Chapter 12: One Bossy Proposal: An Enemies to Lovers Romance: Chapter 12

Ican’t believe I let her in on this.

Hopefully, Wyatt doesn’t rip my head off in the process.

The town car pulls up as I walk toward her, an added quickness in my step.

I don’t want her alone in the dark here, even with Louis looking after her.

Most of the people aren’t dangerous. They’ve been dealt a shit hand by life, but chaos always draws bad actors. Drugs and alcohol also run rampant here, creating a volatile environment where anything can happen in the blink of an eye.

As soon as the car stops, she steps out, balancing the medical supply box and the Sweeter Grind rolls. I move in, holding my arms out as I catch up.

“Give me the heavier box,” I say.

“You’ll have to get it. If I try to toss it over, I’m going to drop everything.”

Placing my hand under the large box on the bottom of her stack, I slide it out.

“Stay close,” I warn her, casting a wary glance through the dimly lit tents and squaring my shoulders.

“What if I don’t want to?” she whispers.

“Do it anyway. This isn’t always the safest place.”

From the corner of my eye, she grins like the wicked little angel she is.

“Mr. Burns, are you about me?”

Damn her, I am.

I also hate to admit I’m having second thoughts. I shouldn’t have brought her. Part of me wants to stuff her back in the car with Louis and tell him to take her straight home.

What was I thinking? If it wasn’t for that meeting across town—but even I need a little honest help sometimes.

“I’m worried about getting smacked in the face with a lawsuit,” I lie, glowering at her.

She laughs like the spoiled brat she is.

“Okay. Whatever you say, bossman. I’ll try not to make you five million bucks poorer if I get stabbed.”

No fucking comment.

I lead her to Wyatt’s tent. It’s only a short distance, thankfully, and I move with her like I’m back in the service. I only escorted VIPs a few times at an airfield, but I know enough to make an effective bodyguard.

Even when I’m the dolt who put her in a place where she protecting.

I hear Wyatt before I’m even at the mouth of his tent. A deep wheezing comes from inside, followed by a deep, rattling cough that almost sways the tattered canvas, and a gurgling sound that scares me.

Dakota stops when she hears it and meets my gaze, her eyes wide.

“Umm—is he okay?”

Fuck, I hope so.

I tap on the tent with my fingers, “knocking” the best I can.

“Wyatt? You good in there?” I call, pushing the front of the flap aside.

He doesn’t even leave it zipped, assuming the zipper itself isn’t broken.

A pale, rough face pops out before I get a good look inside. I jump back as Wyatt sticks his head out and spits.

Christ.

I hook my arm around Dakota’s waist, tugging her back just in time to miss a thick loogie that lands near her feet. I hope being a Poe means she isn’t grossed out easily.

My attention flicks back to my friend as he stumbles out of the tent a second later, trying to clear what sounds like wet cement in his chest.

“I’m fine, Burns. Who you got here?” His eyes peer through the darkness, trying to focus.

“A friend,” I say generously. “Her name’s Dakota. She’s a copywriter at the office and she’s also filling in for my assistant while she’s out on maternity leave.” I look at Dakota and motion to Wyatt. “This is Wyatt Emory. We served together years ago. We’re war buddies, you might say.”

“Hell of a place to make friends,” Wyatt says, shaking his head with a lopsided smile. “I came out looking better than this guy, didn’t I?”

I’m expecting pure awkwardness. All tension, unease, and subtle revulsion showing even if she’s too nice to insult him.

Instead, Dakota laughs.

The same easy laugh I always hear when she’s dealing with my shit—at least the kind that doesn’t leave her wanting to wrap her hands around my neck.

“You sure did! Bet you’re a better runner, too. I can’t imagine Lincoln jogging,” she says.

I fold my arms, hiding a smile.

Her words are so sincere I don’t know whether to be touched at how empathetic she is or pissed that she implies I’m in worse shape than Wyatt. I take off my jacket and drop to the ground beside him, spreading the jacket out for cover before I motion.

“Do you want to sit?” I glance up at her.

