Rocks go flying as Trevor revs his engine and takes off, leaving me on the side of the road.

I’m two miles from home, and Trevor was right, walking probably isn’t the smartest idea.

My eyes burn with tears, but I have no idea why I’m crying. He’s only doing what I asked.

Asshole. Don’t men know to do the opposite of what we say?

Trevor’s truck pulls to the right about fifty feet in front of me. His door flies open as he slides out, and I stop in my tracks. A cool breeze whips through the air, sending my hair in front of my face. I tuck the loose strands behind my ear and take a deep breath. Trevor makes no move, and he doesn’t say a word.

I toss my hands out and let them fall to my side. “You gonna chase me?”

“You gonna run?”

Propping my hands on my hips, I bite my lip. “You gonna spank me?”

His lips twitch. “You want me to?”

I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing. Hell, I don’t know what kind of game I’m playing. All I know is that Trevor is way out of my league when it comes to stuff like this, and my heart and my head and every other organ in my body are not ready for the likes of him. Dropping my chin, I look at the ground for a moment and then bring my eyes to meet his.

“Why are you really here, Trevor? Why are you doing this?”

He takes a step forward. And then another and another, and the closer he gets, the more my body vibrates with energy, and I hate it. I hate that he has this control over me.

“Because you’re stubborn as shit, and you ran out on your friends, and now everyone is worried about you.”

“Does that include you? Are you worried about me?”

“I’m always worried about you.”

“Hah.” I let out a burst of laughter. “Really? Last time we talked, you seemed more angry and less worried.”

He takes another step forward, putting himself all up in my personal space, and I don’t have the strength or willpower to take a step back. In fact, I like him here. Too much. I’m bombarded with the fresh smell of cucumbers and soap as Trevor’s scent wraps itself around me, stealing my thoughts along with my words.

“You want to know why I was angry in the hospital?” he asks.

I take a deep breath, but all I can do is nod.

“You tell me why you fled the bar like your ass was on fire, and I’ll tell you what all my anger was about. Deal?”

“Fine,” I say, not really sure what I’m agreeing to because my head is still swimming in all things Trevor. Suddenly I’ve got the intense urge to throw myself at him and just see how he’ll respond, see if his body will react to mine the way I want it to.

Needing to get away from his intoxicating scent, I take off walking, figuring he’ll either toss me over his shoulder as promised and insert me into his truck, or he’ll hop in his truck and follow me. He does neither. Instead, he falls in step beside me.

“You going to walk me all the way home, Trevor?”

“Not letting you walk home by yourself.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Talk.

Everyone wants me to talk, and I do. They all sit and listen, offering words of encouragement, but none of them listens—I mean really listens.

Maybe Trevor will be different.

I glance over at him. He’s wearing jeans and a black henley that stretches tight across his chest. The sleeves are bunched around his elbows, and his ball cap is on backwards, making him look all sorts of badass.

Who am I kidding? He is a badass. A badass firefighter who smells delicious and has positioned himself between me and the road. Always the protector. But who’s protecting him? Who listens to his stories at the end of the day and comforts him? Who understands Trevor Allen? So many questions I’d love to get answers to.

We reach Trevor’s truck, and I stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “I thought we were going to walk.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug. “I’m cold, and two miles is a long way.”

He smiles, and it’s a full, bright grin that shines a sliver of light through my dark world and offers me a ray of hope. I want to see it again, and more than that, I want to be the one to put it on his face.

With a hand at the small of my back, he guides me around the front of his truck, opens the passenger door, and helps me climb inside.

He waits until I’m situated and buckled before getting in himself, and then he starts the truck, turns on the heat, and points the vent toward me.

“Since when did you become so chivalrous?”

“I’m not. You just seem to bring out the best in me.”

I watch Trevor unabashedly as we merge onto the road. I watch the muscles of his forearms tighten and shift along with his thigh as he shifts gears, and that’s when I realize that two miles isn’t all that far—not when you’re staring at a gorgeous man. Before I know it, Trevor pulls into my driveway and shuts his truck off.

I unbuckle, slide out, and walk to my front door. When I turn around, Trevor is still sitting in his truck. His gaze cuts straight through me, and it’s as though I can feel what he’s thinking. I can feel him trying to convince himself to get out of the truck; I just don’t understand the struggle.

What I do know is that I don’t want to force him to come in, and I certainly won’t beg. Releasing his gaze, I turn toward the door, unlock it, and walk inside. I flick on the light and drop my purse on the end table next to the couch, and a minute later, I hear the door shut behind me.

Trevor’s presence is all-consuming. I can feel his big, strong body move across the room before I ever turn to look at him.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask.

“A water would be good.”

My house has an open floor plan, but it isn’t big, and I feel the weight of his stare on my back as I walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I lean into it, allowing the cool air to seep around me in hopes that it’ll calm my nerves, but all it does is make my nipples pucker tight beneath my shirt.

Shit.

“You okay in there?”

Trevor’s smooth voice washes over me, making it all but impossible to gain any sort of control over my breasts.

“Yeah. I’m good.” With my arms crossed awkwardly across my chest, I walk into the living room. Trevor is sitting on the end of the couch, tossing a yellow ball into the air.

Milo’s yellow ball.

“Where’d you find that?” I ask.

“Found it stuffed between the seat cushions. Heard you returned her.”

“It’s easier this way. I’m never home.”

“You’re always home,” he argues.

I hold out the bottle of water. “Is this what you want to talk about, a dog?”

He sets the ball down and grabs the water. “Not particularly.” Twisting the top off, he takes a drink and sets it on the coffee table. He watches me for a second and then pulls the afghan off the back of the couch and tosses it to me.

“What’s that for?”

“You look cold.”

Oh. Right. “Thank you.”

I pull the blanket to my chin, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. Now or never. Here goes nothing.

“When I close my eyes, I can smell the smoke, and it feels so real. At night I wake up coughing, and sometimes I wake up because I swear I can hear the boys screaming for me. Does that ever happen to you?”

“Every damn day.”

I hear Trevor shift around on the couch, but I don’t open my eyes. It feels safer here in the dark, my words bleeding from my mouth more freely than they have with anyone else.

“I made a rookie mistake—one I shouldn’t have made, and I swear this is my punishment. When I close my eyes, I see the scared faces of my students. Those boys’ screams echo through my head, the roar of the fire pulls me out of my sleep, and sometimes I find myself doing whatever I can to stay awake because the nightmares are too intense.”

“What mistake, Claire?”

I peel my eyes open, wanting to look at him when I tell him what I did, hoping he’ll take on my pain and bear some of the weight—maybe help me understand it or work through it, or whatever the hell it is people in these situations do.

“I hesitated.”