If one glance from the woman made him regret his whole life, he hoped he never laid eyes on her again. He’d never had his mind blown before. Not by a woman. Any woman. Not even the ones who got him off so hard he nearly passed out. They were like the drugs and the booze—something to get him through, to drown out the voices and dark shit in his fucked-up head. But this one…Christ almighty, this one was another animal entirely.
The Hispanic doctor had said that he could let them know if he needed anything. He almost told the man that they could just lock him in his room with the brunette with the skin like silk for ninety days and he’d be cured.
Even after she’d turned to leave with the man in the white coat, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. There was something about the way she moved that was beyond sexy. She walked with a deliberate slowness that had her hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm that probably had men falling at her feet. Just like he had.
“Let’s go, Mr. Walker,” Sid said, nudging him out of his daze.
After unloading his shit in his room, he decided to walk around the property. The place was huge, and it did have a relaxing vibe to it—minus the sex on legs he’d literally run into upon arriving. She’d amped him up more than all the lines he’d ever done combined.
The folder she’d dropped had NEW EMPLOYEE ORIENTATION PACKET typed on the front cover. So she worked here then—or she would soon.
He knew it probably would not please Epitaph if he screwed a staff member and got kicked out of this place. But damn, he couldn’t get her eyes and her warm vanilla and wildflower scent out of his head. And those legs. Why, oh why, had she been wearing fuck-me heels? It was as if she’d been sent here to torture him.
As if to confirm his theory, when he turned the bend to where the property dropped off into the pastures, there she was. Sitting with her back to him, watching the sun set like a mirage. The orangey-pink hue of the setting sunlight glinted off her body creating an angelic effect that stole his breath.
Backing up so she wouldn’t see him, he stood silently and watched her. She’d changed into jeans and a plain white tank top. Seeing this much of her skin was doing things to him. For the first time in a very long time, he wondered what a woman was thinking.
What had her sitting here all alone, watching the horses graze as the light faded from the sky? Was she happy? Sad? Nervous about the new job? And why the hell did he even care?
He didn’t have a clue what his deal was, but he wished he had a pen because he could write a song about this moment. Maybe a couple of songs. The kind that would make every guy in the band call him a pussy.
When he saw her shoulders shake and heard the light sniffle, he almost turned and ran. She was crying.
Son of a bitch.
Once upon a time, he’d had a sister. She was three years older than him and for the life of him, her crying had always been his undoing. Sure, he’d seen women cry since then. But these were usually high bitches having a bad trip or begging him to pay attention to their crazy asses. Those he’d ignored easily. But his sister had always cried in private, when she thought no one could see or hear. Like this woman was doing.
His brain alerted him that it was time to bail out and go back to his room. Like now. But his body didn’t listen. In a few strides, he’d lessened the gap between them. When he cleared his throat, she jumped. As she struggled to her feet, he reached out a hand without thinking. Then the damnedest thing happened. She took it.
Pulling herself up with his help, she looked into his eyes. And it was just like before. Something he hadn’t known existed inside of him roared to the surface. Something that demanded he try to be a decent man—hell, a good man. Because the guy he’d been so far wasn’t worthy of speaking to her, much less any of the other things he wanted to do to her.
Shit, he was gripping her hand too hard and for too long.
Let go, man.
But she didn’t look upset. She looked like she was about to throw herself into his arms. Well, he was certainly not opposed to that. Even though the thought of actually touching her that way scared him shitless. Most likely, this was wishful thinking and in reality she was seconds away from telling him to get the hell away from her before she called security. His breath came hard and fast, and she looked as lost as he was. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he finally let go of her hand to wipe one from her cheek.
“Rough day?” he asked, surprised at the strained sound of his own voice.
She smiled, but it was forced. He could tell because it didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that.”
Her tears were still moist on his fingertips. He had the oddest urge to lick them. Taste her sweet pain and then try to figure out how to keep her from ever hurting again.
“I should get back,” he said, jerking his head toward the facility that separated pieces of shit like him from angels like her. Something flashed in her eyes. He thought for a second it was disappointment, because he was obviously so bad-off he was delusional. Maybe he should be in the nut house instead of rehab.
“Yeah, um, me too.” She glanced at the small cabin to her left. Must be where she was staying for now. Van filed that information away for future reference. Trying to form a complete thought while her exposed skin begged to be touched was proving damn near impossible.
“Walk you to your door?” Van flinched at his own words. Apparently his mouth was just working on its own now, flying solo instead of consulting his brain first. It must’ve been the right thing to say though, because her eyes lightened, the stormy shade they’d been clearing, and she grinned at him like he’d made her whole damned day. She didn’t say anything, just bit her full bottom lip and nodded. He held out his arm and she took it. A breeze blew past, wafting her delicious scent to him as they made their way to her door. Together.
Oh fuck.
It all made sense now. He was dead. He’d OD’d and died after the party and this was Heaven. Or maybe it was Hell. Because as far as he could tell, Val wasn’t here. He was probably going to spend eternity wanting this perfect creature he could never have. Well, that was a fitting punishment. Probably could’ve been worse.
“Your name isn’t really Walker, is it?” the demon of desire asked, pulling him from his painful realization.
“No. It’s Ransom.” Guess they don’t have a roster in hell. “I’m in a band and my manager makes me check into these places under a pseudonym. Not that the shit doesn’t always get out anyways.”
“Ah. So why Walker?”
Van laughed, low and deep. “You know, as in Johnnie. It’s my drink of choice so I use it to piss Sid off.”
“Sid?”
“My manager.”
She nodded, but her beautiful face still held traces of confusion. Good Lord she was actually trying to figure him out. He couldn’t imagine why in the world she would want to.
He ran a hand through his hair and tried to explain. “We have an understanding. He tries to turn me into someone I’m not and I keep being the asshole I’ve always been.”
“Interesting.”
“Nah, not really.”
She took a deep breath, probably realizing she’d just wasted five minutes of her life that she could never get back on his sorry ass. “So, Mr. Ransom, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Her eyes clouded up again and he didn’t know if she was asking about him personally or something else entirely.
Glancing from side to side, to remind her of their surroundings, he gave her a sardonic grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”