He was not that guy. And unless he was one hundred percent certain she understood that, he’d look for information elsewhere.
Besides, she was too wholesome. Too fucking nice.
With that decided, he shoved thoughts of the pretty florist to the back of his mind and willed himself to relax.
He’d just fallen asleep when a noise had him opening his eyes again. The knock was so light that he wasn’t sure he’d even heard it. Then, it was repeated with more conviction.
Didn’t anyone respect the Do Not Disturb sign anymore?
Jaxson exhaled, lowered his lids, and ignored it. He’d put the sign up for a reason. If whoever it was, was too stupid to read, that was their problem.
A third series of knocks, this time accompanied by a soft, “Hello?”
His eyes popped open again. He recognized the voice. It was her. The florist with the big brown eyes and even bigger ...
He slammed the door closed on those unhelpful thoughts. He’d already decided she wasn’t going to be one of the local attractions.
What the hell is she doing here?
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, her voice carrying through the door, and fuck him if she didn’t sound like she really was, too. “But I found a pocket watch, and I think it might be yours.”
Fuck. Jaxson pulled himself out of bed and hobbled over to the jacket he’d slung on the back of a chair. Slid his hand into the pocket, only to find it empty. The watch must have fallen out when he’d gone down.
He made his way to the door and opened it. Big brown eyes looked up at him, widened, and then traveled the length of his body, taking in the tattoos and scars visible on his bare arms and chest. Her gaze landed on his dog tags and paused there before lifting to his face again. Her pupils were dilated; her lips, slightly parted.
“Are you following me?”
She blinked once, twice, as if trying to remember why she was standing at the threshold of his motel room.
“Oh. No. I mean, kind of.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, but she held his gaze. “I found this on the road after you left. It looked like something you might miss.”
He tore his gaze away from her smooth peaches-and-cream skin and looked down to where her hand was extended. In her open palm was his father’s pocket watch. Tucked in the crook of her other arm was a small plastic vase filled with colorful blooms, held against her body.
“Thanks.” He snatched the watch from her hand and started to close the door.
“These are for you, too,” she told him, holding out the flowers.
This time, he was the one who blinked.
“What the hell for?” he said before he could stop himself.
“I thought they might cheer you up. You seem to be having a bad day.”
He grunted. “Thanks to you.”
Her shoulders slumped, and for a moment—just a moment—he felt bad. Then, she squared her shoulders, pushed past him, and boldly entered his room. She walked over to the round table by the window and placed the flowers there.
He gaped at her in disbelief. Talk about a lamb entering the lion’s den.
It was an adorable show of courage on her part. Or more accurately, stupidity. Would he ever hurt a woman? No, of course not. But she didn’t know that. Hell, he could be a rapist or a serial killer for all she knew.
Her lack of common sense bothered him more than it should have. Did she not realize she had placed herself in a room with someone she didn’t know, a half-naked man much bigger and stronger than her and currently blocking her only path to escape?
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
That pink on her cheeks deepened as she shifted again and crossed her arms over her chest. Whether it was a protective gesture or a show of courage, he didn’t know, but the action only served to draw his attention to her full, round breasts.
“I said I’m sorry, okay? It was foggy, and I didn’t see you. I’ll pay for whatever damage I caused.”
Clearly, she’d misunderstood the purpose of his question. Or she had way more faith in him than she should have.
“Damn right you will,” he said, mimicking her stance by crossing his arms over his chest.
Her eyes latched on to the movement. She focused on his tattoos, as if she were trying to decipher them. She needed to stop looking at him like that. And she shouldn’t be biting her lip like that either.
He cleared his throat.
Her eyes lifted to his again. She uncrossed her arms and stuffed her hands into her pockets. She was clearly uneasy, and yet she was still there. She should be hightailing that shapely ass out of his room, double-time.
“Do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?” she asked suddenly.
Again, she surprised him.
“Coffee?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, you seem to be having a bad day, and I’m heading out to the diner anyway. You look like you could use a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. Everybody likes pancakes, right?”
She was certifiably insane, and yet ... she wasn’t wrong. He did like pancakes, and he’d been regretting his decision not to stop along the way, assuming he’d get something to eat when he got to town. Nearly getting run over hadn’t factored into his plans.
So yeah, he could eat. But he didn’t want to encourage her. “I’ll pass.”
A cloud passed over her face, and again, he felt like a dick. Then, his stomach chose that moment to growl, and triumph flashed in her eyes.
“Ah, come on. I really do feel bad about what happened. Please?”
Jaxson felt his resolve weakening. Lack of sleep, pain, and hunger were taking their toll and those big brown eyes weren’t helping. She must have sensed it because she went in for the kill.
“The only restaurant within walking distance is Franco’s, and they don’t serve pancakes. Especially not pancakes stuffed with bananas and chocolate chips and topped with freshly whipped sweet cream.”
Damn it.
“Fine. But you’re buying.”
Her smile lit up her whole face. “Great! I’ll wait for you in the van. I’m parked right next your bike.”
She breezed out as quickly as she’d breezed in. Jaxson ignored the twinge of conscience again as he put on a clean shirt. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he rationalized, even if it did feel that way.
After all, it was just pancakes.
Right?
Chapter Five
Penny
Penny continued to second-guess herself while she waited in the lot. It wasn’t like her to ask a guy out, especially not a dark, mysterious, dangerous-looking stranger. And he did look dangerous. Dangerous and hot.
Who knew he was hiding all that sculpted muscle beneath that shirt? And those tattoos! Intricate designs that fit his body perfectly and words in finely scripted Latin. It had been an effort not to reach out to trace them with her fingers.
Then, there were those scars running along his sides, disappearing into his jeans. They looked brutal and fairly recent. She wondered if whatever had given him those scars was also the cause of his limp.
A fresh wave of guilt washed over her. Now that she knew he was recently injured, she felt even worse about nearly running him over. She surely hadn’t done him any favors. Buying him a cup of coffee and a meal was the least she could do.