Her puckered face says not really, but she wordlessly smooths out her dress and sits on my jacket, sweeping her long legs to the side.

As usual, they’re a delicious torture for my eyes. Too bad I didn’t come here to ogle this raven-stamped girl who drives me to the edge of madness.

“I brought you something,” I tell Wyatt once she’s settled.

“Aw, fuck. Not necessary. I can feed myself,” Wyatt says with a coughing fit I hate at the end.

“Not just the rolls. You’ll be happy when you see it, trust me.” I open the prosthetic box and pull out the contents.

For a second, he’s speechless. Frozen. His eyes bulge like marbles, glinting in the faint light.

“You’re shitting me, right? That’s too damn expensive even for you, Lincoln. I could’ve got one from the VA anytime and waited,” he says coldly.

I think bitterly.

This is what drives me up the fucking wall with Wyatt, his uncompromising pride. It’s the best part of who he is and it also makes him his own worst enemy.

“The VA can take up to a year. It’s nothing,” I say sharply.

“Bull. I would’ve waited.”

“A year is a long-ass time to wait for a leg, Wyatt,” I remind him. Especially when he’d still have his real leg instead of this engineered metal if he hadn’t gone and saved my sorry ass.

“He makes like a gazillion bucks a day. He can afford an arm and a leg here and there,” Dakota says lightly, trying to be funny.

I give her a wry smile.

She’s trying to help, dammit, but I wish she wouldn’t. Wyatt’s moods can be unpredictable, and if he gets pissed or unruly, he could chuck the prosthetic into Elliot Bay for all I know.

My worries are unfounded, though.

Because Wyatt chuckles loudly until he runs into another hacking fit that has him doubled over, choking up phlegm.

I suddenly regret bringing him the new leg because it doesn’t go nearly far enough. He needs treatment, professional help beyond anything I can offer. At least a bottle of medicine and a chest X-ray for that nasty infection.

I’m about to grab him when he straightens up, holding out a hand.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he tells Dakota before meeting my eyes. “She gives you hell. I like her already.”

“How do you know she gives me hell? You’ve barely met,” I say with a snort.

“I can tell. Good pick, Burns. You need a chick who keeps you honest.”

“Don’t go getting too attached,” I mutter under my breath, hoping she can’t hear. “She just works for me. That’s it.”

Wyatt gives me a knowing smile under his bushy beard.

“Whatever, my dude. I always had girls who just worked with me meet up at homeless parks after sunset, too.”

I shake my head fiercely, trying to form a response.

At least he’s not truly on death’s doorstep yet, however ugly that cough is. If the assholery in his sense of humor ever goes, then I’ll really worry.

“He’s not lying,” Dakota says. I almost wince knowing she heard us. “No good looks or bags of money could make up for his sterling personality, right? I’m here because I was mandated…and because I want to be.”

“In that case, you should let her go home. You can’t hold her hostage, Burns,” he growls.

I gaze at Dakota.

She bites her lip, her green eyes sparkling like gemstones in the moonlight. She’s a portrait of dark beauty that fits my melancholy spirit too well tonight.

“She’ll survive—won’t you, Nevermore?”

“Nevermore? You’ve even got a nickname? Shit.” Wyatt squints at me, calling me a without saying it.

“It’s cool. And I don’t really have a choice because I need a ride back to my bike,” Dakota cuts in, offering her support.

“Well, hell. I’m glad you finally found yourself a hot one you’ll appreciate whenever you pull your head out of your ass,” Wyatt says. “Better than wasting your life away at the office and chasing after me.”

I smile painfully, shaking my head.

“Man, it’s not like that. I told you. She’s an employee. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, and I’m Paul Bunyan.” He stands up straight and turns to Nevermore. “Hey, Dakota, since this guy insists you’re his model employee, you wanna date me instead?”

What the fuck? I could club him with that fake leg.

Now, I feel worse. I didn’t bring her here to take ridiculous advances from what’s supposed to be my best friend.

