Savage Love (Heatstroke Hearts Book 3), page 4
I fold my arms.
She tilts her head, her glossy dark locks chasing over her cheek, resting against her throat. I picture brushing them away and kissing that soft, supple, delicate neck. Closing my hand around it, pressing her against a wall, dominating her.
She is ten years younger than you. She is your best friend’s sister. You swore.
“What?” she asks. “Why do you always look like that? Like you’re about to rip somebody’s head off.”
“I made a promise to your brother,” I say.
“And you just do everything my brother says?”
“I’ll take you home. You can’t drive.”
“And you can?”
“Yes,” I say. “I haven’t had anything to drink.”
She bites her bottom lip, and she’s killing me.
“You know what?” Hannah lifts her phone and starts tapping away on the screen. “I think I’ll just call Todd. I’ll come by and get my car tomorrow, because I can’t deal with Cash right now, and I certainly don’t want to deal with this.” She shakes her hand toward me. “And, ugh. Just ugh.”
“What’s the problem? Your brother cares about you. He wants you to be safe.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m doing your one-day crash course, the self-defense thing. I can get behind that. That’s great, but the bodyguard thing? No. Hell no. Sorry.” And then she starts walking off.
I catch her by the arm and turn her around. “No.”
“No?” Her gaze drops to where my hand rests on her tan skin.
I pull away, wiping my hand on my jeans again. “No. If you call Todd, I’ll be taking a ride with him too. And once we get to your apartment, I’ll be posted outside your door all night.”
Her jaw drops.
“It will be more comfortable for me if I get to spend the night in my SUV, rather than on the steps of your apartment.”
“SUV?”
I point toward my SUV with blacked-out windows. It’s a new acquisition, and it has my logo “Savage Self-Defense” printed across the side. Looking at it makes me sweat. I like my privacy, and setting up the camp and the classes is working on my nerves, but it’s something I have to do. I’ve been running a few courses, but never a full-on camp.
“You can’t follow me.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” I say. “I will be following you. Closely. So either I take you home or Todd does, but we’re both going to your apartment tonight.”
She lets out a tiny breath, her lips parted.
I stare at them, and the seconds tick by, the tension bands across my chest.
“Fine,” she says. “Fine. Whatever. But tomorrow, you two, you and Cash, you’re going to pay for this.” And she goes as far as to poke me in the chest, right on my pec. She snatches her finger back. “Wow. That is… That’s hard.” And then she blushes and practically runs for my SUV.
Adorable.
I follow her and unlock it with a click of a button. She’s standing at the back door, but I walk to the front passenger door and open it for her. “In.”
Hannah blinks.
“I’m not an Uber driver. Get in the front seat.”
She walks over and grabs the door handle. I take her elbow and help feed her into the car safely, then let go like I’ve been burned, because I have. I have been burned by Hannah Taylor, not that I’ll let her know it.
I shut her door, then head over to my side and get in, starting the engine in silence.
Hannah puts on her seatbelt and stares out the window, which suits me fine. We don’t have to talk and make this worse, but I keep glancing at her, whenever I can, taking in her side profile, her cute nose, the glasses that are slipping down and that she keeps pushing back into place.
“I live above the bakery on—”
“I know.”
Her head whips around.
“We’ve been going to the same potluck dinner for years,” I say. “Did you think I wouldn’t know where you stayed?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t think you cared.”
I don’t step on that landmine.
I park in front of Bagel’s Bakery. “Stay in the car,” I say.
“But—”
I get out and slam the door, then head around the side of the brick building to assess the alleyway and the grated steps that lead up to the apartment. The alleyway ends in a chain link fence that would be easy to climb. It’s dark, the light from the lampposts barely reaching the first step. There are two green dumpsters that are shut.
I don’t like it one fucking bit.
There are plenty of places to hide, an escape route over that fence, and it’s dark. This will have to be remedied.
I open the dumpsters, check around them, jog up the stairs and back down them, and make sure the area is clear.
I walk back to the car and open her door.
“What are—?
“You’re going to listen to me,” I say, “and you’re not going to talk. Understand?”
She glares, her beautiful eyes narrowed almost to slits. My cock throbs in my jeans, and I want to punch a hole through a wall because of it.
“Understand?” I repeat.
“I’m confused,” Hannah says, “do you want me to talk or not?”
“Just say you understand.”
“Fine.” She sweeps a hand through the air. “I understand.”
I grunt. “The entrance to your building isn’t safe. From now on, I will be escorting you in and out of it. I don’t want to hear any complaints. You’ll move quickly and do as I say. If I say get down, you get down. If I say run, you run. Got it?”
She presses her lips into a thin line.
“Confirm that you got it.”
“But that would be breaking rule number one,” she says. “No talking. Because I’m a mute woman who needs to be cared for by a big strong man.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” I say.
Her expression shifts, a drawing downward of her brows, a widening of her eyes, and then she shakes her head. “Yeah.”
I hate this shit.
I’m aware that Hannah has a crush on me. Or she did. Seems like she hates me tonight.
