“Only if you tell me about the scars,” she called after me.
“Deal,” I said over my shoulder. It seemed a little of my history was going to be the price for getting her to open up.
After closing the garage door behind me, I threw a leg over my Harley and sat. I’d gotten out of there without kissing her, but it had been mighty close. I’d been so tempted to give up on the truthfulness point and settle for the physical pleasure she’d offered as a distraction.
I squeezed the grips of my bike for a second, closed my eyes, and imagined those soft tits pressed up against me as we cruised along, far enough from here that she felt comfortable. The time would come, but not until she was healed enough to hold on with both arms. Like I’d warned her, there was only one way for a woman to ride on back, and that was wrapped tightly around me.
Very tightly.
Debbie
Had I imagined the look in Luke’s eyes as he’d pressed me back against the wall? The look that said he wanted to kiss me senseless?
The tension I’d felt between us in that moment had me ready to explode—until I admitted the truth to him. I couldn’t afford to be seen around town by anybody who knew my family. That would only lead to Dom searching for me. Going out wasn’t an option.
I watched Luke recede down the hallway toward the garage and his work before settling into the couch. Staying here might be safe, but for how long? And how would that change my long-term plan?
Quick answer: it couldn’t change my long-term plan. Leaving for out-of-state parts unknown had to remain my goal. In the long run, it was the only way I could be safe.
When Dom was caught—and that was a question of when, not if—Debbie Armstrong would become known as a fugitive, and I’d be on the run forever. I couldn’t remain Debbie Armstrong; that much was obvious. Far away and a new identity: the same plan as yesterday.
I lay down on the couch, closed my eyes, and searched for a way out of my predicament. I couldn’t leave town without money, and unless I wanted to go Dominic’s route and steal, I needed to work—and not just cooking and housecleaning for Luke.
Luke’s phone was on the front table.
I borrowed it. Fifteen minutes later, I had an agreement from Mama Garcetti to let me work at her main Minimart in Fairfax again. That one was far enough away that it should be safe, and she’d agreed to stop my payroll deposit and have all of it in a check for me. That way Dom wouldn’t know I was still working for her and in the area.
After I lay back on the couch again, Racer decided to come out from his hiding place and join me. I closed my eyes with a smile on my face and a purring cat on my legs. My smile widened when I added a real man to have dinner with to my list of things to be grateful for.
After resting for the morning, I made sandwiches for Luke and myself and delivered his to the garage. After that, I didn’t see him all afternoon and busied myself straightening things up. Playing the wounded woman in need of recovery time didn’t suit me. Being active and helpful did. Anyway, he’d said the more range of motion I forced on my bad wing, the sooner I’d be back to normal—not that I knew what normal constituted anymore.
In the late afternoon, I headed for the kitchen, and after an hour of preparation, a dinner I could be proud of was ready—chicken Piccata and bowtie pasta with a sauce that wasn’t poured out of a bottle. Befitting a guy’s kitchen though, the only vegetable I could find was frozen green beans. I’d need to make a shopping list for him.
After a double-check that everything was ready, I poured glasses of wine for both of us and went to fetch my dinner partner.
I opened the door to his workshop, and Luke looked up from the engine he was hunkered over. A smile engulfed his face. “Hi.”
It was a simple greeting, but one I could get used to. He was truly happy to see me. The feeling wasn’t particularly familiar.
“Dinner is ready,” I announced without entering his workspace.
He checked his watch. “I guess I lost track of time.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “I’ll be right there.”
I walked back to the kitchen with a spring in my step. When was the last time I’d been so happy about cooking dinner? It had been years, before Dad died and Mom married Dom.
True to his word, Luke showed up a minute later. “Wow, I’m underdressed.”
“You’re fine,” I assured him.
He ignored me and hurried out of the room, returning moments later in a fresh button-down shirt.
“You didn’t need to,” I said.
He motioned to me. “You changed, so it’s only fitting I do too.”
I looked down at my clothes. “Guilty.” I’d cleaned up and changed tops after vacuuming, but I’d been on autopilot when I did it. Only now did I realize how low-cut the top I’d chosen was. “I wanted to make you a dinner that was…” I searched for the right word.
“Romantic?” he asked.
“Nice,” I corrected. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done to help me.”
He came around the table and pulled out my chair for me.
That gesture made me reexamine the table I’d set.
He was right. Everything about it, from the glasses of wine, to the artful way I’d displayed the food on the plates and the damned flower I’d set in the middle of the table, said more than a nice thank you. It oozed romance, only missing the candles. That realization and my low-cut top said my subconscious mind had plans my conscious one wasn’t admitting to. A blush heated my cheeks.
Luke pushed in the chair as I sat.
“Thank you,” I responded.
He took the seat across from me and lifted his wine glass.
I lifted mine. “I really did mean to thank you.” I got the words out before he could offer a toast of his own.
“You’re welcome, Red.” He raised his glass higher. “To trust and the truth.”
I repeated the words and joined him in a sip. Apparently, my meal wasn’t enough to pull his attention away from the inquisition he’d planned.
With each bite, I dreaded the start of his questions, but all that came over the table were compliments.
I twisted my wine glass. “When are you going to start grilling me?” There. I’d gotten my fear out in the open.
His lips turned up in a smile. “You don’t get it, do you?”
I narrowed my eyes. “What don’t I get?”
“You promised to tell me over dinner—the truth about why you won’t go home.” He opened his hands. “Here, we are at dinner. I trust you to fulfill your promise. All I have to do is be patient, and I think you’re worth it.”
My God, this man was different than anybody I’d ever run into.
I took a deep breath. “I left Sunday night without telling them. And when you found me yesterday morning, I was on my way out of town. I ran away because I was… No, make that I am, scared to stay there.”
When I didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Who are you scared of?”
I couldn’t possibly get into the bank situation. “My stepfather, and just the situation there, I guess.”
“Was he the guy by the side of the road when you pretended to be sick?”