Текст книги "Reaper's Fall "

Автор книги: Joanna Wylde

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In an instant, Reese was pushing through the crowd, grabbing Painter’s arm. I focused on the gesture—Reese was trying to save me. Pulling away from Aaron, I hissed urgently, “We have to get out of here right now.”

He was too busy watching the show, though, too stupid to realize how much danger he was in. Just like a big, dumb puppy. God, Painter was going to slaughter Aaron. He’d go back to jail, and it would all be my fault. On the bright side, I probably wouldn’t outlive my dumbass date by long, so I guess I had that going for me. Why hadn’t Aaron listened when I told him we needed to leave?

Painter shoved Reese off, then he was in front of us before I could get out a word of explanation. I screamed when he caught the front of Aaron’s shirt, jerking him into the center of the room as his fist slammed into his face. He hit him again, and I found myself screaming even louder when Aaron fell to the ground, Painter following him down like a rabid dog, raining vengeance.

“You asshole!” I shouted, shocked and horrified, because this was hell. It had to be. I’d fallen through a hole in the world, straight into hell, where all my worst fears were coming true. Suddenly Puck was there, dragging Painter off my date, who was moaning and whimpering on the ground.

Puck let Painter go, and now he stood over Aaron, taking deep breaths, the effort to stop fighting almost more than he could handle.

“Get him out of here,” he growled. “Get him out of here before I kill him.”

“Fuck,” Horse said, grabbing Aaron under the arms. A path cleared between him and the door, and I shrieked wordlessly at Painter, angrier than I’d ever been before. What if Aaron pressed charges?

How dare he pull this kind of shit?

He turned on me, face full of terrible purpose as Reese stepped between us, blocking his path.

“Not happening, son,” he said.

“It’s none of your business,” Painter snapped. Damned right—it wasn’t anybody’s business. Stupid fucking bikers, telling people what to do. I was an adult, free to date whoever the hell I wanted. Painter needed to go straight to hell. I’d take him there, too—he might be the big, tough guy but I was a motherfucking nurse. I knew exactly how to kill a man, kill him in ways so terrible he’d be begging for death before I finished.

“She’s the one who came here,” Painter added with a sneer. Oh, fuck him. Fuck him.

“I didn’t even know where we were going!” I shouted. “It was just a date, you asshole!”

“He’s a fucking biker. You broke the rules, Mel. Get your ass over here.”

“Not happening,” Reese said, his voice like thunder. “I am not dealing with this tonight. Painter, get your ass home. Melanie, you’re with me.”

Something dark filled the room, some sort of swirling tension I didn’t understand and didn’t care about, because I’d had just about enough of this shit. Painter and I needed to have this out once and for all. Using every bit of my strength, I shoved Reese out of the way, launching myself toward Painter.

“What I do is none of your goddamned business!”

Painter stared at me, a slow and terrible smile coming over his face.

“Fuck it,” Reese said. “I’m done with both of you.”

I felt a moment of triumph, then Painter took a step toward me, hell in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a ride home, Mel,” he said, softly menacing. “We can talk when we get there. Privacy, you know?”

Oh shit. I looked around frantically, but the wall of men around me didn’t break. They were all there—Ruger, Horse, Banks. Their faces were hard, and I realized in that instant that these men—men who had been so helpful toward me over the years—weren’t my friends.

They were Painter’s brothers.

“Fuck . . .” I whispered, suddenly terrified.

“Maybe we’ll do that, too.”

In an instant he caught me, throwing me over his shoulder and striding toward the door. I screamed again, my throat sore as he pushed through the crowd, carrying me through the parking lot. At first I thought we were headed for his bike, but he passed it, crossing the road instead.

I raised my head, staring blindly at the prospects. Two of them had laid Aaron on the ground next to the building, obviously trying to figure out how seriously injured he was. A third stood and stared, something like shock on his face as Painter hauled me into the trees.

Then we were in the woods, surrounded by darkness. His hand came down over my ass, swatting me hard before he dropped me to the ground. If he hadn’t steadied me I would’ve fallen over.

“It’s over, Mel. It’s all over. You’re mine now.”

Steadying myself, I smacked his chest, because two could play at that game. “You had no fucking right to hurt him—he didn’t do anything to you.”

“He touched my woman,” Painter snarled. “I’ve held off. I’ve given you so much fucking space you could build a goddamned kingdom, but I told you what would happen if you came back to my world. So far as I’m concerned, that means you’re mine. I’m sick of this shit. C’mere.”

