Page 49 of Return of the Bad Girl (Rock Canyon, Idaho 4)

ed out to brush her hair back, and his fingertips grazed her forehead, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“Why do you care?”

“I told you. Your crazy became my crazy the second I let you move in.”

“You mean when you stole my apartment.” A small smiled stretched his full lips and before she could stop herself, she said, “You should do that more often.”

“What?”

Boldly, she placed two fingers on his bottom lip. “Smile.”

“I smile,” he said.

“Not that sarcastic grin you use or the one you think is charming,” she said, dropping her hand from his mouth. “I mean a real smile.”

He paused. “I guess I don’t have a lot to smile over.”

The conversation was fast becoming personal and intimate, two things that made Caroline squirm.

“I appreciate the help, really, and I’m sorry that I sort of fell apart on you, but this really isn’t your problem. There’s no roommate code, nothing in our little arrangement that says you have to step in and take on my issues.”

“When your issues follow you home and assault you in the alley below our apartment, it becomes my business.”

She bent over and picked up the kittens’ box. “It’s going to be better for both of us if you stay out of it, okay? Besides, aren’t you the guy who said you’re not a hero?”

Chapter Fourteen

“What’s the point of living in a small town if you can’t get up in someone else’s business every once in a while?”

—Miss Know It All

GABE WALKED OUT of Honey’s assisted-living facility, carrying the painting she had made for his new place in his hands. He’d grabbed a protective bike bag to transport it home, once Sharla had given him the heads up. Honey had been in a good spot today, almost like her old self, asking him about his motorcycle and what girls he was interested in.

It was a good day when she remembered nothing of the accident and still looked at him with hero worship in her eyes.

He usually called before heading up for a visit, but he had needed to get out of the house this weekend. Since he’d started asking questions of Caroline about the man who’d assaulted her last week, she had been avoiding him like the plague.

And he’d made it easy for her. Not because he didn’t want to see her, but because of the emotions her attack had stirred in him. He’d wanted to wrap her up and keep her close, to never let her out of his sight.

Too bad he hadn’t gotten a good look at the fucker. Whoever he was, Caroline was clearly scared of him. Holding her in his arms, he could still remember the way she’d trembled. Caroline was a strong woman, and to see her so vulnerable made him want to tear someone apart.

By the time he parked on the street two hours later, it was close to five thirty. He had planned to stop by Chase’s tattoo shop to go over the logo design for Moriarty’s Custom Bikes, but feeling grimy, he climbed off the bike and pulled out the painting. He would hang it and then get cleaned up.

Gabe walked through the alleyway and took the stairs two at a time. The draw of a hot shower was so exciting, he pushed open the door too quickly and hit the wall behind with the knob.

“Crap, what are you doing?” Caroline yelled as she came around the corner. “I do not want to pay a massive bill at the end of this lease because you come through the door like the Incredible Hulk.”

Gabe didn’t say a word; he simply stared at her as he set the painting down gently against the wall. She looked good all the time—she had been a knockout in that black dress at Buck’s—but tonight . . .

Tonight, she was like a damn siren in a pair of fuck-me heels.

Her long dark hair was swept back and to the side, her brown eyes surrounded by smudgy black eye shadow. Her lush lips looked wet, and it gave him all kinds of ideas of how they’d feel, kissing their way along his body and around a certain part of his anatomy that was suddenly standing at full attention. The dress she had on was royal purple with a light shimmer to it, the heart-shaped neckline creating a deep V of cleavage that made his hands eager to squeeze and test the weight of her breasts. And then there were her shapely legs, sliding down into leopard-print heels. Leave-them-on-while-you-screw-me heels.

He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to his room, where he’d strip her out of everything but those shoes.

Suddenly, it occurred to him she wasn’t dressing for his benefit, and his jaw clenched. It was hard to deny the sudden urge to pound whoever she’d had in mind when she’d dolled herself up, and he knew it was unreasonable. He had no right to be jealous; she was a free agent who could go out with whomever.

He didn’t have to like it, though.

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