She grins, wicked and unrepentant. “Oh, I’ve got a type.”
I chuckle softly to myself, but I don’t miss the way her eyes light up when she talks about it. Like stories are her escape. Like these characters give her something she’s never been allowed to ask for.
I tap the next one. “And this?”
A slow, devilish grin spreads across her lips, sending a jolt straight to my dick.
“Oh, this one’s a dark romance,” she purrs. “He wears a mask and hunts her down like prey. If he catches her…” She leans in, her breath fanning against my beard, brown sugar and vanilla curls around my senses like a fucking spell, “he fucks her.” she finishes, her lips grazing my ear.
I cough, nearly falling backward into the goddamn shelf.
She laughs, crawling a little closer like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her hair brushes against my arm, and suddenly I can’t remember a single reason why this was a bad idea.
“Every woman has that fantasy,” she murmurs. “Being chased. Caught. Fucked until she forgets her name.”
I gulp hard, adjusting my position on the floor like it might somehow fix the fact that I’m rock hard in the middleof a fucking bookstore. She pulls back with a smug little smirk and goes right back to flipping through pages like she didn’t just burn me alive with a whisper.
Fuck me, if she doesn’t stop, I’m going to fucking snap.
Once she’s finished sifting through her fortress of filth, she saunters to the front counter, digging through her purse, probably for the tips she’s made working at the bar. Before she can pull anything out, I step in front of her and hand my card to Linda behind the register.
“I got it,” I mumble.
Catalina blinks up at me, her expression pinched like she’s not sure whether to be pissed or grateful.
“I had the money, you know,” she says softly. “But... thank you.”
I shrug, stuffing the card back in my wallet, avoiding her eyes. “You’re stuck with me during a storm, princess. The least I can do is fund your survival snacks and literary porn addiction.”
Visibility is shit.Trees sway too hard in the wind, flashing past us in twisted, black silhouettes. I can feel the truck shudder under the pressure of each gust, and even though I’ve driven through storms like this before, this time it feels different. This time, she’s in the passenger seat, and she’s not breathing right.
She clutches her bookstore tote against her chest, eyes locked on the blur of gray outside, but she’s not seeing any of it. Her leg is bouncing uncontrollably, and her other hand keeps flicking through apps on her phone with jerky,panicked motions. She’s trying to distract herself, to force her brain into control, but it’s slipping fast.
“Don’t worry, princess,” I say, keeping my voice calm even as my knuckles whiten around the wheel. “I’m pulling over. I’m not about to risk us driving through this shit.”
She nods as she clutches the tote to her chest.
I veer into the nearest gas station lot, far from any trees or light poles that look like they could fall. I throw it into park, and the silence that follows is deafening. Not because it’s actually quiet—it’s not. The storm outside is raging. But here, the world narrows to her.
Her chest rises and falls in shallow bursts, the panic taking over now. She lets out a soft, broken sound, barely a breath, and then her voice cracks open.
“I ca—I can’t breathe. Carter, I feel like my chest is being squeezed so fucking tight.” Her fingers tug the strands of her brown hair, and it fucking breaks me. “I’m dizzy and I feel like I’m going to pass out. I swear to God I’m going to black out and then this whole truck is going to take off likeTwisterand we’re gonna die in a fireball and I’m gonna be remembered as that bitch who died with five bags of chips and a paperback titledBrutal Obsessionin her purse.” She breathes out, clutching at her chest like she isn’t getting enough oxygen.
I don’t even care what I’m about to do next.
“Hey,” I say, undoing my seatbelt, reaching for her instantly. “You’re okay. C’mere. Come to me.”
“I’m not okay,” she says, wild-eyed, shaking her head. “Carter, I feel like I’m having a fucking heart attack, like I’m here but not in my body. God, why am I fucking like this? Why the fuck am I like this?—”
“Baby.” I pull her into my lap with one smooth motion, letting her straddle me. “You’re just having an anxietyattack. Your brain is just trying to trick you that something’s wrong.”
Her arms wrap tight around my shoulders, holding on like she thinks I might be the only thing that’s able to ground her.
“I hate this,” she gasps. “I hate how randomly it happens. I was fine, I was fine—and now I’m crying in your lap like a psychopath and I didn’t even get to eat my fucking Flamin’ Hot Cheetos first?—”
I press my mouth to the side of her head, breathing her scent in that drives me fucking wild. “You’re doing great,” I whisper against her skin. “You’re here. You’re breathing. I’ve got you.”
“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” she whimpers, her voice muffled in my neck. “I should not be this close to you if I throw?—”
