Page 2 of Cold as Stone
I nursed the biggest crush on him. The can’t-breathe, can’t-speak, write-his-name-in-the-margins-of-your-math-book kind.
But I never told anyone.
Not even Emma.Especiallynot Emma.
Lee had that lazy, untouchable energy that made you wonder if he evenknewhow attractive he was—or if he just didn’t care. He’d always been tall, lean, and ridiculously good-looking. Half the girls in our grade had dated him, and the other half had wished we were able to.
He had this way of lookingthroughpeople, not cruel, just… unreachable. But every now and then, you’d catch his attention and it would be on you—completely. I lived for those moments,when he’d flash his sideways smirk, lazy and amused, seemingly impressed that you could engage his attention.
He could have easily been an ass, but for some reason that wasn’t who Lee was. He was the kind of guy who always slid me the last piece of pizza, seemingly knowing I was starving but too polite to take it. He’d been Emma’s champion, carrying her backpack when it was too heavy, and warning her about guys who weren’t good enough for his little sis.
He had this way of being quietly protective without making a big deal about it. Like the time Danny Morrison was giving me grief about being trailer trash. Lee just… appeared. He hadn’t said a word. Just stood there, all six-foot-two of controlled danger. Danny hadn’t bothered me again.
But when he got mad—really mad—it was like watching a summer storm. Not wild or explosive. Just focused. Controlled. Terrifying in the way distant thunder is, because youknowthe storm is coming, and you know it’s going to be biblical.
But that boy? He’s long gone.
My gaze drifts up, noting that he’s filled out, his shoulders now broad enough to block the porch light. His dark hair is shorter, military-neat but long enough on top that it falls across his forehead. A few days’ worth of stubble shadows his jaw, and there’s a hardness in his eyes that was never there before.
But it’s the leather cut stretched across his chest that stops me cold.Stoneheart MCarcs across his shoulders in bold white letters.Prospectis patched beneath it, marking him as someone working to earn membership in the club.
Damn and double damn.
Lee’s eyes go wide as they take me in. My soaked clothes cling to every curve of my too-abundant body. My bare feet burn with cold, and I’m painfully aware that I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand.
“Shit.” His voice is deeper than I remember, rougher around the edges. “Kya?”
The sound of my name on his lips hits me like a physical blow. I haven’t heard it said with anything approaching tenderness in so long that I almost start crying right there on his doorstep.
Instead, I turn away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—this was stupid. I’ll just?—”
His hand closes around my arm before I can take a step, firm but gentle. His skin is warm against mine, and I can feel the calluses on his palm, the strength in his fingers.
“Whoa. Stop.” He tugs me back around to face him, his brow furrowed with concern. “What the hell happened to you?”
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. My jaw won’t work right, my teeth chattering too hard to form words. All I can do is stand there and shake like a leaf in a hurricane while he studies my face with those penetrating green eyes.
“Christ,” he mutters, and then his hand is on my back, guiding me through the door. “You’re frozen solid. Come on.”
The warmth inside hits me like a wall, and I gasp at the sudden change in temperature. The house is full of noise and bodies—men in leather cuts clustered around the kitchen island, a few women in tight jeans and barely-there tops draped over various pieces of furniture. Someone’s playing pool, the crack of balls echoing over the music.
They all turn to look when Lee guides me inside, and I want to disappear. I’m acutely aware of how I must look like a drowned racoon. Next to these put-together women with their perfect hair and confident smiles, I feel like exactly what I am, a scared little girl.
But Lee doesn’t seem to notice their stares. He keeps his hand on my back, steering me toward the stairs.
“Lee?” one of the men calls out—a guy with graying temples and a patch I can’t quite make out on his cut. He’s older than most of the men in the room, more weathered, but his eyes are kind when they land on me. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, Duck. Just taking care of something.” Lee’s voice is carefully neutral, but there’s an edge to it that makes the other man nod and turn back to his conversation.
The stairs creak under our combined weight as Lee guides me up, his hand never leaving my back. The hallway at the top is dimmer, lit only by a small lamp on a side table. Family photos line the walls showing Emma at various dance recitals, Lee in his military dress uniform, the whole family at some long-ago Christmas.
He pushes open the bathroom door and flips on the heat lights.
“Shower. Now.” His tone brooks no argument. “Hot as you can stand it. I’ll grab you some clothes.”
I nod mutely, still too cold and shocked to protest. He starts to leave, then pauses in the doorway.
“Kya.” His voice is softer now, almost gentle. “You’re safe here. Okay?”
