Break of Day. Andie J. Christopher

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СКАЧАТЬ her to take his help gratefully. She’d surprised him again by joking about him throwing her in the ocean. And her mention of the ocean had him thinking about her in a string bikini.

      Wondering if she had freckles everywhere while cradling her to his chest had him nearly stumbling. He couldn’t wait to get her back to Lola’s and be rid of her for the day.

      “We need to stop for coffee.”

      “What? You want to grab a cup of Joe after that meltdown?” He shook his head. “The last thing you need is coffee, princess.”

      “Some guys were following me. I was in that alley because I lost them.”

      Jonah fought the urge to put her down and go find the motherfuckers. He was serious about not hurting women. After the way he’d hurt his college girlfriend—emotionally—he’d vowed never to hurt a woman again. Not if she didn’t ask him to.

      Instead, he said, “You need me to go back and rearrange some faces more than you need coffee, princess.”

      “I told you to stop calling me that.” She pinched his chest, and it made him laugh. Her tiny little fingers could probably dig in and rip off a nipple if he wasn’t careful, but she hadn’t hurt him, just opened up a new channel of sensation right to his dick. “I need coffee so I don’t get a migraine.”

      “Your caffeine addiction is so serious that you’ll risk being chased down by dudes and having a panic attack in an unfamiliar city just to avoid a headache.”

      “Was that what that was? I thought I was having a heart attack for a few minutes.”

      He had so many questions, but he wasn’t great with the talking. He was much better with pictures. Why did she have her first panic attack then? Was it just those guys? Or was she having a nervous breakdown about her breakup? Why was she a wounded bird? And why did she have the same effect as a bottle of Viagra? He didn’t ask any of those questions. He simply said, “Whatever, princess. I’m not stopping for coffee.”

      “But I need my fix. Haven’t you spent enough time in Cuba to realize that cafecito is life?” He winced at her whiny exclamation. She was a no-joke, seriously spoiled brat, and it grated on his nerves even more now that he’d decided to take on a knight-in-shining-armor gig on her behalf. “I’ll get a migraine.”

      She bucked against him, and he almost dropped her.

      “Suck it up, buttercup.”

      “I like that even less than the other nickname.”

      “How about I just call you ‘Princess Buttercup,’ so you can really hate me.” She giggled, and it was cloyingly sweet, the kind of sweet that hit all the pleasure receptors in his brain and would, for sure, give him a sugar coma later.

      “As you wish.” She stopped wiggling—finally—and rested her head on his shoulder. “Just as long as I can call you ‘Westley.’”

      The fuck she would. He wasn’t some dopey Prince Charming, ready and willing to ride in and save anyone. Hell, he could barely save himself half the time. He might go into war zones and conflict areas on a routine basis, but he was just as vulnerable and liable to get his ass blown up as the next guy. He’d been luckier in his work than he ever had been in his personal life. That’s why it was best to stick to women like Shannon. Self-sufficient. Competent. Women who didn’t wear heels.

      “Who’s the bad guy in that movie?” She’d relaxed once they’d started talking about The Princess Bride. His mom loved that movie, and he’d seen it a million times, but he wanted to keep her talking about something other than stopping for coffee. And he wanted her to think about something other than the fact that they were making a bit of a spectacle on the street.

      Several old ladies had clapped their hands together and cocked their heads in the universal symbol of “Awww, what a cute couple.”

      “I don’t remember. No one ever remembers the bad guy.”

      In his experience, nothing could be further from the truth. People still remembered the one bad thing he’d done. The only reason Carla didn’t know—the only reason she was treating him like he really could be her hero right now—was that she didn’t have the luxury of a Google search at her fingertips.

      He should just tell her so that she’d stay clear of him. She wouldn’t be looking at him right now like she wanted to kiss him. She’d probably slap him across the face or give him the cold shoulder. Even after knowing her for less than twenty-four hours, he knew that the silent treatment from Carla Hernandez would cut him.

      So, he’d keep her talking about normal-people things like movies. That way, when she went back to Miami, she’d search him on the Internet one day and she could hate him. He’d be rid of her forever. He wasn’t sure why he hated that thought.

      “People remember the winners,” she said. “And sometimes the losers if the losers lose in a truly spectacular fashion.”

      “You’re not a loser, princess.” He didn’t know why he said that, but she was vulnerable right now because of the loser fiancé. He also wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of the fiancé as a loser, but he had to be if someone as sweet and soft as Carla was this broken up about him. If he had her in his bed and gave it up, he was a stupid loser. She must have really loved him, which proved that she was sweet and soft but not for him.

      “Well, I lost my parents’ deposits on the wedding.”

      “Better than getting married and divorced.”

      “How do you know? Have you ever been married?”

      He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. If he was smart, he’d say yes. But then he’d have to explain a whole bunch of shit he didn’t want to explain. Like how he had never actually gotten married. He’d offered to marry a girl who didn’t want him, who hadn’t wanted to live. So, he just grunted. And he couldn’t help it if she interpreted his grunt as an answer.

      “So, then you don’t know.” She looked away from him, which almost tipped them both over from the shift in balance. Her clasp around his neck tightened. “It could have worked out if he had just wanted to try.”

      He adjusted her weight in his arms. “Sometimes people are shit at trying.”

      Jonah didn’t know why he was trying to comfort her. He didn’t care about her feelings. Caring about feelings got him in trouble once, and he didn’t want trouble.

      When they got back to the house, Carla stayed nestled against him, and he didn’t feel the need to put her down right away. She felt nice there, and he knew she’d do something annoying in a few minutes to remind him why he stayed away from high-maintenance women.

      She wiggled when his pause became awkward, and it didn’t make him want to let her go. It made him hard. He needed to go inside and take a cold shower so he and his dick could be alone.

      He very carefully placed her on her feet inside the door. Fairy light, she walked up the stairs in front of him, tightening his jeans even more. The muscles of her smooth calves flexed and pulsed with each step. Her proportionally generous hips swayed back and forth, hypnotizing him.

      She shocked him when she looked over her shoulder and said, “Seen enough?”

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