A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(5)

She winces. I hurt her. Hit a nerve. Her eyes simmer in the moonlight, unspilled tears pooling on her lower lids. As pissed as I am, I regret that comment. My heart starts doing the two-step in my chest, and my hands curl into fists so I don’t reach out and pull her into my arms and whisper I’m sorry.

If I do that, it’s like handing her a scalpel and telling her to cut out my beating heart and use it as a metronome.

“Plus,” I add, “whatever you think you know about disappearing is nothing compared to how much more the people who want to get their hands on you know about it. You’d be tracked, found, kidnapped and dead – or worse – before you know it.”

She shudders at the word worse.

Footsteps.

“Help!” Lindsay starts screaming.

“What are you doing?” I plant my hands on my hips and just watch, unamused.

“I’m going to tell Silas what you did to me.”

I snort. “You mean the part where I saved you from yourself?”

“You controlling, overbearing, arrogant son of a bitch! You think you own the world! You think you can tell me what to do and -- ”

“I see Drew hasn’t changed a bit,” says a familiar voice. Mark Paulson’s here, to our right, his face in profile, blond hair a lot longer than the last time I saw him. I catch his eye and see his eyebrows are arched, filled with questions.

“You got here fast,” I snap at him.

He shrugs. “No traffic this time of night.”

Lindsay’s yelling continues unabated. “ -- think you can kiss me and, and, take me to bed and that will change anything-- ”

“This is not quite the Drew I know,” Paulson says, turning away and coughing into his hand.

SLAP!

Distracted by Mark, I’ve given Lindsay her chance. She took it. My face absorbs the impact, which wasn’t much. She has strong arms but bad aim. I can tell this is the first time she’s ever slapped anyone.

I would laugh if I weren’t rubbing my mouth, tasting a little blood.

And dealing with a shit-eating grin from Paulson, who gives me a look that says, Better you than me, man.





Chapter 3





“Would you excuse us for a moment?” I ask, as if Mark had interrupted us at afternoon tea, and not in a moment of rage and humiliation and gun theft.

He turns away and heads toward a dark figure a hundred feet away. Must be Gentian.

I reach for Lindsay but she steps back, knees unlocked, thighs tight in a stance I recognize. It’s from mixed martial arts and her fists are curled. She thinks she’s going to fight me?

Cute.

Cute and hot.

“Lindsay, I’m Special Ops trained. You couldn’t take me if you cloned yourself five times.”

“I don’t need to fight you and win, Drew. I just need to cause a little damage.”

Oh, you already did, baby.

My chest squeezes, just enough to make me ache.

Can’t say that out loud, though.

“I am trying to help you,” I say slowly. Moonlight highlights the still-fresh scratches on her face, the awful bruising from the car accident, and her cheeks are flushed, rosy and fresh. She looks so gorgeous and raw, injured and feisty right now. It’s inappropriate and completely dangerous to think this way.

I don’t care.

I need to get through to her.

My hands aren’t enough. Brute strength isn’t cutting it.

I guess I have to resort to feelings.

“Beating me is your idea of helping? Why am I not surprised?” she says, her bitter tone making me wince. On the inside only, of course. On the outside, my face is polished granite.

“You can’t do this. Not alone.”

“Do what?”

“Hunt down those guys and kill them.”

Her mouth makes a silent O.

“I wasn’t – I wouldn’t -- ”

“Don’t lie. I was. I would.”

Her eyelids peel back in shock.

“But not like this, Lindsay. You’re not being logical. This is no plan. You need tactics and strategy to win a war when you’ve lost so many battles already.”

Her jaw is hard as steel, tight like a drum, and she’s glaring at me like she doesn’t want to hear a damn word I say.

But she’s listening.

That has to be enough.

“I am here,” I say slowly, “for my own reasons.”

She huffs softly. “Last night showed me a few of your reasons.” Her eyes flit to my crotch.

“Not that.”

“You didn’t like that?”

“Lindsay,” I groan, running my hand through my hair and trying not to f*ck her right up against the wall of her house, under her open window. “I didn’t fall asleep with you in my arms in your bed because I have some ulterior motive!”

Her cheeks go pink.

And I go cold.

“No,” I hiss. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Fake it.”

“Fake what?”

“Fake everything last night just so you could convince me you really care about me and maybe there’s hope. Fake it so you could trick me and get your hands on my gun and escape.”