He had her hurry up and pack, but then they didn’t leave until late Tuesday afternoon, almost two whole days later.

Convincing Teagan of the importance of the bodyguard had been about as easy as Elle had believed it would go. Leaving her–even knowing she would be in good hands–had been nearly impossible.

Teagan had promised to call multiple times a day and to pay attention to the bodyguard’s requests, at least for a few weeks. Then they were going to renegotiate things if all remained quiet on the ex front.

As far as Elle was concerned, she would prefer if the bodyguard shielded Teagan forever. You never knew when a crazy from your past would decide now was a good time to wreak havoc.

But the three of them had had fun the last couple of days. Mal didn’t say much, as always, but he stuck close and didn’t make rude remarks about the endless board games Teagan wanted to play since she’d taken a few days off work to “get her chill back” as she’d called it. So they had gone through Scattergories to Scrabble to Cards Against Humanity, and though he’d won far more than his share, he hadn’t gloated.

Much.

Now they were on the road, finally, headed to his mystery location. They’d been driving for a good hour already and the fading sunlight only seemed to intensify Mal’s growing discontent. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve guessed he was racing against a clock. One only he could see, since he was so freaking secretive.

She was starting to feel the same way, since she’d been sparse with her responses to her friends and family the last few days. She’d answered Lila’s texts, and they’d talked about mostly safe topics, other than discussion about the services for Randy probably being moved up since Jules didn’t want it to conflict with holiday travel. Even now, she was thinking of others.

Then there had been mention of a band meeting right after Thanksgiving, and Elle absolutely did not want to think about it. Just the idea of being around that conference table and looking at the faces of her bandmates, imagining that they might be thinking the wrong person had lived—

She knew her thoughts were crazy. But she couldn’t stop them. And she also hadn’t been able to help snapping at Denver when she’d mentioned Mal and how Elle must be feeling desperate if she wanted to spend time with the growler.

Little did they know that Mal was the reason she was getting through this at all.

“Can you turn off the fucking Christmas music?”

Naturally, he had to ruin any charitable thoughts she was having about him. He had an uncanny sixth sense like that.

Elle tapped her fingers against her mouth. “Hmm. I have weighed your request and—no. Denied. Sorry.”

Mal grunted and changed lanes, applying more speed than was necessary. His idea of a vehicular middle finger.

Since she rather enjoyed his creative muttered expletives, she had no complaints. At least about that.

This endless ride to nowhere? That was pissing her off.

It was so dark and cold outside and every time she tried to turn up the heat, Grumposaurus promptly flicked it back down. So she’d turned to cheerful holiday music to try to distract herself, and now he was even pissing on that?

That was another point. They hadn’t stopped in forever, and she really needed to pee.

She also needed a Coke or something. A serious jolt of caffeine. Truth be told, she was craving something much harder. Her arm was achy and stiff and she desperately needed some relief. She also felt more than a little antsy about leaving Teagan with the bodyguard Mal had hired. The guy seemed competent enough, but Teagan had been wholeheartedly against the idea. Not that she’d been given a lot of choice. Mal was pretty hard to dissuade once he’d settled on a course of action.

So, yeah, Elle was uncomfortable and jittery and needed…something. But she would settle for caffeine.

Though, God, that little pesky voice in the back of her head was trying to intrude with every silent mile they traveled. Ignoring it was awfully hard without something to take her attention.

Just take a few pain pills. Grab a bottle of something at the next convenience store you pass. Wait ’til you get to wherever you’re going and see if you can find a hook-up there.

And that voice was not referring to sex.

Hell, she’d even debated going through Mal’s duffel to see if he’d stashed the bag of pills in there. She hated those thoughts. Hated that she wasn’t strong enough not to have them.

But if she had to, she would call her sponsor at the next rest stop. Even if she had to do it from the bathroom stall to get some privacy.

She couldn’t break again, because she didn’t know if she’d get back up.

“Stupid Christmas music,” Mal muttered, bringing her back.

This was what she needed to focus on right now—fighting with him. Being with him. Letting the way he overwhelmed her fill up all the holes created by boredom and fear and cravings.

