Serving Trouble(43)

“And I appreciate your desire to keep me safe,” she added. “But I can take care of myself, Noah. I’ve been doing it for the past five years.”

He put the truck in park in front of her house and turned to her. She’d said those words as if she was still trying to convince herself. And he knew a helluva lot about that.

“You’re wrong, Josie. If I don’t take care of you, who the hell is going to look out for me? Who is going to bring me back to reality when I see a box and think it’s a bomb?”

Her eyes widened and she lifted her hand to his cheek. Her palm brushed against his stubble. Shaving hadn’t come close to making his to-­do list.

“Noah—­”

“Last night, you took me away from all the bullshit,” he said, looking straight into her green eyes. “You gave me a break from wondering how the hell I’m going to keep from letting ­people down when they need me. How I’m going to maintain control . . .”

“But I don’t need you,” she said softly.

“Are you sure about that?” He lifted his hands and cupped the sides of her face. Yeah, she was running scared. But he didn’t want to let her go. “Because I think we could take care of each other.”

“Noah, what are you asking for?” she demanded.

“You,” he said firmly.

He leaned across the center console and pressed his lips to hers. He fought his way in, kissing her deeply, needing her to feel how much he wanted to escape into that place where he could fulfill her desires—­no doubts, no questions.

Her fingers pressed into his cheek and her other hand touched his thigh. Higher. More. Don’t let go.

He groaned. His tongue touched hers, his lips took more. Her fingers dug into the muscles as her palm ran higher and higher on his leg.

This wasn’t the time or the place. Hell, her father was inside. They weren’t kids, or anywhere close to it. But still—­

She broke the kiss, drawing back and taking her hand off his thigh. But she didn’t release his cheek.

“Noah.” She said his name as if it was important that he was the man in the truck kissing her. But when he stared into her eyes he saw the hint of panic. “You can’t have me. I’m not . . . That’s not what I’m . . . I came home to find a job. Yes, you look even better than you did five years ago. And yes, I asked you to break the rules. But I’m not ready. After last night . . .” She drew her lower lip into her mouth, her brow furrowed, then added, “I just can’t. Not yet.”

Everyone had problems. Josh was right about that. And Noah wanted to take on Josie’s. Not the bills and the need for cash. Those were tangible and could be fixed over time. But the loss and the heartbreak? The feeling that she had to face the world alone without turning to anyone? He wanted to shoulder those problems.

Because then maybe she’d take on his.

“Just don’t push me away,” he said. “I can be your friend.”

Her eyes narrowed and she released her hold on his cheek. “Just friends? No naked bull rides?”

“No naked anything if that’s what you want,” he said.

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look that called bullshit. “Just friends who rush in and save each other? Who wait for the carrier pigeon to deliver a cry for help?”

He nodded. “I want you in my life, Josie. Because I’m waking up to the fact that it sucks to face the world alone.”

JOSIE STARED AT Noah, her fingers reaching for the door. The teasing, the flirting, the little game they were playing, pretending they could fool around without heading for something serious—­it was all over.

“I think it’s easier,” she said, “if fewer ­people know about your troubles. There’s less judgment that way. Plus, going it alone has worked for me.”

“Some ­people help.” His gazed darted to her hand and then back to her face. “Without judging.”

“You don’t understand,” she ground out. “What you did? Going to war? ­People feel bad about themselves if they judge you. But me? I wasn’t supposed to have a baby. How am I expected to make them see him as a person? Morgan was just over a pound, and I only got to hold him once, but he was my little boy.”

“Josie, you’re not to blame for what happened,” he said.

“Whose fault is it then?” she shot back, releasing her grip on the door and turning to face him. “The doctors and nurses did everything they could.”

“It’s not yours,” he insisted.

His hands wrapped around her shoulders, his grip solid and firm as if he’d never let her go. He pulled her close into a hug. And tears threatened. With his arms around her, his lips pressed against her ear, murmuring comforting reassurances . . . oh dammit, she’d proven his point. She wanted this. Him. If only . . .