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“This is incredible,” I tell Tanner, staring at the inside of his very cool race car.
It has roll bars, and cages on the windows instead of glass, and it’s absolutely so amazing. I’d say I would love to go for a ride, but honestly, that idea terrifies me. Spinning around corners, risking an accident? That brings back memories I’ve spent the last six years trying my hardest to forget. I don’t want to think about it, so I lean over and look into the back seat, studying the rest of the car.
“It’s a lot of fun. You should join me one of these days. It’s a rush.”
I swallow, and force myself to say, “Sounds fun.” I turn back and face Tanner. “You’re a man of many talents, aren’t you?”
He shrugs, crossing his arms and leaning back on the driver’s side of the car. “You could say that, yeah. I enjoy a range of things, old cars being one of my passions.”
“And yet I saw you on a motorcycle the day I met you.”
He grins and gives a low chuckle, and fuck, it’s sexy. “I guess the correct way to phrase it would be I have a passion for anything with wheels. I like the speed of a bike, the open road, the wind in my face, but I love the feel of old cars, the history, the stories, and the generations that have passed through them.”
I smile, then I walk over to the Mustang, running my fingers over the sleek, shiny paint. “This car would have a few stories to tell, I’d imagine,” I say, my voice husky.
Tanner walks over, opening the back door and pointing to the seat. “Get in.”
I do as he asks, climbing very carefully into the cream leather seat. I lean my back against it, breathing in that old smell that feels so much like home. Yet, at the same time, it brings a pain to my chest that I can never seem to shake when inside a car. It never leaves. Always there. Always tormenting me.
“You’re beautiful, Callie,” Tanner says, his voice low and so damned sexy, I’m scared to turn and look at him. I’m scared of how his eyes will capture mine, and I’ll be unable to look away. “You know that, yeah?”
I look to him and give a small smile. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”
He narrows his eyes slightly, and then reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my head. “You don’t see your beauty.”
“I see surface beauty.”
“You don’t see inner beauty, too?”
I want to change the subject. This is getting way too close to home. Way too close to the secret I keep clutched to my chest, terrified to let it free, terrified to share it with another soul.
“Of course,” I lie, and then lick my lips and look away, hoping for a distraction.
So much is running through my body right now—mostly anticipation. Especially when Tanner reaches over, his fingers grazing up my leg slowly, making me shiver from the inside out. I’ve not been close to a man in a very long time, and even when I was, it was basic and it was sloppy. Men like Tanner, they don’t kiss you sloppily; they don’t fuck you sloppily. I have no doubt that if Tanner fucks me, I’ll never be able to look away. I’ll never be able to think of any other man the same way I think of him. He’ll ruin me for life.
“You seem nervous,” he murmurs, that voice making me want to clench my legs together to stop the strong ache forming between them. “Not goin’ to do anything you don’t wanna do, Callie. But I won’t lie; if I don’t taste you, I’m not goin’ to stop thinkin’ about your lips and how fuckin’ incredible I think they’ll feel.”
Oh. God.
“I am a little nervous,” I hesitate, wondering if I should just tell him. Is it better if he knows? Or will it just turn him off? Will he know the moment he kisses me? My chest clenches with unease and anxiety, and I know that I won’t be okay unless I tell him, because I’ll be so afraid of making a mistake. “I want you to kiss me. It’s just . . . I’m . . . I’m not very experienced.”
Tanner pulls back and looks at me. “How so exactly?”
“This is embarrassing,” I say, looking away and muttering, “I’m a virgin.”
For a moment, it is silent. I’m scared to look back, scared of what I’ll see. I finally turn to see him just staring at me, confused, then his eyes get a little more hooded. “Well, one thing is for sure—the plans I had for you in the back of this car aren’t going to happen tonight.”
I feel disappointment punch me in the chest. “Oh . . .”
He reaches up, cupping my chin. “Not for the reasons you think, believe me. You are too good to lose your virginity in the back of a car, no matter how nice it is, to a stranger.”
Oh, lord. He’s a goddamned good-looking, amazing creature I want to pounce on right about now. I want him so bad. I didn’t know it was even possible to want someone you hardly know, but it turns out it is a very real thing.
“Gotta know,” he goes on, “how a girl like you, with a face like yours, and an ass that sweet, is a virgin?”
Shit.
I shrug and whisper, “It’s a long story, but I just haven’t met anyone who has sparked that in me, and I don’t know . . . I just don’t know. It hasn’t happened.”
