Until You're Mine (Fighting for Her)(8)

By: Cindi Madsen


I had that with Trey, the guy who’d been my constant for nearly a year, so I was shutting down my unruly thoughts about the guy standing across from me ASAP.

“It sounds to me like you’re not getting enough satisfaction during the ride.” His smooth, deep voice rumbled through me, like the bass line of a song, and my pulse picked up the beat. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to go very long without insisting he take you for another spin.”

Heat settled in my cheeks, but I did my best to appear unaffected—I wished I was. Evidently, I was going to have to up my defenses when it came to Fighter Dude, strike the sexy. “I’m not sure this conversation is going in a very appropriate direction.”

“You started it,” he said, a gleam in his eye that made me feel too hot all over.

Come to think of it, I was sure that was mostly the sun. There wasn’t any fog to keep things cool here, like in San Francisco, where I had a kind, considerate boyfriend.

Time to shut this down, hard. With guys of the cocky variety, I’d found it was best not to leave any wiggle room. “Well, this is me finishing it. It won’t happen again.”

He took a step closer, and awareness pricked my skin. “Okay, next time I’ll start it.”

I put a hand out, my palm flat against his annoyingly firm chest, and pushed away the memory of the way the word “satisfaction” had rolled off his tongue and awakened something in me that needed to go back to sleep. “Obviously, I wasn’t clear. I have a boyfriend. I was just making a stupid joke, and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way. I wasn’t flirting with you, and it certainly wasn’t an invitation.”

He looked down at me, not moving out of my space. Then he pressed his lips together. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

Irritation crept in. I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he’d just take it and run us in circles, so I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction—which was apparently the keyword of the day. “Okay, then. I’m sure you’ve got some training to do, and I need to get to work myself.”

“Right. I’ll see you inside…” He raised his eyebrows, a question in the curve. “I know it’s Roth, and I’m fine by calling you that if you want, but—”

“It’s Brooklyn. Now, off you go.” I made a shooing motion and took another step back, my butt hitting my car door. It moved, giving under my weight for a second before it met the frame. Of course, in that second I’d waved my arms and no doubt made a stupid face, so add that to the awesomeness of my day. I steadied myself against the door and let out a shallow exhale. Just keep it together for a few more seconds and then you can go back to being a hot mess.

“You don’t want my name?” Fighter Dude asked.

I lifted my chin. “I’ll learn it sooner or later, but I’m not in any big hurry.”

“Cold,” he said, throwing a hand to his chest. He didn’t look hurt, just smug. “I’ll see you later then, Brooklyn.” He backpedaled a few steps, his eyes still on mine. “By the way, I think you just locked your keys in the car.”

I whipped around, and sure enough, the keys were dangling from the ignition. Both doors were locked, too. I probably did the driver’s side out of habit. Since my car was older, with no fancy fob to engage the locks all at once, I had to be vigilant at manually pressing them down—I’d forgotten a few times in high school, and the lectures from my brothers were lengthy. Now that I thought about it, I vaguely remembered feeling the one on the passenger door going down when I’d braced my hand there in an attempt to free myself from the seat. Then my stupid butt had gone and shut the door.

“Too bad you don’t know my name, because then you could ask me for help.”

“I’m perfectly capable of calling a locksmith,” I said through clenched teeth. Or I would be if I had my phone, which was locked in my car. I moved closer, as though I could dial through telekinesis, and the window was nice enough to reflect my image back at me. One crazy section of hair stuck up from its fight with the wires and my lips were still two different colors.

Did I mention I was having a bad day?





Chapter Four

Shane

I made her nervous.

I liked that I made her nervous. Not scared, and I wouldn’t cross that line. I didn’t do well with intimidation, not when people attempted to do it to me, but especially when people did it to others who were obviously weaker than they were. Not that I put Brooklyn in the weak category—I had a feeling she could take pretty good care of herself, despite locking her keys in the car.