Nick was different than Jax, much quieter, more reserved. When we first met, he stared at me for a long moment, until I felt my cheeks heat. There’d been a strange pull to his face, a recognition in his gaze I didn’t understand, and I wondered if he was from this area. But then he said hello and moved on. We might’ve exchanged a couple of words that shift. It wasn’t that he’d come across rude. More like the kind of guy who didn’t talk unless he had something he wanted to say. He was kind of broody.

Like the night before, I closed down the bar and Jax followed me to the house. It was a little creepy thinking that he or someone felt the need to be there because of what could happen, so I tried not to really focus on it.

That night when I made tea, I didn’t bolt straight into the bedroom. I’d lingered in the living room and finally I’d sat on the arm of the recliner. The book was in his lap again.

“What are you reading?” I’d asked when I hadn’t the night before.

“Lone Survivor.”

My brows had rose. “Uh . . . ?”

He’d given me a half grin. “It’s a true story about the Navy SEAL, Marcus Luttrell and his failed mission. Not happy bedtime reading, but it’s good stuff.”

“So you only read nonfiction?” Curiosity was going to kill Calla, but I hadn’t been able to help myself.

“Nah. I like David Baldacci, John Grisham, and even some Dean Koontz and Stephen King.” He’d looked away as he’d rested his head on the back of the couch as I’d started to see a theme there. “I didn’t do a lot of reading in high school, but being overseas, there were periods of time when there wasn’t much to do. Picked up reading and it stopped me from going bat-shit crazy from boredom and . . .”

“And?” I’d asked when he didn’t finish.

Jax hadn’t responded, and I hadn’t needed my imagination to figure what reading had helped him with besides boredom. I thought about his background—a military man. That explained why he was so protective, but there had to be better things he could be doing on a Saturday night, because he wasn’t going to be doing me.

I want to fuck you.

A near-suffocating warmth infused my skin as the words had replayed through my thoughts. My gaze bounced around the scarcely decorated living room before landing on Jax. He’d been watching me with a look on his face I couldn’t decipher. There was an immediate bubbling of fear that he was finally going to address what had happened between us that morning.

I hadn’t hesitated. I’d stood. “You know, you don’t have to stay—”

“Don’t start,” he’d replied, opening his book. He was done with me.

I’d gone to bed not too long after that, resting my head on the pillow, my eyes trained to the bedroom door. I’d fallen asleep quickly and in the morning, Jax hadn’t made breakfast and had left pretty early on.