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  And he hadn’t come over to say hi.

  She bristled, felt the old anger rise and knew how dangerous that was. And she didn’t care. She could try to control things as much as possible, but the reality was that she had no control over anything.

  “Let’s go to the bar,” she told Penny now, and Penny readily agreed. They did a couple of shots each, and soon found themselves surrounded by a group of guys.

  “Come on, sweetheart—dance with me,” one of them urged her. He had a buzz cut, dark eyes. Friendly, open. The total opposite of Teige.

  She let him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. The first songs were fast, and then a slow ballad came on, and she waited to feel something, anything, when he held her close.

  There was nothing but a dizzying drunkenness and his hot beer breath in her ear.

  Maybe she should kiss him. Or maybe the other night with Teige touching her had been a fluke and she really was dead inside.

  Over Buzz Cut’s shoulder, she saw another guy wink at her. His hair was slightly longer and she smiled at him. Winked. Because starting trouble was the way to quell the ache inside. And when he sent over a drink, via a waitress, in the middle of the dance floor to her, she broke away from Buzz Cut to accept it.

  “This is from Charlie,” the waitress said and pointed. Winked at her, like, Good going, girl, with two of them on the line.

  “Ah, sweetheart, don’t let him woo you,” Buzz Cut told her. “Thought you were with me.”

  “You’ll have to try harder,” she teased before lifting her glass to the longhaired guy and then downing the shot. The longhaired guy came to the dance floor just as Buzz Cut swept her into another slow dance. The anger on Buzz Cut’s face was easy to read, and she didn’t protest, because it felt good to push someone to that point.

  There’d be trouble soon, of her own making. She wanted that energy sprawling around her. Knew this small disturbance would morph into something big and bold and careless and stupid.

  That was it—she craved careless.

  The longhaired man was determined to cut in. He argued with Buzz Cut and they pushed each other and she was caught between them for a few moments before rough hands—rough, wonderful hands—pulled her out of the fray that would soon consist of swinging fists and broken beer bottles.

  Within what appeared to be seconds, the simple argument caught everyone up in its wake. She wanted to stay in the middle of the bar brawl, to be the center of attention, and not for the terrible, horrible reasons she’d once been.

  “Let me go,” she shouted, struggled against Teige’s grasp. It wasn’t hurting her, but it was definitely strong.

  She saw Buzz Cut slam the longhaired man into the crowd before coming toward them, as if determined to keep Kayla. He was battling for her. Would Teige?

  “You okay?” he called, before noting Teige’s hold on her. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

  Teige let her go, moved forward as Buzz Cut circled him, goading him. Teige remained expressionless, but she swore he was enjoying this. The testosterone pulsed through the bar and everyone was cheering then, waiting for the fight that would ensue.

  The bouncers tried to get through the crowd but couldn’t. She should’ve been claustrophobic and if she thought about it too hard, she would be. Instead, she concentrated on Teige.

  He was a blur of motion, but it was compressed—he used the least amount of movement, energy and force in order to subdue Buzz Cut.

  Now, Buzz Cut’s cheek was pressed into the pool table, with Teige’s hand on the back of his neck. Teige whispered something into his ear and Buzz Cut nodded once.

  When Teige let him up, he glared at Teige but then walked to the door and left.

  In Kayla’s experience, men like that didn’t give up. She recalled the inherent danger in pushing men past their breaking point, because there was always a price to causing this much trouble. She looked around frantically for an alternate exit, something she normally did whenever she entered a new place. She cursed herself for being too distracted to do so this time as the familiar, hated panic set in.

  You haven’t changed a goddamned bit.

  She tasted the bitterness of that statement on her tongue, overpowering anything else.

  The panic must’ve shown on her face, because Teige’s arm went around her firmly as he led her out the door and through the parking lot. Once at her truck, he held out his hand for her keys, an unspoken command she followed by rote.

  She climbed into the passenger’s seat unsteadily. He didn’t help her in or close her door, took off fast as the sirens approached. She fell heavily against the seat as he careened around the corner, but before she could say anything, he said, “You started that fight.”

  “What do you care?”

  “I don’t. I like a good fight.”

  “Why’d you stop it, then?”

  “The look on your face.”

  She wanted to ask him why he gave a shit, tell him he had no idea what kind of trouble she was, but she didn’t. Instead, she balled her hands together on her lap. The anger radiated off her in waves as Teige steered her big truck toward home at a more normal rate of speed.

  Home. How ridiculous.

  “This doesn’t feel like you.”

  He was talking about the car, his hand caressing the steering wheel. She hated that he was right. She’d have preferred something small and fast, but not a flashy red. Something black and sleek, an older model. “I like to be safe.”

  With that, he gave a sharp yelp of a laugh. “Bullshit.”

  “How would you know my stance on safety?”

  “Because you called me an asshole.”

  “No one ever stands up to you?”

  “No one smart.”

  “And you like it that way?”

  Teige glanced at Kayla before admitting, “Most of the time.”

