23. Chapter 23

The drive to Bear's is short and silent, because I'm still not forgiving him for flooding my apartment. Or for squirreling it. Definitely not for micing it.

Which doesn't mean I've forgotten what he said yesterday about having feelings for me. I haven't stopped thinking about that or wondering whether he feels differently now that he knows about my plans to get the building declared historic. And I hate that I hope they haven't. I hate that I want to kiss him even more now.

I'm mad about the pipes, but also conflicted because Bear's being such a gentleman. First by doing his best not to look at me in my robe, then by loaning me his jersey, and finally by insisting on staying at his parents' house.

To add to my conflicted feelings, I can't stop thinking about what would it be like to have his arms around me all night. Not more than that; just enough to feel some reassurance and protection in this crazy shift my life has taken.

To quiet all my mixed emotions, I do what I always do. I drive fast. I especially enjoy driving Bear's Jeep fast.

One thing I'll miss most if I turn in my badge is speeding, knowing if I get pulled over, I'm not getting ticketed. I've been in one high-speed chase, and it was incredible. Best adrenaline rush of my life.

Although, also high on the Adrenaline Rush List—right after when Bear kissed me—is when Bear grabs the side handle as I take a curve going ten miles over the speed limit before I force myself to slow down. It's dark, the roads are curvy, and it's a two-lane road—not an LA freeway.

When we pull into his driveway in front of the four-car garage, Bear uncurls his fingers from the handle, his knuckles literally white.

"That was…" he lets out a shaky breath. "Interesting. I didn't know Jenny could go that fast."

I'm about to say something, but my brain gets caught on Jenny. "Wait, who's Jenny?"

Bear's face lights up redder than the stoplight I blew through.

"Is Jenny your Jeep? Did you name your Jeep?" Laughter laces my words, which only makes his cheeks burn darker.

"People name their vehicles all the time. It's not weird." Bear fidgets in his seat, looking more uncomfortable than the last guy I interrogated.

"No, they don't. And, yes, it is." I pull in my lips, fighting not to burst into giggles.

But also to keep from telling him how adorable it is that a man who looks as though he could crush most guys with his bare hands named his Jeep Jenny.

"Do you call her Jenny the Jeep or Jenny Jeep or just Jenny?" A giggle escapes.

Bear glares hard at me, and it's maybe the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

Wait, no. Second sexiest.

Throwing me over his shoulder is the first.

"Jenny. No Just," he says so seriously that I don't know he's teasing until the corner of his mouth pulls up. For the briefest second, we smile at each other. It's kind of nice.

Then he points to a window above the garage. "That's where you'll be staying. Do I have to carry you up the stairs, or will you go willingly?"

My heart skips because I really, really want to say, "Carry me, please." Instead, I shoot him a sharp glare. He meets mine with one of his own, sending waves of heat through my entire body.

Heat I can't afford to give into like I did the other night. And I'm definitely in danger of doing that.

My skin still tingles where Bear wrapped his arm around my waist. His biceps pressed against my side. My stomach pressed into the top of his shoulder and collarbone. His beard brushing my face when he threw me over his shoulder. One armed.

Bear threw me over his shoulder, one armed. Like some brutish earl in one of those novels with the bare-chested man on the cover that my mom likes to read. The kind of beast who turns out to be a gentleman deep, deep down inside, but needs the love of a good woman to bring it out of him.

I'm in the middle of picturing a shirtless lord with Bear's face, wearing a kilt—a short one—when the real Bear opens my door.

"I can walk!" I put up my hands even though he hasn't made any damsel-over-the-shoulder moves. "I can walk," I say more calmly and slide out of the seat.

Stupid romance novels. Why do the men always have to be in kilts? And why am I turned on by the idea of a man in a skirt?

More specifically, by the idea of Bear in a skirt?

Mostspecifically, by the idea of Bear at all?

I glance between him and the light upstairs. There's no way I can stay in his apartment without laying down some ground rules first—for both of us.

"Before we go anywhere, we need to talk about what happened." I cross my arms and don't move from the open car door, even though I'm freezing.

"The pipes bursting?" Bear's face wrinkles with confusion.

"No. The other thing."

"The squirrels?" He presses his lips together, and I know he's trying not to smile.

