Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (10 page)

Ike flashed that million-watt smile she’d seen onstage. “Don’t be a stranger, mate.”

“We won’t.”

Sage turned over that “we” far too carefully in her mind as they left the amphitheater. Hank had intertwined his fingers with hers in a way she wished she could escape from and yet didn’t want to. In the dark, the quiet, she admitted she was too tired to fight it tonight, even knowing that letting herself pretend, letting herself sink into the fantasy that grip ignited was just as dangerous as, well, just about anything that had to do with Hank right now. She didn’t have the strength to deny him or herself at the moment.

The quiet crunch of gravel sounded loud as they walked in silence. Most of the concertgoers had left, and the parking lot was fairly deserted. Sage thought back to that moment when Hank’s lips had pressed against hers—would he kiss her again? Did she want him to?

You’re not in high school, remember? We’ve been through this before.

Of course she had, and here she was, still angsting over every little thing between them. As if they weren’t adults. What did a kiss mean, really? To a man like Hank, probably nothing; he got dozens when he was meeting with fans, no doubt. She’d been kissed before. Telling herself to stop being silly, she waited while Hank opened the Jeep door for her.
Just get in, Sage.

She tried. Good or bad, though, Hank’s grip tightened on her hand, pulling her back toward him instead. Looking to forestall any awkwardness, she blurted out, “Thank you for tonight. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to get away for a while.”

“I’m glad,” Hank said, his words absent. The single streetlight not far from them did little to illuminate his face, but she thought he was staring at her mouth. No, she was certain he was staring at her mouth, and when his head dipped toward hers, she found herself paralyzed, a deer in the headlights of his hungry eyes.

Their lips met. Brushed. Lingered. Just like before, only Hank pushed it further. His lips parted against hers; his tongue glided along the seam of her mouth, asking permission, asking her to accept him. How could she not?

Except Hank didn’t wait for her to decide. He tilted his head, fitting them together like two puzzle pieces, and licked into her.

His taste… She moaned around his tongue, pushing up to get more, to get closer. Hank gripped her hips, brought her against him as he explored her mouth with a hunger she thought might sear her very bones. A brand, marking her as his as surely as his arm around her had earlier with Ike. She reveled in it, in him, wanting more, wanting—

A scream cut through the dark behind her eyelids. Sage jerked back. “What—”

Hank scanned the lot with a practiced eye, locking in on the far corner almost before the scream died away. A second cry confirmed the source, a truck near the back of the lot, half hidden by overhanging trees and shadows. Sage squinted in that direction, but Hank was already moving. For a big man, he was fast—before Sage was halfway there, he was closing in on the couple grappling against the truck. Sage thought the man was trying to get the woman into the open passenger door, and the woman was resisting, but she couldn’t be sure until the man raised a hand and swung it at the woman’s face. The sound of the slap was louder than the woman’s scream.

Hank’s angry roar startled the pair. Sage saw him reach for the man, but his back blocked whatever he did next. All she knew was suddenly the woman was slumping against the truck alone. Sage reached her before the woman hit the ground.

“Hey, it’s okay. Are you okay? It’s all right; you’re safe now…” The words kept coming, though she had no idea if she was making sense with the adrenaline pumping through her system. She could barely breathe; who cared what she was saying?

Not the woman, apparently. She clutched Sage tightly. “Help…” One shaky hand rose to her face. Sage could see, even in the barely existent light, a dark red welt across the woman’s swelling cheek. “What…?”

Something wasn’t right. Gently Sage tipped the woman’s face up. She didn’t resist, and instantly Sage could see why—the woman’s eyes weren’t tracking. When Sage let go, her head lolled to the side as if she didn’t have enough strength to hold it up. Drugged?

“Hank!”

Turning her head, Sage saw the woman’s attacker on the ground nearby. Hank straddled the man, his fist drawn back, though from the amount of blood on the guy’s face, she didn’t think it was the first one. The ferocious look on Hank’s face agreed.

