Lead Me Home (Fight for Me #3)(127)

But whatever waited inside these old brick walls seemed way more interesting than anything else within a thousand-mile radius.

I pushed open the heavy doors to Charlie’s.

Last night I’d come to get away and tonight I found there was nothing I could do to stay away.

It was darker inside than out, country music pumping from the overhead speakers, which was hardly my thing, but it fit right into the vibe that anyone could come here and find something they liked. Last night they were playing some classic rock right before the live band was supposed to come on.

Which was the reason I’d been here in the first place. Anthony had suggested it, told me about this bar on the river that had live music almost every night. He knew the owner, too, said he was a cool guy, and he frequented the place whenever in town. He figured it’d be right up my alley, a place for me to unwind and escape when I got all twitchy and itchy and just needed the one thing that ever brought me peace.

Music.

Whether I was playing it myself, or listening to someone else bring it alive.

So I’d come.

What I wasn’t expecting was her.

That fucking gorgeous girl who’d swallowed me whole with just a glimpse. Last night I’d taken off because she’d left me unnerved and out of sorts, which I sure as hell wasn’t accustomed to feeling.

Control.

Learned a long time ago that it’s the only way to survive in this messed-up world.

And in five seconds flat, that girl had managed to make me feel like I was losing it.

So I’d jumped on my bike and hit the road—rode for hours with nowhere to go—with just the thoughts in my mind and the stirrings of a song fluttering somewhere in my subconscious as company. But even after I’d gone back to the beach house when it was nearing dawn and hashed out all those words on paper, there’d been no getting her off my mind. I had to see her again. Had to know if I’d been fucking hallucinating the strange connection I’d felt with her or if somehow it’d been real.

So here I was.

Curious.

Squinting, I allowed my eyesight to adjust. The place was busier than I expected just an hour before the town shut down for the night, but not packed like last night. My attention bounced around the room, seeking out the one thing I wanted to find.

My chest tightened when I did.

She was at the bar, leaning against it with her arms pressed to the top, talking to the older guy working behind it. Mounds of dark, wavy blonde curls, full and shiny and begging to have my hands wrapped in it, obstructed her face.

She had on a pair of frayed super-short cut-off jeans, which she wore with a pair of red scuffed-up cowgirl boots, showing off miles of long legs that were sleek and tanned, and suddenly had me questioning my control again.

Tonight she’d shed the flowy royal-blue blouse she’d worn yesterday in favor of a red tank top. It was a damned shame because I was dying to catch a glimpse of the creamy expanse of bare skin on her back that her shirt from last night had teased me with.

Everything about her was delicate—her slender arms and the graceful curve of her hips—elegant and soft and supple.

But somehow everything about her felt raw.

Something fierce bristling beneath all that delicious skin.

Her head tipped back and she laughed, too far away for me to hear, close enough to know I wanted to.

God, what was wrong with me? Apparently all the fresh air was fucking with my head.

On a sigh, I pushed away from the door and found the secluded spot in the very back where I’d sat last night. I sank down onto the blood-red velvet cushion, stretched my legs out in front of me, going for the most casual I could muster when I really had no idea what I hoped to gain by being here.

My phone buzzed from my front jeans pocket and I dug it out to read the text.

Zee.

You okay, man? You disappeared.

A small grin formed on my mouth. The Keeper. That’s what I called him and he’d earned the title well. He was always checking up, worried about everyone but himself.

Yeah, just went to grab a drink.

His response was almost immediate. Fine, dickhead, don’t invite the rest of us. We’re bored as hell over here.

I chuckled and tapped out a reply. Maybe I’m sick of all your faces.

Two seconds later, my phone buzzed again. Yet you drag our asses clear across the country.

And just like last night, I felt her before she even spoke.

I froze with my fingers poised on my phone, ready to type out some snarky reply to one of my best friends, when awareness gripped me by the throat.

It was like she held some kind of power to command the hurricane that seemed to hover around her, cover her, protect her. An electric current sparking from her skin, something both dark and alive. Like she was projecting a warning to stay away, all the while sucking me right into the eye of a brewing storm.

Fear.

Whether it was hers or mine, I wasn’t sure, but I sensed it, just as strongly as I did when I sat in this very spot last night. At first I’d mistaken it for that fucked-up type of love and admiration ascribed to those who’ve not earned it. Love of a voice that was never really heard. Love of a face that was never really seen.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But with her? When I’d looked up to see that gorgeous face twist up in shock, her hands shaking and some kind of confused desire flaring in her eyes, all it’d done was piss me off. Every inch of me had hardened, most notably my dick and my jaw, because the girl had to be the hottest thing both east and west of the Mississippi, and then I’d just been bracing for the downfall. That moment when a girl started squealing when she realized who I was, fawning all over me, trying to get a piece because that’s just the way it was.