Page 63 of Truck Stop Tempest

I roughed a hand over her smooth stomach, then up to grope a tit. “You’ve called me scary more than once now. Yet, here you are, naked and exposed, at my mercy. You should be terrified.”

“Never.” She shook her head. “My beast can sense that your beast will never hurt her. That he’ll protect her.”

“Ah, Bunny.” I rolled on top of her, craving the skin to skin. “Hands down, that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Why no tattoos?”

“Never felt the need.”

“Really?” she asked, brow arched.

“Really.”

“That’s it?”

She wasn’t buying my lie.

“Yep.” I tweaked her nipple, hoping to derail her current train of thought.

That sweet little body writhed beneath me. “You’re afraid of needles, aren’t you?”

Fuck.

“No. Ink is forever. I’ve never found anything worth putting on my skin forever.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

She slapped my hand away from her chest. “You’re afraid of needles.”

Fuck. I couldn’t continue my charade. The girl was too damn cute and too fucking observant.

“Fine.” I sat back on my heels, trapping her legs between my knees. “I’m afraid of needles. You happy now? Not so badass, am I?”

Damn, that smile she wore lit the whole room.

“Why do you think you’re afraid of them?”

“Not sure. When I was a kid, Mom took me for a check-up. I got a look at the syringes laid out on the tray, and I bolted. They had to chase me down the corridor. I made it into the elevator before a nurse caught me.”

Tuuli’s rolling laughter made my humiliation worthwhile.

“I fell off my bike when I was seven. Tore my knee open.” I tapped the faint scar on my left leg. “My Pops drove me to the emergency room. When they pulled out the needle, I fainted in his arms.”

She laughed harder. God, she had a beautiful laugh.

“He never let me live that down.” I hung my head in shame. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this shit.”

She wiped her tear-soaked lashes and sucked in a sharp breath, releasing it slowly, pulling herself together.

I kissed a wet cheek and slapped her hip. “Your turn. What are you afraid of?”

“Thunderstorms,” she said without hesitation.

I didn’t laugh. I’d experienced her fear firsthand. “Why?”

“My brother and his friends tied me to a tree once.” Her breath hitched. That flawless, pale skin broke out in goosebumps.

I knew where the story was headed, but remained silent, stretching next to her and pulling the blankets over us.

“It started to rain. The boys ran into the house.” Her eyes glazed as if lost in the memory. “I screamed for Jonas, thinking he’d forgotten about me. He didn’t come back. I was freezing and hungry. Erik showed up a long time later with bloody knuckles. He didn’t untie me though. He just sat down, no fear of being struck by lightning. He didn’t laugh or taunt. Just watched. For hours. And every time the thunder boomed, he’d count, screaming numbers until the lightning flashed, then he’d stop and stare. And when the storm was right overhead, when the boom came, and Erik counted to one, and the lightning struck just across the field, he pulled a hunting knife from behind his back, cut me loose, and told me to run before I turned into a piece of crispy fried chicken.”

“Jesus Christ. How old were you?”

“Six.”

Fucking psychopath. Fuck. I wanted to kill Erik Meyer.

“The really messed up part?” she continued. “He made me thank him, in front of our parents, he made me stand there and thank him for saving me. Jonas showed up with a bloody nose and a split lip and got whipped for tying me to the tree in the first place.”

“Erik kept Jonas away, didn’t he?”

Tuuli nodded, curling into me. I pulled her close and combed my fingers through her messy hair. Was I soothing her, or myself? I wasn’t sure, because at that point, even with my girl tucked against me, I vibrated with rage, and all I wanted to do was hunt that crazy bastard down and make him bleed.

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