Kade

“I asked you a question.” I drop the garbage bags and guitar case and move towards her.

Bad choice, because there’s that damn heat again. Scorching and sizzling despite my shock of finding her here.

Her. The woman I haven't stopped fantasizing about for the past five months. The woman who’s consumed my every waking thought. And my mind hadn’t been lying; she’s just as fucking gorgeous as I remember.

She blinks up at me, hazel eyes seemingly as confused as I feel.

But what are the odds that she’s here, unless she’s stalked me halfway across two states. Port Clover isn’t exactly on most people’s radars. People didn’t just come here.

“I...uh...” She takes another step back, a flash of fear in her eyes.

It would have been easy for her to find my address on my license if she’d gone through my wallet.

“Did you follow me here?” Then, a thought hits me and panic surges. “Fuck, are you pregnant?”

“What? No.”

“Then, I’ll ask you again, what are you doing in my apartment?”

“Your apartment?” Her brows are still drawn down. “You’re Quinn’s brother?”

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t know?”

“Of course not.” A touch of anger laces her words, just before resignation makes her face fall. Her bottom lip trembles, and she grabs the bags I’d just dropped, shoving her feet into a pair of boots sitting by the door. “I’ll go.”

She fumbles with the door handle as she tries to juggle everything. She’s not even wearing a jacket, but it doesn’t stop her from darting out into the blizzard.

“Wait, shit.” She’s halfway down the stairs before I catch up, scrambling around her so she can’t pass. “Where the hell are you going to go? You don’t even have a coat on.”

Her cheeks are flushed despite the bitter cold that swirls around us.

“I had no clue you owned this place.” She holds my gaze. “How could I?”

I clamp my mouth around my earlier theory, because I know if I accuse her, whether I’m right or wrong, she’ll disappear into the night. And from what Liam said, I doubt she has anywhere else to go. At least, not in Port Clover.  

“Just go back inside and we’ll talk about this.” I reach for the guitar case she’s struggling with, but she pulls her arm back.

“I don’t need your help. And I really don’t need your accusation that I’m stalking you...”

I wince. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Snowflakes stick to her blonde hair, and her eyelashes, melting as they touch her cheeks. “Just get out of my way, and I’ll...” She glances around helplessly. “I’ll catch a cab.”

I grunt. “There aren't any cabs in Port Clover. Shit, there isn’t a motel for miles of here.”

Her gaze jerks to me, and I’m pretty sure her mind goes to the exact same memory mine does. I’d been drunk off my ass, and I’d thought that my mind had exaggerated how fucking gorgeous she was, but standing here now, I know my memory didn’t do her justice.

“Go back upstairs.” It isn’t a request. I’m not letting her freeze to death or run off again without some explanation as to why she’s here, or why she’d left the first time without even a note.

Despite the goosebumps that scatter across her bare arms, and the slight tinge of blue to her lips, she juts her chin at me defiantly.

Good thing I have years of experience dealing with stubborn females.

I lean towards her, intimately close, and hear her breath catch, feeling the rising wave of desire that would be my downfall if I let it. Can’t. Won’t. She’s on my turf now, and that means no relationships, no sex. But I’ll use it to my benefit now, to make sure she’s safe. I brush her arm as I reach for the guitar case, see her lips part, as her hand starts to release it.

“You never told me your name.” I’m still close enough to feel her warm breath against my mouth.

“Soph—” She swallows. “Sophie.”

“Sophie.” I roll her name over my tongue. It suits her. This time, I speak slow and calm, knowing that behind her defiance is one thing — fear. “Let’s go inside, and talk.”

“You sure your wife would like that?” she says accusingly.

“My wife?” I narrow my eyes at her.

“I met your daughter.”

And she wrongly assumed that meant I was married. The accusation strikes a nerve, because never once in the years after she left had I cheated or been with another person. Even though I know full well that she had.

“My wife is dead,” I say with all the hardness I feel.

Her mouth parts. “Oh. I’m...” She glances away and says in a softer tone, “I’m sorry.”

I don’t let her off the hook with a simple it’s fine, because the fact is, it’s not. Neither is her being here. It’s fucked up. Maybe it’s some warped coincidence that her car would break down just outside of town, but it doesn’t change the fact that what happened between us was only supposed to be a one-night stand.

