Chapter Two

Nina

"Are you okay?" He squeezes my hand before dropping it, and for a moment I forget myself. Because holding his hand felt like the most normal thing that has happened all week. At least, the most comforting. And now that my hand isn't in his, I strangely miss it.

I don't even know him.

I nod in answer, but then shoot him a curious look. "How did you know?" I ask. It had only been a minute or two with those guys, and then this knight in sweaty running clothes came up and saved the day. A fucking hot knight. Now that we're in a better lit area, I can finally get a good view of my rescuer. His face is clean shaven, and he licks his plush lower lip in a way that makes me forget my earlier danger. His shoulders are broad, and I get a much better look at the chiseled definition underneath his clinging, drenched sweatshirt. It feels completely inappropriate to check him out, given the circumstances, and I try to keep my eyes on his. But it's hard to concentrate when my peripheral vision catches his thick as fuck thighs and the undeniable bulge under his grey sweatpants. Focus, Nina. "You came running like you knew what was going to happen," I say, hoping he can't see the flush in my cheeks.

He grimaces, and I note the deep dimples in his cheeks, even as his eyes darken.

"I had a feeling," he says, his tone tense and tight. "Are you okay? Did they touch you?"

I put my hand on my shoulder where the one guy grabbed me. My skin grows cold, and I shiver involuntarily. But it's not them, it's what happened before, and it's hard to know what's real and what's just me being triggered whenever any guy get too handsy.

"It was probably nothing," I say, shaking my head. "They were just flirting, and I overreacted."

"They were not flirting," the stranger says. He's angry now, his blue eyes flashing under the glow of the streetlights. "What were you even doing walking alone at night? What if I hadn't been there in time?"

"Hey now." My admiration slips aside, as I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. "What are you, victim shaming? I can walk anywhere I want. It's those guys who need to learn boundaries when it comes to approaching women."

"That's fine. Why don't you tell them that?" He winces as the words leave his mouth, then rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, that's not what I mean." He holds his hand out. "I'm Brayden, Brayden Winters." He waits for me to take it, but I fold my arms in front of me. I don't shake hands with assholes. But I do notice the way his tense expression softens, and the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Nina Chance. Thanks for your help, I got it from here." I pull my pepper spray out and wave it, then turn to go.

"Wait," he says, and damnit, I stop. "I'm really sorry. That was a stupid thing for me to say. I was just scared for you."

"Why? You don't even know me." But my body is starting to relax, the tension leaving my shoulders.

"I just… Let's just say guys are assholes."

"You got that right," I mutter, and he chuckles. I start to walk, and don't argue when he walks with me.

"You have every right to walk anywhere you want in this town and not be bothered," he continues. "Unfortunately, guys like that don't play by the rules. Add some alcohol, a few friends to egg them on, and you've got yourself the perfect recipe for assault."

I start to protest, but he stops me.

"I am not saying it's your fault. It's not. I'm just saying that because of assholes like those guys, and guys who are even worse than them, you have to be the one to make sure you're safe. And the best way to do that is to not walk around here by yourself."

"You think I don't know that?" I quicken my steps. I'm equal parts annoyed and relieved when he matches my pace.

"Sugar, ten minutes ago, I didn't know you at all," he points out.

"Well, stranger, let me fill you in. I just worked a long shift, and all I wanted to do was get home so I can go to bed and do it all again tomorrow. I didn't plan to walk home alone, but that's what happens when you find out your car won't start. It wasn't my first choice. But you, on the other hand, did make that choice. I could drill you on why you're choosing to take a run by yourself late at night where any guy could pick a fight with you."

Even as I'm saying it, I know I'm grasping at straws. Brayden is built like a linebacker. There's no chance anyone would mess with him, because it's obvious what the result would be. Even those guys. He didn't even have to lay a hand on any of them, and they still immediately backed off when he approached—even thought he was outnumbered.

Brayden lifts the band of his sweatshirt, and I breathe in sharply at the sight of his perfect abs. I want to trace a manicured nail across them, to feel the valleys of those muscles under my palms, to feel if his skin is as flushed as mine feels right now.