By some miracle, Dakota laughs it off with high, sunny humor I’ll admit I’m becoming addicted to.

“Sure,” she says.

What the double fuck?

“Dakota?” My head snaps to her.

“Yes, bossman? You look troubled.”

Maybe I should be feeling sorry for myself, instead of these two boneheads double-teaming me tonight.

“Don’t call me bossman,” I snap off.

“Why? Everyone else does.”

“You’re not—” I catch myself before I finish that sentence, ignoring Wyatt grinning like a wolf.

But she’s not like everyone else, is she?

I never once asked Lucy to get involved with Wyatt and his troubles. Not once in the two years he’s really spiraled down.

Dakota Poe is an employee who has unprecedented access to the darkest chasms of my life.

“What’s got your tongue, Burns? We’ve got a few strays roaming around here,” Wyatt says, ribbing me in the side with surprising force.

I whack him back playfully as Dakota laughs louder, clenching her sides.

“Are you two done having fun?” My eyes flick to my tormentors, one at a time.

“Hmm, I dunno. Fun is pretty hard to come by,” she whispers with that spear of a tongue before calling, “How about you, Wyatt?”

“Nah. This is more fun than I’ve had in a while. We’ve got him riled up. He always has a tell,” Wyatt says with a smile I haven’t seen in months.

Oh, shit. Here we go.

“Wyatt, I bite off. “Don’t go there, or I swear I’ll find a better use for this leg that involves your head—”

“Look at his ears,” Wyatt says, fearless and pointing. “They’re redder than a cranberry.”

Smiling, Dakota leans closer, inspecting my mutinous fucking ears.

I’m torn.

Torn between reaching out to touch her and swatting her away, or making good on my threat to slug Wyatt with his own prosthetic. In the end, I do nothing but glower.

“You’re right! Holy moly. Those things could shame a fire truck,” she says with a messy giggle.

“Now you know. His ears always light up like Christmas when he’s embarrassed. Or lying,” Wyatt adds with a wink.

I so regret coming here tonight. Almost as much as I regret bringing Nevermore along for the ride.

“Dakota has something for you,” I say.

“Way to change the subject,” Wyatt points out, scratching his beard. “Don’t think we’re done with you yet.”

Dakota stands and steps up to my side, holding out the box of Regis rolls for me to take.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

She shakes her head.

“Take one,” I tell her. “You might get hungry before we’re back and we’ve got plenty to go around.”

She opens the box, grabs a cinnamon roll, and passes it to me.

I also take a roll before passing it to Wyatt. “Rest are yours. Just leave one for my mom.”

Without hesitation, Wyatt hoists a big roll from the box, bites a gaping piece off, and swallows. His table manners may suck, but there’s no table here and I’m just glad he’s eating like he always does.

“How’s your ma doing, anyway?” he asks, chewing loudly.

“She stays busy with her day trips and angel investing. Basically okay, but, you know…” I don’t elaborate, taking a big bite of my own roll.

“Sorry. I know it’s been hard for her,” Wyatt says, smacking his lips.

“She’s a nice lady. What’s the problem?” Dakota asks carefully.

“Nothing,” I snap, hoping she’ll take the hint as I stuff more pastry into my mouth.

“His ma was the happiest lady anybody ever met before his old man passed,” Wyatt says, eyeing me. He knows to leave it at that.

“She seemed very bright passing out cupcakes at the office,” Dakota says.

Wyatt chuckles. “So, Nevermore met your ma?”

“Not like that,” I rush out. “Mother still drops into the office from time to time. She’s never taken to retirement well. Dakota works there, so—”

“Lookie there. His ears are all red again.” She points at my face, the little scoundrel.

I glare at her, swallowing a lump of pastry.

“I should fire you on the spot.”

Compared to us, she nibbles at her Regis roll, pulling off a small piece at a time and stuffing it in her mouth. “But you won’t. Because no one else is going to wait half an hour for Sweeter Grind after work to fetch your precious grub.”

“Burns, you ” Wyatt mutters. “You’ve got the poor girl doing your dirty work now?”

