Page 44 of The True Garza

I turn my head to the side so we’re face to face, our mouths a breath apart. “What gives you the right to think you can handle me like this?”

“You do.”

“How on earth—”

“You’re trainedextensivelyin hand-to-hand combat, London,” he says. “If you stay put when I hold you, it’s ’cause youwantme to hold you.”

I hate him.I hate him.And why the fuck is my heart hammering in my chest? “You don’t know me, True Garza.”

One corner of his mouth kicks up with a knowing smirk. “Go home. Take tomorrow off to get some rest. I’ll see who’s available to help with your issue. Listen for my call.”

He lets me go.

But I don’t move. Chest heaving, I just glare at him.Why do I want you? You’re such an asshole, on the low.

“Keep looking at me like that,Stacey. It does wonders for my ego.”

That gets me moving. “The ‘nice one’ my ass,” I mutter as I jerk open the car door and fold in. He backs up when I rev the engine, giving me a wide berth to peel out of the lot.

Some eight minutes later, I realize I’m being tailed. Decelerating to a cruise, I debate whether I should give them a chase or let them catch up to me and then jump out and plant a slug into whoever the hell it is. I’m leaning heavily toward the latter when my phone rings. My gaze flicks briefly to where it’s mounted on the dashboard.

True Garza calling….

My heart hiccups and sighs. But then I force myself to grunt in disgust, to be annoyed. Maybe if I train myself to dislike him, I eventually will.

I reach out and tap the green icon. “What?”

“Quit driving like an old lady. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“What are you—wait…” I glance in the rear-view mirror. “You’re the one tailing me?”

“Need to make sure you actually gohomeand rest.No more B-and-Es.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You can’t be trusted, London.”

“True?”

“Hmm?”

“Go to hell.”

I hang up then hit the gas. This sedan rental is no match in speed to his SUV, but I give him a run, anyway. Eat smoke, asshole.

Several minutes later, I think I’ve lost him. But when I get home, his SUV is parked across the street, his elbow propped on the window’s ledge, his chin rested on his fist.

Cocky shit. As the garage door raises, I flip him the bird.

He grins. “Don’t dream about me, Bridge.”

I pull into the garage, and only when the door has almost kissed the floor do I hear him speed off.

I shouldn’t like that he followed me home and waited for me to get in safe.

But I do.

CHAPTER Thirteen