With that, he grabbed me, jerking me into his body for a hard kiss that I wanted to hate, just as much as I wanted to hate him. But there was still that fire between us, one I could never quite kill. Now it was roaring to life.

I wanted him.

No, I needed him. Inside me. Over me. Filling me and hurting me and keeping me safe, because my body had decided I belonged to him, even if my mind thought that was complete and utter shit. One hand was tight in my hair, holding my head captive as he ravaged my mouth. The other slid down into my pants, clutching my ass so tight I knew there’d be handprints in the morning. My arms went around his neck and then Painter was lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist.

He was so hard.

I remembered what his cock felt like when we’d made Isabella. How he’d claimed me and I’d felt so protected and loved, before everything fell apart and I was suddenly alone and scared. I wanted that feeling again—only Painter could give it to me. I’d tried to find someone else, but it was like he’d broken me, destroying every chance for happiness away from his touch.

God, but I hated him for that.

He pushed me up against a tree, grinding his hips deep into mine. It hurt. The bark dug into my back and his cock pushed against me so hard I felt every seam of my jeans, but I didn’t care. I wanted more. Digging my fingers into his back, I clawed him, because if he was going to mark me then I was damned well going to mark him, too.

His hips grew more frantic and suddenly it wasn’t enough. I broke free, moaning. “Fuck me.”

Backing away from the tree, he pushed me down into the dirt. Then his hands were ripping apart my fly and jerking down my jeans. They stuck. I kicked wildly, trying to get them off but it was too slow for him. Jerking me up by the waist, he turned me and shoved me down in front of him. I landed hard on my hands. Then I heard the rip of his zipper and he grabbed my hips, steadying my body as he lined up the head of his erection with the aching, empty space between my legs.

“I am the last man you’ll ever fuck,” he growled, thrusting into me hard. His cock slammed home in one motion, stretching me as I screamed in agonized need.

It hurt.

I wanted more.

I hated him.

“Missed this,” he groaned, jerking his hips back, only to slam into me again. His hands wrapped around my waist, holding me tight as he fucked me harder than anything I’d ever experienced. “Jesus.”

Bracing on my hands, I thrust my ass back toward him, wondering how something this hateful could feel so good. How he could feel so good, with his big, violent hands and his caveman desire. I’d never been so turned on in my life, every thrust hitting a space deep inside that sent aching swirls of painful need shattering through my body.

This wasn’t sex.

It was a fight for dominance, a fight I knew I couldn’t win but I was damned if I wouldn’t try. Every time he filled me, I squeezed down, hoping to hurt him or hold him or I don’t know what. He’d groan in agonized satisfaction and then we’d do it again, over and over and over until I felt like my heart might explode.

Suddenly his hand reached around me, finding my clit, and then I did explode.

Exploded and died.

My vision shattered, my pulse pounded, and every muscle in my body clenched hard, taking him with me as he shouted his own release. Hot seed spurted deep inside my body as I sagged forward into the dirt, spent. Painter collapsed on top of me, both of us gasping for air. Slowly reality came back and I felt his softening cock slide free, his come running down the inside of my legs.

That’s when it hit me.

We forgot the damned condom.

Again.

PAINTER

Mel looked like shit.

She was covered in dirt, her shirt was torn, and she had this lost, haunted look in her eyes. Christ. Picnic would take one look at her and assume I’d beaten her.

He wouldn’t be that far off.

Pic wasn’t waiting for me at the clubhouse when we got back, though. Most of the Reaper bikes were gone, and there wasn’t any sign of the fuckwad, either. The Silver Bastard prospects were smart enough to keep their mouths shut, although I saw one duck back into the clubhouse.

Seconds later Boonie stepped out, followed by Gunnar.

“Can I have a word?” he asked, eyes flickering to Mel.

“Sure,” I said. “Give us a sec.”

Mel nodded, almost like she was in shock. I suppose she probably was. Hell, I felt sort of shocked myself, so I suppose it was fair enough.

“What’s up?” Boonie cocked a brow, then nodded toward her. “She okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“You hurt her?”

“No,” I said, daring him to challenge me. He frowned, then nodded. “I’ve got some information for you, about the guy she came with.”

I stilled.

“What’s that?”

“He’s a dealer,” Gunnar said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure if he was dating her for real or just using her for cover, but he was here to pick up a shipment. We’ve been working with him for about six months now. Does special orders, that kind of thing. He’s bad news.”

