Outlaw's Promise(40)

Her hair was spread out across the pillow, a blaze of color. In some places thick red locks shone and gleamed, in others the strands were spread so thin over the white cotton they looked like copper-colored smoke.

I crouched down to study her. Those silken lips I’d fantasized about so many times were slightly parted and she had a tiny frown on her face as if she was working on some problem in her dreams.

My stomach tightened. Was she trying to fix me?

I hadn’t meant to tell her what I did. Her hands had just been so...calming. At first, I’d been convinced she was trying to tip me over the edge, to make me grab her. It had worked, too: I’d been rock hard and aching in my pants as soon as she started touching me. But as it went on, I’d felt something...let go. I couldn’t remember ever feeling that relaxed. And then it had all just come spilling out.

I’d been dreading seeing her face when she found out I was a killer. In some ways, it had been worse than I’d thought; in some ways, better. She’d looked horrified, but it hadn’t felt like it was aimed at me. More at what I’d done.

Which was bullshit, because they’re the same thing. We are the things we’ve done. I’m a killer. Simple as.

As I studied her sleeping face, she frowned deeper. My heart sank. You can’t fix me! Stop trying! But I knew it was useless. Just like when she’d been a kid, dragging me along the ground. She didn’t know when to quit. And that made something rise and...open in my chest. It had been a long time since anyone had given a shit about me.

Telling her what I did had been hard...and horribly, horribly easy. Addictive, almost. I could imagine coming home to her each night and talking. I never talked but I could imagine it, with her. Getting all of the bad shit I’d done out, then sleeping peaceful as a baby in her arms. Christ, that sounded good….

She grumbled something in her sleep and rolled onto her back. The covers fell away, revealing her sleeping body down to just below her bra. I had a sudden urge to kiss her. God, it would be so easy, like slipping into a hot bath: a slow kiss on the lips to wake her up, then I’d work my way down her neck. We’d tumble around on the couch, still warm from her body, the blanket half on and half off us. The first time would be slow and gentle: morning sex. But then we’d go for a second round and it would get fast and dirty, her sitting astride me as I lifted her by the hips, or her bent over the arm of the couch….

I realized I was leaning towards her. My lips were only a few inches from hers.

I stood up. You fuckin’ idiot! What’s wrong with you? Sure, she was still deluding herself that I was some sort of good guy, or could become one, but I knew better. Even if she could accept what I did, could I really drag her into this life? And there was all the stuff she didn’t know. The story that began when I was just a kid and ended by the side of a dark road with a gun in my hand. That I could never share with her.#p#分页标题#e#

I had to shut myself off. Last night had been a mistake. I had to focus on getting the Blood Spiders off her back and shutting down the auctions. Then she’d be free and, when I was sure she was safe, I’d convince her to head to Sacramento or maybe San Francisco. She’d fit in well in San Francisco.

I grabbed a frying pan and slammed it down on a burner. I knew I was doing the right thing but the thought of her leaving stung.

Behind me, I heard her stir. I forced my voice into a growl. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

I heard her get up. I knew she wanted to talk, to resolve all the stuff we’d started last night. I could imagine her wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and standing there, studying me, but I kept my back to her, not showing any weakness. Stay cold. Shut yourself off. That was the only way to get through this.

I heard her pad to the bathroom and then the shower started up. I fried some eggs, threw some bread in the toaster and brewed coffee. Then my phone rang.

“Get to the clubhouse,” Mac told me. “Hunter’s back.”

I told him we’d be right there. I poured two mugs of coffee and was putting the eggs between slices of toast when Annabelle emerged. I faltered for a second when I saw her. She was wearing a sea-green tank top that made all that soft, pale skin and red hair look all the more intense. Damn it, why did she have to be so beautiful?

I pressed a sandwich into one of her hands, a mug of coffee into the other. “Drink that, then eat on the way. We gotta go.”

She nodded, staring up at me with big eyes over the rim of her mug. She was being patient, giving me time instead of stubbornly pushing me. I didn’t think that was possible, for her. She was changing, trying to meet me halfway. Maybe, if I just talked to her….