Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(64)

Not that those reasons had stopped him. Still, he regretted nothing. He would change nothing.

But it had to stop now.

He had to stop.

He slid his jeans on and reached for his T-shirt. He pulled it over his head and caught a whiff of Faith. The coconut scent of her hair. He cursed softly. He needed to wash the shirt as soon as he could.

The sheets on the bed rustled and he glanced down as she rolled onto her back, bringing the sheet with her and unfortunately covering up her nakedness. “North?”

Her voice was groggy with sleep and seductive as hell. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to climb back into that bed with her. To spend all day with her, touching and loving every inch of her body until he had her memorized.

He couldn’t do that though.

“I gotta get ready for work. Go back to sleep,” he said, his voice gentle.

She settled back into bed. She was exhausted. He’d kept her up late. She probably wouldn’t even remember this verbal exchange later.

She’d asked him to ruin her, but she didn’t really mean that. She didn’t know what that meant. He knew. He’d seen it firsthand. He’d lived it. He still was living it. He had to leave her alone before he actually inflicted wounds that went too deep and became irreparable. Before they became scars.

Before it all became more than words between them.

Before he wrecked her like he did everything else in his life.





TWENTY-FOUR




North slammed out of his truck and stalked up to the front door. It happened from time to time. Occasionally the past came knocking. Like it had today. Only this time, his guard had been down. He’d been humming as he worked. Humming. His thoughts wrapped up in a long-legged brunette. Even if he had told himself to keep last night buried in last night like any self-respecting one-night stand, he could still taste her mouth. Still feel her against his hands. Her coconut-scented hair chased him as he moved around the garage.

He made a beeline for his fridge and popped open a beer. Collapsing on the couch, he found a ball game on TV and nursed his way through a couple beers, trying not to think about the customer who’d rolled in today and recognized his face. Apparently the man had been Mason Leary’s second cousin. He had choice words for North. Not willing to risk his job, North had stood by and done nothing as the man called him every foul thing he could think of. If prison had taught him anything, it was how to take a beating—be it physical or verbal.

Still, it was a shitty day.

He heard Faith moving around next door. That didn’t improve his mood. He glared at the wall and went and got another beer.

His phone dinged and he saw it was a text from her. An innocent Hey stared back at him. He ignored it. Dropping his phone, he fell back on his couch again.

An hour rolled past. She didn’t text again. He figured she would get the picture eventually. Last night was a onetime thing. If anything, today’s fiasco at work drove that home more than ever.

People like you should be in cages. You shouldn’t be free and allowed to share the same space as the rest of us.

He shook his head, trying to chase away the words and the venom in which they had been uttered. It was harder than it should have been. He was going soft. That must be it. He had heard far worse insults in his life. Maybe he was getting too domesticated. His gaze slid to the wall separating him from Faith Walters again. Yeah. That must be it. Domesticity. He needed to purge it from his life. Stay hard. It was the only way he could protect himself.

His phone dinged again and this time it was a text from his brother asking him to join them for dinner. With a disgusted snort he tossed the phone down on the couch. Good people. Nice people. He had too f*cking many of them in his life. Strangely enough, things were easier when he was at the Rock and he didn’t have these types of people around him. When things were black and white and he knew where everyone stood—himself included.

He flipped through channels and found an old western he recognized as one of his uncle’s favorites. He dropped the remote and left the channel there, watching as bad guys and good guys shot at each other across an open range. Life was simple back then. You knew who the bad guys were. You knew who the good guys were. You were either one or the either. None of this bullshit.

He was halfway through the movie and on beer number five when a knock sounded at his door. He stared at it for a moment, not moving. His gut told him to stay where he was. Don’t move. Don’t get up.

He stood.

He didn’t bother looking through the peephole. Something told him who would be on the other side. It wasn’t rocket science for him to guess.

He opened the door to find Faith standing there, dressed in a soft-looking T-shirt with a faded Bullwinkle across the front. Her shorts did nothing to disguise the sexy slopes of her legs. Her eyes were luminous in the dark of his unlit porch.

“Hey.” She held up a plate of brownies. The rich chocolate aroma hit him full force and he was suddenly bombarded with the echoes of his childhood, of innocence. Before he’d destroyed everything.

“Brownies, huh? No scones.”

Uncertainty flashed across her face for a split second before she managed to smile at him. “Brownies are more a guy thing if I’m not mistaken.”

He tilted back his head and took a long slug of beer. Lowering his drink, he stared at her for a long while.

She shifted on her feet. “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” She lifted her chin a notch and he knew that her pride was on the line. It took her a lot to ask him that. This girl was not versed in one-night stands. She was not versed in men like him. He should do the right thing here. End things now before expectations set in and rooted. He knew that. He had planned to do that. Up until he opened this door and feasted eyes on her he would have.