hit the open road and the wind made my hair crazy. It was exhilarating, but I yelled as I tried to wrestle my hair and hold it back. I needed a ponytail holder.
He reached over and opened the glove box and pointed at a pile of hair bands.
It scared me that he read my mind, but I shot him a sour look as I selected a black one. “Nadia’s?”
He shrugged in that effortless way of his I’d come to recognize. Noncommittal. Mysterious as hell.
I glared at him.
But my anger only made him grin. “Jealous?” he asked.
“Yes,” came out before I could stop it.
He shot me a surprised look and then turned quickly back to the road, but he kept sending me little glances as he drove, his eyes roaming my face.
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. Simple words. Heavy weight. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous of her. You’re everything she isn’t, and I like it. A lot.”
When I watch romantic movies or read a book, there comes a point in the story where the two love interests are perfectly synced. He looks at her and his eyes soften. She looks at him and realizes he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Kinda like when Elizabeth looks past Darcy’s awful marriage proposal and sees the real man underneath the rich veneer. Or when Romeo first sees Juliet at the party and knows life will never be the same.
It happened for me just as the wind caught his dark hair and ruffled it, and in that tiny millisecond, the carefree way he smiled, the way he held the steering wheel with strong hands, the way he sent me a little searching glance as if gauging my reaction—it was enough to make me second guess everything.
But then I told myself to get my head back on straight.
He was a fighter for goodness’ sake.
He was wrong for me.
Anyone was, really.
Because my heart was locked up tight, the key buried deep in my soul. And no one, not even Declan Blay, could pick that lock.
WE BARRELED DOWN the highway and she gave me the oddest look when I told her she was beautiful.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head as if to clear it. “You know this isn’t a date-date, right?”
I shrugged. “I just got out of a shitty relationship myself.”
“I don’t mean friends with benefits either,” she said.
“Did I ask you for sex, Elizabeth? Have I made a move on you?” My voice had tightened.
A soft “No” reached my ears.
“Right. I have plenty of girls willing to shag me. I don’t need to go begging.”
She licked pink lips, and I found my eyes lingering there, imagining my cock sliding in …
“Will you stop staring at me and watch where you’re driving?” she said sharply.
I couldn’t stop the grin on my face. She made me happy, and I didn’t even know why. Maybe it was the way she’d looked when I’d walked up to her at the bookstore—blushing like a schoolgirl, yet with a wicked gleam in her eyes that went straight to my dick. Maybe it was the way she filled out that T-shirt.
But, maybe it was more. Deeper. I sensed a kindred spirit in her, a loner who ached to find someone to love for real. Like me.
Just one glance from her and I wanted to kiss her and make her mine. People laugh when you talk about one look at someone and you’re in love, and I’m not saying that’s what this was, but damn, something weird was at work here and it had me scratching my head. Was it because she was so wrong for me that I wanted her even more? Yeah. Fuck. Elizabeth Bennett had her pretty little claws in me, and God help me, I wanted her to dig them in deeper.
I pulled the Jeep into the carpark of the Front Street Gym, although she wouldn’t know that since the signage hadn’t been hung yet. The work crew had left for the day, so it was quiet as I hopped out and looped around to help her climb down.
She stepped down on the pavement and looked around, wary eyes taking in the two story building. “What’s this place?”
I grinned. “It’s my new gym.”
“How can you afford all this?”
I shrugged. “I used the inheritance from my mum to buy the place, and my fighting money helps with the remodeling.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Did you think I fought for fun?”
She licked her lips. “I—I don’t like fighting.”
I sighed. Whatever.
We stepped