“Dirty work?” Dakota asks.

“He knows I can’t resist a good cinnamon roll from that place, so when he wants me to talk, he brings a box.”

“Oh,” she says softly.

I think miserably.

Wyatt leans closer to me and whispers, “Don’t be like me, man. Wisen up before it’s too late. She’s a good one. Can’t let the wrong bitch trash your life.”

“She’s just an employee,” I flare, hating that his brain flips back to his own bitter past.

His situation was more complicated than that, of course, even if Olivia was a self-absorbed banshee.

“Just don’t fuck it up,” he tells me.

I’m annoyed that he won’t believe she’s just an assistant and that he’s comparing Dakota to his ex, even if he means well. She’s a firecracker, yeah, but she’s not underhanded.

“She’s not Olivia,” I whisper harshly, looking up to make sure Nevermore stays glued to her phone.

Wyatt nods firmly, already chomping on another cinnamon roll. He bites off another big piece and coughs. I regret not bringing him some water.

“Wyatt, are you taking anything to help with your cough?” Dakota asks, her eyes brimming with concern.

“No. I’m fine. It’s just a cold.”

“Are you sure? It sounds a little rough,” she tells him gently.

“It’s a shitty chest cold, but I’ll survive. I’ve had worse than this, right, Burns?”

His eyes flicker in the moonlight. They feel like magnets drawing out my soul.

“He has.” I don’t say more.

He certainly isn’t wrong.

How could I ever forget? Reaching for his hand, groaning as he pulled me from the debris.

That deafening explosion.

That panic as I threw myself on top of him, shaking him, blood fucking everywhere.

That improvised tourniquet I struggled to tie around his flesh, sure that he was about to bleed out, cursing God and the universe and everything in existence because I was sure he’d just given his life for mine.

Fuck.

I bite down on what’s left of my roll so hard it hurts my teeth, snapping me from those thoughts. I don’t care to relive that day, and Wyatt sure as hell doesn’t need to, either.

Isn’t that all I’ve been asking him to do for years?

Still trying to save him when I thought that was long over while I waited to find out if he lived under an unforgiving sun, smoking a cigarette a few paces from a field hospital.

Dakota pulls a handful of peppermints from her purse, stands, and brings them to Wyatt.

“Here. My gift. If it ever gets too bad, try these,” she says, handing them over.

“Thanks. I will,” he says, clearing his throat loudly.

She returns to her seat beside me. I’m still bewildered he actually took the mints without fussing.

“Do you always travel around with mints?” I ask.

“Only since I started working for you.”

I snort.

“What? Why does working for me require mints?”

“Because when I miss lunch, I can always suck on a mint and tide myself over,” she tells me.

Wyatt lets out a bark of harsh laughter. “Damn, dude. Let the girl eat. No wonder she’s so skinny.”

“I’ve never told her to skip lunch once. She does that on her own,” I insist, leveling a look at her like I’m suddenly on trial.

“But you give me impossible deadlines most weeks. Especially since I started juggling two different roles.”

“Like hell,” I growl, angry that it might be true.

“You do,” she says, wearing a teasing smile.

“Then they can’t be impossible by definition, Nevermore. I don’t need to be a writer to know that. If they were, you wouldn’t keep meeting them.”

“Yeah, because I skip meals and get six hours of sleep on a good night,” she mutters.

I stop and stare. Am I that awful?

Is that why she’s mixing up texts with me and apparently her fuckwit ex?

Guilt roils my guts, and I hate it.

“You’re depriving her of sleep too?” Wyatt gives me a sterner look this time. “Goddamn. Nevermore is gonna drop you like an old shoe.”

“Old shoes are easier to drop than bad habits.” I look at Dakota. “If the timelines are unrealistic and you’re truly that frayed, why haven’t you said anything? I’m not a monster. I can make accommodations.”

She shrugs slowly, squaring her shoulders before she looks at me again.

“Like you said. They’re not technically unrealistic. As long as I find the time…”

I glance up at the moon, high over the bay now, and back at her with a roughness in my throat.