I nodded slowly, looking back toward Melanie. She was standing next to my bike, hugging herself protectively. For an instant I felt guilty, then shook it off. She was mine. No way I should feel guilty about claiming my own damned property.

“We have a problem?”

Boonie shook his head.

“He’s nothing. I mean, he was a decent earner, but he’d never be more than that. He’ll keep his mouth shut—he’s seen enough to know better than to talk. I had a little chat with him, too. Guess he works at the hospital with her. I suggested that he find another job—fast. He seemed to think this was a solid idea. You won’t be seeing him again.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Shit happens,” Gunnar said, eyeing Mel again. “You sure she’s okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“That’s good, because it looks like you raped her,” Boonie said. I shook my head.

“More like we hate-fucked each other. Trust me, she was into it. Sick and twisted, but it wasn’t rape.”

“Darcy will be relieved,” Boonie said. “Think you pissed off my old lady something fierce—she took off right after you did. Got a feeling I won’t be gettin’ any tonight.”

I bit back a grin, because Darcy pissed off was something to see.

“Sorry about that.”

He shrugged, then gave me a sly smile.

“Gotta love makeup sex. Good luck with your girl.”

“Thanks. Have a feeling I’ll need it.”

He thumped my back and we said our good-byes, then I started back toward Melanie. She glared at me the whole time, which I found almost comforting. I could handle nearly anything but that strange blankness she’d had right after I fucked her.

That was a little scary.

“You ready to go home?” I asked.

“I’ve been ready to go home all night. I still hate you.”

“You need to find new insults. That’s getting old.”

“Fuck off.”

Grinning, I climbed onto my bike. She climbed up behind me, tucking in tight and wrapping her arms around my waist, tits pressed against my back. For the first time in forever things in my world felt right, twisted as that sounds.

She was mine. She’d always been mine. I’d be damned if I’d share her with another man.

•   •   •

We pulled up to her house a little before midnight. Pic had mentioned earlier that Izzy was sleeping over at his place, but I’d assumed it was because Mel had to work. Much as seeing her with the fuckwad pissed me off, the end result was working in my favor. Turning off the bike, I waited for her to climb off, then followed her toward the house.

“You don’t need to come in,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do,” I replied. “We need to get cleaned up, and then we need to talk.”

“What’s to talk about?” she sniped, digging in her pocket for the key. She fumbled and nearly dropped it, so I reached out and took it from her, opening the door. I glanced around the cozy house as we stepped inside. Izzy had taken all the pillows off the couch, lining them up along the wall. On top were all her dolls and stuffed animals, including a little skeleton from last Halloween that she’d fallen in love with. They were covered in blankies, washcloths, and even a few tissues.

“She put her babies to bed before she left for London’s,” I said, feeling the same sense of peace I always got when I thought about Izzy. God, but I loved that kid. Mel smiled, glancing toward me with a look of shared pride in our girl.

“She always does. Tucks in each one and then she tells them a story. Does she do it at your place, too?”

“Yeah.”

“We made a good kid.”

“I want us to live together,” I said abruptly, running a hand through my hair. “We’re a family, Mel.”

She stared at me, covered in dirt, hair looking like she’d survived a tornado.

“We’re fucked up,” she said. “Look at us. There’s something wrong here, Painter.”

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” I told her. “Look me in the eye and tell me it wasn’t the same for you.”

Mel glared at me, but she didn’t say a damned thing. I bit back a laugh—busted.

“The sex is good. We’ve got a kid. You already admitted you want me around—don’t think I’ve forgotten that. So far as I can tell, the only reason we aren’t together is that you’re so damned stubborn you can’t let yourself just accept it and be happy.”

“What about Aaron?” she asked. “That’s messed up, Painter. You would’ve killed him. I saw it in your face.”

She was right. Almost.

“But I didn’t kill him,” I reminded her.

“That’s because Puck stopped you.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But he was with me for a reason. That’s the thing about having brothers, Mel—they got you covered when you can’t cover yourself.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” she said, her voice growing harder. “Particularly the way they all pretended you weren’t dragging me out against my will. I was screaming for help and they just watched. That’s sick.”

“He’s a dealer,” I said, derailing her. She blinked.

“Who?”

“Aaron. He was using you for cover—he was at the Silver Bastards’ clubhouse to pick up a shipment. Drugs—or maybe guns. I didn’t get the specifics and I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact that if he’d gotten busted, you would’ve gone down as an accomplice. So far as I’m concerned, I didn’t hurt him enough.”

