He didn’t quit smiling.
Instead, he asked, “You wanna talk more about us going slower now?”
Was he serious?
I tore out of his arms, twisted to the door and threw it open, announcing, “Time for my nap!”
I found an arm hooked around my waist and was twisted back into the Jeep and Raiden’s arms, this time both of which he locked around me.
Then his eyes locked on mine.
“I’ll be back safe and you’ll be cool with what I do, Hanna,” he declared firmly.
“Right. I believe you. But can I make the request now that I have at least a date number five before you rock my world again?”
Another grin then, “I think I can accomplish that.”
“I’d be obliged.”
“You wanna quit bein’ cute so I can let you go, you can get your nap and I can get this shit done?”
“I’ll remind you not a minute ago I tried to exit this vehicle, but you hauled me back.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
I glared.
Raiden kept smiling.
Then he muttered strangely, “My reward.”
I lost my glare and asked, “Sorry?”
He lifted up, kissed my forehead and whispered there, “Nothin’, baby.” Then he pulled away, ordering, “Go. Rest.”
I needed to go. I hoped I could rest, but I studied him a moment before I leaned in to touch my mouth to his.
His arms came around me, his mouth opened over mine and my touch became a hot, heavy kiss.
Raiden broke it and ordered again, “Go.”
“Okay,” I mumbled. He let me go and I went.
I stood at the door in numero uno of my Sunday’s finest dresses (I did go to church with Raiden Ulysses Miller) and waved.
He didn’t wave back, but I did see him smile.
I closed the door and wandered up the stairs, listening to his Jeep drive away.
I took off my heels by the side of the bed. I climbed in, pulled an afghan over me (mine, not cashmere but still lush) and stared at my pillow, thinking this was how it felt.
This was how it felt when something huge was happening.
It felt fantastic.
And I was scared out of my wits.
Chapter Eleven
Criminal
That evening…
I sat tucked into the corner of my frou-frou, fluffy, girlie, cutesie couch in my countrified, quirky living room and watched Raiden, who’d just gone to the kitchen to get his second beer, fold his long body at the other end.
The pizza was annihilated, that always awkward sliver of a slice the only piece left. Raiden had got it from the place in town so it was the best and I was hungry so I tucked in, forgetting (momentarily, like always) about the little stomach pouch I needed to get gone.
It was a minor miracle, considering all that was on my mind, but I’d managed a two hour nap.
Then the phone started ringing.
Apparently, the town of Willow had decided they’d given me enough time to cope, that time was up, so all and sundry called to check if I was okay after the Bodhi and Heather debacle. This invariably segued into digging for gold, thus most of them asked if it was true, since I was seen at Chilton’s, Rachelle’s, the Deluxe and at church with him; if I was seeing Raiden Ulysses Miller
It was not lost on me that things were moving fast with Raiden, but regardless I knew very little about him. However, I sensed he was the kind of man who would not be fond of people in his business. So although I confirmed what me being seen all over town with Raiden stated, since it was the truth, I didn’t get into any details. After that, I explained the last few days had been trying, I was exhausted and I needed some time to process it all.
Luckily, the folks of Willow were kind, so they left it at that. Unfortunately, there were a lot of residents of Willow I knew since I’d lived my whole life there, so that message didn’t get relayed quickly enough before others picked up the phone and called.
Therefore I had the phone to my ear when I opened the door to Raiden holding a pizza box in one hand and a six pack of Fat Tire in the other.
He grinned at me.
I rolled my eyes, let him in and did my best to get rid of my caller as Raiden dropped the box on the coffee table in the living room. He sauntered to the kitchen like he’d lived in my house since birth, came out with two plates, napkins and two opened beers. He’d already dug into a slice by the time I beeped the off button on my phone and joined him.
All this activity meant I didn’t have time to freak out about the upcoming talk with Raiden, which was good.
What was bad was that he drank and ate. He asked about the call, the rest of the calls (once he’d learned of them) and my nap. But he did not do what I’d hoped.
And that was launch right into the conversation we needed to have that included me freaking, then dealing with learning about whatever he did for a living.
So I gave it until there was only that awkward sliver of pizza left and Raiden got up to get another beer, asking me if I wanted one. I was sipping, keeping my wits about me. Raiden was taking long, manly pulls, therefore I had half a beer left and I declined.
He got his beer and was putting it on the coffee table, not going for the last slice, which I decided indicated he was done eating, so I also decided it was time.
As he was settling back in the couch, I prompted cautiously, “Raiden, you were going to tell me some things.”
He wasn’t fully back, and at my words he stopped, his head turned to me and he studied me for long moments that made me fight to keep myself from squirming on the couch with worry and impatience.
Then he sat back and spread his arms out. One he draped on the armrest, the other on the back, claiming my frou-frou, girlie sofa so thoroughly with his sexy, masculine vibe that for a second my mind blanked.
Then his deep voice announced, “I’m a bounty hunter.”
My mind came back into the room.
Was that it?
A bounty hunter?
Sweet relief swept through me.
Sure. Raiden had been right. Being a bounty hunter was unconventional.
It was also totally cool.
Therefore I grinned huge and cried, “That’s totally cool!”
He took in my grin, his face blank, and shook his head.
“No, Hanna, not the badge carrying, having arrest warrants, extension of law enforcement kind of bounty hunting. Cash under the table, getting a fuckuva lot more money kind of bounty hunting.”
I didn’t know what to do with that since I had no idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t get it,” I told him.
“I hunt fugitives and they definitely act outside the law,” he explained. “But, when I find them, I don’t deliver them to the police so they can do jacked shit, get caught, get bonded out, do more jacked shit, go on the run, get caught, then some bondsmen bonds them out again so they can do more jacked shit. I deliver them to people who are willing to pay a lot of money to have them delivered.”
This didn’t sound good, but I still didn’t get it.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said softly. “I’m still not following.”
He didn’t move and his eyes never left my face as he kept talking.
“Then I’ll explain. Right now, I got several jobs goin’, the primary one bein’ Knight’s. He’s a buddy of mine. He’s got an enemy who keeps gettin’ bested but won’t let his grudge go. Knight had some shit happen to his business because of this guy and he asked me to do him a favor. A favor he’s payin’ me to do. And that favor is find the man who infiltrated his business, injecting dope into it. This guy is doin’ a favor for the other guy who’s tryin’ to fuck with Knight. But when I find him, I won’t turn him and any evidence I have as pertains to his criminal activities into the police. I’ll deliver him to Knight and walk away. When I do that, what Knight does with this guy and the shit I give him is not my business. I just walk away. I always walk away.”