She has responsibilities. The life of another human being depends on her. And then there’s her past. A failed marriage doesn’t leave a woman without scars. I’m not a guy who listens to women’s problems and cuddles them until they feel better. I don’t promise to right another dude’s wrongs. And this is no exception.

There’s no denying this chick does something to me. Her strength and attitude call to me on a physical level. And there are moments when she forgets to reinforce her tough-girl exterior and leaves herself exposed. Fuck if those glimpses don’t make me want to possess her and become the man she needs.

Her pupils dilate against the near-black color of her eyes. She’s not oblivious to the energy that’s whipping up between us. At this distance, and without the barrier of her glasses, I can make out a girlish sprinkling of freckles across her nose that defies the stubborn set of her shoulders. Her mouth parts, either to say something or accommodate her breathing. My heart races. If I could lean in, have one taste.

I lick my lips. Her eyes flare. Fucking hot.

“Mouse.” My voice sounds gravelly with hunger.

The reasons I don’t hook up with women who have kids fade to the background, giving control to my desire. The rise and fall of her chest, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes transform the mountain of my issues into an anthill.

She lifts her hand tentatively, holding her palm inches from my chest. Her eyes ask the question. Please, fuck yes, touch me. She places her hand against my pec. The warmth from her feminine touch sears my skin, and I fight the urge to plunder her mouth—to hell with the fallout.

“Blake…” My name slides from her lips. “You don’t want to do this.”

The fuck I don’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but in this moment, I’ve never wanted a girl more. My blood feels jagged as it rips through my veins. Muscles tense beneath my skin, itching with restlessness to touch her. I lock down the urge to flex my hips into her and show her exactly what she does to me.

“Last night, what you said? You were right, I’m broken.” Her fingers dig in and grab hold of my shirt. “You’d only hurt me.”

I take a deep breath, and close my eyes. As much as I want this girl naked, I can’t allow myself the selfish gratification. She’s a mother, and as far as I can tell all that her daughter has. Fucking her up will have lasting consequences even an asshole like me can’t live with.

I step back to clear my head. Her hand falls to her side, and I immediately miss her touch. The distance is little help, but it’s enough that her scent weakens, allowing me to think logically again.

I’ll help her, this one time, and that should be enough to satisfy my erratic thoughts. My instincts will always push me to protect a weak woman. And there’s nothing weaker in the world than a woman alone with a kid. That’s all this is. My history influences my behavior. I’ve beaten back this shit for the past twelve years. I can do it again. After today.

“Let me do this for you.” I scrub my hand over my hair, trying to think of a way to convince her that doesn’t involve my mouth all over her body. What I wouldn’t do to torture her with pleasure until she submits. No, help her and move the fuck on. I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You need the help. Let me give it to you.”

She searches my face, and I hope she doesn’t see anything that betrays me. After a few seconds, she nods. “Sure, okay. That’d be great.”

A slow grin tugs at my lips. “Really?”

She shrugs with a timid smile. “I told myself when I moved out here that I’d never rely on a man again. So just this once, okay?” She picks at her nails. “I’ve got to figure out a way to make it on my own. It’s important to me.” Her voice trails off to a whisper.

I want to reach out and pull her into my arms, but I know I won’t be able to stop there. And whatever I’m feeling, I have to fight. There’s so much more on the line than hurt feelings between two adults.

“If I can’t… I…” She curls into herself. “I can’t go back.” Her murmured words catch me off guard.

“Why not?” Shit. I broke my number-one rule with women. Don’t invest. Chanting the two words in my head like a mantra doesn’t keep me from imagining what may have happened to her and Axelle. Heat boils in my chest.

Worry and fear etch into her pretty face. “He’ll make me—”

“Mom!”

Fuck.

Axelle swings around to the back of the Jeep. “The truck’s here. Some dude named Leo towed it in. Oh, and you’re going to shit when you see our loaner car.” She’s clearly excited, hopping and clapping her hands.

“Elle. Stop cussing,” Layla says.

Axelle laughs, dismissing her mom’s reprimand. “Oh lighten up.”