Then I see his own can of pepper spray in his waistband. He's not showing me his Adonis abs, he's showing me his tool of defense. Even though his whole body is a weapon.

"You obviously don't need pepper spray," I say, waving my hand over him. "You're a goddamn tank."

He laughs, and fuck me, his laugh is like a missile to my core. It's deep and throaty, the vibrations giving me heart palpitations. The way his dimples crease as he grins at me has me biting my lip.

"I'm not going to fight if I can help it. I've never even used this. I've found there are better ways to diffuse a situation."

"Like what you did back there," I say, and he nods.

"If I came at those guys, their drunk asses would have welcomed a fight. I'd probably be able to take care of it, but at what cost? I can't afford to get injured. More important, any kind of fight would have put you in more danger. I couldn't defend you and fight them at the same time."

I recall the way he looked when he approached me, frustrated and annoyed, and it suddenly occurred to me how brilliant the whole thing had been. "You pretended to be angry with me instead of getting angry with them."

He shot me an apologetic smile. "It's this trick I once read in a book," he says. "Getting mad at you re-directed their attention and distracted them from whatever they had in mind. But I also was afraid it would backfire, that you'd feel like I was just like those guys. You can't imagine how relieved I was when you took my hand."

"Same," I breathe.

We walk a few minutes in silence. I'm not sure if he'll walk me the whole way home, but I realize how glad I am that he's there. There's a calming presence to him. He has an easy stride to his walk, but I get the sense he's hyper aware of our surroundings. Every time we leave the lights of the street, his hand finds my back, as if to let me know he's here and I'm safe.

It's the first time I've been alone with a man for this long and felt safe.

"I never told you thank you." I look at him, melting just slightly as his hand finds my back again. I wish he'd leave it there. "And I'm sorry I got mad. I was just…" I pause, finding the words. I was scared. But it was more than that. Now that I'm safe, I can feel my whole body letting down, starting with the tears stinging my eyes.

What if Brayden hadn't been there? What if no one saw what was happening? What exactly did they want from me? What if…

"Don't fight this, Nina. You've been asking for this all year."

I shudder as the memory punctures me, and an involuntary sob splinters me in two.

"Hey there, you're safe." Brayden pulls me into him as I try to stop the tears, but I can't stop my moan escaping into the fabric of his sweatshirt. I gulp the air, inhaling the heady scent of his sweat. I cling to him, breathing him in, trying to gain control over my sudden panic.

"I got you, Sugar," he breathes into my hair. He rubs my back, pressing me against him as I clutch his sweatshirt, not stopping as I fight to regain control over my breath. But it's coming too hard, too fast. All I can picture are their faces over mine, their hands holding me down, my clothes ripping away from my body. The pressure, the pain. The hand over my mouth as I screamed, then the complete numbness that took over—as they took over. As I lost myself in the dirt.

I don't think of that day hardly at all anymore. Rather, when I do, I push it away. I push it way down until it feels like it belonged to someone else. Like I was someone else. I have fucked too many guys trying to purge those assholes out of my body. I've protected myself the best way I know how, which is to never let anyone in. I'm the pursuer, and screw anyone who tries to chase me. Because I say what goes, I determine who's coming home with me at night, and I won't be anyone's victim.

Which is why I'm so fucking angry about tonight. I completely froze. If Brayden hadn't shown up… I mean, I had fucking pepper spray, right there! And it wasn't even my first thought.

"I feel like such an idiot," I breathe once my words finally find me. "I didn't even try to fight back."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself." He guides me to a nearby bench, and we sit. His arm remains over my back, holding me close to him as I try to contain myself. The feel of his warmth against my body is like an anchor in my despair. "You were terrified, Nina. I could see it all over your body, even from across the street."

But I'm not convinced. I know better. I know! "I could have at least run."

"You could have done a lot of things," he says. "But when your survival instincts kick in, it's really hard to go against them."

I lift my head, wiping away my tears as I look at him. I'm probably a snotty, red mess, and I hate that he's seeing me this way—this guy I don't even know. I hate that I even care, especially when I just cried into his shirt because I can't get over a goddamn assault that happened ten years ago. How can I be so triggered, and also unable to get over how good he smells, especially now that I've had my face buried in his sweat?

