asses."
"I know." She picked up a rearview-mirror replacement and bent her head over it, apparently examining the plastic frame for minute flaws.
His palm itched to touch her again, so he gave another long stroke to her hair. "Does that happen often, honey?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"Strange men don't mix up the brothel fantasy with reality?"
She shook her head again. "Not so often, not when I'm outside of The Burning Rose itself, anyway."
He remembered the group of rugby players on the tour he'd taken. She'd handled them pretty damn well. He'd been annoyed with her that day, but he'd admired her poise too.
Still, despite her denials, he could tell she was upset as she selected the appropriate fan belt, then made her way to the registers. All through the purchase and as they headed back into the heat toward his bike, she avoided his gaze and gave only the barest of responses to his several attempts at small talk.
Finally, he slowed. "Kitty. Honey."
She kept her head down.
Alarm thickened his blood. "What is it?" he insisted. "Did something happen that I didn't notice? Did they hurt you or - "
"No. Of course not." She continued on toward the motorcycle.
He couldn't leave it at that. When they reached the Harley, he put both hands on her shoulders and forced her to face him. "Look at me, Kitty," he ordered. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Dylan..."
His fingers squeezed her shoulders. "Spill it, Kitty."
Her chin came up. "I'm embarrassed, okay? Are you satisfied now? It's humiliating to be treated that way, and it's especially humiliating for you to witness it."
Shit. He grabbed her around the back of her head and pulled her against him. "I'm sorry."
She fit so damn well, her cheek in the hollow of his shoulder, her silky hair sliding between his fingers as if it had a thousand times before, that he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. For a few minutes she let him hold her, leaning into his body.
It wasn't until they were back on the bike, however, that she completely blew his mind. Her body was plastered against his. He hadn't started the Harley yet, so though she spoke softly, he heard her words loud and clear.
"It's not strange men who bother me so much," she said. "It's Hot Water. It's the way people there look at me sometimes."
He winced. Jesus. She might as well have reached down his throat and pulled his guts out. It was exactly the same way he felt. Dylan's town identity rubbed him raw too.
But he didn't know what to say to her. What he should say to her that wouldn't serve to strengthen the bond between them. Dylan released a long sigh. His connection with Kitty was like one of those woven-grass Chinese finger tortures kids got in birthday-party treat bags. The harder you tried to pull free, the tighter you found yourself stuck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The hot wind dragged back Dylan's inky hair and Kitty turned her head to keep it from whipping against her face. Her arms circled his waist and her breasts pressed against him. She hoped he couldn't hear her thudding heart beating over the rumble of the motorcycle, but surely he had to feel it knocking against his backbone.
It frightened her to be this close to him.
Not physically close - though he looked dangerous enough with his hair wind-tossed and a stubble of dark beard on his face - but letting him see inside her. For as long as she could remember, she'd hidden her shame from everyone.
Wilder Women Don't Wed And They Don't Run. They didn't bleed either. On the outside, anyway.
Dylan steered the motorcycle into a curve and her body followed the lead of his, leaning into the movement, leaning into him. When the bike straightened out, she scooted backward on the seat, breaking their contact.
Dylan instantly released one handlebar and reached behind to press her close again. "Safer," she thought he shouted.
But what he really said must have been lost in the wind. Nothing was "safer" with the two of them wrapped together like yin and yang.
A few minutes later Dylan swerved across the empty road to park in front of the T-bird. Kitty hopped off the bike, stumbling a little in her haste, and he grabbed her elbow before she went down. She fumbled with the helmet until he had to help her with that too.
He flicked a glance at the powder-blue T-bird. "Forget the minivan," he said. "This is you."
She flinched as his fingers brushed