“I sure am. After all, I found you.”

Awh shucks… “Shut up.”

This time his chuckle is warm and sweet like melted caramel.

Meanwhile, his words are sinking into my brain like stones.

“Wait… you think someone is trying to kill you.”

He nods, falling quiet.

“This makes no sense. You said you haven’t done anything wrong.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t say it makes any fucking sense.”

“Accidents happen, and some can be pretty weird. Maybe you had a bad year, and now things will look up. Has anyone attacked you since the car crash?”

“No.” He licks his lips, glancing around. A nervous gesture. “But nobody knows where I am.”

“You’re hiding here.” I sigh. “I know I told you to be suspicious, but I doubt someone is after you for no reason.”

“Ray…” He closes his eyes, leans his head back, and he suddenly seems tired. Exhausted. “My uncle died a year ago, and I don’t think it was from natural causes.”

This time I sit up, and he lets me. I look down at him. “What are you saying?”

“I think he was murdered.”

STORM

No idea why the fuck I’m telling her of my suspicions. Nobody believes me. They think my uncle’s death affected me, made me paranoid.

Keeping a gun in the drawer of my bedside table, and another here, in the bathroom. Guns he taught me how to use. As if he knew all along our lives might be in danger.

I step under the shower and wash my self quickly and angrily.

Fucking Hawk. Fucking Rook. At least if they believed me…

Fuckers. If they weren’t my brothers in all but blood, if they hadn’t stuck with me through it all… Until I vanished. The tabloids wondered what happened, but my uncle’s well-oiled company machinery stepped in and an announcement was made that I was in Europe, for business.

That was the last news I read. I stocked the huge freezer in the basement of the beach house for food for a month, if not two, and hid. What for, I didn’t know.

I step out and grab a towel, rub my face dry. I guess my head was screwed on wrong, my every nerve end on edge. The first two weeks, I expected thugs to jump out of the bushes at any second and shoot me or knife me.

But nothing happened, and I began to relax. Jogging on the beach. Sitting outdoors. Swimming in the pool.

Until she arrived.

I stop in the process of rubbing a towel through my wet hair, leaving it standing on end. She arrived, and the world righted itself. With the need to protect her, I let go of my fear about my own life. And the sex is awesome.

It’s as if by burying myself in her body fixed my mind.

Yeah, I’m nuts. She’s right. Fucked up.

I throw the towel to the tiled floor and brace my hands on the granite sink, glaring at my foggy reflection in the full-length mirror. My scars don’t scare me anymore. Losing her scares me more. What that means… No idea, but it’s good enough for now. Good enough for me.

I reach for my shaving foam and cheap razor, bought at the Walmart where I bought everything I’d need to hole up in here.

A few million dollars. A triad.

Jesus.

I could pay off her debt. If I go back, I can do it.

That means going back to danger.

Unless it’s all in my mind.

Damn, what if she’s right? What if they’re all right? Coincidence. Probability. Maybe my mind is trying to find a pattern to explain it all, and there never was one to begin with.

What does it mean? Why am I even still alive? What for?

The door creaks as it opens, Raylin at the opening, dressed in her shorts and blouse, her face so sweet it leaves me speechless. Warmth spills inside my chest, and a smile tugs at my lips.

“Can I help you?” She gestures at the razor in my hand. “Help you shave.”

My hand trembles slightly as I pass her the razor and the shaving foam. “Be my guest.” I lean back against the granite counter and nod.

Three years I spent away from my uncle, from the company. Three years looking for myself and I couldn’t figure out what I needed. Now I come back, and here she is.

The one who takes away my fear of the future.

Chapter Eight

RAYLIN

My thoughts are a tangle. I followed Storm upstairs to the shower, trying to sort them, to decide what I believe, and now I’m standing, razor and a can of shaving foam in my hands, my mind unraveling.

Again. Like every single time I look at him.

Face heating.

Again.

He’s only wearing a towel around his trim hips, tiny droplets glittering on his skin. His hair is wet and standing on end, and his lips are curling into a familiar, wicked grin. How’s a girl supposed to react to this sense overload, huh? I think I’m perfectly justified in drooling just a little.

He leans his head back, watching me under lowered lashes. Baring his throat to the razor in my hand. For a guy who’s been shot at and who’s been through an explosion and a car crash—accidents or not—this show of trust is touching.

He keeps doing that. Hammering at walls that he’s already torn down. Plus, he’s a total hottie. Completely irrelevant, that.

Yeah…

Swallowing down nerves, I put the razor on the counter and pour some foam in my hand. I divide it between my hands and reach up, spread it on his cheeks.

God, this is fun. And so hot. Feeling his stubble under my palms, under my fingers, feeling the contours of his face, the strong bones of his jaw and cheekbones, my hand brushing over his soft mouth, the contrast making me shiver.

His broad chest expands and contracts, his breathing shallow. The knot in his throat moves when he swallows.

I grab the razor and stand tiptoe, steadying myself with one hand on his shoulder. “Stay still,” I whisper, and his eyes flick between me and a point in the distance.

The blade glides over his cheek, leaving smooth, sun-kissed skin underneath. I blow out air and lower myself to run it under the tap. When I turn back to him, he’s clenching the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip.

Fear, I think, but then I see the bulge under the towel and realize it’s not that. Looks like I’m not the only one affected by this game.

He had fear in his gaze earlier, when he told me about the accidents, coincidences, whatever they might be. Looks like I’ve sidetracked him. Good. Gives me time to think about his words.

What if he’s right? What if those were no accidents?

I shave his jaw, his chin, then start on his other cheek. He snags an arm around my waist to steady me, pressing our bodies together. The shaving foam smells of pines, and it mingles with the citrus of his soap and the spice of his skin. The razor rasps over his upper lip, and it’s done.

I put the razor down and trail my fingers over his smooth face, nuzzle his cheek. He chuckles and turns around to wash off the traces of foam. Water splashes, and suddenly I’m drenched and sputtering, backing away.

“You…” I wipe the water from my eyes, and he splashes me again.

“You look hot.”

“I’m not. It’s cool in here.”

“I mean, you look really hot, Ray.” He grabs me around the waist and carries me, kicking and cursing, to the shower stall. He pushes me up against the wall and cranks up the water. I squeal when it hits me, cold at first. He presses his naked body into mine, the towel having fallen somewhere on the way, and grips my jaw. “Smoking hot. Sexy as all hell. Damn fine.” He licks at my mouth, his other hand shoving my soaked blouse up. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He finds my breast and squeezes. It’s a bit rough, but it’s more pleasure than pain, especially when he rubs my nipple into a tight, throbbing point. I’m still worked up from going down on him before, and the combination of his rugged body pushing me into the wall, his rough kissing and his clever hand leaves me breathless.