Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(25)
He cursed under his breath again and reached out for me. Before I could flinch or react in any way, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me, cradling the back of my head tenderly. His hold, while possessive, was somehow comforting, too. “I’m sorry. After last night . . . the last thing you need is another * getting in your face.”
I closed my eyes, letting myself enjoy the comfort for a second, but then I pushed at his chest and pulled away. He let me. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m stronger than you think.”
“I never doubted that,” he said, his tone even. “But still, I’m sorry. I’d never intentionally hurt you. Not like that.”
I nodded once, swallowing hard. Not like that. What, exactly, was that supposed to mean? I wanted to ask but didn’t. “I know.”
“Okay. Good.” He glanced around at the empty tables and rubbed his jaw, which was definitely harder than usual. “I’ll help you lock up, and then we’ll go back to my place.”
Shaking my head, I crossed the room and grabbed the full beers the gang members had abandoned. “I can do it on my own. You don’t have to help.”
“Yeah.” After straightening a chair, he headed across the room, chugged the last of his whiskey, and let out a long breath. “I do.”
When he turned back to me again, that smooth, easy grin of his was back in place once more. I had a feeling he used it as a mask, when he didn’t want his feelings to be known. So I was sure he always wore it, because he was a guy, and when did they ever show their true feelings? I nodded once. “Okay. Thanks.”
He shrugged, as if he didn’t give a damn whether I thanked him or not. I had a feeling it wasn’t an act at all. He really didn’t give a damn. “Do you need to mop?”
I nodded again. “Yeah.”
“I’ll do it.” He grabbed the beers out of my hands and headed for the bar. “Where do you keep it?”
“Kitchen, in the left corner.” I set a chair—the same one he’d straightened—on top of the table before grabbing a second one. “You can set your glass in the sink in the back. I’ll have the dishwasher wash it tomorrow. The beers can go in there, too.”
He went into the kitchen without speaking, and we finished closing up in companionable silence. Having an extra pair of hands was a pretty big help, so it took me less than half the time it usually did to get the bar shut down and ready for opening. It was Sunday night, so it was the beginning of my “weekend.” The bar would reopen on Wednesday.
After I did one more walk-through, making sure I hadn’t missed anything, I shut the lights off. Lucas held the door open for me. I walked past him, shoving my hands in my pockets and shivering even before I was outside. It was bitterly cold, and these shorts did absolutely nothing for my legs. Lucas had gone back to my place with me earlier today, so I had clothes at his place. Where I was currently living.
Which brought to mind . . .
“How long are we supposed to be, you know, together?” I asked, hunching into myself to ward off the chill.
He shut the door, checked the lock, and turned to me. “Are we already at that point in our fake relationship that we need to talk about our fake future?”
“It’s not all that fake when it involves me living in your apartment and us making out in public to prove a point to a bunch of *s I couldn’t care less about.” I shivered again, and my teeth chattered. “So, yeah, we’re at that point.”
“You’ll live with me until a sufficient amount of time has passed where we can safely break up, or until I eliminate the threat.” He shrugged his brown leather jacket off and draped it over my shoulders, tugging it closed while he looked down at me. “Might be days, might be weeks. No way of knowing.”
Eliminate the threat? Aka . . . kill them all. “But—”
“Easy, now. You might hurt my feelings.” He gripped the jacket tighter, but his crooked smile contradicted his body language. “Is it so hard to live with me, darlin’?”
He looked so devilishly charming, standing in the moonlight, putting his jacket on me like a gentleman, and looking at me as if I mattered to him. We both knew I didn’t. He’d felt sorry for me, he’d saved me, and now he was stuck with me.
I bet he was thrilled about that.
“No. Of course not. Your bed is very comfortable.” I licked my lips. Images of us together, naked, in that bed hit me hard. “You helped me, and it was nice of you. I appreciate it, but—”
He frowned at me, the heat of his body keeping me warm as the chilly wind made itself known. Winter refused to loosen its firm control of the climate, and I was starting to think it never would. “I told you, I’m not f*cking ‘nice.’ Don’t call me that. I’m the villain in a fairy tale, not the hero.”
The urge to roll my eyes at his self-deprecation was strong, but I managed to contain myself. Barely. “Oh, believe me. I know that. I also know that you helped me, and I don’t want to keep taking your bed and complicating your life. Maybe I could still sleep at my place and we could be together, but not together. You know?”
He threw his arm over my shoulders and steered me toward his shop. Days-old snow and ice that refused to go away crunched beneath my feet, but I wasn’t worried about falling. “No way. First of all, I can’t guarantee your safety if you’re not with me. Second, it’s far too late for that. They’ve seen you go home with me once, and they would suspect something if it’s not a regular thing. My boss was understanding of my little adventure last night, to a point, but he made it very clear that he doesn’t want a war. If we give the Bitter Hill guys an opening, and they take it, I can’t retaliate. I can’t risk pissing Tate, or them, off any more than I already have. If I do, I can kiss my life good-bye—and I don’t even wanna think about what they’ll do to you.”