Chapter 3

There was absolutely nothing sexy about Brea’s appearance, yet everything about her made him harder than hell.

One-Mile made his living listening to his gut, and it was telling him there was something between him and this woman. So he didn’t give a damn if she had a boyfriend. To hell with being polite. And fuck walking away.

Finally, a man he presumed was her father approached. After they exchanged a few words, she nodded. He cupped her shoulder and brushed a kiss across her cheek before disappearing inside the church again.

Then Brea headed for her little white Toyota. One-Mile already knew the make, model, license plate, and VIN, so he wasn’t surprised when she hopped into the vehicle and pulled out of the lot. She drove right past him without so much as a glance in his direction. No surprise she didn’t take stock of her surroundings. Why should she? She probably didn’t have a care in the world, much less any enemies. She’d certainly never made her living by her gun, and he doubted anything ever happened in this sleepy town.

He was about to blow through Brea Bell’s life and change it forever.

One-Mile turned his Jeep over and followed her down the road, then out of Sunset, south on I-49 toward Lafayette. On the outskirts of town, she pulled off. He followed at a discreet distance, though it wouldn’t have mattered. She only looked in the rearview mirror when she changed lanes.

“Where are you going?” he mused aloud when she putt-putted down a bumpy two-lane road and pulled into an overwhelmingly brown strip mall that had seen better decades.

Was she stopping in for donuts? Or meeting someone, like Bryant, at the diner on the corner for lunch?

One-Mile pulled in and parked on the far side of the lot, near a barber shop, then watched as she bypassed all of those establishments in favor of the beauty supply on the end. She exited her car and locked it, then fished her phone out of her purse as she crossed the lot, not paying a lick of attention to her surroundings.

As long as he was around, she could have her head in the clouds. He’d keep her safe. But he’d be damned if he set foot in the foreign territory dominated by hair dye and nail polish. He’d rather clean a loaded gun.

As she disappeared inside, he rolled down his window, cut off his engine, then turned up Fall Out Boy. He tapped his thumb against his steering wheel to the beat of the music and stared at the glass door. As “Centuries” faded out and Radiohead’s “Creep” filled his ears instead, he had to smile. Yeah, he felt a bit like a creep following Brea just to get a few minutes alone with her. All he needed now was Sting crooning “Every Breath You Take” to feel like a full-on stalker.

At somewhere near the ten-minute mark, instinct poked him between the shoulder blades. He rolled up his windows, then hopped from his Jeep. He’d no more navigated the lot and positioned himself against her car door, ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest, when she stepped out of the shop. Halfway across the lot, she looked up from the contents of her bag. Her gaze found his feet. He watched it climb his legs, his torso, his shoulders…and finally settle on his face.

As recognition dawned, Brea stopped where she stood. The bag fell from her fingers and onto the roasting asphalt. Surprise flared across her face. “Pierce.”

He could imagine her whispering to him just like that when he shocked her in bed. The thought made him harder. “Brea.”

“Did you…follow me here?” She scrambled to recover her purchases, looking anywhere but at him.

He debated on the best way to answer. But why lie? “Yeah. You knew I was coming for you. Can we talk?”

She looked around as if she was expecting someone. One of her girlfriends? Or a rescuer, maybe Bryant?

“I-I have to go.”

“Five minutes.”

She shook her head. “I can’t stay. The heat… It’s oppressive.”

One-Mile couldn’t argue. Since moving here, he’d quickly discovered that summer in Louisiana was like the crotch pit of hell. Today was particularly sweltering. But he also didn’t think the sudden flush of her cheeks had much to do with the temperature. “Then let me take you to lunch. There’s an air-conditioned diner right there.”

“I can’t.”

“Is your father expecting you home?”

Brea frowned. “How would you know that?”

He ventured closer. “After last night, I learned more about you.”

“You snooped?”

“Researched,” he corrected.

“Why?”

“You want me to spell it out for you, pretty girl?”

“Please.”

Her prim response did something perverse to his libido. He crooked his finger at her. “Come here, and I will.”

She backed away with wide eyes. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Because?”

“Cutter made me promise I wouldn’t.”

One-Mile couldn’t keep the cynical smirk off his face. So the good guy was afraid the bad boy would steal his woman? He ought to be. But One-Mile refused to make Bryant’s tactical mistake and put Brea in the middle.

