Evan escorted Tabi into his small brick home, flipping on lights as they went. Having her in his space was making his clothes feel too constricting. Man, she was beautiful. There was something wild and untamed about her, especially after that car race, that made him shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
His dogs ran up, both panting. “This is Buck and Lewey.” They were long-haired mutts, part black lab and part who knows what, and he adored them. “Outside, guys.” They obediently ran for the back door, and he let them free. “Are you hungry?” He might have a waffle or two in the freezer.
“No.” She looked at the freshly polished wooden floors and the hand-crafted fireplace mantle with self-placed river rock. “This place is lovely. Did you do all of this yourself?”
His ears heated. “Yeah. It’s probably dumb, but I wanted to leave something complete behind. Something I’d created myself.” Shaking himself out of it, he exited the living room and showed her down the wide hallway to the guest room, which held his grandmother’s furniture that he’d refinished. He’d see her soon. Then he chuckled. He’d be okay after a good night’s sleep and then could help Tabi out of this mess. Once he got her out of his space he could take some deep breaths. Alluring was too tame a word for her.
She stared at the cherrywood dresser. “What’s Huntington Disease?”
He stilled. “Oh. It’s a rare and progressive brain disorder that demolishes physical and mental abilities. Before you ask, it’s genetic, and there is no cure. It’s fatal, and my dad died from it.” Sharing with her helped, somehow.
She tossed her purse onto the bed. “What about your mother?”
“Car wreck when I was nine. No other relatives.” The blonde was a sweetheart in trying to connect. He didn’t need connections, although she was a temptation, that was for sure. That mysterious and feminine scent of hers was heating his blood in a way that made him feel healthy again.
“What does your room look like?” She turned, those black eyes guileless.
“Oh.” Of course, she wanted the tour, and he had redone the entire home. His chest puffed out just enough to make him feel like a moron. “I’ll show you the rest of the house.” If he got her anywhere near his bed, he might lose the control he was reaching for like a starving man.
She made appropriate noises at the rest of the house, until they reached his room. Then she gasped. “It’s so…you.”
He felt like shuffling his feet so he stood taller. “Thanks. I made the furniture in the garage, which I turned into a woodshop.” The furnishings were oak with hand-carved designs of different angles of crests of his ancestors, who’d come over to the States from Scotland. He moved to flip off the light.
She stepped in front of him, looking up, a light pink flushing across the porcelain skin of her enticing face. “I want to stay in here tonight.”
In another time, he would’ve already had her on the bed. But even he didn’t need a pity fuck. “I appreciate it, sweetheart, but it’s just not a good idea.”
Her face cleared and her mouth opened slightly. “Oh. I see. You, um, can’t?”
He coughed and then laughed full-on. When was the last time he’d felt humor? When he calmed, he tugged on a piece of her hair. “Yeah, I can. Parts of me still work just fine—at least for now.” It was a sobering thought, and he didn’t like it. “You’ve had an adrenaline-filled night, you must be scared of that wacko in the car, and I hit you with the fact that I’m dying. None of those are good reasons to make yourself vulnerable.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Do I look like I feel vulnerable to you?”
“No.” She looked like temptation and innocent sin, which was a contradiction he’d never imagined. Until now.
She moved into him, sliding her hands from his abs up to his chest, humming in what sounded like appreciation. “Do I look scared or like I feel sorry for you?”
His cock pressed so hard against his zipper that he barely hid a wince. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
She curled her fingers and her nails bit into his skin through his T-shirt. “So am I.” With that illusive statement, she levered up on her toes and kissed him. Her lips were full and soft, and a temptation he’d never be able to deny, regardless of noble intentions.
He let her play for a moment and then slowly took control of the kiss, deepening it when she slid her hands beneath his shirt and across his abs. His stomach undulated, and he forced himself to slow down. While she was a siren, he was twice her size, and he had to be careful.
Her touch was hot. Very. He leaned back, desire clawing through him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She tugged on his shirt, and he ducked his head to let her yank it up and away.
Something caught his eye, and he grasped her right hand, turning it over to look at a tattoo on her palm. Winding vines surrounded the letter R, looking both ancient and delicate. It was beautiful work, whoever had drawn it. How had he not noticed it before? “R for Rusko?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“It looks fresh.” Maybe he wasn’t the only one trying to hold on to the past.
Her chuckle swam down his skin and landed in his balls. “You could say that. It’s very new.”
“It’s stunning.”
“I’m glad you think so,” she said, her eyes nearly looking silver for the briefest of moments. Then she reached for the snap of his jeans.
