The Departed

his neck. “Damn it, Dez, can you ever just answer a damn question? You didn’t have a lot of time to look around today. Did you book a hotel or what?”
    Caught off guard by the sharp tone in his voice and the glint of temper she saw in his eyes, she actually let herself answer. “No.”
    A second later he tossed something at her. She barely caught it before it smacked her in the face. Scowling at the key she held, she shot him a dark look. “You know, my mother always taught me that throwing around objects with jagged edges could be dangerous.”
    “No, she didn’t,” Taylor replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “That selfish bitch took off before she could teach you anything.”
    She sighed. “True.”
    He held out the piece of paper and, despite her aggravation, she took it. Opening it, she found a computer-generated map. According to the directions, the destination was about five minutes away.
    “It’s to a rental,” he told her. “It’s got the bare minimum in furnishings, but it will work for the short term.”
    Rubbing her thumb over the key’s grooved edge, she frowned. “How much?” Like she was really going to be picky. But still. It was the principle, right? And she did need to be able to afford it.
    “It’s taken care of—all you need to do is get your ass over there and sleep, preferably before you collapse.” Shoving off the truck, Taylor started to stalk away.
    Oh, no.
    She caught his arm. “Wait a second, slick. You’re not my boss, remember?”
    “According to that contract, I am. Short term. But the contract has nothing to do with the house—you need a place to stay while you’re here. I’m familiar with the area and found you a place. It was more expedient.” He glanced down at the key she held and then back up at her. “Would you rather sleep at some hole-in-the-wall hotel and spend the next three or four days trying to find appropriate accommodations and spend money you needn’t spend? You can always go back to the dive where you slept the other night. Maybe you’ll get lucky again and not get a room with bedbugs.”
    Gripping the key so tightly the edges bit into her hand, Dez glared at him. “Why do you have to be such a bastard?” she demanded.
    “It comes naturally.” He pulled his arm free and moved as if to walk away but, instead, he paused and reached up, touched her cheek.
    Unless she was seriously mistaken, his face softened, and the steel of his eyes warmed. “Dez…go to the house. There’s some food inside. Eat. Get some rest. You need it.”
    His gaze dropped to her mouth and her heart skittered in her chest, dancing around crazily. But he didn’t kiss her. His hand fell away and he walked off, his sneakered feet silent on the paved parking lot.
    Gripping the key and the map, she closed her eyes and counted to ten.
    How come this bastard was still managing to drive her crazy? A year out of her life and he was still driving her crazy?
    Except he wasn’t exactly out of her life, now, was he?
    And she hadn’t been able to keep herself from dreaming about him, either. Thinking about him. Wanting him. Shit. No matter how hard she tried, he still dominated such a huge part of her life, even if it was just when she was trying not to let it be that way.
    Sighing, she looked down at the key and the map, and then back up just in time to see him slip back into the hospital. Just in time to see him look back at her. Their gazes connected and time fell away. Her heart seemed to hitch inside her chest and she could hear the echo of it pounding in her ears, hear the roar of blood.
    Swallowing, she found herself wanting to drop the key, the map…everything. And just go to him.
    But she’d tried that before. And even though it had been amazing, he’d pushed her away, pushed her so far, in the end, he’d pushed her completely out. There was still a hole inside her over that.
    Sighing, she tore her eyes from him and turned to her car.
    Why in the hell had she gone and fallen for somebody like him anyway?
    * * *
     
    THE rental house was a far right turn from what she’d been expecting. Quaint and quiet, it looked like a little storybook house built of stone, complete with a sloping roof and a door made of gleaming oak, and when she let herself inside, the scent of herbs and potpourri danced lightly in the air.
    Hell.
    Why couldn’t the place smell of mold and cat urine and dog shit?
    It would have been a lot easier on her