I’ll order pizza and we can watch movies.”
Brad chuckled. “You don’t want to hang around with him and my sister anyway,
believe me.”
Lucy’s lips thinned and she looked as though she were waging
a war with herself. Dalton crossed his arms, content to wait a bit longer and
see what she decided before he tossed her in his truck and took her home.
She laid a hand over the fresh tattoo on her thigh, exposed
by the jogging shorts, and stroked the abused skin with her fingertips. As if
finding strength in the tattoo, or the pain it caused, her spine straightened
and her expression turned from wary to determined. When she pushed Brad’s hand
off of her knee, Dalton wanted to throw a fist in the air and give a shout of
victory.
“Why do you make it sound like your sister is something more
to Dalton than she actually is? I don’t want to be rude, but I’m aware of their
arrangement and it’s nothing like the relationship you’re suggesting.”
Avoiding conflict was ingrained in Lucy’s character, that
she’d speak up, challenge someone, spoke volumes about the changes taking place
inside of her.
Dalton almost laughed at the comical look on Brad’s face.
The man choked over his next words. “I, I don’t know what you mean.”
Lucy tilted her head to the side and studied Brad. “I think
you know exactly what I mean, but maybe you should ask your sister for
clarification. You seem to be confused.”
She reached a hand out toward Dalton and a warm rush of
emotion swept over his heart. This little survivor never failed to amaze him.
And she trusted him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Her actions proved
it true over and over.
He stepped forward, tempted to hip-check the still kneeling
Brad and send him onto his ass. Somehow, he refrained, only invading Brad’s
space until he stood and backed away, allowing Dalton to wrap his hand around
Lucy’s. Dalton didn’t care for the calculating gleam in Brad’s eyes, but
dismissed it in favor of pulling a soft, willing Lucy into his arms. Catching
her by surprise, he tugged her outstretched hand to his shoulder and slid his
free hand under her knees, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest.
With only a small squeak of surprise, she settled in his
arms. He indulged temptation and nuzzled her soft hair, inhaling her unique
citrus scent. He was rewarded with a contented sigh against his chest. Without
another thought to Rachel’s brother and his intrusive meddling, Dalton settled
Lucy inside his truck and drove toward his house feeling more hope and
happiness than he had felt in years.
* * * * *
By the time they pulled into Dalton’s narrow concrete drive,
Lucy was battling the nausea swirling through her stomach and couldn’t wait to
lie down. She’d never had a bout of carsickness in her life but apparently a
concussion mixed with worry and exhaustion overruled her body’s longstanding
order of not vomiting all over the inside of a seriously handsome man’s truck.
At this point, she wasn’t even nervous about entering
Dalton’s house for the first time after the first time she’d been there.
At least this time Dalton would be fully clothed and Lucy would be the only
woman there with him. The sound of the truck being placed in park and the
ignition shutting off had Lucy sighing a slow breath of relief through her
nose. Finally.
Dalton hopped down from the cab and she watched his long
legs as he strode around the front of the truck and over to the passenger door.
She didn’t bother opening the door herself and attempting to climb down,
knowing she’d probably fall on her face. Also, Lucy knew arguing with Dalton
while she was not in top form would be futile.
The door swung open and she realized, being distracted by
watching Dalton and his damned long-legged stride, she hadn’t unclasped her
seatbelt. His arm reached over her lap and clicked the belt free, then he was
lifting her, holding her snug against his hard chest.
“My
Brad chuckled. “You don’t want to hang around with him and my sister anyway,
believe me.”
Lucy’s lips thinned and she looked as though she were waging
a war with herself. Dalton crossed his arms, content to wait a bit longer and
see what she decided before he tossed her in his truck and took her home.
She laid a hand over the fresh tattoo on her thigh, exposed
by the jogging shorts, and stroked the abused skin with her fingertips. As if
finding strength in the tattoo, or the pain it caused, her spine straightened
and her expression turned from wary to determined. When she pushed Brad’s hand
off of her knee, Dalton wanted to throw a fist in the air and give a shout of
victory.
“Why do you make it sound like your sister is something more
to Dalton than she actually is? I don’t want to be rude, but I’m aware of their
arrangement and it’s nothing like the relationship you’re suggesting.”
Avoiding conflict was ingrained in Lucy’s character, that
she’d speak up, challenge someone, spoke volumes about the changes taking place
inside of her.
Dalton almost laughed at the comical look on Brad’s face.
The man choked over his next words. “I, I don’t know what you mean.”
Lucy tilted her head to the side and studied Brad. “I think
you know exactly what I mean, but maybe you should ask your sister for
clarification. You seem to be confused.”
She reached a hand out toward Dalton and a warm rush of
emotion swept over his heart. This little survivor never failed to amaze him.
And she trusted him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Her actions proved
it true over and over.
He stepped forward, tempted to hip-check the still kneeling
Brad and send him onto his ass. Somehow, he refrained, only invading Brad’s
space until he stood and backed away, allowing Dalton to wrap his hand around
Lucy’s. Dalton didn’t care for the calculating gleam in Brad’s eyes, but
dismissed it in favor of pulling a soft, willing Lucy into his arms. Catching
her by surprise, he tugged her outstretched hand to his shoulder and slid his
free hand under her knees, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest.
With only a small squeak of surprise, she settled in his
arms. He indulged temptation and nuzzled her soft hair, inhaling her unique
citrus scent. He was rewarded with a contented sigh against his chest. Without
another thought to Rachel’s brother and his intrusive meddling, Dalton settled
Lucy inside his truck and drove toward his house feeling more hope and
happiness than he had felt in years.
* * * * *
By the time they pulled into Dalton’s narrow concrete drive,
Lucy was battling the nausea swirling through her stomach and couldn’t wait to
lie down. She’d never had a bout of carsickness in her life but apparently a
concussion mixed with worry and exhaustion overruled her body’s longstanding
order of not vomiting all over the inside of a seriously handsome man’s truck.
At this point, she wasn’t even nervous about entering
Dalton’s house for the first time after the first time she’d been there.
At least this time Dalton would be fully clothed and Lucy would be the only
woman there with him. The sound of the truck being placed in park and the
ignition shutting off had Lucy sighing a slow breath of relief through her
nose. Finally.
Dalton hopped down from the cab and she watched his long
legs as he strode around the front of the truck and over to the passenger door.
She didn’t bother opening the door herself and attempting to climb down,
knowing she’d probably fall on her face. Also, Lucy knew arguing with Dalton
while she was not in top form would be futile.
The door swung open and she realized, being distracted by
watching Dalton and his damned long-legged stride, she hadn’t unclasped her
seatbelt. His arm reached over her lap and clicked the belt free, then he was
lifting her, holding her snug against his hard chest.
“My
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