She stilled.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. That’s what Boonie was telling me.”

“Shit,” she said, collapsing onto the couch. She let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling. “He met Izzy. He gave her a little stuffed unicorn . . . I thought it was sweet.”

“Fucking asshole. Where is it?”

She looked around. “I don’t see it—she probably took it out to London’s. Don’t worry, I’ll bribe her or something, get it away from her. No way I want that in this house, knowing how he used me.”

I sat next to her, propping my feet up on the coffee table. We both needed a shower in a bad way, but we needed to get this shit settled even more. She was on the edge, though. I could see it. Christ, but women were complicated.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Would you ever do that?”

“Do what?”

“Carry something illegal around me or Izzy?”

I sighed, wondering how to answer. Fuck it, might as well give her the truth.

“I have a gun on my bike. That’s illegal—I’m a felon, not allowed to own a firearm.”

“Where is it?” she asked.

“Got a hidden compartment for it,” I told her. “Ruger rigged it up. You want to see?”

I don’t know why I offered, but for some reason it seemed like the right thing to do—maybe if she saw it for herself, she’d believe me when I promised that I wasn’t smuggling anything worse.

“Yes,” she said, looking a little surprised that I was so comfortable with it—good. Maybe she’d believe I was serious, because I was. I’d never put her in that kind of danger. “I think I would.”

“Okay, then.”

We went back outside. There wasn’t much light, but I carried a little flashlight in one of my saddlebags, along with a first aid kit, a sewing kit, some tools, and a few other essentials—never know what might happen on the road.

“You’re like a Boy Scout,” she said, and I heard a smile in her voice.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied, laughing. “Here it is.”

I popped open the compartment using the hidden latch, showing her the small semiautomatic pistol inside. It was loaded and ready to go, and there was a spare ammo cartridge, too.

“Note the complete and utter lack of drugs,” I pointed out dryly. “For the record—it’s not illegal for you to be holding this gun, just me. There’s no danger to you if we happened to get caught with this.”

“Will you show me how to open it?”

“The gun?” I asked, surprised. She gave a little laugh.

“No, your supersecret compartment.”

I closed it back up, looking at her.

“What is this, some kind of test?”

“I don’t know. Do you need testing?” she challenged. I sighed, because she probably did want to test me.

“Give me your hand.”

Guiding her, I let her feel the little latch for herself, then watched as she opened and closed the compartment several times. Then we walked back to the house, but at the door Mel stopped me, putting a hand on my chest.

“You should leave now,” she said. “I can’t handle any more tonight. I need to take a shower and then get some sleep, and I’ll do that a hell of a lot better if you aren’t around. Safer for you, too. Now that I know where to get a gun, I might be tempted to kill you in your sleep.”

“All right,” I said, and while I wanted to argue, I could see she was telling the truth—Mel was done. Spent. “I have shit to do tomorrow. Important shit. Club business. But when I finish, we’re going to talk. I’ll come for you tomorrow night.”

She shook her head.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk,” she protested.

“No fucking way. I’ll give you tonight, but tomorrow we’re settling this. For real.”

“Fuck you.”

I leaned forward, kissing her on the lips. She softened for an instant, then she was pushing at my chest.

“I already did,” I reminded her. Mel frowned.

“Huh?”

“I already fucked you. It was amazing. But then, us fucking always is, right?”

Her face hardened, and she slammed the door in my face.

I couldn’t help myself—I laughed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

FRIDAY MORNING

MELANIE

“He just quit,” I heard Brit telling another nurse. “No notice, nothing.”

“Who?” I asked, leaning against the counter. It was nearly eight in the morning, almost time for shift change and report. Damned good thing, too, because I was exhausted. I’d gotten shit sleep last night, and then I’d spent the day with Izzy. Because London was an angel, she’d agreed to take her for a second night in a row, but when I’d tried to nap that afternoon after dropping her off out at the Armory, there’d been no joy.

I kept thinking about Painter’s promise to come back last night.

I should’ve called him. Should’ve let him know I was working and that we’d have to talk a different time. But there’d been some defiant, angry part of me that wanted him to sit around waiting, wondering where the hell I was, because fuck him and his orders.

Twelve hours later I was exhausted and grumpy and wishing like hell that I hadn’t set myself up like that—he’d find me sooner or later, and when he did, I’d be too tired to fight him.

“That cute security guard,” she said. “Aaron Waits. Damned shame, because he made nights like tonight a whole hell of a lot more fun.”

