Break Me Down. Roni Loren
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upward, rigid determination there. “You don’t need to be alone right now. And you damn well shouldn’t be alone out here in the middle of nowhere.” He swung a hand toward the door. “A stiff wind would knock this thing down. What are you thinking?”
Well, that just punched all her bitch buttons. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s been fun. I’m alive and fine. You can go home now. Buh-bye.”
She moved to shut the door, but his hand flew out to block it from closing. “Oh, no you don’t. You can be pissed at me all you want. But if you think I’m leaving you out here like this, let me alleviate you of that notion. Not gonna happen, sunshine.”
Her grip on the door tightened. “What? You gonna drag me out kicking and screaming, Gib? I’ll fucking fight you.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked and he took a step forward. “You know I’m not going to put my hands on you like that. But you either come willingly or you’re going to be staring at my ugly mug until you do.”
Ugly mug was about as far from the truth as possible. Even with dark shadows under his eyes, his hair disheveled from raking fingers, and a wrinkled shirt, he looked like he’d just fallen off the stage of some hot man revue. But she was too ticked off to care about how hot he was. Mostly.
“Leave, Gib.”
“Not unless you come with me.” He ducked under the arm she had braced on the door and strode inside.
“Oh my God.” She spun around, the door swinging shut on its own behind her. “Boundaries, dude. Ever heard of the word?”
“Yep. Can spell it and everything.” Gib crossed his arms over his chest and peered around, examining the place. His gaze landed on the sander and the stripped floor of the adjoining dining room. “Is this what you’ve been up to?”
She groaned. He wasn’t going to go away. That much was clear. And she wasn’t going with him. He really would have to fight her for that. She’d waited too long to take this week off. And she wanted that week spent here. If she could knock out the list of projects she had, she’d be that much closer to having this place livable. “I’m renovating. Despite what ideas you have in that testosteroned brain of yours, I didn’t run out here because I’m freaking out over what happened last night. I had a vacation planned. I’m going to spend the week here—alone. I just left a few hours early. And I’m fine. I come out here all the time. I have a gun. I have Darcy. No serial killers have bothered me yet.”
“Yet. There’s a key word for ya. Friday the 13th Part Thirty-Five could be set here.”
“Gib.”
“Look, I get that you don’t want me here. But you’re not going to convince me everything’s peachy. Your argument would hold more water if it weren’t obvious that you’ve been crying, that you haven’t slept, and that you were completely freaked out when you bolted at the Ranch.”
She gritted her teeth, hoping her steely gaze would make him back the hell off. “I’m. Fine.”
But instead of backing off, he stepped closer, his eyes softening and his hands cupping her shoulders. “I don’t think you are. And that’s cool. Feel whatever you need to feel. You don’t have to hide that from me or be embarrassed. But I need you to forget for a second that you’re mad at me. Forget all that shit at the Ranch. And remember that before anything else, I’m your friend, Sam. And if this were my brother or Pike or Foster acting like a hardheaded, reckless jackass, I would call them out, too. Would you let Tessa do this? Stay out here alone when she’d just been through something fucking traumatic?”
His palms on her shoulders were almost too much. She’d die if he could feel her trembling. But the touch was somehow grounding, too—settling. And she hated to admit he was right. She’d never let Tessa do this. She could come up with ten arguments for why it was a dumb idea. But she couldn’t leave. If she left, her attackers won. They would successfully steal her vacation, change her plans, alter her life. She met Gibson’s gaze, needing him to understand, needing him to hear her. She put her hands over his. “I can’t go, Gib. I won’t. I get what you’re saying, but … I need this. Maybe more than anything. I need to be here.”
She hated the pleading tone in her voice, had never wanted Gibson to see this side of her. Even if he hadn’t wanted to go down that road with her, in her mind, she was still the domme and he the sub. She was supposed to be strong in front of him. Instead, she felt like she could crumple at any minute. Everything raw and exposed. Sleep deprivation and the adrenaline crash unraveling the strings holding her up.
Gibson’s eyes searched hers, the lines around his mouth deepening. “You’re not going to change your mind on this, are you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He let out a long sigh and lowered his hands to his sides. “Okay, then.”
“Really?” All the air sagged out of her. Thank God. Thank. God. He was going to leave her be. She could wallow in peace. Put herself back together on her own before having to face the world again. “Thank you.”
“Right.” Gibson gave a stiff nod, turned on his heel, and headed to the door.
Sam blinked, surprised at how quickly he was leaving. She’d expected a safety lecture first or something, but he opened the door and stepped outside. When the door clicked shut, unexpected loss swept through her, like the candle inside her had snuffed out. She stood there for a few long seconds, staring at the shut door, but then she quickly snapped out of the weird reaction and strode toward it. She should at least tell him good-bye.
But when she opened the door, instead of seeing Gibson’s back, a large, bounding dog was headed straight for her. She only had time to put her hands up in front of her before Sasha, Gibson’s golden lab, was tackling her with happy barks and sloppy licks. Sam skidded back on her heels, barely avoiding sprawling right onto her ass.
“Sash!” Gibson called from the dirt driveway. “Down!”
Sasha got off of Sam and went back to all fours but did a happy, spinning dance, slapping Sam’s legs with her tail.
Gib jogged up and grabbed Sasha’s collar, guiding her into a sit. “Sorry. Being cooped up in the car that long makes her … well, insane.”
Sam was still stunned by the appearance of the dog when she noticed the black duffel bag slung over Gibson’s shoulder. Her gaze zeroed in on it. “What is that? And why is your dog with you?”
Gibson shrugged and then gave one of those pirate grins, all dimples and scruff and bad boy next door. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to come with me. So I made sure I had a plan B.”
Her stomach dropped. “Plan B?”
“Yep. Good to always have one in business and in life.” He stepped past her, back into the house, taking Sasha with him. “Congratulations, you have your first houseguest. Two if you count Sash.”
Every one of Sam’s feathers fluffed up. “Oh, the hell I do. Guest would imply that you were invited, which you’re not. There’s only one functioning bedroom in this place.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that, but it quickly disappeared. “I have a sleeping bag in the trunk. I can take a couch or the floor. And Sasha will behave. She can hang out in the backyard if need be. It’s this or you come home. Not negotiable, sunshine.”
“I’m not going …” She barely resisted the impulse to stomp her foot. Instead, she smacked him on the arm—hard. Then when that felt good, she did it again. Then she pushed him. “Goddammit, Gib. You can’t—”
All the rage from the night before was bubbling up and out. He was backing her into a corner and she didn’t fucking like it. She was spent and exhausted and emotionally wrung out and she wanted to hit things. Hit him. She pushed again, and he rocked back a step, staying silent and stoic, even with Sasha barking at the ruckus.
“What