Page 42 of Art of Love

Nate nodded, brushing sand from his palms. “She’s good like that. Always was. Dylan’s the kind of person who steps in, whether it’s wise or not.”

That was obviously a warning. The words struck deeper than they should have. Not because they weren’t true. But because Abe had started to believe that Dylan might be the first person in a long time who saw past his spotlight-induced shadow.

He studied Nate. The guy wasn’t smug or possessive. He didn’t seem like a man playing a game. Just… decent. Confident. The kind of guy who’d make your sister laugh or help your mother carry groceries. The kind of guy who wouldn’t screw it up if Dylan gave him a chance. The kind of friend who would watch out for someone who’d been hurt before.

Which should’ve made this easier. But somehow, it made it worse.

He took a step closer. “She may seem tough on the outside, but with her history…” Nate’s eyes met his. “I don’t have to warn you to be careful with her. She’s strong enough to watch out for herself, but I will say this. You hurt her, you’ll no longer be welcome in this town.”

Abe nodded slowly.

“Well,” Nate said suddenly. He slipped his earbuds back in. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. Just thought I’d say hi.”

Abe nodded. “Take care.”

He watched Nate jog away, shrinking quickly into the horizon where sky met surf.

A warning from the man was better than being told to back off because he was interested in Dylan. Wasn’t it?

Abe turned and climbed the steps slowly, each one heavier than the last.

By the time he made it back to the house, the cold turkey sandwich waiting in the fridge seemed like a joke. He grabbed a beer instead and sat down at the deck table, his eyes fixed on the gray ribbon of ocean beyond the dunes.

It wasn’t Dylan’s fault Nate made him feel like a second-string quarterback. He liked the guy even more after the warning not to hurt her. It showed that he cared. Cared in a non-sexual way. Like the brotherly way that Dylan had hinted at.

Dylan wasn’t anyone’s to claim.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Nate was right that she could take care of herself.

But damn it… he wanted the job. Wanted to claim her as his own. There was that primordial desire flaring its evil head again.

Whatever happened now, he had two priorities: getting some answers about the night Kara died and making sure Dylan’s name was kept out of the tabloids.

If anyone found out that he was getting closer to Dylan, who she was, what she did for a living, and why they had met, well, he didn’t want to think about it. Not when his mind was filled with images of kissing her again and getting her into his bed.

He was trying to keep that from happening for a little longer. Really he was. At least until they had more answers. Until he knew that she had no doubt that he’d had nothing to do with Kara’s death.

He was fairly sure that it was more for his benefit than hers. She held her suspicions close to her chest. Hell, he hadn’t even had a clue why she was there until he’d seen her jogging that day on the beach and was positive that she had been the one who had run out of the house that night.

Half an hour later, he heard Dylan’s car drive up the gravel driveway. To his happy surprise, she carried a few boxes from the local pizza place, Baked.

“You must have read my mind,” he called out to her as she climbed the front steps. She glanced over and smiled at him as he rounded the building.

“I skipped lunch,” she said, waving the boxes.

He met her at the door and opened it for her.

“You smell like the ocean and horses.” She smiled when they stepped inside.

“I took a walk.” He shrugged. “And spent time with Stormy and Blaze.”

“Oh?” She set the boxes on the countertop. “How are they doing?”

“Great. I think I’ve finally got Blaze comfortable with a saddle.”