Counting On Cole (Wilde Ways #8) - Cynthia Eden Page 0,9
finger stabbed into his chest. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
One powerful shoulder rolled in a shrug. “I knew you’d open the door.”
She would not scream at him, but she wanted to—so badly. Did he think this meeting was a joke? Did he not get just how much he’d hurt her? She jabbed him again with her index finger. “You don’t belong in my life.”
His smile vanished. Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes.
She ignored the warning flash because Evie felt plenty dark and dangerous herself. “I don’t want you in my life.”
His hand rose. His fingers curled around hers. Warmth immediately shot through her hand. Up her arm. Right to her heart.
“Sorry, princess,” he murmured, “but for the foreseeable future, you have me.”
“Let go of me.” She couldn’t stand his touch. It stirred too many memories.
He immediately let her go. Took a step back.
“Do not call me princess.” She wasn’t some pampered princess. She worked hard for everything that she had. Twenty-hour days weren’t uncommon for her when she was doing a show. She would come home, dripping sweat, and every muscle aching from choreography sessions. It was her job to make the routines. She came up with the steps, the sequences. She made them look beautiful and seamless when they were really grueling and gut-wrenching. Over the years, she’d had more broken toes than she could count. She’d had enough bruises to last a lifetime. Evie wasn’t some spoiled princess. She was a flesh and blood woman, and she wasn’t putting up with his bullshit.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” Cole said softly. He lifted both his hands toward her in that old, I-surrender gesture. “I’m here because I want to keep you safe.”
“Why do you care?” He didn’t. Obviously. She should not have asked the question. But then, he shouldn’t have shown up at her door, either. Yes, she was bitter.
He’d vanished without even a backward glance. Just disappeared from her life. As if he’d never even been real.
A fantasy.
His lips thinned.
“You know what? Forget it. I don’t want an answer.” She tried to calm her racing heartbeat. “There was one near hit with a car. An accident. That stuff happens. I’ll talk to Harrison and get him to seriously chill.” Unfortunately, Harrison didn’t know how to chill. “I’m good. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have places to go.”
“I’d like to come with you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “This isn’t happening.”
“Just until Harrison ends my contract. I have a reputation to uphold, you see. I don’t disappoint clients.”
You just disappoint the women who fall in love with you? Nope. She was not going to say that. “If I leave, you’re just going to follow me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be a hulking shadow?”
“I don’t think I’m particularly hulking. I like to think that I blend well.”
Her eyes opened. Her gaze went to the top of his head then slowly trailed down his body. She stopped at his white tennis shoes. “You don’t blend.” Evie turned away from him.
“Is that a compliment?”
She headed into her place. Grabbed her purse. Slid the long strap diagonally across her body before she turned to face him. “Take it however you want.” Evie exhaled. “I can’t stop you from following me.”
He started to smile—
“I could,” Evie corrected quickly. “But it would involve calling the police and making a big scene, and I’m not one for scenes. I like things to stay quiet. Ordered.”
“I remember that about you.”
“Well, give yourself a cookie.”
He blinked.
Shit. She thrust her shoulders back. “Try to do your blending bit. Stay out of my way, and after I take care of this one thing, I’ll convince Harrison to cut you loose.”
“I’ll try to stay out of your way. Unless you need me. Then I’ll step up and get in the way of the bad guys.”
“Wonderful.” A quick check in her bag confirmed that her keys were inside. Keys. Wallet. Mace. Good to go.
“I like your home.”
Her head whipped up.
“The colors are great.” He pointed to the wall. Stared at the series of lighthouse paintings that she’d carefully arranged. “You, um, do those paintings?”
“No.” She cleared her throat. “My ex did them.”
He’d been pointing, but now his fingers balled, and his hand became a fist. “You must have really cared about the guy if you keep his paintings on the wall.”
“I like art.” She didn’t have to explain herself to him. “Doesn’t matter about that guy.”
“I see.”
She didn’t think he did. “Which brings me to my next