Just sex.

She shivers.

I can’t leave her out here. Can’t turn her away. Even if she had somewhere else to go, I just...can’t.

“We can talk upstairs,” I say, this time not giving her a choice when I grab the guitar case and tug.

There’s a few seconds of power struggle before she finally releases the case, turning to walk back up the steps. I try not to look at her perfect ass as I walk behind her, but it’s nearly impossible. Just like having her work for me will be.

What had Quinn gotten me into?

I’d left the door open when I ran after Sophie, and snow is scattered across the floor. The warmth has been sucked out of the apartment.

She places her bags close to the door, obviously for easy access in case she decides to bolt again, and I lean the guitar case against the wall beside them.

Her hair had been damp before she’d run out into the blizzard, and now it hangs in icy layers around her pale face, the once purple streaks now barely noticeable, almost silvery violet.

She rubs her arms and shivers, but she doesn’t move.

“You’re going to get sick,” I say, grabbing a throw blanket off the couch, then wrapping it around her shoulders.

I pause, my hands lingering on the blanket. Shit. Too close. I take a step back.

“You can’t get sick from the cold,” she argues, even though her body is trembling and her teeth chatter uncontrollably. “That’s a myth.”

“Myth or not, if you’re going to be working for me, I need you healthy,” I say without thinking.

What the hell am I doing? I’ve got enough damn people in the world to protect, the last thing I need is another one. I couldn’t keep my own wife safe from herself. Couldn’t give her the happiness she craved.

Maybe it’s that truth that makes me want to protect this woman even more. I don’t know. But I know I’m not going to be the cause of someone else’s downfall, at least not if I can help it.

“Work for you?” Her lips thin.

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Seconds tick by. I study her face, watching a million emotions cross her expressive eyes. She doesn’t trust me, that much I see. Maybe I was wrong in my initial conclusion that she came here for me.

But suspicion has become a close friend lately, and even though I know I’ll regret the words, I ask, “Or, are you here for something else?”

“And what would I be here for?” There’s that stubborn tilt to her chin again, the twitch of her hazel eyes that says she’s stronger than she looks.

I take a step towards her, and she takes one back. She’s a lot smaller than I remember and I hover over her. If she’s going to stay here, work for me, we’re going to have to put some boundaries in place.

“What happened that night—”

“Was a mistake,” she says quickly, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders like a shield.

“Okay.” If that’s the way she wants to play it, it’ll be much easier to say what needs to be said. “And it won’t happen again.”

“Didn’t say I wanted it to.” Her lips purse, but her eyes say otherwise.

There’s no denying the pull between us. The energy that tugs and pushes like it has a life of its own.

Or, maybe it’s my own perverse thoughts that make me see what I want to. She’s the one who took off the morning after our hookup. Maybe it wasn’t as good for her as I’d hoped. I’d been plastered, and after years of celibacy, it wasn’t like I’d given my best performance.

I’d taken her selfishly, greedily, and maybe I’d misread her.

Scratching the scruff on my jaw, I push away any thoughts of her in my bed, her soft body spread beneath me, the taste of her...

Shit. I rub my hands over my face. “Look, you can—”

“I have a job in Harristown.” The words tumble from her lips quickly. “If you would just let me stay here tonight, I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

My chest squeezes, because a part of me doesn’t want her to leave, even though I know if she stays it’ll only be all kinds of complicated. Sure, she might have the whole girl-next-door look about her, but there’s something in her eyes that tells me she’s trouble. Or, at least the baggage she’s carrying with her, or running from, is.

Why else would she be living out of the back of her car, trekking across New York?

“Is that guy still giving you a hard time?” I ask, remembering the giant Charlie-Hunnam-looking dude who’d been threatening her in the parking lot that night.

A small pause, and she shakes her head.

I’m not sure I believe her, and despite the warning that presses on the back of my skull, a feeling of protectiveness stirs in my gut.

She’s not your problem, the rational part of my brain warns. But if I don’t help her, who will?

“Do you have a place to stay when you get to Harristown?”

