Page 65 of The Desperate Warrior

“Flirting with him, right in front of my face.”

“It stinks, doesn’t it?”

He whipped around to face her, a firestorm breaking loose in his eyes, which were ebony in the dimmer light. “Why would you say that?”

She lifted her chin. “If it hurt you to see me having an innocent flirtation with some guy in a room crowded full of people, then imagine how I felt when you dumped me to get back with your ex-wife.”

His face fell. “That’s not fair.”

All of the hurt came rushing back with a vengeance. “No, it’s not fair,” she hissed.

They eyed each other for several long moments.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

She leaned closer, trying to ignore the way her cells swirled out of control at his nearness. “You better believe it.”

Chapter 16

Sleep didn’t come easily for Jules that night.

She kept tossing and turning beneath the weight of her quilt. Normally, she liked the soft hum of the ceiling fan, but tonight, it was grating on her nerves. In a huff, she threw off the quilt and got out of bed to turn it off.

Work would come early. She needed to sleep. Why would her body not cooperate? She climbed back into the bed and closed her eyes. Her emotions were so tangled that it was impossible to make sense of them. She knew it was wrong to toy with Brock this evening by flirting with Asher. But the truth was, whether he meant to or not, Brock had hurt her deeply. And it still stung.

She wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe they could start over.

But fear kept gnawing at her. She couldn’t stand the thought of opening up her heart only to have the rug yanked out from underneath her. Again.

She rolled over to one side and then the other. After repeating this process for what felt like dozens of times, she finally drifted into a shallow sleep.

She didn’t know how long she’d been out when the persistent ping of rain against the window woke her up. She sat up witha jolt, blinking against the darkness as the wind howled like a wounded dog against the house. The low boom of thunder rolled in the distance. Another storm. Ugh! She sighed, hoping there wouldn’t be any tornadoes this time around.

The rain picked up, steady and relentless—a proper Texas gully washer. Giving up on sleep, she threw back the covers, got out of bed, and padded barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. The tile was cold beneath her feet as she opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of water.

The low timbre of Brock’s voice nearly caused her to jump out of her skin.

“Couldn't sleep, huh? Me neither.”

She spun around with a shaky laugh, her hand going over her chest. “You scared me.”

He stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame in a worn t-shirt and gym shorts. His arms were crossed, bare feet planted on the floor like he owned the place. There was something jarring and wildly intimate about seeing him like this in her kitchen.

Her pulse stuttered.

She twisted the cap off and took a long sip of the cool liquid, trying to mask the flutter in her chest. Ever since they’d traded tense barbs at the cooking class earlier that evening, they’d hardly spoken a word to one another. She was so tired of all the tension between them. It took an enormous amount of energy to keep being so ticked at him all the time.

“You said you wanted to talk, so let’s get to it.”

A laugh hiccuped in her throat. He was so dang blunt. She didn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed. She matched his do-or-die tone. “Okay, let’s get to it.”

He pushed off the doorway and straightened to his full height.

“You want something to drink?” She motioned towards the fridge.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Nah. If I get thirsty, I’ll just grab a sip of yours.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re assuming I’m feeling generous.”

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