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Where are you going, Emma?
None of your business.
He taps his fingers against the helmet resting on his thigh. Is there some reason
you don t want to go home?
He s going to make me say it out loud. Do you just get off on annoying me or
what?
Something like that.
It s the lack of pity in his eyes that tears the words from my mouth. It s the
understanding. Like he s been in my shoes a time or two and knows how much it sucks.
My sister s boyfriend is there and he s just & I just, don t want to be there, okay?
He nods, a quick perfunctory motion, like he was just waiting for me to finish so we
could move on. Get on.
Wait, what? I just told you I m not going back there.
He starts the engine and the loud sound startles me in the stark quiet of the night.
I know. You re coming home with me.
At any other time I would have a million arguments ready. I d rail at him for
making assumptions or make a joke about what kind of girl do you think I am?
But it s late. It s dark. And he represents the only safety I ve had in a long, long
time. So I do something that makes no sense.
I get on the back of his bike and wrap my arms around his waist.
Okay. Let s go.
He pulls out and this time he s not holding back the way he did on the way here.
Maybe he can sense the wildness growing inside me, the restless need I have to just feel.
Something. Anything other than helpless. We arrive at an apartment building on the
other side of town. He takes the helmet from me and stows it on the back of the bike. I
follow him into the building and up several flights of stairs. We stop on the third floor. He
unlocks it and then punches buttons on a keypad next to the door.
As we enter, his eyes are constantly moving, surveying the room and the hallway
behind us. I can see why he s so good at his job. I get the sense that he s always on the
alert for trouble.
I like your place.
He narrows his eyes at me, as if searching to see if the comment is sincere or
snarky. There s nothing in here but a couch and a television.
I shrug. Yeah, but it s yours. There s no one here to take your stuff or kick you out.
I like it.
He sets his helmet on the kitchen counter and then drops down on the couch.
When you put it that way, I like it too. Do you want something to drink? I ve got some
sodas, fruit juice and I m sure there s some bottled water somewhere. Or, are you
hungry?
I hold up a hand before he goes into a detailed account of the type of food he has
here. All I really want is to crash but I m not exactly sure how this is going to work. His
couch looks really comfortable but he s sitting there now and doesn t look like he s
planning on moving anytime soon.
Truthfully, I m exhausted. If I wait any longer, I ll fall asleep on my feet.
Right. Follow me. He stands in one fluid movement and grabs my hand. I m so
stunned that I don t even yank it back. His palm engulfs mine and when I look down to
where our fingers entwine, the size of his hand makes mine look like a child s.
Let me just strip the sheets for you. He drops my hand as we enter a bedroom and
I rub my palm absently, already missing the contact. Tank doesn t look like the kind of
guy who does housework but he strips the bed of all the linen with the efficiency of
someone who s done it a thousand times in his sleep. He disappears and I m left standing
next to the bed with nothing to do. Shouldn t I be helping?
I look at the book on the night table next to the bed. There s a picture of a soldier
on the front. The comforter at my feet is a dark hunter green. The closet is open slightly,
revealing several sets of fatigues and black combat boots. He hasn t come back yet so I
wander over to the dresser and pull open the first drawer. It s filled with boxer briefs. I
slam the drawer shut.
Find what you were looking for?
I turn around slowly. This is your room!
He laughs softly then bends to spread the clean sheets in his arms over the
mattress. What gave me away? My superior design skills or was it that warm, cozy
feeling from the military fashions on display?
I didn t mean to kick you out of your own bed.
Unless you re willing to share it then I ll be on the couch.
I could take the couch. I m smaller and I don t need as much room. That makes
way more sense.
Yeah, no.
I want to argue but then he picks up my hand and puts a folded towel and
washcloth into my arms. My stomach tightens as our fingers brush. The warmth of his
hands linger even after he lets go.
There s no way I m putting you on the couch. I ve slept worse places, believe me.
I ll be fine. Let me know if you need anything else. He backs away slowly, holding my
gaze the entire time.
My blood heats at the intense look in his eyes. His shoulders are so broad they take
up the entire doorway. All of a sudden, I remember him fighting off those guys. There was
no hesitation on his part. He just jumped in front of me and took control of the situation.
No one has ever done anything like that for me before.
Just before he hits the hallway, he says, I m glad you re here Emma.
I should be saying that to him. The weirdest thing is, I have the sense that he really
is glad I m there. We don t know each other that well and probably have nothing in
common. He took out both of Paul s thugs tonight and a bunch of those drunk guys, too
without breaking a sweat. I can t pretend his brutality doesn t scare me but he took those
hits for me.
So in this moment, I ve never felt safer in my life.
When I wake it s still dark and my heart picks up rhythm as I take in the unfamiliar
environment. Then memory returns and I know where I am.
I m with Tank.
Strangely enough, I m completely comfortable. I smile at the thought. I never
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