Page 7 of In Their Hearts
The first thing I notice is that my mouth isn’t cooperating, and whatever sharp comeback I had died the second his lips touched mine.
I touch my lips just to make sure they are still there. Soft, warm, and fully intact. My touch lingers as I recall his firm lips against mine for another second. I can’t help my traitorous thoughts. What was that?
Seconds continue to tick by. Almost frozen in time.
I should have slapped him. Or pushed him. Anything but kiss him back.
Why didn’t I?
My heart is doing something reckless in my chest, loud enough that I’m sure he heard it buckling me into his truck. I place my hand over it, willing it to slow down. I’m too young for it to jump out of control.
The frustration inside me builds alongside my anger and defenses. My walls are slowly returning. I need my cover, because I can’t let him see me. The shattered woman underneath that can’t get herself back together. I’m broken beyond what any guy wants to deal with, what I haven’t even learned to put back together.
“What the hell was that?” I finally manage, but it comes out quieter than I want it to. Breathless. Too revealing.
That kiss should’ve felt unwelcome and unwanted.
The truth settles in my stomach, heavy and undeniable.
I didn’t stop him.
I didn’t want to stop him.
What’s worse? There’s a part of me that’s waiting for him to do it again. To pull this truck over and kiss me again.
But I don’t do attraction. I don’t do kisses. I can’t.
I risk a glance. He’s watching the road, jaw relaxed and hands steady on the wheel. Confident. His complete composure is doing something to me.
My gaze flicks down to his mouth before I can stop myself. I curse under my breath and turn towards the window.
What am I thinking?
I rest my hot cheek against the cool glass, hoping to dull the inferno rising inside of me. My eyes close tight in frustration and confusion.
He did this to me. I hate him for this.
The wheels keep taking us further away from my apartment. Where is he taking me? My brain is attempting to stop the spiraling and get a grasp on the now, trying to sort out a rational thought—a defensive comeback.
“You don’t just get to kiss me, and what, are you kidnapping me now?” I say, my voice sounding firmer. An attempt at rebuilding my defenses. My walls.
“You deserve to be kidnapped. It’s time for a change, Jo.” His sharp blue eyes land on me before he continues, “Besides, I have no plan to watch you freeze to death in your apartment.”
That look. And something in his voice—conviction, maybe—kills the fight in me. It scares me. That kiss scared me.
My anxiety should be kicking in. I’ve avoided going out in public as much as I can since the accident. It probably makes no sense. But there’s some part, a small one, that trusts the man next to me. He saw me at one of my lowest times, and he hasn’t run.
Leaving me more confused.
And feeling something dangerously close to want.
5
Grant
Finally. Clay texts me that he is on his way. And with Jolee.
Now that does surprise me, but I finally get to meet the feisty redhead who’s had my husband’s balls in a knot from day one.