“You never mind jumping down my throat about anything else. Why haven’t you just told me you’re not a drone and you’ll get it done when you can? I care about your lifestyle habits.”

“Because I like getting paid. Besides, it’s not all bad. A nice pile of work keeps me from having time for poetry, and you how that goes, so—”

That wins her a smile.

“Liar. I’m willing to bet you still find time for that. Why can’t you find the time to eat and sleep in when you’re not worshipping your ivory Adonis?” I tell her.

She doesn’t answer.

Wyatt gives us a lost look.

When we both notice, we burst into laughter.

Later, back in the town car, Dakota looks at me with a question hanging on her lips.

“So, Wyatt’s the reason behind your pathological cinnamon roll needs,” she says.

“He’ll stay in his tent for days without eating. He won’t come out for anything else. Regis rolls are too sweet for me, but he loves them.”

She gives me a wary look. I can’t tell if she thinks I’m being sweet or stupid.

“It isn’t healthy, I know. He’s not well with his diet. First it was his Banh Mi obsession, the same sandwich from the same particular Vietnamese shop every day. He spiraled down from there. I’m hoping we’ll progress back to protein and vegetables at some point, but for now, I can’t let him starve.”

I’m aware of how pathetic that sounds.

Every week, I question whether or not I shouldn’t just knock him out and him into treatment. But if I take that last tiny ounce of freedom, of will, of pride he still has…what the hell will he have left?

“Are you guys really just war buddies?” she asks.

Where do I even begin? We are, but we’re not war buddies like your average comrades in arms who serve together, make it home without a scratch, and laugh about it years later.

Without him, I never would’ve come home in one piece.

“Are you in a hurry to get home, Nevermore?” I ask, steepling my fingers.

She looks at me for a long second and shakes her head.

It’s terrible how I love watching her hair cascade down her shoulders when she lets it hang loose, how much I wonder what it would feel like tangled in my fist.

My eyes flick to her mouth, heart-shaped and mellow pink in the shadows.

Goddamn, do I really want her alone?

It’s late. The night yawns with danger. I may feel like I owe her an explanation, but is it worth the risk of what could happen if she’s with me—too close—without another soul around?

I don’t answer that. Instead, I lower the privacy screen.

“Louis, take us to my spot,” I say, knowing he’ll understand exactly what I mean.

“You got it, Mr. Burns.”

I raise the screen again and meet her wondering eyes.

“Patience. I’ll tell you everything soon,” I promise.

She nods, but she’s also—laughing?

“What’s so damn funny?”

“Why are you so freaking secretive? You’re like a Bond villain or something. Was introducing me to Wyatt so terrible?”

It wasn’t, even if it wasn’t my brightest idea.

I rake her with a cautious look.

“It’s not a big secret. Not really. We’re just diving into a lot of sensitive subjects tonight,” I say, hoping like hell that’ll satisfy her.

Dakota nods emphatically.

“I get it. Telling you about Jay wasn’t easy, either,” she whispers.

“Jay? Oh—the shitbag.” Knowing the prick’s name somehow makes him more real. More loathsome. I don’t want a jackass who left her at the altar having a name, a human face.

It’s too fucking horrible.

Knowing he and how much he hurt her makes me feel like I owe him a complimentary facelift, courtesy of my knuckles.

“Yeah,” she confirms.

“If he calls you again, tell him I’ll slap him with a harassment suit,” I snarl. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll fly to your oil town and tie him to a goddamned rig.”

She smiles, her eyes glowing with gratitude for a crime I haven’t even committed. Yet.

“I think I can handle him without my boss fighting my battles. But thanks, Lincoln.”

“Tell me one thing—how the hell do you leave a girl stranded on her wedding day and then start texting her like it’s no big deal?” My fingers curl into a fist I bring to my jaw, scratching my face with my knuckles. “I can’t wrap my head around that.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Dakota sighs and looks away from me. “It isn’t important…”

She’s right, though. I don’t need to rub it in.

I don’t need to welcome hurt memories to dance on her heart.

