wouldn’t that just pile more stress and worry on her already stretched to the limit shoulders? Didn’t she have enough issues to deal with? Why take on more crap? Why, why, why was she even there?!
Am I going in or not?
Bree ran a trembling finger under her itchy nose, not sure how to answer that. Dr. Packard wanted her here because he thought the discussion, if there were one, might help. He’d invited a guest speaker. That was why she was here, because she knew she needed help, and handsome Dr. Packard was smarter than she was about these things. He had his medical degree. He’d persevered after his Navy career, and how unique was that—a vet becoming a no-kidding family practitioner? That had to have been tough. She respected Dr. Packard for throwing himself back into the college scene, all those tests, the cramming and deadlines. The college kids who thought they knew everything. He’d set quite an example to older adults. Bree wished she could be more like him. Confident. Professional. Calm.
But still…
This first step was so hard. She hadn’t gotten over her terror of Josephus or Berfendeyet. Or that stupid phone call. Would it hurt anyone if she backed her convertible ’61 Chevy Impala, now restored with its original 409 engine, dual-quad carbs, and four on the floor, out of this parking lot? What if she took the long way home with the wind in her hair, and never came back? She deserved a relaxing cruise, especially in this baby. She’d bought the car for next to nothing and, with her dad’s help, restored it mostly herself. It was summer, for heaven’s sake, the perfect time of year for an evening cruise. That would surely help more than listening to other people’s troubles.
But she had promised Dr. Packard she’d come, and she was here, and—
Tap, tap, tap.
Oh, Lord!Someone was standing beside her car. Right by her door. And she had the top down! Bree freaked, clenched the steering wheel so hard, it cracked. Or maybe that sound was her teeth. It took every last nerve just to turn her head and look and see… “K-K-Kruze?” she blurted, never so relieved in her life. “What are you doing here?” she all but screamed at him.
The biggest, warmest smile stretched over his handsome face. Lord, she’d thought of Kruze so much since Turkey, and he was here, and she loved him and… Bree couldn’t believe what she’d just thought. She loved this guy? Uh-uh.
“This ragtop’s yours?” Typical male incredulity at a woman’s diverse skills crinkled his handsome face.
Which Bree let slide because her heart was still pounding so hard, she was afraid she’d pass out. “Mine,” she breathed, already light-headed. “Dad helped me rebuild it back in high school.”Breathe, just breathe.
“You took auto shop?” Again with the sexist disbelief of every male chauvinist in the world.
Bree wanted to laugh at the comical expression on Kruze’s face. He’d scared her and saved her at the same time, but she was still falling apart. Silly tears flooded her eyes. He looked so darned good, but her teeth were chattering, and she was making a fool of herself, and—
Kruze opened her door and slid onto the bench seat with her, gently shifting her to the middle. Once inside, he curled an arm over the steering wheel and turned his big, wide, wonderful body toward her. That button-up shirt looked darned good on him, especially under his leather bomber jacket. Which instantly reminded Bree where his wallet was—in her top drawer.Oh, dear.
“Are you one of tonight’s speakers?” he asked. Shrugging out of the jacket, he tossed it into the backseat, the light in his eyes sparkly and welcome. But then his brows dipped. “What’s wrong, sugar?”
Bree wanted to scream,‘Everything!’But like the gentle man he could be—when he wasn’t being an ass—Kruze produced one of those mini-packages of tissues out of nowhere, pressed a thumbnail to the perforation, and offered it to her. Swallowing hard, Bree tugged a tissue out of the pack, then two more. Turning away from him, she blew her nose, wiped her eyes, stuffed that soggy tissue into her litter bag, and tried her darnedest to compose herself.
It didn’t work. The moment she turned back around, Kruze pulled her into his arms and under his chin, and she was a goner. Bree melted against that familiar powerful chest, unable to speak. This was who she’d needed these past miserable months. This man. His masculine scent in her nose and his genuine strength wrapped around her. When he squeezed and growled like he’d never let her go, he sounded just like Robin. Oh, Lord. She was so much like her father.
Bree fell apart, guilty as charged. She hadn’t realized she’d been strung so tight until now. Once again, she was safe. Everything about this man, even her secret, drew her like a moth to a flame. The rumbling purr when he’d kissed her. The intoxicating scent of cedar and spice on his chin and neck. The comforting power of his muscular biceps and forearms wrapped around her. His touch. Why couldn’t he ever just stay?
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered huskily, his lips pressing a hot brand on her forehead. “Don’t ask me why, sugar. I don’t usually think about a job once it’s done, but you…” He cupped her jaw and tipped her head back enough to look down at her, to hopefully, really see into her teary eyes. Into the woman she was, not the journalist he’d once hated.
Bree blinked up at him, her heart on the line all over again.
“You were more than just a job,” he murmured. “You’re something else, you know that? Ever since Turkey—” His fingers roamed into her hair, massaging her scalp and bringing life to her tense muscles, to her brain. “—I’m useless. Please don’t cry.”
They were sitting dangerously close. With her almost on his lap, Bree leaned into him. He was her kryptonite. She had no resistance.
Her view was blurry, but so, so good. Kruze had shaved. His beard was gone, and his hair was neatly trimmed on the sides of his head, but longer on top. He actually had short sideburns, but it was those longer locks up top that made her fingers itch to reach out and comb through them. They glistened in the ambient light, and they looked soft and lush.
