Page 47 of Stolen for Keeps
I turned, already walking toward my car.
He didn’t dignify that with a reply. He just moved fast. I managed maybe five hobbled steps while he took two. And suddenly, he was behind me.
Then I was airborne, scooped up like a stubborn raccoon he’d apparently decided was now his responsibility.
“Noah!”
“You almost died,” he said, his eyes fierce—angry almost. “Which part of that hasn’t landed yet?”
I wriggled in his arms. To hell with the pain. I wasn’t exactly trying to escape, but trying to save face. “Cut me some slack, okay?”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Noah—”
He stopped at the truck door, his gaze pinning me. “You’re not in charge here.”
“Neither are you!”
“You’re in my arms.”
That shut me up.
I was in his arms. And dammit, it felt right.
He opened the door and set me down with a touch that walked the line between gentle and unyielding, like he wasn’t sure whether to cradle me or shake some sense into me.
“I hate how good you are at this,” I muttered.
He gave me the faintest smirk. “Yeah, well. I hate that I had to be.”
He shut the door with a clipped motion, his hand lingering on the handle.
Then he rounded the truck, and we drove.
A few minutes in, his hand drifted across the cab, his fingers brushing mine like I wasthatrescued raccoon who might bite. I caught it anyway.
“There was someone else with you,” he said, squeezing my palm. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Can we just leave it?”
“No.” His voice was rough. “You nearly went over a cliff, Maya. I’m not letting this go. Who was he?”
“Napoleon.”
He made a noise, half disbelief, half fury. “Don’t joke.”
“I’m not. He said his name was Napoleon. Claimed he was scouting wedding venues.”
Noah’s grip tightened on the wheel. “What did he do?”
“I helped him, and I slipped. He was pulling too hard. Then he just…left me.”
His tone dropped to something lethal. “He’ll never get near you again. I swear it.”
“Don’t go full sheriff on me.”
“I’m not the sheriff,” he muttered. “But we’re going to him. After I take care of your strain.”
