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  Turning her eyes away again, she mumbles, “Dylan’s the only guy I’ve ever been with.”

  Oh, holy shit.

  “I, uh,” I stumble over the words, trying not to cause her further embarrassment, “have it on good authority that most guys love dirty talk.” With a pause, I can’t restrain the slight smile that tugs my lips. “As far as other things, I can’t speak for them. Because I, for one, am not into painful sex.”

  “But you’d, maybe, be okay with…” she trails off as if to get the nerve to finish with, “dirty talk and maybe some gentle bondage, though? Would most guys be okay doing that to a woman?”

  Fuck. Me.

  Right here. Please.

  Fuck. Lock it down, Hendy. Lock. It. Down.

  Exhaling a long breath, I clench and unclench my jaw because I’m dying to say a million and one things. Instead, I offer, “I think that’s a safe bet.”

  Jesus. I sound like a simpleton.

  Probably because all the damn blood has rushed from my brain to my dick, and thoughts are on rapid-fire through my brain along with images of me tying Presley up and having her scream my name.

  Repeatedly.

  Her head whips around to gaze at me. “Really?” Her voice is wispy, delicate sounding.

  A simple nod in affirmation is all I offer while hoping she won’t take notice of the hardening going on down below. Because the knowledge that Presley likes dirty talk and wants to be tied up is well beyond the realm of hot.

  The knowledge that Presley has only been with one guy and clearly hasn’t experienced much sexually is also hot. As. Fuck. Because the mere idea of teaching her—no, letting her use me to gain experience—is just…

  Sign me the hell up for that.

  “I mean”—she leans against the railing beside the front door, handing me her keys—“it’s not like I had guys banging down my door growing up.” Her eyes close; her body looks relaxed, tipping her head back slightly.

  “I was a nerd in school and having two different colored eyes made things pretty rough.” Her lips quirk upward slightly. “The worst part was my Britney Spears obsession.”

  Watching as her eyes open, heavy-lidded, with the way she smiles at me, I know right now that this is another one of those moments. One I want to save in my memory bank for years to come.

  Leaning against the door, I arch an eyebrow. “How obsessed are we talking here? Know all the words to every song, wear the little schoolgirl outfit from her first hit, and sing her songs all the time?”

  Her lips twist. “Worse. That and owner of all her fragrances.”

  My brows furrow. “She had more than one perfume?”

  “Yep. One of them was aptly named ‘Curious.’”

  We both laugh softly before falling silent. All of a sudden, her eyes widen, and her body straightens slightly.

  “Wait a minute.” She gets this tiny crease between her brows, and I’d give anything to press my lips to it. Tipping her head to the side, she asks, “How did you know where I live?”

  Stepping closer, I rest my hands on the railing on either side of her and lean in. “Presley Cole. I may not be a SEAL anymore, but all that training doesn’t just disappear. Plus,” I pause, dipping my head, my lips close to her ear, “I had to make it a point to know where one of my favorite people lives.” Backing away slightly, I slide her key into her lock.

  And yeah. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I didn’t wish I were sliding something else inside. Of her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Presley

  My eyes drift upward, coming to rest on his throat, and I’m mesmerized by his rapidly beating pulse. Without thinking, I raise on my toes, pressing my lips against that same pulse then nip at it gently.

  Hendy instantly stills the moment my soft lips meet his skin, and his fingers fly to my hips, tightening, as my teeth graze his skin. I can’t resist the urge to dart the tip of my tongue out to taste him.

  “Presley.” His voice is guttural. As he leans back, the eyes that meet mine are impossibly dark and hazy with heat. “You’ve been drinking tonight.”

  He’s right; I can’t argue with that. But I’d swear on everything this isn’t alcohol fueled. It’s something I’m acting on that’s been churning deep inside me since…well, since the moment I met him.

  The sound of an approaching car draws our attention to my driveway. And my stomach plummets.

  What the hell is Dylan doing here?