“Hank!”

This time her yell registered. Hank shook his head as he came to his feet. He didn’t waste the punch, though. The final strike slammed the man back into the ground. He didn’t move when Hank stepped over him.

“She okay?”

“I don’t know.” Anxiety churned in Sage’s stomach, her words. “I think she’s drugged.”

Hank knelt beside them, and for a moment Sage was captured by the pain in his eyes. Had he hurt himself?

Hank was already running careful hands down the woman’s arms. He tilted her head from side to side, cursed at whatever he saw there. Sage had no idea what he was looking for, but she figured he knew what he was doing. He was the ex-cop, after all. She didn’t need to look over at the attacker to know he wasn’t getting up anytime soon. And his nose was probably broken.

Good.

“Got your cell?” Hank asked. Sage’s reply stuck in her throat, so she dug her phone out of her pocket instead and held it up.

Hank nodded but kept his focus on the woman. “Good. Call 911. Tell them to send an ambulance; she’ll be at the security office.”

Without waiting for Sage’s response, he lifted the woman like she weighed no more than a ten-pound bag of sugar. Sage dialed and followed them at the same time.

A thought tripped her up. She spared a look for the man on the ground. “What about—”

“Leave him.”

The ugly bite to Hank’s words made her hesitate. Still… “He might get away.”

“He’s not going anywhere anytime in the near future, trust me.”

She did. And since the man looked like he was barely breathing, much less anywhere near consciousness, she dropped it without a response.

Hank fed her the details for 911 as they hurried across the parking lot. By the time they had the woman in the security office, sirens sounded faintly in the distance.

Sage stood back in a corner, out of the way, while Hank assisted the paramedics. His hands were gentle, his movements efficient, but something in his eyes… She couldn’t put a name to it, but if she didn’t know better, she’d say haunted. Which made no sense. He’d been a cop; he’d seen brutality, probably things she couldn’t imagine. If it was about the attacker, well, Sage only wished she was strong enough to beat the man who’d done this within an inch of his life. If the woman hadn’t screamed, if she and Hank hadn’t been at the Jeep at that exact moment, this would’ve turned out far worse.

No, remorse for a few punches wouldn’t account for that look either.

The paramedics rolled the woman out in minutes, and by then the local PD had arrived. She heard one of them say they’d found the attacker, and that’s when she realized she was shaking. She didn’t want to admit it, but she needed Hank’s arms around her. Just when she thought her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer. Hank guided her to a chair and sat beside her. His heat, close enough for his arm to drape the back of her chair, soaked into her, strengthened her while they talked to the cops. Reassuring her, when she hadn’t done anything, really—it had been all Hank.

The only time he acknowledged that was when they told him the perp had been transported to the hospital under guard because he’d still been unconscious. Hank’s satisfaction then had an almost savage quality to it, but it didn’t translate to his body sheltering hers.

The night was quieter than before, midnight traffic faint and far away, by the time they started toward the Jeep again. Sage matched her steps to Hank’s but kept her words inside, sensing that heavy something that had been hovering for the past hour getting stronger. Probably coming down from the adrenaline too, finally. She noticed he didn’t touch her this time; the distance between their bodies was mere feet, but it felt like a mile by the time they reached the car.

Hank’s gaze was just as withdrawn when he turned to face her.

“Sage…I’m sorry. I didn’t—” He wiped a hand down his face, and Sage swore she saw it shake. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

What? “You didn’t, Hank.”

“Yes, I—”

Sage cupped his face firmly, forcing him to look at her when he seemed to want to look anywhere else. “Hank, you didn’t scare me.” She didn’t know him well enough to say without a hint of doubt, but she didn’t think he could scare her. He was too laid-back, too careful when he touched her, too…Hank.

Something about the thought niggled at her brain, but she pushed it aside to focus on the man in front of her. “You didn’t. I’m not scared of you. You took care of that woman when she needed you. I’m not afraid.”

