Page 25 of Taking Denver

She keeps her eyes trained on the table.

“I don’t have a choice.”

She pulls from me and leaves.

Chapter 9

Denver

“You can’t just show up like this.”

“I told you that I would.”

“You say a lot of things you don’t mean,” I snap, throwing my beach bag on the bed.

Ranger looks around the room, his gaze moving between the sofa, the small kitchen, and the television. He leans into the bedroom, his fingers tapping the wall, and finally faces me.

I stand behind the sofa, hands tucked into the back pockets of my jean shorts, toes clenched painfully in my sandals. I have to keep my distance. My body feels flammable, and he is an open flame. I don’t want him to burn me up, to reduce me to nothing, despite how much I’d enjoy the heat before disappearing for good.

The last three months have been the longest we’ve been apart in six years, and part of me wants to rush into his arms. His limo car had taken us to the hotel, and though we were silent, I’d stolen glances at him for the first time in too long. He looks so handsome, even when he’s angry with me, maybe even especially then. He’s almost forty now, but not a fleck of gray disturbs his black hair. And his eyes, those dark eyes, moveacross me, igniting a fire that has my oil-doused skin quivering with anticipation and pure, potent desire. He could use that look to bring any woman to their knees, but his focus is me. His focus is always on me.

He drops his bag on the coffee table, takes out a cigarette, and places it between his lips. “Nice room.”

I move to him, snatching the cigarette from his mouth, and he quickly seizes my wrist. Sometimes, I forget how much bigger he is compared to me, compared to most, but it never deters me from getting close. I’d scratch his eyes out, given half the chance.

His gaze shifts across my face and my weak attempt to cover the bruises Adam left behind. Anger flashes through him, a spark of fire in onyx eyes.

My heart flutters, and I whisper, “What?”

“Nothing.” Finger by finger, he releases me, and I go to the patio doors, opening them and throwing the cigarette outside.

Ranger pulls out another, snatching a matchstick against the box to light it. He’s the only person I know who still uses matches, and he told me it was because he likes the smell. I will always associate that smokey richness with him.

He lights the cigarette and shakes out the match, the smoke dancing around him. He then dips his hand into his inside pocket and holds out a phone to me.

I don’t want to know how he knows my phone is broken. Because if someone watched me throw it into the pool, that means they likely also saw that Ethan was in my room. The thought has my heart dropping into my stomach.

When I remain fixed in place, Ranger steps close and curls his fingers into the buttons of my jean shorts. My skin heats, and my breath catches as he tugs me closer, tucking the new phone into my back pocket. White smoke curls over his lips, and he removes the cigarette but not his fingers.

“So I can reach you,” he says quietly, dark eyes searching mine, the smell of expensive cigarette smoke rich between us. I school my expression, my breathing, my entire demeanor, but he can see right through me. He always could. “Say thank you.”

I tense my jaw, and his fingers dip lower into my jeans. Lust tears through me, my body desperate to curl into his touch. “Thank you,” I say quickly and put distance between us.

“You’re welcome.” He inhales the cigarette, the end glowing brightly. He blows out more smoke before speaking again. “You’re coming home.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I didn’task, Denver,” he says. “You can’t keep running. The police are asking questions.”

I hesitate, fear gripping my throat. He’s lying. There isn’t a single person he doesn’t have in his pocket. If the police are asking questions, it’s because he wants them to.

“I don’t believe you,” I say.

“Regardless of whether you believe me or not, I would think you almost dying would be enough to convince you that home is the safest place for you,” he says. “Would you like to know who hired Adam?” Ranger walks to the patio doors and flicks the barely smoked cigarette outside. “Wyatt’s mother.”

I wince, squeezing my eyes closed as if I could forget that my own mother-in-law wants me dead, but they hang in the air alongside the smoke.

“She thinks I?—”

---