  Rushing out of his car, he hurries up the stairs, looking like a freaking mess. My eyes take in his hair, which certainly cannot be classified as gently mussed. He must have run his hands through it repeatedly. And his button-down shirt is untucked and wrinkled—something Dylan has always deemed unacceptable. He abhors wrinkles.

  God, I can’t even fathom how I stayed in a relationship with such a weirdo. Because geez, wrinkles happen.

  “Presley! Where have you been?” He eyes Hendy as if he’s just saved me from being mugged or something.

  Hands on my hips, I narrow my eyes on him. “I’ve been out.” I pause for emphasis. “Drinking.” Then, for further impact, I whisper loud and dramatically, “At a bar.”

  Because wow, that’s scandalous by Dylan’s standards. And I don’t miss Hendy’s slight snicker.

  “That’s not like you.” His eyes flicker over to Hendy again. “I was worried about you.”

  “Dylan.” God, this is exhausting. “I was stone-cold sober earlier when I told you it was over. But now”—I shake my head—“I’ve drunk enough alcohol to probably put down a large animal.” My head whips around, fixing a questioning look on Hendy. “A full-grown horse? Or you think something larger?”

  “Larger,” he answers without missing a beat, but I detect the corners of his lips lifting slightly. “Buffalo, probably.”

  I turn back to Dylan. “Right. And then I puked.” As soon as I say the word puke, Dylan’s lips curl up in disgust. “Aaaaand”—I draw the word out with emphasis, tossing a thumb in Hendy’s direction—“he held my hair back for me.”

  “You”—he falters as if at a loss for words—“vomited? In public?”

  Hendy snorts. Loudly.

  Before I can respond to Dylan, he steps closer, grabbing my upper arm. “Look, you had your wild time. Now, you’re going to come home with me, and we can talk this out.”

  When I try to tug my arm from his grasp, it only tightens painfully.

  “Hey.” Hendy’s voice is deep, dark, and lethal sounding. I’ve never heard him sound like this—even earlier with that douchebag. This is different. There’s more emotion behind it. And I can’t help that tiny part of me that wonders if it’s because of me—for me.

  “Let her go. Now.” When Dylan doesn’t indicate he’s planning to heed Hendy’s order, his eyebrows rise and he takes a step closer. “Let her go, now, Ike.”

  Oooh. I can’t help but giggle at Hendy referencing Ike Turner.

  Towering over Dylan and practically dwarfing him in size, Hendy looks intimidating as hell. When Dylan relinquishes his hold, I let out a sigh, instantly rubbing my arm.

  A large hand with fingers splayed wide lands on the center of Dylan’s chest and presses against him to put more distance between us. “Now, you’re going to get in your fucking Prius and get your ass out of here. You will not come back unless Presley invites you ba—”

  “Which I won’t.” I can’t help but interject.

  Hendy doesn’t miss a beat. “Nor will you contact her in any way. If she wants to talk to you—”

  “Which I won’t.”

  I get the feeling Hendy’s trying not to laugh at me, but he continues. “Think it’s pretty clear she wants you gone, man.”

  It might be pure desperation, but for whatever reason, Dylan resists and starts spouting off his mouth. “You want this”—he waves a hand toward Hendy—“over me? Have you lost your mind? His face looks like—”

  Instantly, I’m the one in Dylan’s face, angrier than I think I’ve ever been be
fore in my life. Shoving at his chest, he falters against the back of the wooden railing I’ve pressed him into. “Don’t. You. Dare,” I practically snarl. “He has more integrity, more heart, more of anything and everything than you could ever have.”

  His face crumples. “But what am I going to tell my boss? The partners?”

  I back away to stare at him incredulously. “That’s what this is about? Your image at the firm?” Running a hand through my hair, I let out a loud grunt. Spinning around to face Hendy, I ask, “You know enough. You can help me hide his body, right?”

  Without missing a beat, he darts his eyes over to Dylan as he whispers loudly, “I’d leave now, man.” There’s a millisecond pause. “While you can.”

  Still facing Hendy and noticing I haven’t heard Dylan’s retreating footsteps, I cross my arms and adopt a thoughtful tone. “We live right by the Atlantic Ocean. Bull sharks are known to come into shallow waters.” I shrug. “Not totally unfathomable.”

