Rebel (Renegades #2)(28)
Author: Skye Jordan

She glanced down at the note he’d left on her car that morning, one she’d found in her pocket earlier.

WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES ALL I CAN SEE

IS YOU IN RED LEATHER.

On the sofa, at Rubi’s side, her pup scooted closer and laid his adorable head on her thigh. A mix of lab, pit, and boxer, Rodie had a brindle-and-white face, big golden eyes, and lopsided ears that instantly lifted Rubi’s mood, no matter what issues plagued her.

“Sorry, baby,” she said. “Am I ignoring you?”

She laid her spoon against the carton’s lid on the side table and ran her hand over Rodie’s smooth head. Her gaze traveled over the still images of Wes’s fight practice with Keaton from the day before where she’d storyboarded them on a corkboard across the living room.

Wes’s intense expression absorbed her attention. So focused. So fierce. It sent tingles of heat low in her belly. Her gaze drifted over his body, his stance strong, one hand fisted near his face, the other arm outstretched in a strike.

She sighed, and doubt over any decision she’d made or might make in the future nagged. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

She let out a long, disgusted-with-herself sigh. Rodie imitated her, drawing her gaze to his. Leaning forward, she kissed Rodie’s muzzle. His slim tail wagged, and his tongue swept across her chin.

“Your turn.” Rubi set her carton on the side table and picked up his doggie dessert. Rodie licked his muzzle in anticipation.

She fed him a spoonful over the towel covering her leg, grinning at the way the strawberry-ice-cream-like treat coated his black whiskers until he got around to licking them clean.

Love filled her heart, the feeling so sweet, so consuming, tears rose to her eyes.

She absently scooped another heap of the doggie dessert for Rodie, watching as he gave himself a pink mustache while licking it off the spoon. But her mind was mulling over Lexi’s words from the night before.

“You’re living off a script you put in your head a long time ago, one that doesn’t apply to who you’ve become.”

Maybe, but change that involved personal risk was no easy feat. Sure, Rubi would push her new Aston over a hundred and fifty miles an hour for an adrenaline rush, she’d screw a new guy, a virtual stranger now and then, she’d rather work for herself than for a secure company, but those were all relatively calculated risks—and none, not one, involved her emotions. She didn’t take risks with her emotions. And that was exactly what Wes wanted her to do. What Lexi pushed her toward. As if they both wanted her to continue her high-wire trapeze act after they’d taken away the safety net.

She set the ice cream on the table beside the sofa. “Enough thinking. Let’s put this stuff away before we make ourselves sick.”

As soon as she uncurled her feet from beneath her, Rodie jumped off the sofa, trailing her into the kitchen.

She opened the freezer at the same time she realized she’d forgotten the lids and spoons. As she turned toward the living room, a ping-ping sounded near the sliding glass doors leading to the deck and Malibu Beach beyond. The odd sound raised the hair on the back of her neck, and she immediately glanced at Rodie. He’d heard it too. His head turned that direction, his lopsided ears perked, his sleek, seventy-pound body of muscle tense.

Her heart kicked, but she talked herself down under the pretense of soothing Rodie, while shoving the ice cream into the freezer. “Shh, baby, just the wind.”

A storm had been brewing, and wind off the ocean often kicked sand against the house.

Still, without stepping from the safety of the refrigerator, Rubi reached for the lights over the sink, the only lights on in the kitchen, and shut them off.

Ping-ping-ping.

A rolling growl started low in Rodie’s throat, followed immediately by a vicious barking spurt. Rubi jumped. Fear skidded down her spine. Someone was out there. Rodie was never wrong. And he had his paws pressed against the glass now, his bark growing angrier.

Heart thumping, Rubi reached for her cell in her shorts pocket and realized she’d already changed for bed.

Feeling like an idiot, sure it was nothing but some late-night beach walkers, Rubi bent to conceal herself behind the kitchen cabinets and scurried back into the living room. When she reached for her cell on the coffee table beside her laptop, it was already ringing.

She looked at the display: Wes.

“Jesus f**king Christ.” Relief and frustration merged. She pressed Answer and said, “Is that you giving my dog a heart attack?”

“Dude,” he said, the word filled with utter disbelief. “You have a dog?”

It felt too damn good to hear his voice. “A dog who’s going to rip off your face when I let him out those doors. You scared us. What is wrong with you?”

“He can have what’s left of my face,” he said, whatever the hell that meant. “And I didn’t take you for a pet person. Maybe a cat, you know, some furry little princess, but a dog? Really?”

His total shock made a laugh bubble from her chest. “You ass**le.”

She disconnected and walked toward the glass doors, where Rodie was snarling and barking. She reached down and curled her fingers into his collar, glancing through the glass. The sight of Wes’s face shocked an ugly sizzle of fear through her chest. She jerked the door open.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?” Rodie was still growling and dragged Rubi out onto the deck. “Rodie, no! Shit, Wes, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, baby.” He sounded tired. Resigned. “It’s old news. I thought Lexi would have told you about it by now.”

“She’s been busy all day fitting an entire wedding party, then went out to dinner with the family. What happened to you?”

“Nothing important. Let Rodie go. He’ll love me.”

She didn’t have a choice. Rodie pulled from her grip. “Rodie,” she warned, “be nice.”

She watched carefully, ready to grab him again as Rodie approached Wes in a partial crouch, the hair on his back prickled into a stripe from shoulders to tail.

“Hey, boy,” Wes said, his hand extended through the deck railing, not the least bit unnerved. “Aren’t you handsome?”

Rodie growled low in his throat while cautiously sniffing Wes’s hand. Wes was shirtless, wearing some kind of loose dark pants with a drawstring that hung entirely too low on that sculpted abdomen. And there was another bruise on his side.

“My God. I leave you alone for a day and look what happens.”