“I’m just looking for conversation.”

Her eyes softened with regret. “I’m sorry.”

Because she was the kind of woman who always kept her word. As much as her pushback frustrated One-Mile, he admired her conviction. “How about a little help, then? I moved here a few months back, and I don’t know much about this corner of the state. You’ve lived around here your whole life. Insider information would be helpful.”

“You didn’t ‘research’ me and follow me here so I could be your walking Yelp.”

He grinned. Brea might be sweet but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sharp.

“No. But I won’t ask you for anything more. And regardless of what Bryant might have said, I would never hurt you.”

Her full, rosy lips pursed. His cock jerked. The things he’d love to do to her mouth…

“What do you really want, Mr. Walker? Say it.”

Since she’d asked for the truth… “You. Naked. Under me. Crying out in pleasure.”

She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Why me? Why not the bartender you…connected with last weekend?”

Cutter would only tell her about that forgettable twenty minutes if he’d noticed, as One-Mile himself had, that Brea was attracted to him.

“Tell me you don’t feel the pull between us.”

Brea cut her gaze away and sank her teeth into that plush bottom lip.

“You do. I know you do.” He edged closer. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. “I really need to go. Please don’t follow me again. And don’t pursue me. This”—she gestured between them—“won’t work.”

“Why?”

“We’re different.”

“Opposites attract.”

She shook her head. “Too different.”

“Meaning?”

“Sex could never be casual for me.”

One-Mile believed that. “I suspect that, with you, sex would be anything but casual to me.”

Brea sucked in a shaky breath. “Stop.”

“What, trying to show you the options Cutter told you to ignore?”

Finally, she whipped an annoyed glare his way. “He doesn’t tell me what to think.”

“Good. You’re smart enough to make up your own mind.” He cocked his head. “Let me ask you a question.”

“I’ve said no in every polite way possible, and we’re done with this conversation, do you hear me?”

He did, but she wasn’t listening to him, either. “Are you afraid of losing your boyfriend? Or worried you’ll figure out he isn’t flipping your switch and I can?”

“I’m not dignifying that question with an answer. Goodbye, Mr. Walker.”

When she tried to walk around him, he planted himself in front of her again. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go.”

She flashed him a surprisingly fierce expression. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t owe me anything. But you owe it to yourself to be honest.”

Then, because he couldn’t stay in her way without pissing her off, One-Mile stepped aside, leaving her a straight path to her car. He’d rather stay and talk, even with the stifling midday sun beating down and the beads of sweat rolling down his back. But he’d given Brea food for thought. Hopefully, she’d thoroughly chew on it until he found another opportunity to talk to her.

She flashed him a wary glance, then made a beeline for her compact. As soon as she reached the door and gave the handle a tug, her phone rang, its chime clanging like church bells. She ripped into her purse for the device as she settled into the passenger’s seat. “Hi, Daddy.”

Her father. The preacher. Her only parent. Besides Cutter Bryant, he might be a major stumbling block…

“What?” Brea breathed in shock. “Oh, my gosh. How long ago? Where are they taking him?”

One-Mile’s radar went off. Something was wrong.

“University. Yes, I-I know where that is. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Did the paramedics say anything else?”

Shit. Had someone called an ambulance for her father?

“Okay. Th-thank you for letting me know.” Brea turned and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears leaked from their corners. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

She ended the call, visibly shaking as she tried to shove her phone back in her purse and set it in the passenger’s seat. The thin strap snagged on the lace trim at her shoulder. When she nudged, the leather stubbornly resisted. Finally, she ignored the bag altogether and tried—twice—to insert her key in the ignition. But her fingers shook. Her keys jingled. She huffed in frustration.

One-Mile hated seeing her rattled.

He knelt in the open car door. “Hey. What’s going on? I can help.”

She looked a split second from bawling. “My d-dad collapsed at the church shortly after I left. Th-they think it’s his heart. I have to go.”

Third time was the charm because she finally managed to stick the key into the ignition, but her purse strap was still stuck. She grabbed at it with impatient fingers and yanked. The strap finally flopped off her shoulder but clung to the crook of her elbow. The bag itself fell to the passenger floorboard, dragging her forearm with it. The more she struggled, the more she looked ready to scream.