"I bet you'd never freeze in the face of danger," I say, laughing to cover up my embarrassment.

He looks down at his lap, his jaw ticking as he stares at his hands. "You'd lose that bet." He looks at me, lifts his hand and brushes a tendril of blue hair from my face before tucking it behind my ear. I hold my breath as he does, my eyes staying with his as he looks at me. "I don't think I've ever known someone with this color of hair," he murmurs, his hand still fingering the lock.

"It's completely natural," I joke, but only to hide how much his touch is affecting me—more than I would have expected.

I can't explain what happens next. All I know is that I feel the electricity. His eyes remain on mine, and it's like our thoughts are connected. Like his body is one I know. Like everything about him is so familiar to me. Had I met him in a past life? Had we been friends in another time? Lovers? Because as I look at him, I can see all the way to his soul, and something inside me is clawing its way out, trying to reach its other half.

He lifts his hand again, his fingers trembling as he touches my skin, his eyes not leaving mine. Even in this dim light, I get lost in the interesting shade of blue and the flecks of gold near the center. I don't move. I don't breathe. I just look into his eyes, then to his lips as they part slightly when he leans forward. But then he jerks back, lowering his hand and breaking the spell.

"Sorry," he says, and I'm left to wonder why he's apologizing. Was it because he touched my face? Because I lowered my guard? Made me question everything I've ever known about men?

Did he just feel what I felt?

I smile, looking down as I hide the way my heart is pounding. What the hell just happened? I want to ask him why he's sorry. "Why would I lose that bet?" I ask instead.

"What?"

"Earlier, when I said you wouldn't freeze in danger. What made you freeze?"

He hesitates for a moment, a flash of pain crossing his face. It's quick enough that I see it, making me regret even asking. I thought I was being cute, making conversation. Instead, I've obviously thrown salt on an old wound.

"You know what, never mind," I say quickly, standing up. "It's getting late, and I'm keeping you from your run, or whatever you're supposed to be doing right now. In fact, you should probably get going. I'm not that far from here."

Lies. I have about two more miles to walk. But I'm out of my comfort zone, and I don't know why. It's not like I've never been attracted to a man before. I'm the one who calls the shots, the one who is ballsy and forward, pursuing the guy who catches my eye. But this feels so different. All the lines I would have used, the quips, the blatant come ons that work best after a few drinks… Right now, I have nothing. I'm completely rocked by this guy, almost nervous, but in a way that makes me feel exhilarated and tongue tied. And if I don't get home now, I'm going to make a complete ass of myself.

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he says.

I am going to have this man's babies. That's it. I will probably be pregnant by the end of our walk. Fuck, Nina, get a grip. You don't have to fall in love with the first guy who rescues you.

"Well, then, I guess we better get going."

"Where do you live?" he asks, swiping at this hair. It's dry now, unlike the sweaty mess it was before. The dark waves graze his forehead, and I wonder what it would be like to run my hands through his locks, how it would feel to tug the curls between my fingers.

"Holland Heights. Just a bit up the road."

He gives me a sideways glance, and I see the disbelief in his eyes. "Just a bit. Right, nice try." He looks at my shoes, then back at me. "Good thing you wore your walking shoes, right?"

I look down at my funky platform boots, the streetlights reflecting off the silver, making them seem like moons. I grin, lifting a foot behind me with my arms up, and he laughs.

"Can you really walk in those?"

"Walk, dance, run," I say. "Well, maybe not run, because running is for masochists like you. But I've been on my feet in these things all day, and I can walk all the way home in them. Besides, they make me happy."

He looks me up and down, then nods. "You're like the whole entire rainbow," he says without an ounce of judgment. People either love or hate my style, feeling intensely about the loudness of my colors and style choices one way or the other. But the way he's looking at me, it's like he's just figuring out all my layers. Like he's looking past the colors to see the person wearing them.

And I like the way that feels.

For the rest of the way home, we play a game of twenty questions. It not only helps me learn more about Brayden, but it's also just distracting enough that I can overlook the blister forming on my heel. Damn platform boots. I realize that while they're great for all day at the café, I've never actually tested them for a multi-mile walk.

