A shaky laugh broke through her. “I’m sure you’ll live.”
“I didn’t take you for a tease.”
“I’m not. You’re the one who followed me, remember? Look, you’re a nice guy. I’m sure—”
“Save it,sweetheart.” His voice hardened, the heat replaced with steel. “Guess I had you figured right, you’re nothing but a bitch.”
The word hit like a slap. For a second, she just stared at him, stunned. Then fury flooded her veins.
“Fuck you!”
Casey slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. Gravel crunched beneath her tires as she peeled out of the lot, headlights slicing through the darkness. In the rearview mirror, he stood there, motionless, the night swallowing him up whole.
Her chest tightened, the ache of longing gnawing at what was left of her resolve. She gripped the steering wheel, eyes blurring as tears spilled down her cheeks.
***
Rags stood therelong after her tail lights disappeared, the cold biting at his skin but not enough to burn off the heat still coiling through him. Her taste lingered on his tongue: sweet, defiant, impossible to forget.
“Damn woman,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He’d gone too far, let his temper take the reins when what he really felt was something he didn’t want to look too close at. She’d rattled him, and that pissed him off most of all.What is it about this one?He shouldn’t give a damn whether she drove away angry or not.
He wanted to understand her, to figure out why she threw him so far off balance, but wanting that only made it worse. He wasn’t going to chase her. He wasn’t going to apologize. Hell, he didn’t owe her a thing.
“I don’t need this shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feel of her: her soft tits pressed against him, the warmth of her breath against his neck, the faint vanilla-caramel scent that clung to his jacket like a memory he didn’t ask for. It stuck with him, tightening his chest, burning his throat.
He exhaled hard, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. The air felt heavier now, thick with cold and the muffled pulse of noise spilling from the bar’s half-open door.
Rags opened it and stepped inside. The noise—music, laughter, the crack of pool balls—surged around him. Tank held up a pool stick, waving him over. Rags gave a chin lift, shrugged off his jacket, and made his way to the table.
Chapter Nine
Leaning his officechair back against the wall, Throttle looked at Rags and asked, “Who was the chick you were cozying up to at Blue’s Belly the other night?” A smile tugged at his lips.
Riffling through the file drawer, Rags glanced over his shoulder. “No one, really.”
“Looked like someone to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t. You know where that invoice is for the Roberson job?”
“It should be in the file.” Throttle clasped his hands behind his head. “You know something?”
Rags turned. “What?”
“The chick from the other night looked a lot like the one filling in for Owen.”
Rags’s jaw tightened. “Owen?”
“Yeah, you know, the guy who owns the nursery. The one you were flipped out about ’cause he was outta town.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” Rags shrugged. “I don’t remember what she looked like.”
Throttle laughed. “You’re such a bullshitter.”
Rags narrowed his eyes. “No. I’m not. Anyway, how would you know what she looks like?”
“The next morning I went by the nursery to grab a watering can Kimber wanted, and I admit I was surprised to see the chick from Blue’s you were making moves on. Then I remember how pissed you were after you went to the nursey that day. You weregoing on about some woman.” He shook his head. “Iknewshe got to you.”