His hands came up to mirror her grip. Rough fingers stroked the ridges of her cheekbones, sparking what was probably a totally inappropriate desire in her lower belly considering what they’d just experienced. “You never have to be afraid of me, okay? Never.” His hands tightened for the briefest moment, then relaxed. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.” She refused to listen to the insidious whispers of her deepest secrets, calling for him to give her something far too close to hurt. Her needs weren’t abuse, and that’s what they’d witnessed. Besides, she wasn’t asking Hank to dominate her, ever. Opening herself up to that kind of pain was the last thing she wanted.

She couldn’t read Hank’s eyes in the dark, but she could read his frown: he didn’t believe her. Or didn’t believe himself. Wanting only to comfort him, she stepped closer, but Hank backed away quickly.

Okay, that message was loud and clear—and too similar to her past for Sage not to feel it like a slap across the face.

“It’s late. Let’s get you home,” he said, tone unreadable.

Not trusting her voice, she settled for a nod. Hank opened the Jeep door for her, and she climbed inside. The drive home was spent in silence, staring out the window and trying hard to ignore the shame burning her from the inside out.

“You’re the brains behind this operation, V.” Hank’s growl sounded an awful lot like Knight’s when he was irritated, and the emotion behind the sound matched. His fist clenched around the paper in his hand—the LA rag Reynolds wrote for. The man’s regular entertainment feature read more like a gossip column, and though he hadn’t printed anything explicit about a breakup, he was fueling rumors that Weekend Washout was in trouble. Chad hadn’t surfaced, and tempers were stretching like taffy. The fact that V. had been less than available since he’d gone to Vegas hadn’t helped. The man had chosen the worst possible time to discover interest in some girl.

The unfairness of that observation, especially when Hank couldn’t get Sage out of his fucking mind, wasn’t lost on him. Control was. Had been since he’d taken her to the concert. He’d known better—he’d known he couldn’t let himself get in deeper with her, but he’d done it anyway.

And come up against an all too visceral reminder of why he should stay the hell away.

Knight glanced up from his position stretched full out in a patch of sunlight, a question in his amber eyes. Envy—at Knight, at V., at the whole damn world—ate at Hank.

V. was his only safe outlet.

“I’m not the only one with a functioning brain, my friend,” V. was saying. The calm tone of the words only aggravated Hank more. “Nor am I the only songwriter in this band. Pull out your guitar and get to work.”

He’d tried that. Repeatedly. The instrument wasn’t cooperating any more than V. or Chad or Hank’s cock were. Music tripped off his fingertips, but not the kind Weekend could use. His muse had decided to torment him with tales of hot, sweaty nights fucking a dark-haired beauty with blue eyes that were all too familiar—and definitely off-limits.

At least they aren’t ballads. You’re not a total pussy yet.

His
fuck off
didn’t quell his inner comedian one bit. “V.—”

The
click
of the door latch reached his ears. He closed his mouth and zeroed his gaze in on the sight of Sage entering the apartment. She was dusty with flour and fatigue showed both in the lines of her shoulders and the shadows beneath her eyes, but his muse sang her praises with teeth-grinding insistence nonetheless.

Knight was equally happy. His welcoming
woof
was followed by a scramble to his feet. The laugh that came from Sage as she pushed away the dog’s inquisitive nose searching for a treat in her pocket heated Hank’s belly.

“Hank—”

He cut V. off without a qualm. “I gotta go.”

V.’s frustrated expletives were silenced when Hank hit the End Call button. He abandoned his phone and the crumpled magazine on the table, sparing them no more than a glance. His feet moved him across the room without permission, leaving him with the unwelcome realization that his reaction to Sage wasn’t all that different from his dog’s. What would she do if his mouth got that close to sensitive places?

He pushed that image away, cleared his throat of the rough need it raised. “Hey. Busy morning?”