Page 18 of Tru Blue
“You don’t act like I make you nervous.” He stepped closer, and she held her ground. The air between them sparked like it had when she’d first arrived, before he’d gotten sidetracked with the kids.
“Why are you afraid to talk to me?” She lifted her chin, schooling her expression. But she couldn’t mask her quickening breaths.
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
She pursed her lips. “Because you’re so in love with your brother and sister it practically drips off of you, and I like that in a person. Love and loyalty aren’t easy to find, especially in siblings. And you’re protective of them, which is pretty telling, you’re incredibly artistic, and you’re obviously generous. You did offer to fix my car for free. You’re a little mysterious.” Her eyes dragged down his chest, making his cock take notice. When she met his gaze, she smirked. “And you’re mildly attractive.”
He stepped closer, their thighs brushing. “Mildly attractive?”
She rolled her eyes. “You could use a shave.”
Damn, he liked her spunkiness. “In case you haven’t noticed, my life is pretty messed up at the moment. Not much time for shaving.”
“Messed up? No. I hadn’t noticed that. But I have heard that you recently acquired responsibility for two very cute children, and I happen to be very good with children. If you talk to me, I might be willing to share some secrets about finding time to shave and other things.”
With the exception of the Whiskey family, he’d never had help from a single person. The thought reminded him that he needed to back away from beautiful Gemma. “I don’t need help.”
She searched his face again. “Everyone needs help.”
“You have no idea who I am.”
“No, but generally that’s why people talk. To get to know each other.” She swallowed hard. “My friend reminded me that I’ve been overly cautious where men are concerned. I don’t want to be overly cautious. I’d like to get to know you.”
He could see how difficult that was for her to admit, and yet she’d not only admitted it, but she’d also followed it up with a very confident statement. A statement that made his heart take notice. Truman was no stranger to being hit on. Women pursued him often when he was out at Whiskey Bro’s or shooting pool. When he was with tougher crowds, where things like prison time weren’t a deterrent but a badge of honor. Women who brought their cars into the shop, both married and single, also hit on him, women who thought fucking a tattooed bad boy would be a thrill. But he never took them up on it. He had enough darkness in his past; he didn’t need to bring it into his future and wonder whose wife he’d slept with.
But Gemma…Gemma was smart and savvy, and the more they talked, the more he liked her, which was exactly why he needed to end this conversation. He wasn’t a glutton for punishment, and he didn’t want to lead her on knowing his past would push her away.
Before forcing himself to take a step back, he couldn’t resist stroking her cheek. She was stunning, and smart, and funny. She deserved a guy without a past hanging like a noose around his neck.
“I think in this case, Gemma Wright, you should be a little cautious. Let’s get you that loaner car.”
Chapter Six
TRUMAN GRITT WAS not fooling Gemma, not for one second. He was a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve. Raw emotions. Real emotions, made clear in the way he looked at her, like a hungry wolf ready to devour his next meal. She’d seen the restraint it had taken to keep himself in check. She’d felt it in the lightning streak of that single caress. And when he talked about his mother, in those few short sentences she’d heard his disgust for her. Now she wanted to understand why, and to understand why he’d sent her away when he had so clearly wanted her to stay. That was precisely why she was standing on his back deck at six thirty the next morning with two to-go cups of strong coffee from Jazzy Joe’s, her favorite coffee shop. She was armed and ready to interrogate, if that’s what it took.
She smoothed her hand over her shirt, straightened her spine, and knocked on the glass just as the sound of Lincoln crying rang out. She knocked again, and the curtains swished on the other side of the door. Kennedy’s face peered up at her. She was wearing the pink pajamas with little ice-cream cones printed on them that Gemma had chosen. She yawned, her little eyes squeezing closed with the effort.
