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She retreated a step, bumping into the counter. Flustered, she grabbed a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge and poured some into the bright yellow teakettle on the stove. “Tea?”
“No thanks. Just water if you don’t mind.” He accepted a glass with murmured thanks. “Give me a few days. If I can’t ensure your safety on the rez, I’ll help you disappear. My colleague at Dìleas can give you a new name. A new life. Somewhere you’ll be safe.”
A hollow ache burrowed beneath his chest. If she stayed on the rez, he’d at least know where she was and how she was doing. If he resettled her, he wouldn’t see her again. It wouldn’t be safe.
She crossed her arms, leaned into the counter, her gaze wary. “Why are you helping me?”
Because I didn’t help my mother.
He kept his tone level. “It’s what I do.”
Her eyes dimmed. Behind her, the kettle screeched, belching steam into the air. Gia got out a tea bag and added it to her mug with the boiling water.
He had the feeling he’d disappointed her somehow. “You don’t deserve to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.”
“You don’t know what I deserve.”
What the hell did that mean?
The kettle shrieked, breaking the moment.
She turned her back to him, busying herself with the tea. Her hands trembled.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was rough. Weary. “I’m grateful for your help. I told your grandfather I’d stay, and I want to honor my commitment—to him, to the staff at the clinic, and to my patients.”
Caleb nodded. A surge of protectiveness and something hotter, more dangerous, stirred inside him. “I need to make a few calls.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” She scooted past him, brushing his chest with her shoulder.
The contact was slight, yet an electric current arced between them.
Gia froze. Her gaze locked with his. Wide and unguarded. Her tongue swiped across her lips.
His restraint snapped.Fuck it.
For once, he wasn’t going to do the right thing. Slowly, giving her time to back away, he lowered his head.
Her eyes fluttered closed instead.
He pressed his fists into his thighs to keep from reaching for her.
Their mouths met, tentative at first. Just their mouths. Testing.
He savored the connection. Because that’s what it was—a connection.
His tongue slipped out, caressing the seam ofher lips.
She opened to him, and the taste of her—peppermint and prickly pear—made his head spin.
She had him off-kilter. And that wasn’t good.
He drove his tongue deeper and stepped into her, unleashing the control he had over his hands to allow them to slide behind her back and haul her into his body.
Hands pressed against his chest.
Immediately, he pulled back. Dropped his arms and silently kicked his own ass.
“Sorry,” he rasped. The vulnerability in her eyes tightened his throat.