As we trade questions, I learn that Brayden's middle name is Walter, he loves country music, and will throw up if he eats peas. He learns that the only country I've listened to is by Taylor Swift, I don't really like most vegetables unless there's dip involved, and I love the color blue.

"So do I," he says, taking a moment to tug at my hair. I laugh, but inside… fuck .

Then I find out he lives and works on his family horse ranch—a ranch I know very well.

"The Salt one I've heard so many times before. I'm listening as he tells me all this, but a different memory is weaving into the story. My grandmother crooning along with Tony Bennett while washing the dishes, and me at a table writing a list.

The list. Suddenly, I'm anxious to get home, and relieved as we approach the old Victorian. I don't want to leave Brayden, but I have a hunch about something, and it just can't wait.

"Well, this is me," I say, and he groans in protest, but with a smile on his face. He looks up and whistles.

"Wow, you live here? How many of you are in there?"

"Just me," I say, suddenly a little shy. The house is three stories including the walk out basement, plus the tall first floor perfect for a fifteen-foot tree at Christmas—which I get every year in Nanna's memory. This means that the house looms over us, with its dramatic steeple roofline, quaint bay windows, and the stained-glass door that rests at the top of the stairs and expansive porch. With five bedrooms, multiple sitting rooms, and a full library, it's too much house for one person. And ever since Maren moved out, I've never felt more alone.

I'm not sure how to say goodbye to Brayden. Our time together has been incredible, even though we were thrown together by circumstance. He's no longer a stranger, seeming like someone I've known forever. But in reality, we've only known each other for two hours, and in a few moments we may never see each other again.

"Let me get your number," I blurt out. "If you wait a second, I can grab my phone. Maybe we can catch a drink and continue this conversation, or…"

The way his eyes shift, I realize I misread things. No, I was delusional about things.

I shake my head. "Sorry, we can call it a night and you can get back to wherever you need to go. I've already taken up enough of your—"

"No, it's not that." He rubs the back of his neck. "I have a girlfriend."

It's like all the air is sucked from the space around us, then lands with a whomp at my gut. Of course he has a girlfriend.

I try to think up a response, something funny to make it seem like being interested in him was the furthest thing from my mind. But all I want to do is disappear, to forget how much of a fool he must think I am.

"It was nice to meet you," I say. "Thanks for saving me and all that. I'll be more careful next time." I turn to go, but he grabs my hand and pulls me to him. My hand flies to his chest, keeping the distance between us. "What are you doing? "

He drops his arms immediately, releasing me. But I can't turn away from the pained expression on his face.

"You felt it, right?" He looks at me with such pleading. Like he's begging me to know what he's talking about.

And I do.

"I felt it," I whisper.

"I haven't felt that in… I've never felt that. Not with anyone. And I'm sorry if this makes me seem as big of a creep as those guys back there—"

"Well, you have a girlfriend." He's never felt that with anyone ? Not even her ?

"But I have a girlfriend," he agrees. "Which is why it's completely inappropriate for me to give you my phone number."

"Right," I say. I nod, feeling like a total fool.

"So tell me yours," he murmurs.

I look up at him, trying to see if I heard him right. He raises an eyebrow, then pulls out his phone and waits.

I am not some saint. I've dated guys with girlfriends before and could have given a rat's ass about being the other woman. In fact, it was always the preferable scenario. If they were taken, I didn't have to worry about the drama of a relationship or having to answer to anyone. I didn't even care that I was sharing a guy. I was there for one reason only, and it sure as hell wasn't love.

But this is different. I hardly know this man, and I already know I'd never share him with anyone.

And yet, I can't help giving him my phone number anyways. He types into his phone for a long time, then I hear the unmistakable swoosh. Message sent. He looks up and winks at me. And it's so damn sexy, I have to fight the urge to bite my lip…or lean over to bite his.

"Goodnight Brayden," I say, taking a step toward my stairs. He leans forward and takes my hand again, lifting it to his lips. Holy fuck, why don't guys do this anymore? The way his eyes never leave mine as his mouth presses to my fingers has me quivering inside.

"Goodnight, Nina," he says, then releases me.