Can't Let Go. Gena Showalter

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      He even forced himself to smile at her, and hell, it felt weird to lift the corners of his mouth. Weird, wrong on every level and stilted. As soon as he looked away from her, he returned to his normal expression, the one that said I don’t want to be here, or anywhere.

      His gaze landed on Daniel’s fiancée. “Ask,” he said, knowing she didn’t actually have a question for him. He wasn’t sure why Lyndie wanted him to stay, but he wasn’t going to call her out.

      Dorothea looked at Lyndie, then Ryanne. Frowned. Opened her mouth, closed it. Finally she said, “Yeah, so...I’m going to be picking bridesmaid dresses soon. Ryanne, of course, is a co–maid of honor with Lyndie. Lyndie is wearing pink chiffon but thinks Ryanne should be forced to wear a trash bag. Do you agree?”

      His gaze zipped back to Ryanne, who was now watching him with a thoughtful expression...and upset? “A trash bag won’t detract from her raw sensuality.” The primal admission left him before he could stop it, wiping her upset away.

      A grinning Lyndie pressed a hand above her heart. “If you guys were in a movie, female viewers would be sighing dreamily right now, and male viewers would be throwing popcorn at the screen. You just set the bar very high.”

      Ryanne peered at him, her lush lips gaping open. “You claimed you were too grumpy to be nice, but I swear I just heard the best compliment of my life.”

      “Truth is truth, not a compliment.”

      “Well, then, that’s even better.” She beamed at him, so radiant he wanted to take her in his arms and—

      Nothing.

      Ryanne wasn’t his type, would never be his type. Forget her job. She was too bold, too brash. Too...everything. She drew attention and loved it. Nothing slowed her down. She sizzled with passion and marched through life with no care for the obstacles thrown in her way.

      Jude craved solitude, which meant he wasn’t Ryanne’s type, either. Actually, he had no idea what type of man she actually preferred. She was an equal opportunity flirt, charming young and old alike. Hell, charming large and small, tall and short, rich and poor.

      Always irritating me, and I don’t know why.

      The front door opened, saving him from having to think up an appropriate reply, and the members of Power Trip—the band she hired on Friday and Saturday nights—strode inside.

      Daniel and Brock came in behind the drummer, and both males pulsed with a palpable air of anger and frustration they couldn’t hide behind cheerful waves.

      Something had happened out there.

      The women sensed a problem, as well. As soon as the guys reached the counter, Dorothea threw her arms around Daniel. Lyndie inched away from Brock and glanced at the door, as if planning an escape route.

      Ryanne reached out to latch on to Jude’s wrist, the softness of her skin momentarily paralyzing him. Can’t force myself to pull away this time...

      “What’s wrong?” she asked.

      No doubt Dushku had struck.

      Daniel gave an unconvincing laugh. “Who said anything was wrong?”

      “Someone trashed the alley outside, spray-painted vile things on the wall, that’s all,” Brock said, and Daniel glared at him.

      Dorothea and Lyndie gasped with horror.

      Ryanne stiffened. “Show me.”

      Jude wrapped his hand around her wrist; she’d held him, and now he held her. It was an intimate pose, and one he wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle. Did he let go? No.

      “Stay in here. Please.” He knew his friends, and knew a trashed alley wasn’t the only problem out there. “Let me make sure everything is safe. That’s what you pay me the big bucks for, after all.”

      At first, she opened her mouth to protest. Then she looked at her friends. If she insisted on going outside, they would insist on going with her, and they would be in danger, as well. So she nodded, released him.

      Silent, he, Daniel and Brock headed outside. His friends led him to the back alley, where he saw bitch, slut and whore, and an assortment of other vile words, spray-painted on the walls. His molars gnashed again, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they turned to powder.

      The boys kept going, stopping when they reached Ryanne’s SUV, parked behind the building. Rage sparked.

      The tires had been slashed, and the words YOUR NEXT spray-painted over the windshield.

      “Idiot,” Jude muttered. “You’re. Not your.”

      This was a scare tactic, nothing more, meant to intimidate Ryanne into doing whatever Dushku wanted.

      “What do you want us to do?” Brock asked.

      “For now, we clean up the mess. Later we’ll give Ryanne the bare minimum of facts.” The less she knew, the better. He would do the worrying for her.

      A woman like her should only ever smile.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      MONDAYS WERE USUALLY Ryanne’s favorite day of the week. She got to sleep in, drink wine, play video games and relax in a bubble bath. Today, however, she hadn’t slept in. Belle had done her cat thing, somehow climbing on the desk, despite the size of her belly, knocking over a coffee mug, pens, a book and even a laptop. During the loud bang that had followed every downed item, Ryanne had lain in bed thinking about the smile Jude had given Lyndie. A kind smile. Humorless, yes, but kind nonetheless. A smile he’d never given Ryanne.

      For a moment, she’d been eaten up with jealousy, and she’d hated herself for it. Lyndie deserved all the kindness in the world.

      After giving herself a kick in the pants, Ryanne had gotten up, showered while standing for once and dressed in a hurry. The Scratching Post would be hosting the Strawberry Bookcakes today, and she would be serving tea, finger sandwiches and cookies. Despite the twenty-dollar cover charge, a whole gaggle of retired matrons had signed up.

      Guaranteed the sweet old biddies would start off discussing their book club selection—a scandalous paranormal romance titled The Darkest Night; it was chosen because Lincoln West, a beloved resident of the town, had designed a video game based on its mythology. Once the discussion ended, everyone would start gossiping about nonfictional people.

      Ryanne had a few hours to run a million errands. Still, she texted Jude an invitation to join her.

      Want to be my sidekick today? (I know what you’re thinking—your job comes with perks, like spending time with your favorite person. Hint: me!) Pick you up in twenty?

      At some point, he had to say yes and their fun times could finally begin.

      This wasn’t that point.

      His no had come in so fast her head had spun.

      Dang СКАЧАТЬ