A Brutal Tenderness Read Online Free PDF Page B

distress.
Dammit. I shake off my empathy.
It’s time. She’s got a date with douche, and we need to make
the perp think she’s being courted. I should be happy that said
douche is interested too. That’ll make it seem more imperative
for Thad to go after her.
We’re forcing the compulsions we’re banking on him
having. In theory, attention paid to Jewell should compel him
to stalk her and thereby reveal himself.
But her date doesn’t make me happy. In fact, it makes me
want to break Maverick’s hands off. I’m conflicted as hell. Not
the reaction I should be having.
Jewell hasn’t noticed me yet. I straighten, stride to the door,
and throw a hand on the hood.
“Hey,” I say, leaning in.
She turns, startled eyes to mine, and I automatically search
for the green I know lies beneath. “Hi,” she responds tentatively.
“Get out,” I say, nodding toward the car, letting her know I
can help.
Her eyes widen with fear and more than a tinge of irritation.
She huffs, blowing an escaped strand of hair out of her face.
My eyes move to her lips and I swallow again—hard.
“No,” she says, looking away from me.
“I can take a look,” I explain, stepping away from the car.
Jewell’s brows slowly rise, but she slides out of the car, one
sleeve of her top rolling off her shoulder, and my eyes tag that
bare stretch of skin. I tear them away and squeeze into the
small car.
I act like concentration to start the car is warranted, my
damn knees kissing my chin. I hunt for the bar that will move
the seat back and give me more room. It allows some room,
but no car is usually comfortable for someone six foot four. I
turn the key and give a subtle pump of my boot on the pedal,
provoking a minor flood of gas. The residual gas in the fuel line
sparks a brief ignition and stutters to a full start, like I want.
Then it predictably dies.
My eyes meet hers and don’t look away. “You know, Jess,” I
say, “a car runs better if you put gas in it.”
Her disbelief is comical, and she rushes over and leans
in the car. The fragrance from her recent shower and the
underlying scent that is uniquely hers suffocate me as she sees
the empty gauge.
When Jewell turns, her face is inches from my own. And
then she spooks at my closeness. As she pulls her head back too
fast, she raps it hard on the rim of the window.
I know a blackout when I see one. I’ve had a few, the signs
are obvious.
I do what I’ve promised myself I’d never do.
I go beyond the obligatory handshake, and I’m out of the
car and swooping to keep Jewell from falling on the pavement.
As I hold her, something deep within me responds. Even
I’m not powerful enough to self-delude at this point. I want
her. My role as her protector suddenly becomes more than just
a job description. I feel the urge to keep her safe.
She breaks my chain of epiphanies. “How tall are you?”
Jewell asks, her words running together.
I smile despite my jumbled-up mental shit. “You must have
hit your head hard.”
I put her gently away from me—pure self-preservation. If
I don’t, I’ll do something I can’t take back, won’t want to take
back.
Jewell lifts her head, shaking to seemingly rid herself of the
muddle that the hit gave her, and exclaims frantically, “I need
to go!”
“Where? I’ll take you,” I say, grabbing her slim arm in case
she face plants.
She backs away, and I release her. Jewell shakes her head,
putting a hand to it, orienting herself.
Not on my watch. “I said I’ll take you.” My eyes tell her I’m
not fucking asking. I’m not much for permissions anyway.
Jewell takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I watch her
eyes, dangerous windows to her soul, and once again the feeling
washes over me, the feeling that I know her, that in some way
I’ve always known her.
“Okay,” she says reluctantly.
“Where?” I ask as I walk with deliberate precision toward
my waiting bike, though I know damn well. I’ve seen her make