LITMIR.BIZ

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room, creating stories in his head where he controlled what the characters did and it all turned out happy in the end.

      Fury curled his hands into fists. He’d never been able to help his mother, distancing himself further and further from a powerless situation. Distancing himself from the rage, the only defense he had against turning into his father.

      His parents had been madly, passionately in love once upon a time and their relationship had degenerated into ugliness Kris refused to duplicate. So now he employed strict compensation mechanisms: avoiding confrontation, avoiding serious relationships and staying detached. Women got sick of it fast, which he accepted. Maybe even encouraged. Kyla had been no exception.

      Now, it was too late to disengage and even he wasn’t good enough to pretend indifference. VJ needed his help. Like it or not, his role in this had a second act.

      “Really,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. “It was an accident. Can I help you with the car?”

      “An accident.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her. “What did you trip over?”

      “Uh, the couch.”

      He nodded to the ugly blotch on her arm, which wrapped around her biceps in the shape of a hand, with half-moon cuts at the top of the purple fingers. “Did the couch have hands with fingernails?”

      Her face crumpled, and he spit out a curse. Panicked, he enfolded her into his arms, determined to do something, anything to help.

      Then he remembered VJ barely knew him. She’d smack him with her bag for being so familiar.

      But she didn’t. Instead she snuggled into his chest, sobbing. Her head fit into the hollow of his breastbone as if it had been shaped for her, and VJ’s slight frame kick-started a fiercely possessive, protective instinct. He tightened his arms and inhaled the coconut scent of her warm cinnamon-colored hair.

      After a minute, the bawling stopped. She wiggled away and took a deep breath. Her face was mottled and wet. She swiped at it with the hem of her giant T-shirt, this one with a cracked emblem for Tres Hombres Automotive Distributing, and looked up. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

      “I do,” he said grimly. “You’ve had a rough night, which wasn’t helped by sleeping outside. Let me take you somewhere, as long as it’s not back to whoever hit you.”

      “I didn’t sleep outside,” she protested. “I’m on my way to work. That’s the only reason I’m out this early.”

      “You have a concrete-patterned print down the side of your face. The other side,” he clarified as she tentatively touched the bruises. She obviously had no clue how much practice he had in seeing through a woman’s lies. Normally, he’d be infuriated with her attempt at deception, but instead, the urge to take action, to fix things for her, unfolded.

      “Get in the car.” He swore, colorfully, but mindful enough of the offensive content to do it in Greek. “I forgot. Something’s wrong with the car. Can you give me the number to your garage?”

      Out of nowhere, she burst into tears again.

      He rubbed her shoulder and said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a dig at your mechanical skills. I’d love it if you’d look at my car. Please.”

      “Don’t apologize,” she grumbled, sniffling. “That only makes it worse.”

      “Um, this seems to be the sole situation where it’s wrong for a guy to apologize. Can you possibly explain what wouldn’t be wrong to say?”

      Without a word, she skirted him and leaned into the engine bay. With a couple of skillful twists, she reattached a loose wire he hadn’t noticed and she mumbled, “I disconnected it last night. Try it now.”

      Speechless, he slid into the driver’s seat and pushed the start button. With a meaty roar, the engine sprang to life. The RPM needle flicked back and forth with each nudge of the accelerator.

      He vaulted out of the seat and rounded the back end before she fled.

      “Now get in the car.”

      “I can’t.” Misery pulled at her expression. “This is all wrong. I’m sorry. I had a stupid plan to trade fixing your car for a ride, but it wouldn’t have needed fixing if I hadn’t sabotaged it. Then you had to be all nice and wonderful and understanding about my…” She waved a flustered hand at her bruises. “Problems. I’m a terrible person, and I can’t take advantage of you.”

      Kris bit his lip so the bubble of laughter wouldn’t burst out. “Let me get this straight. You can’t accept a ride because you don’t want to take advantage of me.”

      “Your hospitality,” she amended quickly. “I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality. Or take advantage in any other way. Not that you’re repulsive or anything. I mean, I would take advantage if I had the opportunity. You’re totally hot.” She hissed out a little moan, and he yearned to hear it again. “That didn’t come out right. Can I crawl in a hole now?”

      “No.” He crossed his arms and leaned a hip on the side panel. Was it terrible to be charmed by how negotiating a simple ride tore her up? “It’s too late. You’ve already admitted you can’t be trusted with my virtue. Whatever will I do?”

      She glared at him but then her expression wavered. “I do have a reputation in the greater Little Crooked Creek area. Mothers have been known to lock up their sons when they see me coming.”

      Her humor and winsome self-deprecation was back, loosening the bands around his lungs. “Well, my mother is six thousand miles away so I guess I’ll have to risk it. Let’s try this. I’ll forgive you for sabotaging the car if you’ll forgive me for not believing you tripped.” Smoothly, he captured her hand and led her to the passenger side. He opened the door. “Shall we?”

      She didn’t climb in. Staring at their joined hands, she said, “Yesterday morning you were blissfully unaware I existed. Why do you want to get mixed up in this?”

      A fair question, but the wrong one. His involvement had begun the moment she pulled off the highway and ensnared him, forcing him into the action.

      A better question was how long he’d stay involved.

      “Is someone going to come after me with a shotgun?”

      “I doubt it.” She snorted out a laugh. “Bobby Junior and Tackle might consider it, but they’re too busy. The cretins…sorry. My other brothers would have to notice I was gone first.”

      “What about your father?”

      Shadows sprang into her eyes and her grip tightened. He had his name.

      “I honestly can’t say what Daddy would do. That’s the best reason of all for you to forget about me and drive away as fast as you can.”

      “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone without a conscience. I couldn’t sleep at night if I did that. Get in the car, VJ.”

      “How can you be real?” She studied his face, the same as she had last night, as if looking for the answers to her deepest questions. “It’s like I dreamed up the perfect man and poof, here you are.”

      It should be a crime to be that naive. He dropped her hand. “I’m far from perfect. If you get in the car, you’ll doubtlessly find out I’m not always a fun date. Don’t turn me into some altruistic saint because I’m offering you a ride.”

      She hesitated, then nodded once. “Okay. I’ll take the ride, but I’m allowed to worship you in secret or no deal.”

      The bruising on her face stood out in sharp relief against her fragile skin yet when the corners of her mouth flipped up in a small smile, he couldn’t help but smile, too. “How could I turn that down?”

      He helped her into the passenger seat and slammed the door. She slumped against the leather, and even through the tinted glass,

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