Debbie felt her entire body come alive and take notice of this man. The smooth arches of his cheeks. The curve of his mouth. The hard edge of his jaw. The loose strands of hair that had slipped free from his ponytail. The urge to reach out and touch him, run her fingers over his lips, tuck his hair behind his ears, was a commanding presence.
Unused to these feelings, Debbie sucked in a sharp breath, and Preacher's gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Reflexively she licked her lips and watched as his eyes flared. In response, everything inside her grew warmer, softer, and she could suddenly feel her heartbeat in places she didn't realize you could feel a heartbeat.
Preacher suddenly snatched the bottle from her hand and took two consecutive slugs, emptying it. Tossing it aside, he jumped to his feet. The spell holding Debbie captive broke and the warm, butter-soft sensation that had settled low in her belly evaporated instantly.
"You wanna get the hell outta here?" Preacher's tone was low and biting, matching his expression. All traces of hunger had vanished from his expression, and Debbie wondered if she'd imagined it.
"What?"
"Never did like sleepin' in the grass. Gonna find a motel." He shot her a look as hard as his tone. "You promise not to hijack my shit again, you got yourself a bed."
Then he turned on his heel and started walking-a fast-paced, long-legged stride, leaving Debbie scrambling to her feet and hurrying after him.
Chapter 13
Seated on the edge of the bed, Preacher puffed on a cigarette, staring daggers at the back of Debbie's head. The curtains covering the motel windows were parted, letting in a thin shaft of moonlight that stretched far across the room, highlighting her sleeping form.
She slept with his jacket on, her backpack and sneakers too-as if she didn't trust him with her belongings. And if Preacher hadn't been in such a shit mood, he'd laugh at the irony of it all.
Still glaring, he brought the cigarette to his mouth. It crackled and hissed along with the steady rhythm of Debbie's heavy breathing and the muted sounds of a television left on in the room next door.
He was so goddamn angry he couldn't sleep.
Angry because his duffel bag had been shredded, reduced to ribbons by the Road Warriors when they'd stolen his cut. And not all of his belongings had fit into Debbie's backpack, forcing him to leave a third of his clothing behind.
He took another searing hot drag off his cigarette, feeling his lungs recoil in protest. Coughing, he blew out a breath thick with smoke that billowed and swirled in the moonlight.
The loss of his duffel bag wasn't his only bone to pick with the Road Warriors. Today's unplanned meeting had stirred up some shit inside of him, picked a scab that had only just formed. The life he'd been running from? It had just slugged him in the gut tonight.
Preacher stubbed out his cigarette and quickly lit another. Forget the Road Warriors. He was horny-really, irritably horny. Months had gone by with barely a twitch below his belt. One kiss with a teenage pickpocket and he was suddenly flying at full mast. One goddamn kiss.
He'd kissed a lot of women. So many that he'd gotten bored with kissing years ago. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd paid attention to a woman's mouth other than to direct it to his lap.
And the way Debbie had looked at him after spotting Angel and Rocky off in the grass …
Preacher's nostrils flared. I want to be fucked right here, right now, and just like that, had been all but engraved onto her expression.
All of it had been playing on repeat in his head for the last several hours, his dick trapped in this agonizing, semi-hard state that he didn't quite know what to do with.
The guy he'd been before? That guy would have already enjoyed the hell out of Debbie. He wouldn't have given a single shit about her age or what would become of her after he was done with her. But this new Preacher, this infuriatingly indecisive half-man, was sitting here thinking about how there were consequences to every action-something he'd learned the hard way. And a meaningless fuck was not worth hurting this girl, especially a girl who had nothing and no one.
Jesus-fucking-Christ. If he wasn't going to fuck her, what was he still doing with her? He'd already fulfilled and surpassed his good deed quota for the entire year. Whatever the hell he was doing now bordered on philanthropy. Or self-flagellation.
Once the sun came up, he needed to cut her loose. She could resume her trek to New York City and he could get back to wandering.
Except, the longer Preacher stared at Debbie, the less comfortable he felt with that plan.
She was too good for the streets, too good for the shit life she was living. And not nearly hard enough to hold her own in New York City.