Larissa Ione - Rogue Rider

She stared at Reseph’s broad back as he stood in front of the wood stove, head bowed. He’d stripped off the sweatshirt, leaving it in a messy pile in the corner. She could hardly be annoyed though, not when being shirtless meant she got a view of the most perfectly sculpted male body she’d ever seen. Before his amnesia episode, he must have spent a lot of time in the gym.

Like, a lot .

“Hey.” She hung up her coat and stepped out of her boots. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” For being okay, Reseph’s voice was off, permeated by an underlying scrape of gravel. “Did I scare you?”

“Maybe a little.” His shoulders slumped, and his head sank lower. She felt like she’d just kicked a puppy. “Reseph, I wasn’t afraid you’d hurt me,” she said, realizing it was true. He’d frightened her, but not because she was afraid for herself. She was afraid for anyone who crossed him.

She didn’t plan to cross him.

She padded across the hardwood floor, stopping a few inches away. Without thinking, she placed her hand gently on his lower back. Beneath her palm, hard muscles twitched. “What’s wrong?”

The fire crackled for a long time before he finally said, “I scared myself .”

He turned around, catching her hand before she could drop it. His warm hand engulfed hers. He was so much bigger than she was, and she supposed that under normal circumstances she might feel intimidated, but this was not a normal situation, and Reseph was far from a normal man.

“Were you afraid you’d hurt me?” she asked.

Reseph stared down at her hand, his thumb making slow sweeps over her fingers. “Not… intentionally.” He raised his gaze, his eyes burning into hers. “And that’s what scares me. I acted without thinking. I don’t know myself. I don’t know anything and I think I might be crazy.”

Once, while Jillian had been getting ready to come on shift at the air traffic control tower, she’d watched a small private jet crash on the runway and burst into flames. In sickeningly slow motion, she’d seen movement inside the craft as the passengers tried frantically to get out. The helplessness Jillian had felt still haunted her today, and now a similar feeling was squeezing her heart. She had no idea what to say or do to make things right.

“I wish I could help more,” she said softly.

“Are you kidding?” Reseph reached up, stroking his warm fingertips over her cheek in a tender caress that startled the hell out of her. “You’ve done so much already. If I live a thousand years I won’t be able to repay you.” His thumb traveled along the line of her jaw as he held her with his gaze. She didn’t even consider stepping away from him. The hypnotic current running between them held her fast.

How could she be so attracted to a freaking stranger ? Then again, she’d experienced instant attraction to her ex-fiancé when she’d first met him, albeit nothing like what was going on with Reseph. And then Jason had proved that men could remain strangers even after you’d been in love with them for a year.

The memory was a much-needed splash of cold water, and she stepped back from Reseph.

“You don’t need to repay me. I haven’t done anything any decent person wouldn’t do.” She smiled, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Or to at least get her pulse back to normal. “Now, why don’t you get some sleep? You can take my bed.”

One blond eyebrow popped up. “Will you be in it, too?”

“Ah, no. I’ll take the couch.”

He shook his head. “If I can’t be in the bed with you, I want the couch.”

The man was impossible. “You won’t fit on the couch. Trust me, I’ll be fine there.”

“Nope.” In a heartbeat, he leaped over the sofa’s armrest and sprawled out on the cushions, legs hanging over the edge, hands behind his head. “Mine. You can’t move me.”

So neener-neener. “You’re like a big child, you know that?”

His grin was so disarming that she had to bite back a smile of her own. “There is one thing that can get me to move.”

She folded her arms across her chest and summoned every ounce of stubborness. “No. We’re not sleeping together.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping .”

Not only was he impossible, he had no filter, no inhibitions, and no sense of societal boundaries. Maybe he was some sort of overindulged, spoiled prince or wealthy heir. But he hadn’t displayed any of the traits she’d expect to go with an indulged lifestyle. He wasn’t demanding, snobby, or entitled. He just seemed so unguarded and guileless. It was refreshing, really.

Not refreshing enough, however, to give in to his desire to get her into bed.

“I’ll get you some blankets,” she said crisply, and headed to the linen closet, the sound of his soft chuckle at her back.

But a chuckle was much better than a growl.

Reseph was a huge pain in the ass. But Jillian enjoyed his quirky personality when she’d thought she’d long ago had enough of intense, oddball personalities in her old job. Air traffic controllers were a breed all their own.

So was Reseph. After she’d given him the blankets and pillow, she’d climbed into bed, but twice she’d gotten up to check on him as if he were a child sick with the flu. Both times she found him standing outside on the porch, looking out into the darkness, a silent sentinel in the night. When she’d asked him what he was doing, he’d said he needed to feel the air and open space.

She’d gotten the impression that he felt trapped in the house. Restless. But she’d also gotten the uneasy feeling that he’d been watching for something. What, she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

This morning, she let him sleep while she made breakfast, and as she put the pancakes, eggs, and bacon on the table, he shuffled in, bare-chested and with his hair sleep-mussed. God, he was gorgeous in the morning. There was just something extra compelling about a big, powerful man looking slightly vulnerable moments after he woke.

Not that the sleepiness took anything away from the lethal air that surrounded Reseph. She knew now that if the situation called for it, he could snap into battle mode in less time than it took for her heart to make a single beat.

In the light of day, the idea was much less disturbing than it had been last night.

“Hey,” she said, and he gave her a drowsy smile that made her head swim.

“Hey.” He regarded the table, and his eyes lit up. “Sweet. I love bacon. And pancakes. And eggs. All my favorites.” His smile grew wider. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble, but I’m glad you did.”

“It’s nice to be able to cook for someone.” She took a seat and gestured to Reseph’s plate—which she’d placed across the table from hers. He moved it and sat down kitty-corner from her. “My friend Stacey stays over sometimes, so I cook for her, but she’s the only one.”

“Stacey?” He scooped some eggs onto his plate, and she tried not to get distracted by the way his biceps moved under his smooth, deeply tanned skin. “Is she hot? Like you?”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “You just say whatever you’re thinking, don’t you?”

“Nope. If I said what I was thinking right now, you’d throw your plate at me.”

He was probably right. She eyed his muscular chest and ripped abs, and her body hummed in appreciation. Well, maybe he was right.

“So this Stacey,” he said, as he loaded his pancakes with butter and syrup. “Do you see her often?”

“Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t be alone.”

His answer surprised her. “You think I need protection from something?” Like maybe whatever he’d been looking for on the porch. “You think I can’t handle myself?”