Damn.

“My apologies. I regret if I’ve said something stupid again. I do respect your privacy, even if I don’t always show it,” I say, leaning forward in my seat.

She’s quiet for a minute before she finally meets my eyes again.

“I appreciate it. It’s okay.”

The car jolts to a stop at the base of the scenic lookout when she stops speaking. Dakota falls forward next to me. I throw an arm out to catch her.

Somehow, I stop her from falling, but her breasts press snugly against my hand.

“Umm—” She blushes, but makes no effort to move more than gravity pushing her back.

Not what I need.

Not at fucking all.

She’s so cute, so delectable, I could kiss her.

And the way she looks at me, flushed red with full lips, her perfectly palm-sized breasts teasing my hand…

No, sir.

She’s just my employee. How many times did I say that to Wyatt?

Yeah, I don’t believe it either, but I still need to pull my head out of my ass right now.

“This is our stop. Stay there,” I tell her, getting out and rounding her side to open the door for her.

“Have you been here before?” I ask as she follows me up a winding, hilly sidewalk to a platform.

“Yeah. Maybe once after I first moved to town.”

“The stars aren’t as impressive as the North Dakota flats, I’m sure,” I say. “Still, when you see that view of the city and the ships at night, you can’t help falling in love.”

“That’s kinda beautiful. I’m a small-town girl at heart, but I always love a pretty scene.”

“How do you like Seattle?”

“I love it, honestly. The arts are alive here in a way that’s totally different from Dallas. We have a lot of creative, crafty people there, but it’s pretty rustic. Out here, you get all the flavors. Modern, historic, experimental, international…”

She’s speaking to my soul. I’m not quite sure how to handle that.

Damn if I can’t resist the urge to slide an arm around her waist and pull her closer when we’ve reached the top of the overlook and its platform.

“It’s a narrow path up here. Watch your step and stay to the side,” I say, pretending that’s the only reason I’ve put my hands on her.

She smiles.

“You’re worried about me again? Or are you still freaking out about me lawyering up to leave you penniless?”

“This is America, Nevermore. We all live in fear of frivolous suits, but I’d rather you not fall, all legal wrangling aside.”

“You’re such a charmer,” she says, dripping sarcasm. “But honestly, you’re not the ginormous jackass I thought you were.”

“Thank you. I think,” I say with a smile.

“When you tried to attack me—”

“Attack you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, when you me for my cinnamon roll, I thought you were just some entitled rich prick.”

“And what do you think now?”

“You’re a grump. You’re demanding, focused, and sometimes just rude. But deep down? After what I saw tonight with your friend, I’d call you a sweetheart.” She looks at me. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she adds quickly.

“Bah, I liked the first part. You’re giving me more credit than I deserve.”

She laughs as I sit down on the bench with a breathtaking view of the night. It’s a small seat, almost a ledge if not for the safety railing, and she stumbles.

I swear, I’m not to pull her into my lap and lock my arms around her.

“This isn’t inappropriate. Obviously, I’d like to stop you from going over the edge.”

She curls against my chest and smiles up at me, a pretty splash of moonlight in her eyes.

“Of course.”

Then it happens. Something that can’t be trumped up to accidents, however unlikely.

She lays her small hand over mine, nervously at first.

I bristle.

“Let me guess. You’re wondering who Wyatt is and why he’s so important?” I say, desperate to keep talking so I don’t let my mouth get other ideas.

“Yeah.” She nods firmly. “You said ‘war buddy,’ but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“He saved my life in Iraq.” I close my eyes and I’m back there again.

Hot flashes of death light up a sky reeking with black smoke.

My skull feels dislodged from the deafening improvised blast.

I breathe in Dakota’s flowery, faintly minty scent to blot out the stink, holding her tighter, anchoring myself to the present.

