Page 40 of Her Dirty Defender

She shakes her head, blinking fast. “Anyway, yeah. That’s why I ended up at The Honey Pot that night after another argument with Dad about my ‘lifestyle choices.’ How I should quit working and let Marcus take care of me.” Her voice cracks. “Like I’m a broken-down truck that needs the right man to fix me.”

“What doyouwant?” I keep my voice neutral, even though everything in me wants to hunt down Marcus and explain exactly how unwelcome his attention is.

She meets my eyes, chin lifting. “To run my shop. To fix things with my own hands. To choose my own path.” A breath. “To not have to explain why that's enough.”

Something fierce and protective roars in my chest.

I want her.

The realization slams into me, sharp and undeniable. Fuck, yes, I want her. Not to fix. Not to tame. Just as she is—stubborn, capable, a force of her own making. She doesn't need saving; she needs space to choose. And damned if I'll be another man deciding her future for her.

“George.” I cup her face, making her look at me. Her skin is soft under my calloused palms. “You don't need someone to take care of you. But that doesn't mean you have to do everything alone.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“Do you?” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, catching a tear before it falls. “Because from where I'm standing, you're so busy proving you don't need anyone that you're not allowing yourself to want anyone either.”

She bites her lip. “It's complicated.”

I've watched her these past three weeks, learning her tells. How her hands fidget when she’s nervous, the subtle flare of her nostrils when she’s frustrated, and the slight catch in her breath when I get too close.

And now she’s biting her lip and lying to herself about this connection between us. But this time, I'm not letting her run.

“It's really not.” I lean in, letting my breath ghost across her lips. “You want this. I want this. Everything else? We figure it out later.”

The rough wood of the barn wall catches at her shirt as she presses back, but there's nowhere to go.

“Tell me this means nothing.” I step closer, deliberately invading her space. The temperature between us spikes, and her breath hitches. “Tell me, and I'll back off.”

She opens her mouth, probably to deny everything, but no words come out.

Smart girl.

“That's what I thought.” I brace one hand on the wall beside her head, caging her in without touching. Yet. The contrast between her soft skin and the weathered wood makes my fingers ache. “Now, want to try telling me the truth?”

A laugh escapes her pouty lips. “The truth is that you're impossible. Infuriating. Too damn smug for your own good.”

“And?”

“And I can't stop thinking about that night at The Honey Pot.” The words rush out like she can't hold them back any longer. “The way you looked at me at the bar. How you knew exactly what I needed before I did.” Her voice drops lower. “How your hands felt when…”

“When what?” I lean closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. Every breath she takes pulls her chest closer to mine. “Say it.”

Her hands come up to my chest, but she doesn't push me away. Instead, her fingers curl into my shirt, holding on or holding back; I'm not sure even she knows which.

She swallows hard. “When you held me like I was something precious and dangerous at the same time.”

My thumb traces her jaw, and she trembles. “You’re both those things, sweetheart.” The endearment slips from my lips before I can stop it, rough with need. Her eyes darken, and I hear the slight catch in her breathing. “And a whole lot more.”

She tries to look away, but I capture her chin. Something vulnerable flashes across her face before she masks it.

“I hate how you look at me.” Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “Like you can see right through me. Like you know exactly what I'm thinking.”

“Do I?” My free hand finds her hip, and she shivers. The thin cotton of her shirt does nothing to hide how her body responds to my touch. “What am I thinking right now?”

“That you want to kiss me.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And I hate that too.”

“Liar.”

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