  That’s when I hear Dylan turn and make his way down the stairs to the driveway. I catch comments like “crazy” and “lost her mind.” I only breathe a sigh of relief once he backs his car out of my driveway and heads off down the road.

  Hendy and I stand in silence for a long moment before he finally speaks. “You do realize what I have to do now, right?”

  Confused, I turn to look at him. “Um, cancel the prospect of ever owning a Prius as a vehicle?”

  He throws his head back in a laugh—a real laugh—and I realize I haven’t seen nor heard him laugh like this before. It’s as if I just caught a true glimpse of how he used to be. The man who didn’t feel the need to hide his face from others. The man who laughed—really laughed—often and readily.

  “Presley Cole,” he says, that lopsided smile so endearing, “there’s no way in hell I’d ever consider owning a fucking Prius.” His smile widens mischievously. “Those cars are for douchebags.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, turning back to gaze out at the road.

  “But that wasn’t what I was going to say.” He pauses, waiting for me to meet his eyes, and the concern in them is evident. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. I won’t get any sleep worrying about you.” Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he averts his gaze. “And I have someone waiting for me at home that I need to see.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hendy

  Driving the few miles it takes to get back to my place, I mull over tonight’s events. Rescuing Presley at the bar, the run-in with both the asshole outside the bar and her ex, and her immediate defense of me. Most of all, I think of how much more she’s allowed me to see of her, of her personality tonight. To say Presley Cole is multifaceted doesn’t come close.

  Exiting my truck and coming around to help her down, I hold her hand to guide her up the steps to my house. At least, I tell myself I’m holding on to ensure she safely ascends to the top. In reality, it’s just an excuse to have her soft, delicate fingers on mine.

  Unlocking the front door, I guide her inside and lock it behind us. As we enter the dimly lit entryway and slip off our flip-flops onto a nearby mat, I hope—damn near pray—she won’t let go of my hand.

  I’ve never felt this way before. Hell, I don’t even think I’ve been much of a fan of handholding until now. Yet the way her palm feels against mine, how our fingers link—the way she holds me tightly, so securely, as though she, too, doesn’t want to relinquish her hold feels so…right.

  My ears strain as I catch a hint of the faintest whisper coming from Presley. “Please don’t let go of my hand yet.”

  Smirking, I answer her. “I won’t let go.”

  Ducking her head, she whispers. “Shit. I didn’t—”

  “Mean to say that out loud?” My lips stretch into a wide grin when her eyes fly up to find me watching her. Before I can comment further, I hear the now familiar sound of nails tapping against the hardwood floors. “Presley, I’d like you to meet my girl, Izzy.”

  Her eyebrows furrow as she glances down at our still joined hands then back up at me. “Your…girl?”

  Releasing her hand, I lower myself to a knee. “Come here, girl. It’s okay. She’s friendly,” I say in a subdued, soothing tone to Izzy as she comes into sight, approaching us tentatively. She nuzzles my neck as I pet her back, murmuring to her. “Did you miss me? Is Uncle Kane treating you right?”

  “Are you lovebirds going to join me or are y’all planning on fornicating right there by the door?”

  Rolling my eyes at Kane’s question, I shoot back with a, “Quit embarrassing Presley, or she’ll never put in a good word for you with Lucia.”

  “Aw, now.” I can tell, simply by Kane’s tone, that he’s smiling as he speaks. “Them’s fighting words.” There’s a pause. “You need me to head over to Doc’s place tonight?”

  My eyes quickly dart over to Presley before I scrub a hand over my face. Because shit. Thanks, Windham, for basically asking if I’m going to get buck wild with Presley.

  While she’s standing right here beside me.

  Starting down the hallway leading to where Kane’s watching television, Presley and Izzy follow. “Nope. I’m bunking on the couch tonight.”

  “No, you can’t—”

  I cut Presley’s protest short when I turn and crowd her against the wall. Reaching out, I graze my index finger down her cheek. Leaning in close, I whisper, “I can.” My eyes flit between her lips and eyes. “I want you to sleep in my bed tonight.”

