The woman who had filled the space of his mind and soothed the ache in his heart for the last few days was walking away from him. He’d done something. He hadn’t figured it out yet, but whatever it was he would fix it.
But the woman who was holding on to him now stole his thoughts for a brief moment. A brief, hesitant moment he should have spent running after Fallon.
“Rafe, wait a minute!” she shouted as he jerked his arm away and stalked toward the gate. “Please!”
“What, Bridge?” Fuck, even his words were used to the familiarity of her. “What the hell could you possibly have to say to me?”
“I miss you,” she said softly.
The words slammed against him, and for a second he thought the air was going to heave from his chest.
Then he turned on his heels and ran after Fallon.
• • •
Heavy footsteps followed her out the gate, but Fallon didn’t turn around. She wasn’t going to indulge in providing everyone with any more outbursts. She didn’t expect Rafe to follow her either. She wanted him to stay and talk to Bridgette, and hopefully tell her to forget he existed. Because she didn’t even deserve the memories. Fallon had experienced his tenderness, his passion. She’d felt his strength and crumbled at his control. She didn’t have many memories, but she knew and understood just how much those memories could mean.
“Fallon, shit. Wait up!” Rafe bellowed, closing in behind her. She didn’t stop until she reached the passenger side of his Jeep. “Why’d you run off?”
“Take it from me—if you have something to say to her, say it now. I felt the way you reacted to her, Rafe. She hurt you. Fucking tell her—or hell, go grovel at her cheap-boot-wearing feet and beg her to fall back into your bed. Just do it and get it over with so you can take me home.”
“What the fuck?”
She laughed. “No, there will be no fucking. Either go talk to her or take me home.”
A snarl rumbled in his chest and he jerked open the door and threw himself inside. Fallon got in and he thrust the Jeep into drive before the sound of her door clicked shut. She leaned her head against the back of the seat and shut her eyes, trying to ignore the fury of the man next to her. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before she felt the Jeep roll to a stop. Rafe yanked the keys from the ignition and got out.
She blinked her eyes open and looked around. They were in a driveway in a small, older, quiet neighborhood. Groaning, she shoved her door open and followed Rafe to the front of the car. “What are you doing?” she nearly shouted.
“Cut the shit, Fallon. What the hell’s the problem?”
His tone surprised her. She could feel his temper rising. His chest was heaving with frustrated, labored breaths and his muscular arm lifted to scrub his hand behind his head.
What was the point in dwelling on the fact that Rafe had gotten worked up like some territorial canine when Claire was spouting out her crap about Fallon being a stripper? It wasn’t the first time she’d been called that and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last time. It didn’t matter what name you put on it, it didn’t change anything. She wasn’t ashamed of it. But for the first time in a long time, she wanted someone’s acceptance. She wanted his acceptance. She didn’t know whether he could give it to her or not, but the simple fact of the matter was, she wanted it. And that realization meant he was no longer arm’s length away. She’d let him get too close, gave him the power to make her care—gave him the power to let her down, to break her. And she was about to remedy that situation.
“The problem is this.” She flailed her arms out, gesturing between them. “I’m good at distractions. It’s what I do. It’s what being a ‘stripper’ is all about. But this? Meeting the friends and cuddling on your lap, telling off your ex? I don’t want this! It’s not me. It’s not who I am.”
With one stride, he slammed his body to hers, pushing her against the hood of the Jeep, gripping her face between his hands, and forcing her to meet his eyes. “You feel that, babe?” he growled. “You feel the way your heart just crashed into your chest when you felt my body against you? Don’t tell me you don’t fucking want this! You can’t tell me my hands on your body don’t make you feel!”
No, she couldn’t tell him that. And that was the problem.
He dropped his hands and ran them down the sides of her neck until his thumbs softly touched her collarbone. He looked at her lips and her teeth sank into the bottom corner of her mouth. He groaned, then lifted his eyes to hers. They had softened, and the anger she expected to see in them was absent. His voice dropped and trembled through her body all the way to her toes.