I raise an eyebrow, and his tongue darts between his lips. "You're freezing. Let's go inside to talk."

I shake my head. "The kiss, Bear… kisses."

His eyes drop to my lips, and he licks his own. "You don't need to worry. I promise to resist your advances."

He turns, and I follow him up the stairs he climbs easily despite carrying plastic bags filled with my wet clothes that he packed before we left the studio.

"Excuse me? I think it was the other way around," I say behind him.

Bear stops at the landing outside the apartment and drops the bags before facing me.

"If that's how you want to remember it," he says with a shrug, then leans against the door with his hand on the knob.

"I choose to remember it the way it happened—you kissed me." My eyes rise to meet his but get caught on his lips until I force them higher.

I'm met with a teasing gaze before Bear opens the door and motions me inside without moving out of the doorway.

"I promise not to tempt you into kissing me again." His voice is low and raspy as I squeeze past him.

His scent fills my nostrils, releasing an uncontrollable longing. Whatever retort I might have come up with gets scorched in the wildfire spreading through my veins. Without thinking, I brush my fingertips across his stomach.

When I realize what I've done, I rush to put space between Bear and me and hurry to the other side of the front room. But there's no escaping his smell. I'm still engulfed in it, thanks to his jersey.

The air inside is warm and comfortable even before Bear flips a switch, and light floods the room. The light directly above his head pours over him, making him resemble some kind of lumberjack angel with his dark flannel and blonde beard. I turn my back to him, but it's too late. My brain is already conjuring images of Bear chopping wood.

Shirtless.

Obviously.

Maybe in a kilt.

I try to scrub the image from my mind by focusing on the room in front of me. The pile of wood next to the wood-burning stove does not help.

But his place is nice. Like, really, really nice. So much nicer than I expected.

And strangely familiar.

"Did Georgia decorate this for you?" I walk to the big sectional sofa. There's a fuzzy blanket thrown over the back of it I can't wait to wrap up in.

"No, but Zach got tips from her when he furnished it." He stands by the door, clutching the garbage sacks full of wet clothes. "I moved in a few weeks ago."

"Oh, yeah. The night I was at your parents' for dinner." Back when I still thought he was too young to take seriously.

I scan the large open space. The kitchen counter is a dark stone, but everything else is lighter colors. There are a few pops of orange in pictures and throw pillows. Other than that, the colors are all muted, both masculine and peaceful at the same time.

I'm not one for design, but the entire space has the same feel as the apartment I shared with Georgia that she decorated. It feels more like home than the studio.

The one thing that looks out of place is the large bookcase crammed full of paperbacks. It's not the same color or style as the rest of the furniture and it's positioned in a spot that's too close to the sofa rather than centered on the wall.

I walk to it and run my fingers along the book spines, mostly sports, but a lot of fantasy, too. "Did Zach leave these?"

"Nah. He has dyslexia, so he mostly listens to books. Those are all mine."

I glance over my shoulder and lift an eyebrow. "You like to read?"

"Yeah," he says with a shrug. "That surprises you?"

I turn around and pluck a Sarah J. Maas from the shelf. "Only because readers usually like bookstores."

"I like the idea of your bookstore, just not the location." Bear hasn't moved from his position by the door, as if he's prepared to bolt any second.

So I don't press him about where he thinks I could open a bookstore if not in the shop. I know the answer—nowhere as good a location as the one I've already picked out. But I won't thank him for his hospitality by picking a fight with him.

"Mind if I borrow this?" I face Bear and hold up the book. "I haven't read it yet."

"Sure. I'm done with it." His face relaxes into a pleased grin. "Borrow whatever you want."

"Thanks."

The fact Bear likes to read does nothing to slow the fantasies of him still pinging around my brain.

Bear drops one bag of clothes long enough to open the door behind him, then picks it up again.

"I'll check the pipes tomorrow, but the building probably needs a re-pipe, which takes a couple of days. Then there's the floor and wall repair." He speaks with more confidence than I've seen in him before.

"Will you do that? Or someone else?" I ask.

"The re-pipe yes, the drywall repair, maybe. I'll ask Grandpa what he wants to do. He may want a professional to patch everything up." Bear throws one bag over his shoulder, and I'm reminded he'd done the same to me.

I bet he could do the same with an ax, too.