Good, I thought fiercely. I never wanted to see that fucker again.

“You’re married,” I pointed out. “Not like you could do anything with him.”

“Married doesn’t equal dead,” she replied, giving me a wink. “I can appreciate the scenery without touching it. Only ten more minutes until shift change—I can’t wait. I hate nights like tonight. So boring.”

She was right. Some shifts were hellish—terrible car accidents, people dying. Those were the kind of nights that stuck with you, haunting your dreams. But tonight had been the complete opposite. Only four patients, and two of them had colds. I’d never seen the place so empty.

“Day shift is screwed,” I said. “Because you just know the law of averages has to catch up to them sometime. Some kid is out there right now, playing with matches.”

She nodded at me, agreeing. Sooner or later, the patients would come.

But not for us. Not tonight.

“Let’s do the report,” the charge nurse said, coming toward us. “Not much to talk about.”

We filled the day shift in on our patients and then ten minutes later we were all clocked out. There hadn’t been much to share with them. Time to go home and catch some sleep before I had to deal with Izzy again. If I got lucky, Reese and London would keep her a few extra hours, let her watch some TV. I might even get a nap.

•   •   •

Painter’s big blue Harley was parked outside my house.

I thought about the gun hidden inside. About the way he’d beaten up Aaron. What might’ve happened if Aaron and I had gotten pulled over, searched.

What a mess.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, not bothering to question how Painter had gotten inside. He was a Reaper—so far as I could tell, things like locks and walls didn’t apply to them. I mean, he’d walked all over every other boundary I’d ever had, so why should this be any different?

He wasn’t in the living room, but I heard music playing from one of the bedrooms. Dropping my keys and purse on the table, I kicked off my shoes and contemplated making myself a cup of coffee before facing him. Of course, that meant I’d have trouble napping should a miracle occur and I actually got the opportunity.

I’d sort of expected to find him in my bedroom, maybe pawing through my underwear drawer. The sound came from Izzy’s room, though. Frowning, I walked to her door, pushing it open slowly. He was inside, painting one of her walls. The floor was covered in tarps, and the bed had been pushed into the center of the room. Along the wall he’d done a blue sky over green grass, leaving a large empty hole in the center. Now he was sketching on it with a thick charcoal pencil, although I couldn’t quite tell what he was drawing from here.

“Hey,” I said hesitantly, not quite sure what to expect. He turned to glance at me, eyes flickering over my scrubs.

“Hey.”

I sidled into the room, off-balance. I’d expected to be fighting with him by now—this was weird. “Whatcha doing?”

“Designing a mural for Izzy,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind—we’d talked about it a while ago. I was waiting for you last night and figured I might as well get started.”

Hesitantly, I came closer, trying to read his mood. His face was blank, though, so I studied the outline on the wall instead. It looked like . . .

“Is that a princess riding a motorcycle with a unicorn horn on her helmet?” I asked, bemused. Painter nodded.

“Yup, it’s what Izzy wanted,” he said. “Hate to break it to you, but she wants the princess and the motorcycle to be pink. I’m doing it in regular latex house paint, by the way. I’ve got a feeling she’ll want it changed at some point.”

“Hopefully some point soon,” I said. “I’m really tired of pink and I’m pretty sure I could vomit unicorns on demand.”

He laughed. “Yeah, me, too.”

Stepping up to the wall, I traced my finger along the sketch, thinking about what it would look like when he was done. “She’s going to love it.”

“That’s the goal,” he said. “She told me that she wants to look at it and remember she has a daddy when I’m not around.”

Ouch.

“She loves you.”

“I know.”

Turning to look at him, I cocked my head.

“I’m really tired,” I said. “So I don’t have the energy to play games right now. Are we going to fight?”

He shook his head. “No. I was pissed at you last night. For a while I figured you were probably off fucking some other guy, then I realized how stupid that was. London wouldn’t tell me where you were—Reese must’ve mentioned what happened up in Callup, because she treated me like a serial killer. Just in case you ever wonder whose side she’s on . . .”

I smiled.

“I got lucky with her,” I acknowledged. “When my own mom bailed, she took me in, just like she took in Jessica. She’s been a grandma to Izzy, a mother to me . . . but I’ll never understand why Mom left. I look at Isabella and can’t wrap my head around it, because I’d die before disappearing on her.”

Like you did in prison.

