Jenna lay in Rhys’s bed, her head nestled on his shoulder and soft morning light pouring in from a crack between the old-style, heavy blue curtains. Somehow, making love to this man had been better than she remembered. Though, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. He’d be leaving her and Harlow soon enough.
Her phone dinged with a message on his bedside table. Her phone, a waterproof model, had thankfully survived yesterday’s river fiasco. Now, she shifted away from Rhys, the man stirring the moment she left him.
“Who is it?” His groggy tone brought a smile to her face.
“Just my other boss.” She reached out and ruffled his already tousled morning hair, reading the rest of her message, and then checking the time.
Rhys sucked in a loud breath, then yawned, and stretched, his arm looping around her bare waist, pulling her in. “Sarah? What does she want?”
But before she could answer, he landed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, the intimate gesture hinting his desire for more than a one-night stand. But that sort of thinking was dangerous. He was leaving soon, and no matter how much an annoying, familiar voice whispered in her head, But what if he didn’t? Neither one could forget that this relationship had no future.
“Last-minute shift.” She raised a sweet smile up to him, followed by a quick kiss to his lips. “One of the other girls is sick. Mind if I pause yard work until tomorrow?”
“Damn right, I mind.” As if pre-empting her protest, he distracted her with pulling her on top of him and kissing her, deep and unapologetic, his hands disappearing under the sheets and cupping her ass, leaving no question as to what he wanted. “I prefer you where I can see you.”
His actions stirred a giggle from her, as well as a flood of heat through her body, and she kissed him again, delaying the inevitable. “Scared I’ll replace you already?”
Not that she wanted to. Then again, not that there was any binding agreement here, either. She pressed against his chest and levered up, readying her escape.
She’d learned through her father, and then her own experiences, to rely on herself alone. Only herself. A lesson not enough women were taught to adopt. And right now, she had a choice between a man who was leaving and the chance to make a little extra cash.
So, as cold-heartedly practical as her decision seemed, she was taking the cash.
“No.” Rhys’s expression sank to a frown, and his gaze danced about her face, like he really did consider she might replace him so soon. Or maybe he could see she’d already put him at the bottom of her list of plans for the day. “Thanks for giving me something new to worry about, but I want you close because Maynard’s isn’t safe.”
“Is that it?” She slid back, taking a seat on the bed’s edge, heartbeat seeming to slow, even though she was the one with the immediate exit plan. “What does ‘not safe’ mean, anyway?”
“You have crime ring activity here in Harlow. I’ve seen plenty of that in the city, and trust me, these things escalate. What with the rumors that an L.A. syndicate was here and there being survivors from that fire at Emilia’s, there’s a good chance those involved will be back. So, Maynard’s isn’t safe.”
She jumped to her feet and stormed toward his wardrobe, scoffing as she did. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe you’d think different if you’d heard the conversations I did the night you felt like taunting me at the bar.” He sat now, the distinct fire in his eyes saying he still held her earlier games against her. “That new guy in town from L.A., Dean, I don’t trust him. And word is, neither does the sheriff.”
“Yeah, well”—she flung open the wardrobe doors and ripped the first shirt she saw off a hanger—“it’s the sheriff’s job to be suspicious. Not yours.”
“Jenna, listen to me.” He wrapped the sheet around his waist and pushed out of bed, the conversation likely getting too heated to approach her in full-commando. “These things get worse before they get better. All I mean is, you need to be prepared.”
She inched back, hugging the shirt to her chest, not quite ready to leave because lingering hope held her in place. “I was happy, Rhys. I was happy just living my life. And now you’re here and your plan is to… what? Keep tabs on me until you push-off once more?”
His mouth wavered a moment, and he gave her a blank stare. Like he didn’t have a plan, or maybe he simply didn’t want to confirm what they both knew. He would leave. But not before he got his fill of her. Not before he, once again, upended her life.
Well, I’m not allowing that!
“Everyone in Harlow gathers at Maynard’s.” The words fell empty from his lips, as though he too ran out of steam. “It’s a prime spot should the syndicate return.”
“That’s all you have?” She shook her head, her stomach clenching while she jammed her arms into his shirt.
So much for last night. She didn’t have any regrets, but she wouldn’t be doing that again.
His brows knitted together, confusion not the emotion she wanted to see on his face. She went about slipping shirt buttons into holes, her shoulders slumping more than usual.
“What are you doing?”
“Stealing your shirt.” She tugged at the shirt front, the fabric making a satisfying snap. “My clothes are a mess from yard work and ‘saving’ your ass last night. This is mine.”
Yep, she’d wear the shirt home and change into her gear once she got there. She lifted her head and sent him a hard stare, daring him to stop her. “I’m going to work.”
She turned, but he caught the shirt’s cuff and pulled her back before she could leave. “No.”
No? She glared up at him, her cheeks overly hot, that same untamable heat eating her up from the inside. How dare he. How dare he hold her back. From leaving, just as he’d done to her. From escaping to the life he’d forced her to build without him.
“Where were you when the syndicate first hit town? When Emilia’s ex showed up hellbent on starting fires and hurting someone?” Instead of pulling away, she drew nearer, stabbing a finger in his direction, her muscles coiled and lacking restraint. “We sure coulda used a firefighter then. So, where were you?”
Oh, that’s right. Gone.
His jaw loosened, and his skin turned white, her words conjuring years of broken dreams and cold realities still not faded from either one’s memories.
“That’s not fair.” His hollow tone colluded with his unblinking stare, her breaths hitching in response, though she tugged her arm free and inched away.
“Life’s not fair, Rhys.” Her eyes burned now, but she refused to let him see her cry. She wasn’t that sad young woman anymore. Even if her heart did hammer so hard she imagined cracks forming there, she’d march for his door all the same. “You taught me that one.”