When I don’t reply, he continues. “You said you aren’t his sister.” His intense stare invades my space, wrapping around me until my skin feels tight. Too tight. “You’re too young to be his mother. So, you must be the nanny.”
“The nanny?” I almost laugh out loud. He thinks I’m the freaking nanny.
“I get it. I do. I’ve been there, where he is.” Somehow, I doubt that’s entirely true. “And no offense but…” His eyes soften. Not much, but enough for me to breathe air back into my lungs. “You aren’t doing him any favors by being here instead of them. Trust me on that.” His voice is pained and brutal all at once. I’d almost feel bad for him if he hadn’t called me a fucking joke.
“I’m not his nanny.”
“Then who are you?”
I’m still trying to figure that out.
“Right now? I’m his only hope.” Well, other than Abbott here, but I’m not about to tell him that. Don’t ever let them see you vulnerable. It’s one of the many life lessons I have jotted down for myself in a spiral journal by my bed. I wrote that one down right after I begged my first foster parents not to put me back into the system. They looked me in the eyes and told me I did this to myself, that I asked for it. I haven’t begged for anything since.
I take a calming breath and look the guy in the eyes. “I’m a counselor for Corporate Cares. We put orphaned and troubled kids in a family-type environment to keep them out of the foster care system. Liam is one of my boys.” I lower my voice. “Other than me and two other counselors, he has no one else. He’s a good kid. He’s just… lost.”
He stares at me, thoughtful and intense, and I feel it from the bottom of my belly to the tips of my toes. Tingles. All over tingles.
There’s something unspoken in his eyes, something that, even though it’s silent, holds the weight of a thousand untold stories. I’ve learned to read eyes. I’m an eye-reader. Because they tell the truth before the mouth ever moves.
The air between us crackles, tiny little tendrils of electricity reaching out and caressing my skin. Suddenly I don’t know the difference between hot and cold, up and down, left and right. I want to be angry with him for his attitude, but honestly, I can’t blame him for it. Liam started a fire. I have no idea how much damage it caused. This guy could have lost his business. Brody could lose his job. I could lose my job.
Then what? I don’t know anyone in Charlotte. I have no family here. No friends. I’m two thousand miles from a past I would rather bury than look in the eye. I can’t go back to California. I won’t. Besides, I’m really starting to like North Carolina. After a lifetime of being lost, I feel like I can finally walk into a restaurant without being terrified of who I might see—or what kind of emotions they might churn up. I finally feel like people don’t look at me and see a lost little girl. I finally feel like I belong.
Abbott drops his eyes to the floor as if searching for the right words. “So, you’re not the nanny.”
I cock an eyebrow and give him a half-smile. “No.”
He tilts his head to one side, bringing his hand to cup the back of his neck. The bottom of his shirt lifts with his arm, exposing a sliver of golden-tanned skin and the faintest trail of brown hair that disappears inside his jeans. Good. God. I force my eyes to focus on his face before I start drooling and embarrass us both.
He heaves a sigh then looks at me. “He’s a foster kid.”
“You don’t have to say that like it’s a contagious disease.”
His hand falls. “I know. I’m sorry. I just…” Something crosses his face, a confusing combination of pain and… regret maybe? He doesn’t seem like the remorseful type. Then again, he doesn’t seem like any type. He just seems intense. Really intense.
“Never mind. It’s nothing.” His voice is laced with something I can’t put my finger on, something that seems to come from deep within. Then his eyes give it away.
Sadness.
He’s lost in a sadness.
He peers back at the deputies behind the information desk. “Thank you for your time, Deputy Briggman, but I think the three of us can work something out.”
I look over his shoulder at the two deputies. They share a knowing smirk as they glance at one another. “Good to hear it,” Briggman says. Translation: Less paperwork for me. He slaps his palm against a piece of paper on the counter. “I just need both of you to sign this release and you’re good to go.”
Abbott approaches the tall, semi-circular information counter and takes the pen from Briggman. I stand next to him and scan the document. He leans in, and the unmistakable scent of wood-fired hickory and smoke swirls around me. The fire. I glance up at him, apologetic. For what, I’m not sure. I wasn’t the one who did this, but for some reason my heart still hurts because of it. He stares back, and I drink in the chiseled outline of his jaw, the dimple on his right cheek but not on his left, and the way his plump bottom lip has this tiny crease up the middle. There’s a scar, barely visible unless you’re close, just above his left cheekbone. The intensity of his gaze is almost intimate. Inwardly, I curse myself for getting lost in it. But outwardly, I want to curl up and revel in the way it makes me feel.
He taps the pen against his lips. I’ve never been jealous of a pen before now. “Before we sign, I have one condition.” His words jolt me back to reality. I arch a brow, encouraging him to continue. “The kid—”
“Liam,” I interrupt. He has a name, and it’s Liam.
He smirks. “Liam… has to help me clean up and rebuild.”
Liam jumps out of his chair and starts to protest, but I hold up a hand and he quietly sits back down.
I shift my gaze back to Abbott. “Done.”
His eyes meet mine, calm and serene with a hint of untamed wildness. Suddenly, I’m desperate for the wild. I feel it, the pull, in every part of me. I’ve known this feeling before and swore I’d run from it if I ever felt it again.
He signs his name then reaches for my hand. The second his fingers wrap around my wrist and flips my hand over, my entire body shudders, and it has nothing to do with the cold air in this room. My breath falters as he writes two words on my palm then hands me the pen. The Taproom.
His gaze stays locked on mine as I mentally will away the goosebumps. “Have him meet me there at seven thirty tomorrow morning. Make sure he’s not late.” His voice is calm, cool, and entirely in control of this situation.
A bar. Liam burned down a bar.
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott,” I say after I sign the release then turn on my heel. “Liam, tell Mr. Abbott thank you.”
“Blaze,” his voice echoes behind me. I peer back over my shoulder, and he smirks, just the tiniest hint of a sexy side-smile. “Call me Blaze, not Mr. Abbott.”
I don’t even want to think about the irony of that or what it means, me being drawn to a man named Blaze because of a fire I didn’t start.
“Thank you… Blaze.” I’m embarrassed at how meek I sound right now. “I’m Adrienne.”
Blaze Abbott. I memorize it, file it away. This man is the worst kind of trouble, the kind you never really see coming. Then all of a sudden, it’s too late. You’re standing in the center of the storm, watching, waiting for the destruction that’s bound to tear you apart.