The drive to the inn is two hours from my parents’ house, basically the halfway point to Austin. About five minutes out, I get a text from Merrick telling me to meet him around back near some excavator. Guess they’re renovating?
Driving my red pickup, I pull into the big parking lot and head around the building, which is a plain brick structure with zero curb appeal—no landscaping, no welcome sign, just cement bricks and a door. Most of the parking spots are empty, except for the red Audi parked next to a dumpster piled high with wood and sheetrock.
Oh good. It’s extra dirty back here. Gonna enjoy watching Merrick get his tailored pants all grimy.
I pull up, and he exits his car. It’s dark out, but there are several streetlamps around, so I see him well enough. He’s wearing a white suit, he looks insanely fuckable, and he’s pissed.
Welp. Guess he lied about that apology. His expression says he’s handing out ass-kickings tonight. Can’t say I’m entirely surprised. Leland Merrick doesn’t strike me as the type to grovel for anyone.
I get out of my truck and close the door. “Merrick.” I paste on a sugary-sweet smile to match my voice. “So nice to see you again. You look well.”
He walks right up and points an angry finger in my face. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing with Carl? Also, you look really pretty. Did you change your hair?”
“I’m doing what you should have and what Carl wanted: getting justice for those poor women. And yes. I went a little darker to match my mood. Thank you for noticing.” I flip my hair over my shoulder. I’m wearing jeans and a black leather jacket that matches my English-style riding boots. “So now that we’ve complimented each other, and I’ve heard you’re upset because I busted open the story about Senator Ripley, I’ll be on my way.”
“Hold on.” He grabs my elbow. “I’m not done yet. You need to convince Carl to go back into hiding. He’s not safe.”
I’m surprised he’s more upset about Carl’s well-being than he is about my story grab. I thought it would be the other way around. Nevertheless…
I jerk my arm free. “Don’t manhandle me, and Carl is not a child. He knows the risks and wants to take them.”
“Because you,” the angry finger returns as Merrick scowls down at me, “convinced him he’d be safe.”
“Wrong. I warned him that he could be the target of everyone who’s about to be swept up in the net, and that he should consider protective custody. He didn’t want that.”
“Well, he seems to think that he’s safer being in plain sight. Who would have given him that idea?”
“How should I know?” I throw back, suddenly noticing how Merrick’s expression has softened and how his lips have a sensual pout when he’s relaxed. The cheekbones are also more pronounced, as are the dimples.
Damn. Why does he have to be so good looking? And infuriating?
I add, “You should know that Carl was the one who reached out to me, but I’ll try to talk to him again.” I did want to speak with him and see if we couldn’t find a way to safely expose this story, but Carl was at Merrick’s safe house. I have no clue where that is, so I went to the hotel where he worked, and ferreted out Carl’s last name. From there I found his home address and slid a note with my name and number under his front door, just in case he happened to return. He called the next day. It was his idea to go balls-out, guns blazing—or mops swinging?—with what he knew, despite my advice. My impression was that he planned to do it his way, no matter what.
“I would appreciate that,” Merrick says with a tinge of actual gratitude. “Carl isn’t the brightest bulb in the room, but he’s a good man. I don’t want to see anything happen to him.”
I nod and cross my arms over my chest. I didn’t know this, but apparently nipples have muscle memory. Mine are remembering their electric moment dancing with Merrick right before he stomped on my dreams. Dreams that I have since dusted off and fluffed back up to their original size. I’m not taking any chances or letting him near them again.
I take a step back, but he closes the gap. I take a step to the side. He follows. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Are parts of his body remembering our dance, too? Stop. He likes you about as much as a prostate exam.
“I don’t want anything to happen to Carl either. So is that all you wanted to talk about?” I ask, stepping in the other direction. He follows once again. It’s pretty adorable.
“I’d appreciate it if you keep me posted on what Carl says. I have some contacts who can ensure he and his family are swiftly placed in witness protection and given the best possible accommodations.”
“Okay.”
“Great.” He stares for a long moment, first into my eyes and then at my lips. The light of the streetlamps at the edge of the lot allows me to see the intensity in his gaze.
An awkward static erupts between us, buzzing in the air. My skin tingles. My core flutters. His attention seems tuned into me. Wait. Hold on…
I huff. “Not falling for that one again. Have a nice life, Merrick.” I turn for my truck but feel a firm hand on my arm again.
“Wait.”
I pivot and silently stare, the shadows making his masculine features seem more dramatic, more seductive.
“I just wanted to say…”
“Yes?” I push.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry for the things I said. They were ungentlemanly and out of line.”
I don’t believe it. He is apologizing. No, not on his knees, but I don’t care. I’m ninety-nine percent sure a man like him never admits any wrongdoing.
“So you acknowledge that a woman can be just as good at journalism as you?”
He chuckles. “Don’t push it. No one is as good as me, regardless of whether they have a flagpole or lady garden.”
Awww, he quoted me. My heart pitter-patters.
“Fair enough,” I say. “I mean, you’re wrong, of course, but at least you’re not being gender biased.”
He bobs his head, but his eyes continue to hold me firmly in their grasp. It feels like he’s pushing through my chest, reaching inside, and poking buttons and pulling levers. It’s uncomfortable and exhilarating. My body can’t help twitching at the knees and in other lady-gardeny places.
But what would be the point of acting on my impulses? Even if he felt attracted to me, I’m not into one-hit wonders. I want a man who’s in it for the long haul, kind of like Camila. I need a partner who will support and encourage me, not make me doubt my worth. Merrick is an attractive man, but nothing more. Kind of like a sexy cover model on one of those romance books. Sure, you might look or be game for a fantasy involving him, but in real life, they’re probably trouble.
“Well, uh…” I clear my throat. “Nice seeing you again.”
He stares with a predatory gleam. “You take care, Gisselle,” he says, but his tone says something entirely different: I’d like to write some dirty, very sexual stories about us with my huge pen. Maybe we could write all night. Long stories that go deep and hard. Followed by chocolatey snacks.
All right, I made it all up, but that’s what comes to mind as I try not to fall for his mind games.
I jerk open my truck door and slide inside. Don’t do it, Gisselle. Just close the door. Don’t look at him. Keep driving. I’ve gone for him twice, only to be swatted away like a sad little gnat. I’m not taking the bait again, no matter how hard my heart is pounding.
I shut the door, crank the engine, and drive away. Though I don’t look back, I feel his eyes on me until I turn the corner. Even then, he lingers in my mind, and I can’t help wondering if there was another reason he wanted to meet at a hotel.
I lift my foot from the accelerator for two seconds, but then get hold of myself. Get home. Pack for Australia. Forget about Merrick. I have a story to chase.