A strange feeling, like a mix of irritation and possession, floods my veins at the blatant disrespect Axelle shows her mom. I can’t get involved any more than I already have. But I’m suddenly worried for Layla and her daughter’s relationship. This family needs a man in it. A good man. Hell, a decent man would be better than no man. And a kid needs a dad.

My dad’s face, twisted with fury and spitting ugly, comes rushing to the surface. I shake away the image before it solidifies. The reality check is enough to bring me back to my cardinal rule. I’m not investing.

For my safety. And for theirs.

“Let’s get a move on. I gotta get back to training.”

I head back to the garage, not waiting for them to catch up. Jonah’s there with his girl beneath his arm. I hear Layla’s sharp intake of breath from behind me. Oh, now she gets it.

That’s the second woman she’s accused me of banging, and both times she was wrong. I’d gloat if my head wasn’t so fucked up.

Jonah’s gunmetal gray ’69 Camaro is parked out front. He grins at Layla. “My wife told me you needed a loaner.”

“Oh, yeah.” Layla looks at me, and even in my peripheral vision, I can see the blush of her embarrassment.

What’s that saying? Never assume, because it makes you look and feel like a jackass idiot? Something like that.

“We have a few extra cars at home. Thought you might be able to use one.” Jonah motions with his head to the Camaro parked behind him.

He dangles the keys in front her face. Axelle squeals, but Layla locks her hands behind her back and shakes her head. “I can’t. I uh…” Her eyes move from the keys to the car and back again. “It’s, wow, but…”

Hell, I’ve never met a more stubborn woman in all my life. “Mouse. Remember what we talked about. Take the fucking keys.”

She swings her gaze over to me.

I nod. “Take ‘em.”

And holy shit. There it is. A huge grin, carefree and unguarded, spreads across her gorgeous face. Last night at The Blackout, talking about Metallica, I saw one similar. And fuck me if it isn’t the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’ll take it. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Sl—”

“No, please. First name basis.” Raven curls into her husband’s side.

“Thank you, guys.”

Jonah tosses her the keys. “Right, well Blake and I need to get back to training. Layla and Elle, enjoy the ride. If I know my woman, she’ll have your truck back together in no time. That is, unless she talks you into a rebuild.”

Raven’s eyes get big. “Oh, that would be cool. Throw on some forty-inch tires, a six-inch lift, and a paint job?” She looks between Layla and Axelle. “How do you feel about flames?”

“Flames are hot!”Axelle says. She starts going back and forth with Raven about color combinations.

Layla stays silent and looks oblivious to the chatter going on around her. Her eyes are unfocused, as if her mind is off somewhere else. What’s going on in that head of hers? Maybe I’ll drag her back to my car and make her tell me what she never finished saying about her ex. Something’s bothering her—Dammit, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to get the hell away. “You ready?”

Jonah kisses his girl goodbye, and I give a general peace-out to the group. Halfway to my car, I overhear Axelle telling her mom she has to be at school early tomorrow for tutoring. “That means I can’t take you to work.”

“That’s fine. You can drop me off at work before you go.”

“Mom, that’s an hour and a half early.”

“So what. Life’s about adjusting and making sacrifices.”

Don’t do it, dude. Do not fucking do it. “Mouse, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

I did it.

“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll—”

“Take the help, Layla.” I lock eyes with hers. “Seriously. This shit is not a big deal.”

“Okay, Blake.”

I turn around and continue to my car. I’m pissed and stoked as hell. Playing chauffeur to a chick with baggage, and a kid.

Fuck me. I’m gonna regret this.

Eight

Layla

I’m back at work after the trip to the garage, and I can’t stop grinning. Sure, I compromised and let Blake negotiate my rental. But really, it was Jonah who hooked that up. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. It feels less dependent. I mean, if anything, I’m helping him and Raven out by using a car that would be collecting dust. Yeah, that makes complete sense.

What doesn’t make sense is that for a brief moment behind Blake’s car, I allowed myself to consider what it would be like to be kissed by him. At one point it seemed like he might try, but all I could think was that Raven might get jealous and do something crazy like poke holes in my gas tank. It wasn’t until later I realized what an idiot I was for assuming that Blake was having some sort of a sexual relationship with Raven, when she’s Jonah’s wife. My cheeks burn at the memory.