  Her eyes remain on my lips as she whispers back, “With you in it, too?”

  My face stretches into a naughty grin. “Not with me in it.”

  She blushes furiously upon realizing, once again, she’s voiced her thoughts.

  “But maybe at some point,” I dip my head to dust my lips over her cheek, whispering huskily, “I’ll join you.”

  Her eyes fly up to mine—wide—and her lips part in surprise.

  I back away, grasping her hand again. “Let’s get you situated for the night.” Looking down at Izzy, I add, “Come on, girl. Let’s get Presley set up, okay?”

  As I lead Presley to my bedroom, I can’t help but think this is the first time I’ve brought a woman home—let alone brought a woman back to my bedroom—in years.

  Regardless of my attraction to her, she’s been through a lot tonight, and I need to be respectful of that. Doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize—as long as I don’t act on it—about making her scream my name, sliding deep inside that pussy I’m certain would be sweet as hell, gazing into her two different colored eyes while she comes all over my co—

  Izzy’s nose nudges my leg as I pull a T-shirt and boxers from my dresser for Presley to change into. When I look down at her, I instantly feel like I should apologize. It’s like she’s reprimanding me. Dad, stop being a horny bastard around the nice lady.

  Damn it. With a resigned whisper, I pat Izzy on the head. “Thanks for keeping me in line, girl.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Presley

  I’m the level-headed one—the doctor and lover of factoids. I’ve never been the whimsical girl who’d hoard her mother’s old Harlequin romance novels and dream of a knight in shining armor. For the sex scenes, yes. Romance, not so much.

  But right now, I swear romance is blanketing me—and I’m wondering if I’ve been missing out. If I let the no-nonsense part of me take over for far too long, and maybe that’s why I allowed myself to stay with Dylan in a lifeless—and ultimately, loveless—relationship. Deep down, I think I knew it all along. I willingly sold myself short.

  This, though, is something else entirely. Hendy, who’s more than double my weight and just less than a foot taller than I am—a man who has a battered and scarred body—is a man who’s slain real-life evildoers. This same man tenderly held my hand and willingly took care of me. Even after he’d watched me display my not-so-stellar—nor graceful—upchucking earlier and readily held back my hair.

  And now, this night—which admittedly be
gan with me being a freaking hot mess of epic proportions—is coming to an end. With that knowledge comes a stabbing pain in my chest, because I don’t want it to end. I want this moment to last.

  Watching him grab a T-shirt and a pair of boxers for me to change into, I hear him murmur something to Izzy before turning and handing me the clothes.

  “The bathroom’s right across the hall. Feel free to use whatever you need. Fresh towels are under the sink along with a pack of toothbrushes I just bought.”

  Holding the clothing to my chest, a sudden awkwardness settles over me. “Um.” I falter, biting my lip and averting my eyes to settle on Izzy instead. “Thank you. For everything tonight.” Mumbling, I add, “Sorry you had to witness all that.”

  Concentrating so intently on avoiding his eyes, I don’t register his approach until he’s standing right in front of me and a finger beneath my chin is tipping it up to meet his gaze.

  “Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t apologize for anything. We all have moments like that.”

  I scoff. “Yeah. Except mine are more along the lines of a bad reality show,” I add with a weak smile. “Thanks for rescuing me tonight. And for, kind of, slaying my dragon for me.”

  “Presley Cole.” The way he says my name, the way it sounds rolling off his tongue is like a caress. “No need to thank me. I’d gladly rescue you any day of the week. And between you and me”—he tips his head to the side, a soft smile playing on his lips—“I’d call him more of an annoying cockroach that needed to be stepped on.”

  With a quick press of his lips to my forehead, he and Izzy leave the room, closing the door behind them. And I’m left standing here, still holding his clothes in my hand with a huge smile forming on my lips. Not only that, but something else is happening, too.

  My heart feels like it’s begun beating a little faster.

  Something that never happened with Dylan.

  * * *