“Well,” he growls, his voice low and husky, “I can change that for you, darlin’, but I’m not doin’ it here in this car. I am, however, goin’ to kiss you.”
God.
I swallow and give a tiny nod.
He leans forward, his hand still on my chin, and his lips press against mine. The kisses I remember from boys back in high school? Those kisses were horrible, horrendous, sloppy, and definitely not a turn-on.
Tanner’s kiss? Oh lord, Tanner’s kiss is the kiss of your very best dreams. The kiss that makes your whole body tremble. The kiss that makes your heart flutter and your tummy twist. It is everything all wrapped up in one gorgeous package. His hands, the way they graze over my face, cupping my jaw, sliding behind my neck. His mouth, the way it starts moving slowly, his full lips coaxing, and then his tongue, the way it dances and flutters, gently touching mine, before disappearing and making me want more.
His stubble scratches against my skin, and I love it. I want more, and yet I want to savor this moment forever so I never get bored of it.
The kiss deepens. My breathing turns into shallow pants, and my hands find his chest, roaming over his muscles, feeling every hard inch of them. His hands leave my face, sliding beneath me and pulling me closer, cupping my ass and squeezing. The kiss deepens, and becomes frenzied. Our tongues stop dancing, and start fucking. They collide together and our moans vibrate through my mouth.
I want him. I don’t care if it’s in the back seat of this car. I want him so damned bad I can’t breathe. He pulls me over onto his lap, and I feel the hard length of his cock against my core.
He stops.
I whimper.
“Can’t,” he growls. “I can’t do this in a car. No fuckin’ way.”
Disappointment hits me again, mixed with awe, which is a strange feeling. I’m disappointed because I want more, I want so much more, but I’m in awe that he’s being so kind, and that there are still men like him out there. Men who don’t just take what they want, regardless of anything else.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, grabbing my hips and rubbing my pussy along his cock. “You can feel how much I want you, but I’m not goin’ to strip you of your virginity in the back of a car. Gotta respect that, darlin’.”
Well fuck.
I do.
I really do.
“I get it. Thank you,” I whisper.
“Take you out, yeah? On a date.”
On a date.
Tanner doesn’t seem like the kind of man to date.
Why would he want to date a complete stranger when he could get any woman just by making eye contact with her?
“You don’t seem like the dating type,” I say.
His eyes search my face. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Ouch. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just . . . you could have any woman you wanted in the back seat of this car. Why me?”
He reaches up and cups my jaw again. “You’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t you?”
I guess I will.
Yeah, I guess I will.
~*~*~*~
“C’MON, CALLIE, HURRY up!” Ethan yells, as we cross the road to the park where he wants me to keep bloody running.
I don’t fucking run.
He isn’t getting this—not yet, anyway. He still seems to think I am completely able and can run my little ass around this block every damned morning.
He’s horrible. I don’t like him at all.
That’s a lie. I adore him.
But the running, dammit. I hate it.
“I can’t run anymore,” I whine as I jog across the road. “It’s been two weeks, and I still hate it.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Ethan says, not a damned pant in his voice.
“When?” I gasp, stopping and leaning over, panting and grabbing my knees.
“It takes ninety days to make a new habit.”
I snort. “Stupid saying.”
He stops and turns towards me. “Come on, Callie. You’re doing good. Stick with it.”
I look up at him, my cheeks flushed. “Can we stop just for a second? One second?”
He nods, and points to a park bench. We both walk over and sit on it, me taking more than a few minutes to catch my breath. When I do, I turn to him and tell him, “I’m starting my new job tonight.”
“You got a job?” he asks, raising his brows. “Where?”
“A friend of mine has a sister who runs a café. She gave me a job when he recommended me to her.”
“He?” Ethan asks. “Didn’t know you’d already made friends.”
I shrug, and look down at my knees, “I got a flat one day, and he helped me. He invited me to a party. I went; we became friends. I’m glad, because his sister seems really nice and she gave me a chance, which nobody else would. I mean, I didn’t tell her about my past but she didn’t ask, so I’m grateful for that. It’s not the best job in the world, but it’s a job, and I’m grateful.”
Ethan nods. “I’m happy for you. It’s good to get back into the swing of things.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“How have you been coping otherwise?”
I shrug. “Good and bad. I’m a little lost, to be honest. I don’t know what to do with myself most days, I find myself confused and so used to the routine I lived in for six years. I forget that I’m able to go out and do whatever I want. That’s a foreign feeling to me.”