  He liked her a hell of a lot, but admitting that to the pretty girl with a penchant for trouble wasn’t going to happen. She’d already gotten him to brawl for her, something he hadn’t been goaded into since he was sixteen. “If you wanted to dance with me, you could’ve just asked me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Way to bruise my ego, sweetheart,” he drawled.

  She blurted out, “I have this anger inside—it scares me,” without looking at him.

  “At least you admit it.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Everyone has that inside them. It’s when you pretend you don’t and you act like everything’s fine that gets you into trouble.”

  She pondered that. Maybe he was just making shit up, but she wanted to believe him.

  He pulled the truck into her driveway, all the way up next to the house, the way she usually parked it. She slid out and he was by her side before she could close the door. Together, they walked up to her porch, a silent admission that he’d noticed she never used her front door, despite the fact that it was closer to where they’d parked.

  She’d also noticed he had a similar aversion to his.

  People were attacked more often at their front doors. Back doors gave the element of surprise. She almost said that out loud, but caught herself.

  Her head was reeling and it wasn’t only from the alcohol. Once on her porch, she turned and he was so damned close. She reached out and put her palms flat on his chest, noted her swollen knuckles only for a second before looking up at him.

  He bent his head forward and kissed her. One of his hands wound around the back of her neck to hold her close as his mouth took hers. She fisted the front of his shirt, ignoring the jolt of pain from her injured hand as she kissed him back.

  His kisses were punishing. Exciting. His kisses revealed what he wouldn’t tell her. Teige would give her everything, but he’d ask for the same in return. In bed, under him, she finally wouldn’t have to pretend.

  He continued kissing her as her hands loosened their grip on his shirt and moved to his shoulders. He pressed her tigh
tly to him and she felt every hard plane of his body against hers.

  She couldn’t get away from him physically, not unless she asked. And somehow that thrilled her in a way she couldn’t explain. She had just enough leeway to rock her hips so she could rub against him, and he encouraged it, his hand moving to her ass at one point to increase the friction between them. She was wet and hot for him, and she wished she had the courage to take his hand and place it between her legs. But his mouth remained on hers, his tongue teasing and then demanding all at once. She moved her hands to his hair, twined her fingers…and his went into her hair, his grip tighter. And it turned her on even further—like she could maybe come just from this.

  But just when their groping became more frantic, he ripped away from her with a low, growling groan that shot straight to her sex.

  “I don’t feel like I control anything in my life,” she whispered, without knowing why.

  “You seem pretty in-control to me.”

  “Inside, I’m spinning.”

  “So why not make all that dizziness enjoyable.” He flicked her nipple with his nail and she gasped. “Don’t fight it. Kiss me again.”

  “You kissed me first,” she murmured, but she surrendered to him because she didn’t want to make any more choices. She wanted all the decisions to be his. And while she wasn’t a virgin, with Teige she was definitely in virgin territory.

  She’d never gotten to this point with the last guy she’d dated while in WITSEC, or any of the other men who’d taken her on dates, kissed her, attempted to touch her over these last six years.

  Here, in his arms, in the dark on the creaking porch, the light from her house bathing them so Teige looked like he was glowing, she was safe. A far cry from the first night she’d met him.

  There’s nothing safe about this man. Not when he circled her wrists with one hand and put them behind her back so he could mouth her nipples through her thin shirt. She couldn’t touch him, not when his hand dipped lower between her legs.

  “Tell me what you want?” he asked.

  “You. Teige. Please.”

  He smiled a little, that vacancy long gone from his eyes, replaced by the most beautiful lust she’d ever seen. And then his expression faltered and he pulled back and actually stepped away from her, leaving her confused and more than a little restless. “Goodnight, Kayla. Sleep tight.”

  “I don’t sleep at night.”

  “Me neither.” He paused. “I leave early.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll send Hanny over in a couple of hours.”

  “Okay.”

  “If I stayed…” He paused. “I can’t stay. Not before a job. Not after a job.”

  She nodded, because she couldn’t think of what else to say. He backed away, motioned for her to go inside while he watched, and she did, the hiss of the alarm reassuring her. The cameras showed all clear and she watched out the window as he disappeared into his own house.

  She put her hand to her mouth. Her lips were swollen, hot from his kisses. Her wrists would bear slight red marks from where he’d held her fast. And she’d liked it, had rubbed against him, her body aching for more.

  His walking away. Was he telling her that she couldn’t handle him and all his demons? Because maybe he was right. Or maybe her demons could do battle with his and win any day.

  *

  The kiss destroyed him, brought home the reality he’d been denying for as long as he could remember, and most recently, since Kayla moved in.

  The kiss—he’d given in to it, sunk against her body so easily and he’d been goddamned done for, no matter the price. He’d held her to the fit of his body—fucking perfect, like he’d known it would be.

  He thought he was too hardened for this. Too alone. Too dominant for someone who seemed to have so many fears.

  Then again, Kayla showed him that he had just as many fears.

  Turned out the bastard Mac was right again. He’d always been goddamned right and now Teige was…

  Lucky. And falling rapidly back into a past he didn’t want to revisit.

