Stirring Attraction by Sara Jane Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

“He’s coming over? Your date?”
    She nodded. And yeah, it was a damn good thing he’d handed back the mug. He’d have coffee splattered all over his lap right now and his good hand would be sliced to pieces from the ceramic if he hadn’t returned it to her care.
    â€œWhat does he look like?”
    Her blue eyes narrowed as she gripped both mugs. “Why?”
    â€œI don’t want to hurt him by mistake,” he said. “If he shows up, knocks on your door, hell, I might think he’s here to hurt you.”
    â€œTed runs the elementary school literacy program,” she said. “He’s tall, slim, and has blond hair. And his smile . . .”
    Fuck Ted’s smile.
    â€œYeah?” he said.
    â€œWhen he smiles, he looks sweet and kind,” she added.
    Thank God in heaven, her tone suggested sweetness should be reserved for the coffee in her cup.
    â€œDoes he laugh at your jokes?” he demanded.
    â€œHe doesn’t find me funny,” she said. “But—­”
    â€œAnd he sure as shit doesn’t make you feel safe,” he said. “Or he’d be by your side night and day, making sure no one hurts you.”
    â€œHe trusts the police and thinks I’m overreacting. What happened was awful, but it’s over. Done. I should move on. And I am . . .”
    It’s not that easy. You’ll never be the same. Even if you prove that you’re right and the police are wrong.
    But now probably wasn’t the time to tell her that. She’d figure it out on her own.
    â€œTed is a good man,” she said. “He’s great with kids.”
    But is he good with you? Does he know how to make you come, make you scream with pleasure while he buries his face between your legs?
    Dominic wasn’t that guy. Not anymore, but he knew what she deserved.
    â€œMaybe you should ask him to wear a sign when he comes to pick you up that reads ‘Ted, the Good Guy,’ ” he said.
    She smiled, but her blue eyes shone with challenge. It was as if he’d told her he couldn’t keep seeing her all over again. Until that last time, when he’d been free and clear of his duty to serve, she’d never demanded that he change his mind.
    â€œHe’ll probably show up with flowers,” she said, thrusting his mug back into his hand. Then she reached for the door.
    â€œIs that why you and your partner in crime hurled pie and wine at me last night?” he asked mildly. “Because I forgot the flowers?”
    â€œOnce upon a time, you showed up with Chinese takeout when you know I hate everything about it,” she said.
    You have one helluva memory. But then he recalled the color of her nail polish and the way the light played off her pink toes.
    â€œI’ve never expected flowers from you,” she continued, thrusting the door open. “I never expected you to come back here.”
    He held up his damaged right hand. “I’m broken—­”
    â€œSo you’ve what, been throwing yourself an extended pity party?”
    â€œYeah. But I didn’t want guests,” he said, his gaze fixed on the ugly scar in the center of his palm. “I needed time to put my life back together before I showed up here. I had to come to terms with the fact that I threw away a helluva lot to end up on the sidelines with a fucking hand that won’t work. A bullet nicked my pulmonary artery and it’s the one that passed through my hand that left me unable to serve, to hold a gun, to shave my face like I could before.”
    He looked over at her and his gaze honed in on the visible reminders of her attack slashed across her skin. He’d spent the night watching over the kindergarten teacher who’d proven far more resilient. He’d spent months hiding from the uncertainty of his future. But she’d gone out, weeks after her attack, and started working again. She’d pushed out of