“Wyatt should’ve been okay. Our unit ran into a trap, a buried bomb,” I tell her slowly. “The armored carrier was ripped open like a tin can. I was pinned under something—” I shake my head. “A huge piece of steel, I think. I don’t know how it never crushed me, but there was an opening, and he still had his wits. Wyatt dragged it off me and carried me out. We were almost to safety when the second explosion went off. Another fucking bomb, hidden just a few paces away like a landmine. He lost his leg because he was ahead of me. A few bruises and a concussion aside, I walked away fine. The leg wasn’t the worst part, though. For saving my life, he lost his own…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, folding into me like melted butter.

“The rest, it’s a long story,” I whisper.

“It’s okay. I get it now. He saved you, so you keep him in cinnamon rolls and prosthetics…”

“I’m trying to keep him Everyone else gave up on him a long time ago. The leg was just the trigger for what Wyatt lost later.” I pause, inhaling slowly. “Some of it was his fault. A lot of it wasn’t. Regardless, he loved his wife so much. He…he almost bled the fuck out that day. I kept telling him to stay, to pull through for Olivia and their boy. I’ve never seen anybody fight so hard in physical therapy, but he came through it.”

I lose my train of thought. Or maybe just my words.

Nevermore watches me softly, her green eyes twinkling in the night, all moon and stars and roaming questions.

“Olivia left him broken. She blamed his addictions, but she was cheating long before that. Before the accident,” I tell her slowly. “She filed for divorce and won custody of the kid easily. She said he had PTSD, and technically, she wasn’t wrong, even though he was getting treatment. She said he couldn’t be around their son unsupervised.”

“That’s brutal,” Dakota whispers, bowing her head.

“Yeah, well, the judge went by the book and threw out any context, so that was that.” I have to stop because it still puts me in a blinding rage. “Right? Wrong? Who the fuck knows. I’m not here to play social worker or argue morals. I just know Olivia Emory kept the kid, the house, and a lot of their shit. Wyatt was cleaned out, left homeless with no job and no people. It’s a damn miracle he got off the opiates when he hit the streets. I helped him with that, before he left my place after crashing a few weeks. Even now, I have plenty of room, but he’s a hard-nosed fuck. I can’t make him stay with me.”

“It’s sweet of you to try. It’s really kind how you care for him.” Her fingers find my brow.

She’s stroking me.

Touching me like a big, angry animal needing to be soothed.

For fuck’s sake, she’s not wrong.

Maybe I am tonight, as hard as that is to admit.

“It’s not sweet. It’s responsible, and I owe him my life. Bringing him his daily sugar rush and making sure he can walk is the least I can do. That divorce annihilated him. It drove him to drinking, bad habits, and took what little hope he ever had. He’s basically an alcoholic wreck, and I can only do so much.”

I glance away sharply. It’s not her problem, but putting this shit into words makes it feel like she should share it.

I don’t want that.

I don’t want her to shoulder this boulder I’ve been heaving back and forth for years, a task that feels like it’ll only end when the very thing I’m trying so hard to stop finally happens. When I walk into the camp one day and find Wyatt’s cold, stiff body.

“I understand. I…I wanted to die after my wedding. I didn’t get out of bed for days,” Dakota admits with a sad sigh. “My mom finally threatened to send me to the Larkin’s farm to clean stables if I didn’t start moving and doing normal things.” She pauses and smiles. “I wouldn’t have minded cleaning horse poop so much. My town is kinda famous for animals, and there was this old horse named Edison. He’d always escape and drive his owners crazy, but it was always entertaining for everybody else. One time this tiger got loose, and Edison even helped track it down—”

“Tiger? What the fuck?” I wonder if I heard her right.

She just smiles sheepishly.

“Nevermore, you come from a weird place,” I grind out. “Is it a coming-of-age rite for every Poe to grow up in I’m surprised you didn’t stay.”

“It wasn’t an easy choice, but…if I had to rejoin the living, I decided it couldn’t be in that little town. It couldn’t be Dallas anymore no matter how lovely the people were to me,” she tells me, her eyes misted with memories. “They saw my worst humiliation. Plus, cool animals aside, I never totally meshed with small-town life. I started applying for jobs everywhere after that mess, and a shipping company in Seattle was the first place that called me back for a marketing gig.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I opt for nothing, running my thumb over her hand instead. Sometimes, silence can be more eloquent than any words.