  Chapter Ten

  Two weeks passed. Teige arrived home quietly in the middle of the night, but didn’t come to get Hanny until a day and a half later. She watched him leave his house, running into the woods, not coming out for hours.

  He had a bandage on his forearm. Another on the back of his neck, some bruises on his cheek.

  She didn’t dare take pictures of him, no matter how badly her hands itched to do so. And when he knocked on her back door after that day and a half, and she let Hanny out to greet him enthusiastically, he thanked her absently and went back into the woods after putting Hanny on a leash. Hours later, the bell rang again and Hanny walked past her into the house like she owned it, trailing her leash behind her and settling in for a long nap. Teige was walking back toward his house without so much as a backward wave.

  Kayla was angry at herself for feeling wet between her legs watching him cooling down from his run, stretching his big, scarred body.

  He should terrify her. He did terrify her and still, she dreamed about having him in her bed.

  During the weeks he’d been gone, she did some family portraits and took lots of shots of Hanny. Having the dog with her had made her feel more confident.

  She took in his mail to her house too (and he hadn’t bothered to ask for that back yet), checked around to make sure it looked okay like he’d asked. She felt a little like a voyeur and had a strange feeling Mrs. Mueller was watching. Up until now, she’d avoided the woman’s attempts to read the tarot cards, but Kayla knew she was reading them with or without Kayla’s consent.

  She’d also read the book based on Teige’s Delta Force days, and one of the most famous—and deadly—missions, and had seen a movie based on it—both had become bestsellers, although only the book had given away Teige’s real name. She tried to picture Teige in those situations, running for his life in the dusty streets of countries bound with strife. Running, praying, and ultimately saving others.

  It was a scripted version of him; not a bad portrayal necessarily, but now that she’d met the real thing…

  Blond hair. A deep drawl. He could be mistaken for a surfer with his long, lean muscled body that at times was strung tighter than a bow.

  He knew cold. Hunger. He knew fear and anger, both uncontrolled and controlled. When he came home, he no doubt despaired of things, but he walked it off and kept going.

  Was there a point in time when he would be pushed beyond his limits, unable to come back from his dark place?

  Wasn’t she just as worried about that for herself?

  The book didn’t say why he’d left the Army. She was sure Penny would know, at least have a theory, but she was better off asking Teige himself about that.

  “He’ll be home soon,” she’d promised Hanny for those weeks he’d been gone.

  In reality, it had seemed like forever. She wondered how wives—girlfriends—dealt with it.

  Maybe if you hadn’t kissed him…

  But he’d kissed her first, and it had been good. Even though she was scared of him because he’d been brutal and dangerous on his jobs—all things she’d spent her adult life avoiding—she couldn’t deny she was drawn to his darkness like nothing she’d ever felt.

  He might be strong enough for her. And maybe she wouldn’t have to pretend anymore, wouldn’t have to mute herself.

  An hour after Teige returned Hanny to her, she poured Hanny some water and food for when the dog woke from napping. She was just about to look through the window again, to see if Teige was still outside chopping wood or sitting, staring into space, but before she could part the curtains, she felt the chill run through her and it wasn’t the good kind of shiver. Would’ve screamed but that might’ve upset Hanny. Instead, she curled against the dog like nothing bad could happen to her if Hanny was around.

  If only that were true.

  She glanced at the clock—after three in the morning. She always thought th
at if you could get past that hour, you were okay. But nothing was.

  Why Mara was quiet for so long, Kayla had no clue. Sometimes she let herself wonder what Mara did during those stretches. Did she try to have a normal life or did she spend all her time hiding, the way Kayla herself was? How did she support herself? How did she eat?

  And why did Kayla care? She should hate her, but she couldn’t. Mara had watched out for her for years after their adoption. Kayla couldn’t forget that. It was why her testimony was ultimately so weak and unconvincing. Although it did get Mara sentenced, there was always the wash of blame on Kayla for that, like she was hiding her part in everything.

  It was all her fault. And no matter how she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t, that was for naught.

  Finally, she was able to shake off the fear long enough to check for Teige and, true to form, he was still there, staring up at the moon. He had to feel her looking at him. She needed him so badly. To talk, to kiss. Anything. But even from a distance she could tell he was far away, too much so to comfort her. He looked like he could barely help himself and really, what would it solve? It wasn’t like she could tell him what she suspected.

  But she could tell Abby, even at five in the morning.

  Again, the marshal answered on the first ring. She didn’t give Abby a chance to say anything before telling her, “Mara killed again.” She heard Abby suck in a breath and continued, “And before you ask, I don’t know. Do you have any idea how shitty that feels?”

  “I know.”

  There was such a long silence after Abby spoke that Kayla almost hung up. Instead, Kayla bit out, “Unless you had a serial killer in your family—”

  “A serial killer murdered my father. In front of me,” Abby said flatly. “So you don’t know everything. Not by a long shot.”

  It was Abby who hung up this time. Kayla lay there, holding the phone, watching Teige out the window.

  Everyone has their own private pain, their own secrets, Hoss used to say. You can’t know someone else’s suffering or judge from the outside.