Still, I can’t help but put my arm around her, mindlessly patting and rubbing her back, even though I’m treading dangerous territory for us both. “You gonna be okay? We can hang out here as long as you need,” I reassure her. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll walk you out to your car again. Make sure you’re safe. ‘Kay?”
She sighs, looking up at me, her pupils black and large behind her glasses. “Actually, do you think you could drive me home? I’m not much of a drinker, and I have a feeling that scotch is going to knock me out in three, two, one . . .”
She smiles a tiny smile, but it sounds like she’s telling the truth. This is a girl who can sling drinks like a certified pro, but one shot knocks her out for the rest of the night. And no, my dirty fucking thoughts don’t avoid the innuendo there either.
“Yeah, I can do that,” I reply, even as part of me says this is a bad move. I’ve wanted her for weeks, and my instincts are going apeshit. Bad move, Shane. Bad move.
Doesn’t matter. The smile she gives me is more than enough to overcome whatever my mind is saying. I turn to Marco, who’s cleaning the shot glass carefully. “Will you let Dominick know I’m leaving my truck here overnight? I’ll drive Meghan’s car to her house and cab it home.”
Marco gives me an evaluating look, and I again appreciate that for all his slick player persona, he’s actually a pretty solid guy and is making sure that I’m not running some game on Meghan when she’s shaken up.
I must have passed his test because he nods and sets the glass aside. “Yeah, I’ll let the boss know. Take care of her.”
With a nod, I help Meghan up. I walk her back outside, head on a swivel as I look for any threats, any sign that Miles Jacobson got a shock of courage and came back, but all seems to be quiet and dark. We make it to her car, a nondescript little thing that looks like it sort of hangs together by sheer force of will.
Meghan digs in her bag for her keys and hands them to me. I do a slight double-take as I see her keyring has a fucking pompom on it. A puffy fluff of soft fur that’s white like a rabbit’s tail. It suits her.
I hold the passenger door for her and make sure she’s buckled in before I go around. “You ready?”
“Yeah. And thanks, Shane,” she says, giving me a smile that could melt Ebenezer Scrooge’s heart. I pull out, still keeping watch for anyone who might be following us, and head away from the club, toward the main road.
“Where to?” I ask, and Meghan gives me directions to her apartment from there. As we drive, I have to admit I’m interested to see where she lives.
A tiny piece of me is disappointed when I pull up outside a regular apartment complex, just one like a hundred others around town and not some special, secret hideaway with unicorns in the driveway befitting the fairy-princess sparkle of this girl. I walk her to her door, planning to get her safely inside and then call a cab . . . from the parking lot, not wanting her to feel weird about being alone in her apartment with the huge, scary guy from work.
Hey, I know what I look like, and yeah, I use it around work to my advantage. I’m surprised when I turn to go and she calls out, “Shane!”
I turn, hearing the fear returning to her voice. “Yeah?”
She’s clutching the door, the toe of her Ugg boot digging in the carpet, looking for all intents and purposes like the scared little girl she is. My heart melts even as another side of me growls possessively, wanting to claim her as mine.
She takes a deep breath, biting her lip, but her voice is surprisingly strong when she speaks again. “Do you want to come in? Have a cup of coffee or something?”
I pause, most of me wanting to say no. This has bad idea written all over it. We’re pushing four in the morning, I’m with a girl who’s had a scare and might be slightly drunk, and for the past two months, she’s jumped to the top of my fantasy list as she ticks boxes on my mental fuck list I didn’t even know I had.
But I can man up, be the security she needs, and not let on that she’s slowly driving me insane every time she looks up at me in those glasses. That half of me wants to comfort and soothe her, to tell her she’ll never be hurt . . . while the other half of me wants to rip her clothes off and make her hurt so damn good she screams in blissful agony before I empty my balls deep inside her body.
“Are you sure?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. “You’re home, and you’re safe. I can just call a cab.”
She doesn’t answer, just gestures with her hand into the apartment, inviting me in. I walk past her, careful not to touch her or crowd her so she doesn’t spook again. Keeping my steps casual, I feel dirty as my heavy boots cross the threshold into her apartment, and I feel an intense, sudden need to just take them off and not pollute her space.
Her apartment is cute, just like her. Her living room is full of soft furniture, with fuzzy blankets thrown over the arm of an old, overstuffed sofa and a floral coffee mug sitting on the table. The room is white and beige and all the other shades of . . . white. With a few highlights of pink.
I’m nervous to sit on her furniture. I think of the places my pants have been, and I’m afraid I’ll sully it up just with my presence. But she motions for me to sit, so I do. “Uhm . . . thanks. It’s a nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thanks. Just hold on a moment, would ya?” she asks, bustling off to the kitchen. Moments later, she’s making coffee, by the sound of the clinks I hear.
I look around and see a huge bookcase filled with books. I don’t recognize any of the titles, but whatever type of books she reads, she’s got a shitton of them. “You’re a reader, huh? Lots of books in here.”
Her laugh from the kitchen is slightly self-conscious, and I hear the click-thunk of a knob being turned through the open doorway. “Yeah, I read . . . a lot. Little bit of everything. Non-fiction, like historical stuff and biographies, and fiction too, romance, drama, mystery. You read much?”
I grin, even though she can’t see me. Romance, drama, and mystery? God, you’re fucking perfect, Meghan. “No, can’t say I’m much of a reader,” I reply. “I’m more of a dumb jock type.”
A minute later, she appears with a tray, holding two cups of steamy coffee and the fixings. “I wasn’t sure how you take it.”
She sets the tray down, and I lean forward to grab a cup. “Black is fine. Sugar at this time of night gets me jittery.”
She scrunches her nose and adjusts her glasses again. “Ew, too bitter for me. I like lots and lots of cream.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s really testing me here. If it were any other girl, I’d think it was intentional. But Meghan seems completely oblivious to the effect she’s having on me.
She sits down next to me, and I watch as she adds enough creamer and sugar to her cup to make it basically coffee-flavored ice cream before taking a sip and sighing happily. I sip my own coffee, and I have to add another mark on this girl’s list of accomplishments. I haven’t had coffee this good since a vacation to Chile two years ago.
There’s a comfortable silence as we both sip before she breaks it, looking at me earnestly. “Shane, thanks again. That was some scary intense stuff tonight. I’m glad you were there.”
I nod, setting my cup down on the tray. “It was no problem, Meghan. I’m glad I was there too.”
She flinches a little, and I’m afraid she’s having a bit of a flashback, so I slip my arm across the back of the couch, not touching her, but she scoots closer, curling into my side, so I place a light hand on her shoulder. “I usually think of myself as capable of handling whatever comes my way, and I’ve dealt with some handsy customers, but if I’d been alone in that parking lot tonight . . .”
Her voice trails off, and I know she’s imagining all the ugly things that could’ve happened. “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “You’re safe now.”
Chapter 3
Maggie