Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(30)

“Uh . . . yes.” I blinked. I guess he’d dug a lot deeper into my history than I’d suspected. “Sabrina MacKenzie.”

“Holt now. I know her.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “She lives in Prescott. That’s where my brother lives too. Emmeline, my sister-in-law, and Sabrina are good friends.”

“Small world.”

“Especially in Montana.”

“Anyway, I interviewed Sabrina. And I was jealous,” I admitted. “I was jealous of her story. She’d put herself out there and held nothing back. Dad had just bought the paper and had been begging me to move here. But I’d stayed in Seattle, holding out for a story like hers. It never came and the years, they kept passing by. Finally, I gave up. It was time to come home.”

I’d wasted five years after my interview with Sabrina busting my ass in Seattle. Every time I brought up a story idea to my producer, they’d nod and smile and tell me it was a good idea. Then they’d assign it to someone else, normally a man. Because I was needed on screen. I was the pretty face that came into people’s homes to tell them news, whether good or bad.

I was tired of being the pretty face.

Here at the Clifton Forge Tribune, I wasn’t going to win any awards. I wasn’t going to save countless lives by getting illegal handguns off the streets and away from children. But I could do honest work. I could tell the truth.

And if I wasn’t going to have a family, I’d have this paper. It would be my legacy instead of a family.

I wouldn’t fail at another career.

“Any other questions?” I asked, vulnerability thick in my voice. Why had I told him all of that? Why couldn’t I have just left it at “I worked in TV and now I don’t”? Instead, I’d opened up a piece of my past and splashed it all over the room for him to scrutinize.

His stare raked over my face, seeing too much. The sadness. The failure. The regret. Even my closest friends in Seattle, not that I’d had many with my work hours, didn’t know about those feelings.

“No. No more questions.” The chair’s wheels slid as he stood. He pushed it into Dad’s desk, then returned to sit on mine again.

“Good.” I bent and plucked my laptop from my tote. “I have a busy day.”

“Bryce.”

I met his gaze. “Kingston.”

“I think I prefer King,” he grumbled.

“Then go away, King. I need to get to work.”

Dash stood, moving for the door, but an impulse made me call out and stop him.

“Wait.” I needed my power back. I needed control. So I stood from my chair, walking right into his space without hesitation. His eyes flashed as I reached up and threaded my fingers into that hair. It was silky, like I’d expected. With a firm grip on those thick strands, I yanked his mouth down onto mine.

He froze for a split second but then he caught up to the kiss. His arms wrapped around my back, crushing me to his chest as his tongue pushed inside my mouth. The taste of cinnamon exploded on my tongue as he plundered. Not to be outdone, I made sure to meet him beat for beat, pouring everything I had into that kiss. A weekend’s worth of frustration and longing, all delivered with sucking and licking and fisting his hair.

I gave as good as I could before ripping my lips away, placing a palm on his sternum and shoving him hard with all my might.

Dash staggered backward a foot. His lips were swollen, and we both breathed hard. Confusion was written all over his handsome face—along with lust. He longed for more.

And now, I had my power back.

“I’ll agree to the truce after I question your dad,” I said. “Set it up. I want to talk to him, tonight.”





Chapter Nine





Dash





“Dad?” I called through the house. No answer.

The lights were off in the kitchen and living room. His bike was missing from the garage.

“Fuck,” I muttered, clenching my fists.

He wouldn’t skip out on bond, not when the garage was on the line. I should have pressed harder on Friday when I’d picked him up from the courthouse, but he hadn’t wanted to talk then. He didn’t want to talk now.

An hour after I’d left Bryce at the newspaper, my head was still spinning from that kiss. I’d gone to the garage to kill time with an oil change as I waited for Dad to come in. When I’d texted him yesterday, he’d ignored me. All damn weekend. Finally, he’d responded last night, promising to be at the garage by ten. When eleven o’clock had rolled around and he still hadn’t shown, I’d come here.

When Dad didn’t want to be found, he wasn’t easy to track down.

What was he hiding? Why wouldn’t he talk to me about this? Murder wasn’t uncommon in our past life, but this was the first time he’d been arrested for the crime.

Son of a bitch. I left through the side door, going outside to climb on my bike. There was no point continuing my search. When he was ready to talk about Amina Daylee, he’d show.

The return trip to the garage was fast. I spent the time wondering how I’d convince Bryce to keep this truce if Dad wasn’t talking. She’d be pissed as hell, and I doubted another kiss would buy me more time. To feel her lips on mine, it would be worth a try. I’d be more than okay with a repeat of this morning if it meant I got her hand in my hair and her slim body pressed against mine.