Getting addicted to him wasn’t a smart idea either, but at least she couldn’t inject him into her veins. At this rate, even screwing him seemed unlikely.

“It’s November.” Her voice sounded faint, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Traditionally, that’s the start of the Christmas season.”

Another grunt.

“It’s fun and makes you smile. Okay, correction—it makes me smile. Like this one.” She pointed at the radio. “Alvin and the Chipmunks. Do you remember this from when you were a kid? You were one once, right?”

“No.”

“No what? You don’t remember it or no, you were never a child? Both seem equally possible.”

“No to remembering it. My mother wasn’t exactly one for playing holiday standards.”

Elle smoothed a hand over the ripped denim leg of her jeans and released a long, slow breath. Okay, this was good. If she kept talking, and he kept talking, she could keep that pushy voice at bay.

Mal could help her drown it out.

“Not a music lover?”

“No.”

“But your father, he’s in the music business, right? I remember Lila mentioning something about that once. He works with artists too.”

“Mostly what he does now is count his millions and his mistresses.”

Elle rubbed her chin. Different tact needed there. “How did you get into music then? If your mother didn’t like it and your father didn’t bring his work home—”

“Like you give two shits about any of this.”

“I do. I’m curious.”

“Why? Because you sucked my dick so now we’re star-crossed lovers?”

She reeled back as if she’d been struck. In a way, she had been. Not by his words. This was Mal, and he’d said much worse to her over the years they’d known each other. But the venom in the question knocked her off her already very shaky perch.

“Next rest stop we pass, stop.”

He didn’t say anything for probably five minutes. Maybe longer. “Look, I’m sorry.”

She stared straight ahead.

“I don’t like talking about my past. At all.”

“No? Well, I’m not loving my present much at the moment either, so I guess we’ve said all we need to.” She pressed her fingers together over the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger, trying pressure points to relieve some of the pain. She’d try anything.

She had before, and probably would again.

Soon.

“What is it?”

“What’s what? I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Your knee’s been jittering for five miles. Your pale as goddamn snow. What is it?”

“I’m an addict who wants a fix.” She said it quietly, hoping he would just let it go.

He’d said she mattered, but she had her doubts. Caring about keeping someone alive didn’t mean you truly gave a crap about how they felt. That were two very different things.

“Ahh, Christ.” He beat his fist lightly into the wheel, and she didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed.

So she went with both.

“Sorry to disrupt your day.”

“It’s not that. It’s just, fuck, I don’t know how to handle this shit. I can’t keep you locked up forever.”

“You just realize that?” Amusement was definitely winning now, and only because he’d developed the cutest little wrinkle between his eyes.

She had never thought a single solitary thing on Malachi Shawcross was cute. Maybe she needed meds more than she thought.

“No. I’m just saying. And I knew this was gonna happen, and fuck. I’m not the guy to be anybody’s nursemaid.”

“No fooling?” Now the annoyance was winning. “Here I thought you’d be perfect in a little white dress and hat.”

“Fuck it. You need a distraction.”

“Yeah. No kidding. I figured on calling my—what the hell are you doing?” she demanded as he veered across three lanes of traffic and sailed down an exit ramp into the parking lot of the rest stop. She hadn’t even realized they’d reached one, but he screeched into a spot at the back of the lot right near a light.

And now he was whipping off his belt, shifting toward her, leaning across the seat, and—

“Stop.” She slammed her hand against his chest. “What are you doing?”

“Distraction, right?” His eyes were already focused on her mouth, and that wasn’t a bad thing. She couldn’t help licking her lips, and his low groan set off something primal inside her. A drumbeat every bit as stirring as the ones he played onstage. “This will do.”

“What, you’re going to fuck me into forgetting I’m an addict? Your penis is lovely, but I think you’re asking more of it than is fair.” He made a frustrated noise and she placed her finger over his lips. “Not like this.”

“That’s my line.”

“You’ll share, right?”

“Not the best at that.” He flicked his thumb over her damp lower lip, so quickly she barely felt his touch. “I wouldn’t share you.”

Her cheeks went hot. “Never got the feeling before that you thought about such things.”

“Sharing you?”

“Me, period.”

