The Undead Pool (The Hollows #12)(69)
Author: Kim Harrison

Trent held his hand over the pan and pulled back. “Quen had it couriered over. Cincy is locked down, but there’re a few ways in and out of the Hollows yet if you know the back roads. Oh, that reminds me,” he said as he almost danced to the table and picked up a set of keys and jingled them. “Your car is in the carport.”

“Thanks!” I said, stuffing them in my front pocket. My car wasn’t just a car, it was my freedom, and he knew it. “At least now you know you can get Tulpa home,” I said. But then guilt hit me, and I set my mug aside. “Trent, I’m so sorry you lost Red—”

Head shaking, Trent reached for the egg mixture. “It’s my fault. Carlton said she wasn’t ready. I disagreed. He was right. Ten to one Newt has her.”

“Even so, she’s still lost. She must be worth a fortune.”

“And then some,” he admitted, face grim. “I can’t believe I fell off her.”

“I’m really sorry. If Newt does have her, I’ll see about getting her back.”

Head down over the egg mix, he sighed. “I’d appreciate that.”

I eased back in my chair, an odd feeling rising through me. I’d heard Trent say those words half a dozen times a day, and every time he meant it, but this time it was about something he couldn’t buy or fix, and he knew I’d offered because it was important to him and I just wanted him to be . . . happy.

I’m not doing this! I thought, panicking even as the warm feeling born from caring about someone suffused me. Beyond the walls of my church, all hell was breaking loose. I didn’t have time to fall in love. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since anyone made me breakfast,” I said, almost whispered, really, as I tried to get a handle on this. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” The snap of the nutmeg top was loud. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had anyone I’ve wanted to cook for. You look content in the early light.”

My thoughts swung back to Landon’s threats, and I made myself rise to get more coffee. “Seriously?” I said lightly. “I’ve not even been able to get through my hair yet. Burnt amber seems to bring out the worst in it.”

He was coming over to me, and I backed up, my spine hitting the counter. “I like it like that,” he said, not looking at me as he pulled open a cupboard and took down a large plate to soak the bread in. “All out like a lion’s mane. Comfortable. Wild.”

Wild. He liked my hair. My heart pounded, and my stomach felt funny. “Trent,” I said softly, and his eyes fixed on mine. He was so close the light caught in his stubble and the scent of him drifted through my awareness.

“You kept my ring,” he said. “Why?”

“You want it back?” I was flushing, and he caught my arm as I reached for it. Tingles fed upon themselves, rising to find my core where the sensation settled in to grow.

“I’m glad you did.” He set the plate down, and I held my breath. His grip on my wrist was tight but not imprisoning.

“Trent, maybe Landon is right. You have responsibilities and I understand that.” What am I doing? “So do I.”

Still, he moved closer, and my heart pounded when he looked at my lips. “Landon who?”

My eyes widened when his long hand slid across my cheekbone as he leaned across the space between us and brazenly kissed me. “Mrent,” I mumbled, shocked, but he pulled me to him with a sudden tug. A spike of desire dove through me, fueled by the demand of his hand on my waist. His lips moved against mine, and the scent of him plinked through me. My eyes closed, and I leaned into him, little drops of feeling sparking wherever his fingers touched, wherever my hands found him. His stubble was prickly, and the newness of it was thrilling.

Oh God, it was the best kiss yet, and my toes pressed into the floor as I leaned into him. His hand slipped behind my neck, the slight hint of a tightening grip bringing my fervor to a sudden and unexpected pitch.

It took everything I had to pull from his lips, and even as I did, I felt a new desire layering itself over the old, soaking in where it would linger in my thoughts. I could say nothing, the long length of our bodies touching, his hand at my neck and back, mine at his waist. The heat of desire was in his eyes, and I could hardly breathe, imagining what it would be like to have him—have everything. Right now.

“I enjoyed last night,” he said softly, the words making me shiver, though it might be the sensation of his fingers hinting at pulling me back to him. “Riding,” he added, a gentle pressure building between us. “You before me. I’m glad you stayed on this time.” He smiled.

“Me too,” I whispered. “I wish . . .” His fingers eased their pressure, and I looked away. “I wish things were different,” I said, then held my breath as I looked up at him, regret tightening the corners of my eyes. “You have everything waiting for you. I don’t want to ruin that.”

Trent’s expression became empty, and I pulled away, hating myself.

“Please don’t close up,” I begged, but his hands had fallen away, and I took them in my own. “Talk to me.”

Exhaling, he looked up from our joined hands. “No, you’re right.” His focus blurred at the sound of a motorcycle at the curb. “I should listen to the people whose experience I value. I don’t want to hit the ground again. Excuse me. Quen is coming in about an hour with a horse trailer. I’d like to be showered by then. Do you mind?”

There was no regret in his tone, no accusation. Nothing. “No, go ahead,” I said, and he nodded and turned away.

My throat was tight as I looked at that damn skillet on the stove, now radiating heat waves. The door to the bathroom clicked shut, and hunched, I turned to the window. My stomach hurt, and I held it. The passion of that kiss still rang through me. Stopping it had been the right thing to do. It had! I was not going to be his mistress. I was better than that.

“You are a blind fool, Rache,” Jenks said from the archway to the hall, and I spun, wiping the hint of moisture from my eyes.

“And you’re a Peeping Tom,” I accused when the shower went on and Trent couldn’t hear us. His beard would have grown in soft. I could almost feel it on my fingers right now.

Jenks flew in, the greenish-purple dust telling me he was pissed if his scowl wasn’t enough. “I am not. I like happy endings, and you’re ruining it!”