“Love can be cruel,” I whisper after a while.

I hold her tighter.

Her blond hair shimmers under the night lights, somehow brighter when it’s laced with shadows. Her eyes dance when she looks at me and says, “It can. But it doesn’t always have to be so painful.”

I snort loudly, spoiling the moment.

“You really believe that?” I don’t mean to tell her she’s naive, but that’s probably how it sounds.

Regina’s face flashes in my mind, her eyes wide with horror and still trying to lie. Even when I caught her butt-ass naked, draped over another man’s dick.

I’ll never believe love is anything magical.

It’s an invisible fucking serial killer of hearts and dreams, but I hold my comments because I can’t crush this girl. If she’s still clinging to a shred of something better—holding out for her prince—I can’t be the asshole to cut the last thread.

She bites her full bottom lip. For a moment, all I want to do is the same.

My eyes linger on her lips and I think she notices.

Because she tilts her chin back, angles her head, and leans in closer.

Oh, fuck.

Is she asking for—

Yeah. She is.

And I hear a voice grabbing my brain like a tennis ball, squeezing, and growling, My body doesn’t want to listen, straining against my thoughts like a wild horse.

I move closer, cradling her in my arms, peering down like she’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Her scent isn’t doing me any favors. Cinnamon and peppermint waft up my nose, mingled with something uniquely Dakota.

Delicious.

Her eyes flutter shut with a soft rasp of her chest. She’s tense and still so soft, her breasts heaving—yes, heaving, and I always thought that sounded ridiculous before.

Not now.

Dakota Poe is asking for my lips, my tongue, my teeth and she’s utterly serious.

We’re almost touching already, barely inches apart.

All I have to do is shut that second mouth in my brain, the voice of sanity, and seal the deal.

All I need to make that happen is to kiss with a passion I’ve never had.

I close my eyes, still fighting internally, and move my mouth to hers.

Our lips barely brush before I jerk back.

She’s fucking electric, like a static spark in my soul.

Have you ever kissed anyone who’s too fucking good to be kissed? You come in hot, expecting perfect poise and control and a tongue primed for its best moves, only to get one second in.

One measly second before you’re frozen in disbelief, thrown back like you’ve been hit by the very best kind of lightning.

I know she feels it too, her eyes open now, big and green and glistening. Her mouth is parted with awe, her cheeks flushed, red as apples and begging me to take another taste.

Deeper. Longer. Sweeter.

I’m about to do that, ignoring the hard-on aching to bust out of my pants, when a noise like the world ending stops me.

Some fucking donkey who needs a muffler whips into the tiny parking lot, blasting noise, and then peels out again with a grating screech.

Dakota jumps back, blinking.

Just like that, the moment is gone.

Probably for the best, though I don’t fucking believe it.

I can’t get mixed up with a woman who works for me. Even a beautiful one who tells me off when it’s warranted and can handle anything I throw at her.

“Sorry. Umm—I should—I should get—” Her mouth won’t work, still hanging off her face and looking so delectable.

“It’s late. We should go,” I finish for her.

“Right.”

“We’ll go to the office and pick up your bike, then I’ll have Louis drop you off.”

“Why? I always take my bike.”

“It’s way too late for you to be biking home, and you know I won’t have it,” I say with a shit-eating grin.

I know there’s something different in her when she doesn’t fight back.

I help her back to the car and do exactly what I said.

I should be happy for the interruption caused by the clunker with Satan at the wheel.

We only half kissed.

I let her go quietly, watching as she locks up her bike and disappears inside her place, with my life no more complicated than when we arrived.

Only, I’m not relieved at all.

The entire ride home has me clasping my knee, staring anxiously into the night. I need a stiff drink to take this tremor out of my hand, but I know that won’t cut it.

I needed her full taste, dammit. Not the hurried sample still lodged in my core, her lips glued to my brain with the same ruthless question.