“Wrong.” His thumb made that same sweep again, except this time he lingered. “So wrong.”

She didn’t know if this line of conversation still fell under the distraction heading, but she was in too deep now to care. “Ever plan on, I don’t know, telling me?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm.” She nibbled on her lower lip, drawing the flesh between her teeth mainly to torture him a little bit. He made that same sound in his throat that vibrated between her thighs, and she sucked in a breath. “I suppose, if you wanted to, you could reciprocate last night.”

For the first time ever that she’d seen, an emotion like panic flashed in his eyes. “Not enough room.”

“Backseat’s plenty roomy, even for a big guy like you.” She trailed her fingertip up the side of his neck and his shoulders tightened. “Unless you’re just not that interested.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Then?”

He shifted on the seat, looking anywhere but at her. “That’s intimate.”

She frowned. “Umm, no more intimate than when I had your dick in my mouth.”

“Untrue.”

She sighed. “Never mind. Lady boner gone.”

He yanked the keys out of the ignition and stared at the main building that housed all the different eateries featured at the rest stop. “I’m hungry. You?”

Some part of her wondered where exactly she’d gone wrong in life to end up in this place with this man. “You’re an odd duck.”

“Hungry duck.” He got out and slammed the door, then waited for her in front of the hood. Because of course she couldn’t be trusted to sit out there alone. God knows what she could do.

Worst of all, he was right to be cautious. She’d just told him as much.

She followed him inside and they squabbled over nuggets and fries and dipping sauces for so long the checkout clerk actually asked them to forfeit their spot in line until they made up their mind. It was late evening, so it wasn’t as if there were tons of people there, but she wasn’t going to cause any more of a disturbance than they had already. So they got two twenty-piece McNuggets with barbecue sauce, two large fries, and two large Cokes.

“Healthiest meal ever,” she said between shoving her face full and licking salt off her fingers.

They were eating in the little mini food court, and Mal was too consumed with his meal to even look up. Or else he was pretending to be so she didn’t ask him if he had an aversion to licking all pussies, or just hers.

Probably better to avoid that line of conversation entirely.

“I need to call my sponsor,” she said instead. It was almost as hard to get that particular sentence out.

No, it was actually harder. She would rather talk about sex all day long than this subject. Especially with him.

She didn’t think he’d heard her at first, since he kept dipping and eating as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Then he lifted his head and stared. “You have a sponsor?”

“Yes. I don’t call her as much as I should, but yes.” She fumbled with the strap of her tank top before pulling her cardigan in tighter around her body. “I don’t want to screw up again.”

“You’re not going to.”

“Why? Because you threatened me twenty ways of Sunday?” The memory—indistinct as it was—still rankled, though she knew he’d done what he had for her own good.

Somehow he’d probably say he’d withheld giving her an orgasm in the backseat of the SUV for her own good too. It built character or some such. So why had he turned toward her for a kiss in the first place?

She didn’t have enough mental bandwidth to deal with him right now. Then again, he counted as a serious distraction, didn’t he?

“No, because you’re strong. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But I believe in you.”

She snorted. “You do not. You’ve watched me like a hawk.”

“You needed it for a few days to get your equilibrium back. You’ll be able to handle it on your own soon enough.” He shrugged and picked up his last nugget. “Until then, I’ll be the asshole in your face every twenty seconds.”

“Why?”

“You deserve to get back where you were, with what you loved,” he said simply.

She set her French fry down as she fought to swallow the emotion lodged in her throat. “Nicky’s gonna play for me until I can,” she whispered, and that too felt like a huge admission.

One more way of acknowledging how weak she was. So much so that she needed all kinds of backups and fail-safes.

“Okay.”

“It was a deal they made. How I got in the band. He did some kind of agreement with Li. How to cover for the potential druggie.” She laughed bitterly and rubbed the side of her hand over her cheek. “And here I am, falling right into line.”

“Are you on something right now?” His voice whipped out, cold and hard.

“What? No. Of course not. What could I be on? I don’t have anything on me. You took my pills.”

“Your system is clean or on its way there. You’re not a druggie, Ricki, any more than I am. So stop fucking calling yourself that.”