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” he asked softly, catching my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Sometimes it feels like you hate me out of habit. It’s still between us—that chemistry. Sex isn’t the problem. And I’m a good dad to Isabella. I help you out as much as you’ll let me. I fuckin’ hate your job at the ER, but I’m not telling you to stop doing it because I know it’s important to you. So why does it always have to be a fight, Mel?”

Shaking my head, I leaned forward into his chest. His arms came around me, rubbing my back. It felt good. Safe.

“It scares me,” I confessed.

“What?”

“That I can care about you this much. You’re a mystery to me—you play with our daughter, you paint her pink motorcycles. You even let her dress you up like a fairy that one time and had a tea party with her.”

He groaned.

“How did you find out about that?”

“She told me,” I said, biting back a smile. “And she drew a picture. I took it to work and showed everyone. But I think you should be thanking me, because I seriously considered giving it to Reese.”

He groaned again, his hand running up my spine to the back of my neck. The muscles there were tight from a long night of work, and as he dug his knuckles in deep, I sighed with pleasure.

“So what’s the problem?”

“You beat Aaron up,” I said softly. “You really hurt him.”

“You could’ve gone to jail as his accomplice. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t know that when you attacked him—that was about you being jealous. That’s fucked up, Painter.”

“Probably,” he admitted. “And I was pissed at you last night, too, but I got over it. It’s true I lost my shit, but it’s also true that I don’t do it very often.”

“You could go back to jail.”

“You could get stabbed by a crazy guy in the ER.”

Pulling away, I frowned up at him. “That’s different. I’m doing something that helps people, remember? You’re . . . running drugs or something. I don’t even know what you do—you won’t tell me.”

His face grew serious.

“Mel, I’m not going to lie to you about who I am,” he said slowly. “I don’t always follow the law, and when my brothers need me, I’m gonna take their backs. But I’m an artist—that’s what I do for a living. I’m not running guns, I’m not selling drugs. I paint fucking pictures, and then I sell them to rich assholes so they can brag about my ‘primitive art’ at their cocktail parties. I’ll take their money with a smile, pay my club dues, and then I’ll always come home to you and Izzy. I love you.”

I closed my eyes, tasting the words. We’d known each other so long, been through so much. He’d always been there, even when he wasn’t. My life had revolved around Painter for six years, from little girl crush to need to hatred to . . . this.

“I love you, too,” I admitted slowly, opening my eyes to take him in.

He cocked his head, studying my face.

“Usually people don’t look so unhappy when they say that for the first time,” he said.

“Usually people get to sleep at some point, but it’s been twenty-four hours,” I replied quietly. “Like I said, I’m too tired to fight, so might as well lay it all out there.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me this was all some kind of sleep-deprived hallucination at some point?”

I considered the question, then shook my head.

“No, I’ve loved you for a long time. I tried to move on, but I can’t. Still kind of pisses me off, because there’s all kinds of things I don’t like about you . . . but it is what it is.”

“Some guys would be offended by a declaration like that,” Painter said. “But I think I’m gonna count this as a win.”

I gave him a smile, then pulled away, looking around the room. There were cans of paint everywhere, big and small. All different colors.

“Where did this all come from?” I asked, waving my hand toward the mess.

“Oh, I picked them up here and there,” he said, shrugging. “Been planning the mural for a while. Last night I was pissed off, and when I get pissed I usually fight or paint. I already did enough fighting this week.”

“How did you figure out that I was working?”

“Jessica,” he said. “I called her.”

That surprised me. “Jessica hates you.”

“I know,” he said. “She didn’t want to talk to me at first. I may have threatened her a little bit.”

My eyes widened. “Did you hurt her?”

He gave a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Not that kind of threat.”

“What kind of threat?” I asked, eyes wide.

“I threatened to call someone,” he said. “Maybe send him some pictures, that’s all. You don’t want to know—trust me.”

“Is this about all those years ago, when you and Jess—”

“No,” he said firmly, cutting me off. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just let it go—when she’s ready to tell you, she will. Or not. Either way, I used it against her last night, and I don’t regret that at all. I was still pissed with you, by the way—but after a few hours of painting I got over it, and then I was just relieved you weren’t with another guy.”

I studied his face, taking in the high cheekbones, his crystal blue eyes, and pale skin. “We’re really lucky Izzy got my skin. You never tan.”

He laughed again. “You’re punch-drunk.”

I shrugged, then sat down suddenly. Okay, “sat” was probably a stretch—it was more like my legs gave out, but with a controlled landing. Painter lowered himself next to me.