Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(2)

Mase laid a gentle hand on mine. “As your pseudo-brother, I’m warning you: Be careful.”

I had no idea whether he meant Darren specifically or men in general. It didn’t really matter. I’d learned my love lesson early. And I’d never trusted a guy enough to let one hurt me since.

Darren? The only kind of guy I was willing to play with. A beautiful man I refused to form any attachment to—easy to leave.

The quintessential heartbreaker.



In Darren’s truck. Again. A vast awkward distance between us. Again.

The drive took only about ten minutes. But the ride home from Loading Zone in Philly’s Old City Arts District to the outskirts of sleepy Glenhaven—the third since last summer—stretched eternal.

Why? A hookup shouldn’t be this difficult.

My gaze shifted toward him. Powerful hands gripped the steering wheel, thumbs knocking some unheard drumbeat into the silence of the cab. Sculpted forearms stretched up toward cut biceps that vanished under the thin black fabric of the T-shirt that hugged them. His expression was serious, but relaxed. As if he didn’t feel the weight of the moment like I did.

Now or never, Kiki.

I took a deep breath and ran a flattened hand over the gauzy material of my skirt, trying to calm myself. Then I inched closer to him, needing some sort of validation that whatever tenuous thing we had between us was moving toward something…fun…instead of away from it.

Tonight didn’t have to be a big deal. He either wanted me or didn’t. Two other platonic drop-offs didn’t mean anything significant. Maybe he was shy. Or a gentleman.

As we drove, yellow pools of light from wrought iron lampposts marked the passing time in a visual cadence. Light…dark. Light…dark. The streetlights soon began to feel like a countdown, as if they mocked me for just sitting passively in their spotlights.

Yet how to breach the uncomfortable silence? My mind tumbled over the possibilities: How did your sound board glide tonight? Wow, how ’bout the heavy bass on that last song?

He cleared his throat, beating me to it. “Sooo…talk to me. How’s the art going?”

“Good.” Good? Really? I winced at my pathetic attempt at conversation.

We made the second-to-last turn, my time running out, as he gave a single nod in reply.

Buck up, Kiki. You either want him or you don’t. Stop being a *. “Actually, it’s a smaller sculpture. A single orchid sprouting from a rocky riverbed.”

He glanced my way. “You work with metal, right?”

“Yeah.” I leaned back, staring out the windshield, finally calming a bit as I thought about my art. “This piece is bronze. The lone color is the violet on the flower.”

“Sounds cool.” His voice lowered. He cleared his throat again.

Had he moved closer?

Impossible. He was driving. Behind the steering wheel, as always.

Yet our legs nearly touched. The rough denim, tight over his thigh, had slid over the tan leather seat to within an inch of my bared knee; he’d spread his legs wider.

The man already consumed most of the space in the truck with his commanding presence. But instead of moving away, I automatically drew closer. My thundering pulse throbbed heavier, warmer…lower.

I swallowed hard, attempting to find my way back to the conversation. “How did your night go?” Maybe his sound board was a medium for his art, like metal was for me.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a barely perceptible grin, then relaxed.

He dropped his right hand from the steering wheel and floated it in the infinitesimal space between us. Gentle pressure rubbed through the flimsy fabric that covered my upper thigh.

My gaze lowered from the dashboard at the exact moment the knuckle of his index finger trailed in slow motion up the skin under my hem.

I held my breath.

I haven’t been imagining things.

But then his hand suddenly lifted and fisted. His expression hardened as he stared straight ahead. We made the final turn onto my street, and he eased off the gas, letting us coast. The ride I’d been waiting all night for—six long months and two failed attempts for—appeared to be over.

We rolled to a stop in front of the white picket fence that surrounded the darling butter-yellow Victorian. Then he shifted the truck into park, letting it idle.

Refusing to give up, especially when I sensed him struggling with an attraction we both knew was real, I made a final direct attempt. “You don’t have to drive right off. You could come in for a drink.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” The two words tripped out flippant in my pitiful effort to sound nonchalant.

“You’re Cade’s little sister.”

“No, I’m n—” I blinked.

The pad of his finger pressed to my lips. Warm. Firm. Suddenly, I thought of nothing else. My whole world became our tantalizing first contact.

He didn’t move. Simply stared at me.

I closed my eyes. My head eased back against the headrest, but the contact remained as my lips pursed into the gentlest kiss against his fingertip. I wanted to flick my tongue out, taste him. But then he pulled away.

I blinked my eyes open.

He’d half-twisted on the seat toward me. “You deserve better than a one-night f*ck, Kiki.”

“What I deserve,” I muttered, then snorted.