She looks away. “Yeah.”

That lie I read clearly.

Sure, there are shelters she could go to, but once you get caught up in the cycle of staying in those places, I know it’s hard to get out. I’d read Ana’s file, the one Zee had on her, and I knew she’d drifted between shelters and living on the streets, crashing on the couches of random strangers’ living rooms when she could.

The difference was Ana was an addict.

I rake my gaze over Sophie, suspicion tightening in my throat. No track marks are visible on her arms, and even though she seems a little too pale, and thinner than she had the first time I’d met her, her eyes are clear of any substance.

But then again, there was a time Ana could hide it from me as well.

Or maybe you just didn’t want to see the truth, my conscience condemns.

But the truth now is this girl needs help.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I sigh. “Quinn was right when she said I need someone to help me with the bar.”

“You don’t have to—”

“And the apartment is just sitting here unused. It’s yours, if you want it.”

Her lips tug down. “I can’t live here for free.”

“You won’t. You’ll be working for me.”

“And rent?” There’s a flicker of hope in her eyes.

There’s no way she could afford what I’d been asking for this place. But she has something else I want.

“There’s another way you can pay me.”

“Excuse me?” Anger flashes. She tosses the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders on the couch, laughing bitterly.  “For a second, I actually thought you were different. God, are all men assholes? Just because I don’t have much, doesn’t mean I’m for sale.”

It takes me a second to realize that she thinks I meant sex in exchange for living here.

“Sophie,” I say as she starts gathering her things again, this time remembering her coat and shrugging it on. “I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what? Calling me a whore?”

“Jesus, no.” I drag my hands over my face. “I want you to play.”

Another humorless chuckle. “I don’t know what kinky games you’re into, but—”

“The guitar.” I place my palm on the door when she reaches for the handle. “I want you to perform on Friday and Saturday nights.”

“What?” She goes still, and even through the heavy material of her jacket, I swear I can feel the buzzing of electricity that constantly zips between us.

Damn, when was the last time a woman affected me like this?

Never.

Having her here, and keeping my distance from her, is going to be more than difficult. It’s going to be torture. But it’ll be worth it to know she’s safe. I won’t have her life on my conscience, too. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for wanting to keep her around.   

“We have a serious lack of talent around these parts. And I heard you perform, you’re good. Really good. You can do two one-hour sets in between waitressing.”  

“Oh.” She pulls her lip again between her teeth.

“What I’d normally pay the other bands can go towards your rent.” I don’t tell her that most of the bands that play at Savages and Saints do it for free, needing the experience, or just wanting to perform on the same stage as the infamous Zee St. James, aka AutoCorrect’s ZZ James.   

I can see the temptation in her eyes to say yes, but there’s also reservation. And I get it. In the course of ten minutes, she thinks I’ve accused her of stalking me, being pregnant with my kid, and accepting payment for sex.

“You were going to work for me before you knew who I was, right?”

“Yes, but...”

“It’ll be strictly business between us.” Liar, my brain warns.

She gives a small nod, but still doesn’t look convinced.

“We can forget what happened that night.” Bullshit, my cock screams.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Good.

I give her a hard look, before I say, “But, I have some rules.”

She tenses, her eyes narrowing, suspicion sparking in them. “What kind of rules?”

“No drugs.”

Indignation tightens her features. “I don’t—”

I raise a hand, cutting her off. “No stealing.”

Her arms cross over her chest and she narrows her eyes. “Is that all?”

Taking a step towards her, I hold her gaze. “You tell me if you’re in trouble. Whatever it is, I’ll help you. But I won’t put up with lies.”

Her defenses are up, which is good. There can’t be anything between us but work. “I don’t lie.”

“Good. Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”

Our gazes hold for too long.

“Anything else?” she finally asks.

“Be downstairs at eleven tomorrow. I’ll have Jenny train you.” I start to turn, but she stops me.

“Wait.”

I glance over my shoulder.

“I don’t know your name.”

We’ve shared our bodies, allowed our twisted pain to connect us in a way that left me shaken. But the truth is, we really know nothing about each other.

“Kade,” I say, before I walk out the door, wondering what kind of trouble I just got myself into.