Page 18 of Driving Whiskey Wild
“Bullet, as I’ve said, I don’t know much about guys like you, and honestly, I’m not sure there are other guys like you. But you make me question who I am, which is something I thought I’ve known forever.”
A deep V formed between his brows. “Trust me, Fins, there’s nothing wrong with you. I’m pretty fucked up. But don’t worry. I won’t get in your way at the bar. I’ll take a step back while you finish your work. Go on, lollipop. Get inside so I know you’re safe.”
With a pang, she realized he’d misunderstood her intent. She stepped closer, her hand hovering around his waist, but there were so many bloodstains, and the magnitude of what he’d faced hit her with greater force, bringing rise to tears—for him and for the family he’d helped.
“Finlay,” he said in that gravelly voice that made her stomach dip.
She blinked away the tears and lowered her hand to his. His fingers curled around it, holding tight.
“I don’t want you to take a step back,” she said tentatively, unsure if he was purposefully trying to push her away because he wanted to, or doing so to protect her. She had a feeling it was the latter. “I don’t know what will happen between us, but you say I’m sunshine and you’re a winter storm. For me, knowing winter is on the horizon makes the oppressive days of long hot summers more bearable. And on the coldest of winter nights, I have summer to look forward to. They kind of complement each other.”
“I can’t change, lollipop. And I have a feeling you’re used to guys who can.”
“But that’s just it. I don’t want to change you, but I do want to understand you. To know what you’ve gone through and what has led you to become the man you are.”
He squeezed her hand, but his gaze shifted over her shoulder. His features were tight, as if he was struggling to keep a raw emotion in check.
Taking a cue from his way of doing things, she stepped into his line of sight and personal space. When their eyes connected, a different type of electricity sizzled between them. It was stronger, louder, and somehow also softer and more pliable than before. “If that makes you uncomfortable, then I don’t know. Maybe we can meet halfway? I’m an over-communicator. I know that.”
His mustache lifted with an almost smile.
There was no denying that they were on the opposite end of the communication spectrum, but her curiosity had grown to something much stronger, and she wanted to try to get to know him better. Though she wasn’t sure he’d ever really open up to her. But she’d been trying to ignore something that had been nagging at her, and she didn’t want to wonder about it anymore.
Swallowing hard, because she was a little afraid the answer might only be sexual, she asked, “Why do you like me, Bullet? I see you with someone much tougher.”
He was quiet for so long, she didn’t think he’d answer. When he finally spoke, his tone was warm and certain. “I’m not going to lie to you. At first it was purely physical. Your sweet little body and that smile knocked my boots right off, and your eyes. Jesus, Fins, your eyes fucking kill me. And then you were all ballsy and pushy, which totally turned me on.”
Heat spread across her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze.
He lifted her chin with his finger and said, “But then I saw you around town, and I swear you lit up the streets. You lit me up inside, and it’s been a damn long time since I’ve felt anything but darkness.” He shrugged. “How could I ignore the glow of an angel?”
“Bullet,” she whispered, completely taken with his honesty. “How can you be so hard one minute and so romantic the next?”
“I don’t know a damn thing about romance. I just say what I feel. I can’t explain it, and I’m no wordsmith, but when you stood up to me in the bar and you didn’t care how big I was or what I could do for you, like most people, you demanded my respect. I’m sure this isn’t what you want to hear, but I’m not used to women giving a shit about why I do things or what I really want, and honestly, I don’t usually have to talk at all. One look is enough to…” He shrugged, his gaze sliding up to the sky. When he looked at her again, he said, “I’ve unknowingly hurt you twice, Finlay. That’s not the man you deserve, or the man I want to be.”
“Well, not that it’s okay to hurt me, but you did tell me this afternoon that I’d misinterpreted what you’d said. That you weren’t calling me stupid, and tonight it sounds like you were a hero, so how can I not forgive you?”
“I’m nobody’s hero. I told you that.”
He was frustratingly modest, and that was another thing she wanted to understand, but for now she set that aside. She needed him to understand where she was coming from. “I don’t know if I’ll be okay with coming second, or seventeenth, or last in a long line of people who need you. That’s a hard concept to grasp, a little like accidentally putting salt in whipping cream instead of sugar. It could be a deal breaker, but that would be on me, not you. And I won’t know unless we try. But on the other hand, you might not want to be with a woman who is afraid of dogs and motorcycles.” Disquieting thoughts whispered in her mind. “We don’t make much sense.”
His arms came around her and he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her so tenderly, it felt like a dream.
“Nothing in my life makes sense, Finlay, but you fucking wreck me. I don’t know if I can give you the answers you need, but that’s on me,” he said, throwing her words back at her with a coy smile that warmed her all over. “And I’d rather try with you than walk away.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, quieting her troubled spirits enough for her to realize they were still standing in her front yard—and that in the space of an evening, everything had changed. She took his hand and led him up the porch steps. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and maybe we can salvage our first date.”
He stepped over the threshold, and she felt his hesitation, saw a mask of discomfort come over him like a veil. Her table and counters were covered with cookies, cupcakes, and tarts. “I cook when I’m having a hard time,” she explained as she carried the flowers he’d brought her toward the kitchen. She filled a vase with water, and as she put the flowers in it, she realized he hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was gripping the doorknob like a lifeline. “What’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the room. “I can’t be in here, Finlay. I’m sorry, but I can’t breathe. I need space.”
Her heart pitched, but could she blame him? After everything he’d been through? “Okay, then—”
He strode past her, opened the doors to the deck, and stepped outside. He gripped the railing as she had earlier, and his head fell between his shoulders. His silhouette looked even more imposing against the bluish hue of the moonlight, and at the same time, she sensed something subdued within him, like an injured wild animal.
“Are you all right?” she asked as she came outside. “Listen, Bullet, if what you said out there isn’t true, or you just said it so I wouldn’t be pissed, I get it. You don’t have to lead me on if I’m not what you want. You can walk away without any hard feelings.”
Without a word he pulled her into his arms, folding them around her like a vise, and held her. He didn’t speak, resting his cheek on top of her head. She didn’t know what to make of him, but she knew in her heart this was his way of saying he meant what he’d said. He held her there, with light spilling out the glass doors, rough decking beneath her bare feet, and the cool air sweeping over her back. But she wasn’t cold or uncomfortable, because after the initial awareness of those things, they fell away, overshadowed by the sound of his heart beating, the potent scent of his body, and the strength of his arms embracing her.
“Nothing in my life has ever felt real,” he said, holding her so tight it was as if he thought she might run away if he didn’t. “You do.”
“Then let me in,” she said softly.
Silence stretched between them. She tried to lean back so she could see his face, but he kept her there against him, cradled within his arms, beneath his cheek.
“I want to,” he said gruffly, “but it’s going to fuck with my head. I can’t be confined.”
“Confined as in, by me, or…?”
“Not you. I need space, but not from you. I need air, room to breathe, to deal.”
She tried to push from his arms again and his grip tightened. “Let me see you, Bullet,” she said firmly, and he reluctantly eased his hold. She gazed up at his stormy eyes. “Are you okay here on the deck?”
His fingers curled around her waist. “You should probably tell me to leave.”
“Your words say I should, but you’re holding me so tight that I don’t believe you want me to.”
“Because I don’t. But you fucking should.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re so rough and demanding. How about you let me make the decisions about who I spend my time with? Take that bloody shirt off. I’ll throw it in the wash and get something so we can clean you up, because I’m pretty sure if you can’t handle my living room, then you can’t handle my tiny bathroom.”