Either way, it’s never going to happen. I won’t allow it.
I exhale. “There could be a fucking psycho with a knife in your dumpster, or waiting at the top of the stairs, and until that issue has been resolved, you’re going to do what I say.”
“How is the issue going to be resolved?” she asks.
Big foot in my big mouth.
Cash wouldn’t want his sister in on this shit.
“You said you were leaving town, didn’t you?” I ask, deadpan.
“Right.”
She slips out of the car, handbag over her shoulder, phone in hand.
“Follow me, and move fast.”
I lead her toward the entrance and up the stairs. Once we hit them, I walk behind her, creating a protective barrier between her and the stairs, my gaze fixed on the empty landing.
Hannah pauses on the steps and looks around. “This is crazy. You and Cash are out of your minds, I swear.”
“You have a stalker.”
She doesn’t argue but gets her keys out of her purse and inserts them into the lock. She turns it and opens the door, and I step through.
“Hey, I didn't even invite you in,” she cries, but I’m already moving through her house, checking the closet, under the bed, anywhere a man could hide. I force down the memory of the last time I was in here.
Thankfully, it’s a small apartment, so the search goes quickly.
I find her standing in the living room, hugging herself, her purse on the coffee table. “I hate this,” she says.
“Good night, Hannah. Lock the door behind me.” And then I walk for the exit, because the scent of her perfume is on the air, and being in her personal space is doing things to me I don’t want to think about.
Even if Hannah Taylor wasn’t off-limits, even if she wasn’t younger than me, I don’t have enough pieces of a heart to give to any woman, let alone Hannah. Hannah who deserves a life of joy, a man who can love her.
I pause at the door. “Keep it locked,” I repeat.
“Okay.” She stands there, painfully pretty, her nipples plucking at the front of her camisole, her bottom lip caught between her lips. “Goodnight.”
I slam the door shut and wait for her to lock it, then jog down the stairs and get into my SUV. I punch the dashboard so hard it cracks.
Seven
HANNAH
Savage knows I have a crush on him, and he avoids me like I’m carrying the plague. And that’s why Cash forcing him to be my bodyguard is the worst. First, because it’s degrading and second, because I know Savage doesn’t want to spend time around me.
He touches me and then wipes his hand off on his jeans. He gets angry when he looks at me.
I sit on my living room sofa, frozen, my mind traveling back to that night, the scent of his cedar and smoke cologne trapped in my nose.
It wasn’t that long ago. Just a couple of weeks.
Marci was upset and I took her to Longhorn’s for some girly day drinking. Jesse took her home, and he called Savage to fetch me. And after tequilas and enough cocktails to tranquilize a horse, you would think I wouldn’t remember it in painful detail.
But I do.
Oh my God, do I remember it. I cover my eyes, my cheeks heating.
Savage feeds me into the back of his SUV and leans across me, clipping on the seatbelt. I smile up at him, because, what the fuck? Why not?
He might hate me, but he’s so gorgeous, and I am so tired of holding back. So tired of wanting a man who doesn’t want me.
Why is it that the only guys who are interested in me are people like Franklin? Ugh. Men who are walking red flags, who see me as an object?
Savage peers at me. “You good?”
“You have pretty eyes,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes at him.
Savage makes a noise that might be a laugh, and his dark eyes pinch at the corners. “Tell me if you need me to stop the car. Lie down if you need to.”
“Okay.” And then I flop sideways with a sigh.
Savage gets into the car, and the engine purrs to life. I drift in and out, the SUV spinning around me, as I stare at his muscular arms, hands on the wheel of the car, his beard, the tattoos inked along his strong neck.
A while later, we park, and an influx of cool air tells me that the door is open. “We’re here,” he says, and then gentle hands lift me upright.
“Thanks,” I manage, as he unclips my seatbelt and lifts me out of the back of the SUV into his strong arms.
I loop my arms around his neck and snuggle in close, pressing my nose to his neck, inhaling deeply.
He stiffens.
But I can’t help myself. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, and hell, it’s probably the last time I’ll ever get to feel his arms on my body.
This is wrong.
Or maybe it’s right. Maybe Savage likes me?
It’s a tequila-addled thought, but I don’t care.
The door slams shut, and I’m carried upward. I stare up at the side of his face, and my finger moves to his beard. “This is nice,” I say. “Your beard. I like the way it looks on you.”
His breaths come quickly. I’m not imagining it, right?
“Your keys,” he says.
“Oh, they’re in my purse.” I struggle, trying to get it off my shoulder where I hooked it at some point during the night. I don’t remember when.
“I’ve got it.” He takes the purse from me, and gets the keys out of it. He opens my apartment door one-handed then carries me inside, tucking a hand over the back of my head to keep it safe.
Lights flare, and I blink and shut one eye. I catch a glimpse of my living room before I’m carried through to the bedroom and set down on the bed.
“Can you sit up?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think so.” I struggle upright, and he guides me. I sit on the bed, bracing my hands on the floral sheets, and watch as Savage carefully removes my shoes, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin on my ankles and feet.
