Page 45 of Holding On To Good

Yeah, Verity Jennings was nothing but a pain in the ass.

But then she ducked back into her car and his jacket rode up as she stretched across the driver’s seat, revealing how the wet denim of her jeans molded to her butt.

No matter what her flaws, Verity Jennings had a class-A ass. Went with that pinup body of hers, round and full and curvy.

And right or wrong, he was going to enjoy the view.

But just as quickly as she dove into the car, she backed out and turned, a pile of takeout napkins in her hand.

“I am so sorry,” she said, and before he realized her intent, she closed the distance between them and began wiping his face with the napkins.

Reed’s entire body went still. In the back of his mind, he noted that the napkins were thin and scratchy and probably weren’t doing much more than spreading the mud around. But at the forefront, all he could feel was the cool brush of her knuckles high on his cheek. All he could smell was her scent, some strange, intoxicating mix of sweet spice and bleach. All he could see was her face, inches from his own, the headlights glowing behind her like a halo. Her lower lip was caught between her upper teeth, the sides of her mouth twitching as she fought a smile.

He’d never been this close to her in his entire life. Before tonight… hell, before this moment… he hadn’t any interest in getting this close to her. But now that it was happening, he had to admit, it wasn’t that bad.

It’d be better if she wasn’t laughing at him.

“This funny to you?” he asked.

He expected her to deny it. To wince or blush at the gruffness of his voice.

She grinned, all good humor and perfect, straight teeth.

Verity Jennings wasn’t doing anything he expected her to do.

Wasn’t anything like he’d expected her to be.

Another reason to be pissed at her.

“Pretty funny,” she admitted, rubbing at what must be a stubborn streak of dirt on the corner of his jaw. “Plus, it’s nice. Seeing you like this.”

Narrowing his eyes, he grabbed her wrist, held it an inch from his face. “Like what?”

She shrugged. Didn’t pull away. “I don’t know. Vulnerable? Softer? Or maybe just more human? I guess it’s tough to pull off your usual I’m an angry, mean hardass act when that chip on your shoulder is soaking wet and you’re covered in mud.”

If she was any other girl, he’d slowly draw her closer. Rub his thumb back and forth across the steady beat of the pulse at her wrist. Duck his head and let his voice drop to a husky whisper and tell her there wasn’t anything soft about him and that if she was interested, she could find out firsthand just how hard he could get.

But she wasn’t any other girl. She was Verity Jennings.

And she was studying him in the soft glow of the headlights like she could see right through him.

He dropped her wrist. Took a step back. “I don’t have an act.”

“Maybe not. But coming out in the rain to help me was a very nice thing to do. I mean, yeah, your attitude about it sucked, but in the end, you stepped up, which was very decent of you. Very Good Samaritan-ish.”

He wasn’t decent. Couldn’t be. Not with his bloodline. The way he’d been raised. The things he’d done.

A decent guy would’ve helped her right away. Wouldn’t have let her walk off into the night alone.

A decent guy wouldn’t think about how soft her skin had been under his fingers. Wouldn’t be wondering what it’d be like to touch more of it. To settle his hands on the curve of her waist. To cup that ass and pull her against him.

And a decent guy sure as hell wouldn’t tell the soaking wet, shivering girl in front of him, “You owe me.”

Verity blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I did you a favor. Now you owe me one.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, warily, as if this was a trick. Verity Jennings was no dummy. “What do you want?”

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