Page 15 of Keeping Mr. Sweet

With a jerk of my chin I walk around the buff guy who’s stalking toward Jack and straight out the door.

“Let go of me,” Ash sulks, trying to yank free of my grip the moment we hit the pavement.

“Not going to happen.” Not until we’re far enough away from Mayhem that the jerks watching her dance won’t find her if they come looking for her, which means we’ll be back inside the restaurant before I let go of her.

She claws at my hand, pinches the webbing between my thumb and fingers like she used to when we were younger. It’s annoying more than it is painful. “Don’t be an asshole, Sam. Let go of me.”

“No.” I put my head down and walk faster, dragging her along with me. The cold air is a slap in the face that helps me regain my equilibrium. Don’t know why she’s fighting me so hard. Don’t know why I’m still so protective of her when we agreed we weren’t those people anymore. It’s just that she doesn’t have anyone else to fall back on. Daddy’s little rich girl has been doing it tough for as long as I can remember. Raised by an army of nannies and servants and chauffers until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Only ever happy around Summer, but my sister hasn’t seen Ash spiral out of control. Only me. It’s like I’m the only person she’s ever felt comfortable enough to let her guard down around.

“You don’t own me.” She drags her feet. “You can’t treat me like you own me.”

“I’m trying to help you,” I tell her, letting her go. “Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t need your help,” she fires back as I pivot to face her. Tears course down her cheeks though she pretends she doesn’t know. There’s no back of the hand swipe, there’s no sniffling. She holds her chin up and doesn’t quaver. Her stare is steely and her jaw juts out just enough to be defiant. “I can handle myself.”

I want to say I believe her, but I don’t. All I’ve seen her do since she showed up on my doorstep is fall apart. And why bother to show up anyway if she doesn’t want anything more than a fuck? “You can handle yourself? Is that why you asked the bartender to call me?”

“You didn’t have to come.” That chin inches up a fraction more, as though the height of her chin corresponds to her stubbornness. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, trying to contain the emotion that sparks in her eyes. “I don’t need you to rescue me from bars. Or assholes.”

“That wasn’t what it looked like in there.” I point in the direction of Mayhem where some of the group have spilled out onto the street.

“Maybe I was having fun.” She pouts.

“What? You wanted trouble.” She’s so damn frustrating. So beautiful. I miss her so damn much. Deep down in the marrow of my bones. I miss the way her body fits against mine. The way her plump lips yield to my kiss. Her taste. Especially when she’s looking at me like she is.

“Maybe I do.”

“But why?” Christ, at times she is the most frustrating person I have ever met. “Why would you want that?”

“Maybe that’s all I deserve,” she crosses her arms against her chest and bites her lip.

I’m like a moth drawn to a flame. She singes me with a look, and all it does is make me want to give her as much trouble as she can handle. I want to melt that sullenness from her face with my mouth and my hands and my tongue. I want to set fire to her blood the way she does to mine. I want to cradle her in my arms while my chest soaks up the tears she cries, and my ears catch the words that tumble off her tongue, and my heart beats strong enough to drum out all her fears. But none of it lasts, none of it truly gives her any peace.

What I wouldn’t do to be that for her.

I just don’t know how to. Or if she’ll even let me try.

But I reach out to her anyway, touch her cheek. “I don’t think trouble is what you’re after, Ash. I think maybe you’re looking for the exact opposite.”

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