For 100 Days(28)

“Thanks.”

As I start to clock out on the bar console, Joel’s fake barrel laugh carries over the other restaurant noise. He’s resumed his table rounds, pausing to greet customers like he’s the damn mayor himself. Kimmie is right there in his shadow, fawning and flirting with him and every other male in the place.

Tasha groans at the same time I do. “Remind me again why we put up with this?”

I slant her a wry look. “Because on any given night, we make twice as much as we would anywhere else in the city without taking our clothes off for a living.”

“Oh, yeah. There’s that.” Tasha nudges me with her elbow. “Go enjoy your break.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

She waves at me. “You know where I’ll be.”

I fill a glass with tap water from the soda gun behind the bar, then swing by the kitchen to grab a cup of the day’s soup special and a hot roll for dinner. It’s not much of a meal after eight hours of working, but it’ll do. Lord knows, I’ve survived on much less for a lot longer than this.

How many times had a can of watered-down chicken noodle been the only thing standing between Mom and me and near-starvation when I was a little kid? Too many to count. I don’t even want to try. Those lean years aren’t something I like to remember. And hunger hadn’t been the only trouble we’d endured together after my beloved daddy had died and left us alone.

No, she and I had gone through much worse.

Especially after she married my stepfather.

I close my mind against the ugly memories that are always too close to the surface, clinging to my conscience like poison. Memories of the terror, the pain, the shame. Memories of bloodshed and tears . . . of violence and death.

Shit. Will I ever be free of them?

I don’t really need to ask. I know the answer. I’m no more free than my mother. The only difference is the steel bars and razor-wired walls that have kept her confined for nearly a decade. My bars and walls are self-constructed, but just as impenetrable. I’ve lived behind them for so long, I’m not sure I’d survive if I ever permit myself to step outside.

The air is too pure. The light is too bright, leaving me no place to hide. No chance to escape my past or the impact it’s had on every facet of my life in the time since.

I am my own warden out of necessity. And yes, out of fear as well.

No one gets past my barriers.

At least, no one has until now.

Not until I allowed Nick Baine to screw me senseless, apparently.

“Reckless,” I chide myself under my breath as I take my meal into the employee coat room to eat in privacy.

With the rest of Vendange’s staff out on the floor, I grab my phone out of my locker then settle in on a rickety dining room chair reject, thinking I’ll check my email and browse the Internet while I take my short break.

I see the text light blinking as I lay the phone down beside me and take my first bite of the hearty chicken stew. It’s probably Margot messaging me after I slipped away from the gallery without explanation last night. I’m debating on how honest I need to be with her as I swipe the screen lock and tap the message icon.

Been thinking all day about how good you feel.

How fucking sweet you taste when you come.

Okay. Definitely not Margot.

My stomach flips and a big grin spreads over my face. Even though Nick had asked for my number this morning, I hadn’t actually expected him to call or text me. My heart is racing as I read his sexy message again, erotic images of the two of us last night—and this morning—playing in my mind. Wet heat unfurls inside me, blooming into a deep arousal that makes me squirm and clamp my thighs together in response.

He’s away on business, thousands of miles out of the country, yet he’s thinking about me. Wanting me. I can’t even pretend I’m not flattered. Although flattered is the least of what I feel. I’m turned on as intensely as if he were right here in the break room with me, growling his hot, dirty words in my ear.

I notice the time stamp on his text is about four hours old. Fuck. Did he think I was ignoring him?

Does he think I don’t want to hear from him?

Granted, I shouldn’t want to. I should hope he’s taken my lack of response to mean I’m not interested and let the whole thing go right here and now. Before things between us get any further out of my control.

Right. As if we’re not already heading that way faster than I can hope to stop it.

Even if my panties weren’t damp from desire, I wouldn’t be able to deny the thrill that’s coursing through me at the thought of Nick sexting me from a continent away. As for him, based on what little I know so far, I don’t believe for a second that one ignored text would be enough to dissuade Nick Baine from going after something he wants.