Page 70 of Little Bird
“Liar,” I whisper.
Her mouth drops open, and for a moment I think she’s going to lean forward and kiss me right here in the workshop, for all the world to see.
Instead, she says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her voice is hoarse with lust, and dear God alive, I have to fight every instinct to keep from grabbing her, spreading her across the table, and feasting on her.
But I can’t fucking do any of that.
“Who’s going to take all these pictures of me being a sexy lumberjack?” I ask, opting for a slightly safer topic.
She shrugs. “Me. Obviously.”
Okay, that’s not safe at all. The thought of chopping wood while she takes pictures of me, my shirt on the ground next to me and sweat running down my chest as I drive the axe into the wood again and again...
Not safe. Not better.
Business, Gabe. You’re talking business. Not thinking about dragging her into the woods, bending her over a log, and taking her raw.
I draw back, wishing desperately for a cold shower.
“And what makes you think any of that will work?”
She backs off as well, but her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing quickly. I’m not the only one working to contain myself.
“Actually, I’m a marketing major. I do this sort of stuff all the time. And this plan writes itself. If you guys will go for it.”
I frown, putting the pieces together. “But you’re here instead of at school. How close are you to graduating?” I count the number of years it should take to finish college, then adjust for her age.
She must be almost done, but not quite. She has to have at least one more semester. And being up here has to be interrupting that. I look closely at her and see from her face that it is. She’s hiding something.
Something to do with New York.
“You must have another semester left, at least. And it’s Christmas break, but you haven’t said anything about going home. What are you doing up here, Taryn?”
She tries to back off even more, but I reach over the table and grab her wrist before she can go. I pull her around the table and to me, watching her the entire time. She’s been shifty about answering this question, but I’m finished waiting. Something isn’t adding up here, and I want to know what it is.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask again once she’s standing in front of me. “And why did you call my father rather than your mother? What are you running from?”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to answer, then shuts it again, biting her lip to keep something in, and suddenly I know.
“Your mother,” I say quietly. “You’re running from her.”
She presses her lips together but nods, and I keep guessing.
“She’s into something that scares you. And you want out.”
Another nod, and this one surprises me even less. Taryn has never been good enough for her mother, and she’s always wanted to escape her. But this is a girl who doesn’t back down from anything, and she’s legitimately frightened right now. Helen is a bitch, but she’s not scary.
Unless something has changed.
“Did she marry someone dangerous?” I breathe.
“Yes.”
The word is a whisper with a shake to it. The answer of a little girl hiding under the bed.
And holy fuck do I want to take her and tuck her into my shirt. Hold her against my body and promise her that no one will hurt her again. That I’ll throw my body down between her and whoever is trying to do anything to her.
