Page 34 of Resist

Jesus. What the hell kind of childhood was that?

Coulton wanted to ask more, but Ainsley returned to her spot behind the bar, leaning on the counter behind her.

For two hours, he listened as Petey and Ainsley shared stories about the bar—recounting drunken brawls, some of the more colorful characters who’d passed through, and Mick’s “body count,” which was how they referred to the times Ainsley’s dad bounced someone out on their ass.

Maren hopped in a few times, adding her own stories to the mix.

When closing time rolled around, Coulton’s face hurt from laughing at their tall tales, and the stress he’d felt all day had abated.

Petey and Maren left together, leaving him and Ainsley alone. He helped her clean, then walked out with her, watching as she went through the routine of locking the door and pulling down the gate.

“Talk to your brother yet?” Coulton asked, hoping perhaps her brother would man up and do the right thing, paying off his own debts.

Ainsley shook her head. “Haven’t seen him. Fucker is laying low so I can’t find him. Probably hiding from those guys too.”

“Things go alright with your dad this morning?” Mick’s response to Ainsley’s injuries had been another item on his never-ending list of concerns today.

“He reacted the way I thought. Bitched about losing the money, but he was more pissed at Eli than me, so you know, small mercies.”

“Did he even mention the bruises?”

Ainsley gave him that quizzical look. Growing up with a neglectful, abusive dad had clearly skewed her thinking, made it impossible to see how wrong Mick’s reaction was. Then she grimaced. “Of course he did. That’s why I had to tell him about the robbery. It wasn’t like I was going to volunteer that info unless I had to.”

“And what did he say about you getting hurt?”

Ainsley gave him her shrug/tell. “He said I was soft. Said he raised a couple of pussies.”

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. By then, he’d only just managed to bank his temper. “Come home with me tonight.”

Ainsley frowned. “Why?”

Coulton stepped closer, reaching for her waist. If she gave him even the slightest indication she was uncomfortable or scared, he’d release her.

But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in, her palms resting flat against his chest, not to push him away but to touch him. Then she lifted her face, her eyes heavy-lidded.

She was begging to be kissed.

“Why?” she repeated, when he didn’t respond, her voice was suddenly breathless.

Coulton lowered his head, his lips a mere inch from hers. “So I can kiss all those bruises of yours better.”

Ainsley grinned. “All of them? There are a lot.”

He leaned closer. “Every.” He gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Single.” This time, he placed his lips gently on her cut lip. “One.” This kiss lingered, but he didn’t increase the pressure, waiting for a sign from her.

When her hands found their way to his hair, her fingers tightening around it as she held him close, he knew he’d broken through the first of the many, many barriers she surrounded herself with.

Coulton pulled away. “Ainsley,” he murmured, waiting for her answer.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?”

“I want to go home with you.”

Coulton closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that he’d intended to keep gentle, considering her lip was still sore from the attack.

However, Ainsley had other plans, kissing him back with a hunger that matched the hardcore desire coursing through his veins.

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