Page 65 of I Hate You More

Which is exactly what happened. As she stood there staring up at Spencer, both willing and not willing him to speak, she braced herself for the worst. He’d hate her. He’d revile her. Or, worst of all, he’d look down on her.

He did none of those things. Instead, he crossed the room in one powerful stride. He came so close that his hips touched hers, holding but not pinning her against the vanity. She could feel the powerful press of his thighs, the heat of a body that seemed to thrum with some unspoken need. More curious than alarmed, she waited to see what he would do.

His hands came up, a low growl escaping his throat before any words could form. Even that didn’t scare her, especially when his hands stopped on either side of her face, his palms hovering above her cheeks.

“Goddammit, Ruby,” he said, his low growl still evident in the rumbling way the words came out. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“You do?” Something in her throat caught and clenched. He wasn’t going to storm out the door. He was still here and withsucha look in his eyes. It was his challenging look, his I-cannot-fight-this-attraction look. “What’s stopping you?”

He released a shaky laugh, his hands still suspended above her skin, the heat of him causing a rush of sensation to overtake her. “Several things,” he said, “but none of them as pressing as the fact that I just had my hands up a dog’s ass.”

She laughed so hard that he was forced to take a step back. She probably sounded unhinged—shefeltunhinged—but her relief was so strong that it came out in a burst of sudden, overwhelming glee.

“That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” she confessed—and it was the truth. Sweet nothings and flowery compliments had nothing on a man who had just saved a dog’s life, taken down Harry Gunderson, andnotfled the moment the real Ruby Taylor reared her not-so-pretty head.

“Ten minutes,” he said as he stepped back. “Give me ten minutes to get cleaned up, and then we’ll talk.”

“We’ll talk?” she echoed, somewhat disappointed. A conversation between them was inevitable, it was true, but she’d much rather do the kissing first. It was so much more enjoyable, so much easier than all the rest.

Which was why she nodded and accepted his offer. It might be easier to use sex and attraction to smooth things out between them, but Ruby didn’t want the easy way. Not when it came to Spencer. Not when it came to the things worth fighting for.

“I should probably go clear out my locker anyway,” she admitted. “There’s not much in there, but it’d be just like Harry to change the locks before I can get to it.”

“Caleb tried that with the front door the day he moved in,” Spencer admitted with a shake of his head. “But then he couldn’t pay the locksmith, so I got all his copies of the keys.”

“Someday, you’re going to have tell me the entire story of how you two started that game,” she said.

Mentioning someday—a future between them—caused something to spark in Spencer’s dark eyes. “Someday,” he promised, “I will.”

Chapter 18

Spencer was never one to rush the job. He was always meticulous when it came to washing up both before and after seeing an animal. His surgeries ran a little long because he liked to double-check the sutures. Eva and Lawson even joked that he’d gladly spend two hours judging each individual animal during the West Coast Canine Classic, despite the fact that the entire show was meant to be completed in an afternoon.

He finished cleaning up after Wheezy and putting away his supplies in under six minutes flat.

Ruby must have been equally determined because she was sitting on the front steps of Mrs. Orson’s house when he emerged, a cardboard box sitting next to her. When he glanced inside it, he winced. A reusable lunch box, deflated and travel-stained, sat in one corner. A set of purple scrubs and a worn pair of sneakers sat in the other. On top of it all was a black-covered novel with what looked suspiciously like a nipple peeking through.

An entire career, summed up in one small parcel. A career that was, to all intents and purposes, over.

“Is that the infamous porcupine book?” he asked as he approached. He forced himself to speak lightly, as though it was perfectly ordinary to hold a conversation like this on an old woman’s front porch while several walker-laden men shuffled down the sidewalk in front of them.

Ruby twisted to look up at him, her eyes squinted against the setting sun. She was, without question, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The red, angry mottling of her rash looked even redder and angrier in the outdoor light. Exhaustion darkened the hollows under her eyes, and her usual curls hung limp around her shoulders. She looked like a woman who’d been through battle and emerged—not victorious, exactly, but with her head held high.

God, he loved that about her.

His chest clenched as he realized that he loved a lot more than that. He shot a hand out to brace himself on the porch railing, his whole body reeling with the implication of what he was looking at—ofwhohe was looking at.

Ruby Taylor. The woman he loved.

As her lips lifted in a half smile, mischief lighting her eyes, he almost staggered where he stood. “You’d better be careful throwing that word around. I know of at least three seedy motels within walking distance.” She tilted her head toward the house. “Is everything okay in there?”

The calm way she asked this question, as though the fact that she was jobless and in desperate need of medical attention meant nothing, did little to help the sudden reeling inside Spencer’s head.

“It’s fine,” he said. “He’s fine. Everything is fine.”

His incoherence caused her smile to deepen. Lifting the box out of the way, she patted the step next to her. “That’s good. I gave the ladies a stern lecture about leaving narcotics out and sent them to their rooms to think about what they’ve done.” Her smile dropped as suddenly as it had appeared. “Man, I’m going to miss this place. Is that pathetic?”

Spencer lowered himself to sit, careful not to touch any part of her. Not because he didn’t want to but because he desperately, feverishlydid. The air between them pulsated with heat and the crackling of untapped energy, but he refused to stick so much as a toe in it. He’d promised a conversation, so a conversation was exactly what he intended to have.