It’s obscene, this huge man bowed before me, removing my shoes, and it makes my heart thrum in my chest, and a terrible, naughty idea forms in my mind.
He’s so caring with me. So gentle. Surely that means something? It can’t just be because I’m part of the Taylor family or because I’m Cash’s sister, right?
“Savage?” I whisper.
He’s just removed my second shoe and set it aside. He frowns and looks up at me. His thighs are encased in jeans, and they look as if they barely fit, as if they’re so strong he might just burst out of his clothes. God, I wish that would happen.
No, I wish he would take them off for me.
“Can you help me with my clothes?” I ask.
“Hannah.”
“Please,” I say. “I don’t want to sleep in jeans and a sweater.”
His jaw works, and his pupils dilate.
“Please,” I repeat it sweetly.
He gets up and then he takes my hands and stands me upright. He holds me in place with one arm looped around my middle while he unbuttons my jeans and strips them down my legs. He lifts one foot and removes a pants leg, and then does the same with the other.
The cool air brushes against my skin. I struggle to remember which underwear I chose today. The pink lace? Please, let it be the pink lace.
Savage stands and keeps his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall.
“My sweater,” I say.
His strong, callused fingers brush over my stomach, and I inhale.
“That feels nice,” I whisper.
“Hannah.” It’s a warning.
“Please,” I murmur. “I’ll be good.”
Savage’s nostrils flare, but he takes the hem of my sweater and pulls up. He helps me get it off. I rest my hands on his chest to keep my balance, and his gaze snaps to my face then down an inch to my chest.
I look down too, and I am, indeed, wearing the pink lacy bra.
Yes.
He grinds his teeth audibly.
“Savage,” I whisper softly, and move my arms, loop them around his neck, my gaze imploring. “Can you help me into bed?”
His hands are at his sides, and I don’t like it. I want him so bad, I ache for him. I don’t care if it’s pathetic, or if it’s one night that I’ll regret for the rest of my life, because I just know that touching Savage will ruin me.
I run my hands up the back of his neck and into his dark hair.
His gaze doesn’t flinch. His hands come up and he loops one arm around my waist. He lowers me onto the bed carefully, but he’s not coming down with me.
I pull on him, tipping us backward so that he lands, arms on either side of my body, his hot weight held above mine. His gaze tracks over my face and down to my body, and I swear desire flares in that look. Or maybe I’m lying to myself.
“Hannah, what are you doing?”
“I want you,” I say. “Okay? I want you. Please.”
“Hannah.”
“I want you so bad I can’t think straight,” I whisper. “I want you inside me.”
“No.”
“No?”
He shakes his head firmly. “No. You and I will never happen,” he says. The last two words are sharp and harsh. “Never.” And then he pushes off the bed and looks away. “Get under the covers.”
My insides boil with shame, and I crawl under the duvet and drag it up to my chin. Tears prick at the sides of my eyes, and I turn my back on him. Hating that I tried, hating that I want him.
He switches off the light. “Goodnight, Hannah.”
The memory runs on repeat through my mind, and it’s so clear, the pain, the shame, Savage’s expression when he told me he would never want me, that it’s like I’m reliving it for the fiftieth time. I keep torturing myself with that memory, and it makes me angry.
Why? What’s wrong with me?
Because I’m Cash’s sister? Because he doesn’t find me attractive?
Either way, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me. And I’ve made it clear that I want him. And now, it’s awkward, and I simply cannot be trapped with him watching my every move.
I can’t even be in the same town as him. How am I going to survive him being around me constantly?
I forced myself onto him. I made a fool of myself. I upset him.
And I’m never getting drunk in front of him ever again. Not only did I lose my dignity, but I lost my mother’s bracelet and my favorite lipstick that night.
“You’re okay, this is fine,” I say, into my empty living room. “He’s out there, and you’re in here, and you are never going to act the fool around him ever again. You are never going to tell him you want him again. You’re going to leave. Simple. It’s only a couple of weeks until you go, so…”
And now, I was talking to myself like a crazy person.
I force myself off my sofa and get ready for bed. I shower, brush my teeth and put on my comfiest PJs—pink cotton shorts and a cotton strappy top—and then I shut off the lights and lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
“No. You and I will never happen.” The words, rumbled in his deep voice, come back to me again and again.
“Ugh. Stop it. Stop.”
What is he even doing out there? Just sitting in his car? Sitting in his car and staring at my apartment against his will? It’s bad enough that I threw myself at him, now he’s out there when he doesn’t want to be. God, the only saving grace in this situation is that it doesn’t seem like he told Cash about what happened. If he had, I would’ve dissolved into a librarian-shaped puddle of goo.
I get out of bed in the dark and walk through to the living room. I twitch the curtains back and peer down at the sliver of the street I can see from my front window.
Savage leans against the front of his SUV, his arms folded, and his head tilted back, staring directly up at me.
I almost flinch back, but I stop myself.