An awkward silence passes between us, and I realize I'm staring. "Okay, then. You can leave those bags there."

I point to a spot very far from me, then look around. "Do you have a washer and dryer up here?"

My brain isn't functioning properly. It's creating all kinds of scenarios that involve wood chopping, kilts, and Bear kissing me again. I can't be trusted to get anywhere near him, so I really, really, need him to leave.

"The washer is in the garage." Bear nods toward the floor and the garage underneath us. "I'll start these for you before I head back to the shop."

"You're going back to the shop?"

Wait. Did he just say he's doing my laundry?

"Gotta get the water up before it does any more damage."

"I can help you." I quickly cross the room. "At least let me do my laundry. You don't have to do that."

No way am I letting him both do my laundry and clean up my apartment on his own. I need to keep thinking of him as my enemy—the guy who's getting in the way of my bookstore—and he's making it practically impossible. I reach for the bag, but he doesn't let it go. His eyes dance and his mouth purses in a challenge, daring me to take it from him.

I've learned from experience that I'm not strong enough to beat Bear in a tug-of-war, and I'm dangerously close to him and his lips. So I let go of the bag, glaring at the satisfied grin that spreads across his face.

He lifts the heavy bag and points to a door on the other side of the room. "That's the door to the bathroom. There's also a door to it through the bedroom. Go take a shower. Or a bath. Whichever you want. I'll get a few people to help me clean things up. It's not a big deal and you're not wearing any … real clothes."

Was he about to say panties? How does he know? How much did he see?

I don't think I want to know the answer to any of those questions. I do know I would love a bath, so I don't argue with him about doing laundry. I hate laundry. But I looooove hot baths. Especially when I've got a good book to sink into.

I nod and mutter a thank you, even though Bear probably deserves more.

I don't miss the look of surprise that skitters across his face. I guess he expected me to fight harder. But the effort of resisting the urge to move closer and thank him properly has taken all the fight out of me.

Forget the hot bath. What I need more than anything right now is a cold shower, because not even the frigid air coming through the open door is enough to cool my burning skin.

Bear walks out the door and is about to close it, but turns back to me. "You probably haven't eaten."

"I'm fine," I hurry to answer, but my traitor stomach growls.

He doesn't even try to hide his laugh. "I'll get your clothes going, then raid my parent's fridge. Mine is pretty empty since I eat mostly at Britta's or the Garden."

"Really, I'm fine. You've already done enough. I'll take a shower and climb into bed." If he keeps being the Bear everyone has told me he is, I'm in real trouble.

"Cassie." His low voice rumbles across the walls, all the way through my chest. "You're hungry. I'm going to feed you. I don't know what, but it will be here before you finish your shower."

As soon as the word shower leaves his mouth, his confidence falters.

"Or bath." He blinks hard and swallows. "Whichever one you take. That's your business, not mine."

Despite his assertion back at the shop that he didn't see anything when I lost my towel, his face tells a different story. A streak of red travels from his collar to every piece of flesh visible above his beard, and he rubs the back of his neck.

"I'llbebackinaminute," he says so quickly, the door shuts and Bear is gone before I decipher what he's said.

One thing easy to decipher, though, is that Bear is as attracted to me as I am to him. Those feelings, at least, haven't changed. It isn't doing either of us any good, however. It's one more complication in this very complicated relationship. Er, connection. Whatever it is we have.

Based on the fact he's feeding me, doing my laundry, and giving up his apartment for the night, maybe none of his feelings have changed. Maybe, despite everything that's happened, whatever he said yesterday about having feelings for me since the first time we met, he still feels.

What I see in him, on the other hand, is completely different from what it has been. I wrote him off immediately. Too young. Too small town. Too awkward. But my attraction to Bear has been growing every time I see him again; every time he drops his guard and shows a softer side to me.

Bear is so much more than Zach's little brother or the nemesis standing in the way of my dreams. He's more than a body and face perfect enough to grace the cover of a romance novel.

Bear is kind, thoughtful, funny, protective, and a thousand other things—including a book lover—that could make me fall in love with him.

Which means we may be headed for even more trouble than when we hated each other. Falling in love with him could mean not only giving up another fight, but also another dream.

Unless…we find a way to both get what we want…including each other.