“You should explore farther. Go to the beach. Go and enjoy a movie. Go to a museum or a theater There are so many things to see in this city.”
I nod, and then smile. “You’re right. I’ll get there.”
“I’m going to an art gallery opening later this week. Join me?”
I stare at him. I’m not sure if he’s asking me on a date, or if he just feels sorry for me and wants to help. I don’t know. I just don’t know with Ethan. Sometimes he looks at me like he feels a whole lot more than friendship, and other times he just looks like a man wanting to help a friend.
“It’s not a date, Callie,” he murmurs, clearly seeing my confused expression. “Just helping you out.”
Right.
Awkward.
“Yeah, of course. I’d love to come, thanks.”
“Good,” he says, slapping his knees and standing. “Let’s keep going.”
“Ethan, no!” I whine as he gets up and starts running. I force myself to my feet and follow him. Damn him. This sucks.
But I have to admit, having Ethan on my side? It feels nice. It’s nice to know you’re not completely alone in a world you were so sure had given up on you.
We return to my apartment, and I’m doubled over and puffing. I’m so focused on trying not to die on the sidewalk that I don’t notice Ethan has gone completely still beside me. In fact, I don’t even notice that he’s not answering me when I whine or talk or complain about how breathless I am. Narrowing my eyes, I stand upright and stare at him. He’s staring at my car on the sidewalk.
My eyes move to it.
My blood runs cold.
Everything in my body seems to freeze, and my whole world stops, as if time is standing still. I stare at the bright red dripping paint on the silver car Joanne loaned me, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. Spray painted along the entire side of the car is ‘Killer.’
Killer.
I want to curl up and die.
I want to scream and run.
I want to do anything but stare at that word right now, a word that feels like it’s ripping into my soul.
My skin prickles, and I whisper, “Ethan.”
My voice is pained, and broken, and scared. Someone knows this is my car. Someone knows I am Celia’s killer. Someone knows I live here. Someone doesn’t like me. Someone is letting me know that I’m not safe. Someone.
Fucking someone.
“It’s okay,” Ethan says, his hand going to my shoulder and squeezing. “I’m sure it’s just a prank. It’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
It’s also not just a prank.
I don’t understand. I don’t get it. How does anyone know I live here? Is it someone seeking revenge? Is it someone just wanting to make me suffer? I don’t understand. Goddammit, I don’t get it. I thought I was free of this, the judgement and the horror, but it turns out I’m not free of anything.
“Someone has been watching me,” I say, my voice low and shaky. “Someone knows that’s the car I’ve been driving. They know I live here, and they know what I did. Ethan, someone is giving me a message.”
“Don’t overthink this. It could be anyone. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. I’ll call the police, and we’ll get some extra security on your house outside of normal locks and screens. Try not to panic. Let’s go inside.”
He practically drags me inside the house, and when we get in, Joanne is just coming out of her room. She worked late last night, so she was sleeping when we left for our run. With ruffled hair and eyes still half closed, she croaks, “Hey, how was your run?”
I just stare at her, wondering how I’m going to tell her that someone knows I live here, and that someone spray painted her car—something that will no doubt be incredibly expensive to fix.
“Is everything okay?” she asks me.
“Someone spray painted your car,” Ethan tells her. “A message meant for Callie.”
Joanne rubs her eyes, and murmurs, “What? What do you mean?”
“Someone knows I’m here,” I tell her, my voice still shaky and low. “They spray painted ‘killer’ on your car, Jo. I’m so sorry. I’ll get it fixed and—”
“Whoa!” Jo cuts me off. “What?”
“We just saw it when we came back from our run. Wasn’t there when we left. Someone must have done it as soon as we left the house,” Ethan tells her. “I’m calling the cops.”
He disappears out of the room with his phone, and I turn to Jo, who is walking over to me. She places her hands on my shoulders and says, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say, exhaling and then inhaling deeply to try and get my calm back. “I don’t know why someone would do that. I don’t even know who would do that. How does someone know I’m here? Has there been someone following me since I left prison? I just don’t understand.”
“It could be a friend of Celia’s,” Jo says. “Or her boyfriend, a family member—someone who is looking for justice for her death. It could be anyone. The best thing we can do is call the police. They’ll sort this out. I’m sure it’s just a threat.”
Maybe it is.
Maybe it isn’t.
Either way, I thought my nightmare was finally over.
Seems like it’s only just beginning.