In Seconds

rest.”

L.J. had no idea how he’d walk from point A to point B. When he slid off the table, he had to bend over and take several deep breaths just to keep from throwing up or falling over. “Yeah, bed,” he said when he could finally straighten.

Ink supported his weight as they made their way slowly up the stairs; Ink even helped him lie down and covered him with blankets. But the sickness L.J. had felt a few minutes earlier came back, worse than ever, and kept him from falling asleep.

Was he having an allergic reaction to Ink’s pills?

He was about to call out, let Ink know something serious had to be wrong, when he began to doubt everything Ink had told him. Maybe it wasn’t an allergic reaction. Maybe he’d lost track of time and Ink had kept him shut up in this cabin for days. It could be an infection…?.

He racked his brain to determine whether or not that could be possible. But due to whatever drug he’d been given, he couldn’t arrange his thoughts, had no concept of time. Had he been tied to the table just for a few hours? Or had he been there for several days?

The last thing he remembered was getting out of the truck…?.

Rolling gingerly to one side, he tried to feel his lower back, which ached terribly. Was it from the hardness of the dining room table? Or had Ink stolen his kidney?

He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t reach all the way around without tearing open the wound on his shoulder.

“Ink?” he called. But it was a halfhearted, feeble effort to rouse him. One Ink didn’t hear.

A second later the front door slammed and the truck’s engine roared to life.

It should’ve felt worse to get shot. The bullet entering his leg had been bad. The hospital visit wasn’t much of an improvement. And losing out on capturing Ink and Lloyd had been a real bitch. But Myles could certainly think of worse things than lying in bed tucked up against Vivian’s soft, warm body.

He slipped his hand up under her shirt to cup her bare breast—he’d been aching to do that ever since she’d lain down with him—and his body hardened. He liked her just as much as he’d feared he would. He could feel himself falling into that emotional abyss called love, knew he might slide in so deep he’d never get out. And yet, somehow, that was okay. Caring risked loss, but not caring guaranteed a lukewarm life, devoid of any great passion. Why he’d believed that kind of existence would satisfy him he suddenly didn’t know. He wouldn’t take back the years he’d had with Amber Rose despite how they ended, would he? No. So why wouldn’t he embrace a second chance to feel the same way about someone else?

Vivian stirred and turned to face him. When her eyes opened, she smiled sleepily. “How you doin’?”

“Fine. You?”

“Better now that I’ve had a chance to rest. What time is it? Do we need to get up?”

He caressed the rim of her ear. “Not yet. It’s only been a couple hours.”

“Then what are you doing awake?”

Her eyes looked so big with her hair that short. “Thinking.”

“About…”

“You,” he said simply.

“And?”

“I’m glad you moved in next door.”

She hesitated, obviously considering his words. “You’re kidding. What about your wounds?”

He offered her a lazy grin. “Mere scratches.”

Although she smiled at his response, her manner remained serious. “I’m very different from Amber Rose. You realize that, don’t you?”

How could he miss it? But he found it interesting that she’d come to the same conclusion, since she’d never known his late wife. “In what way?”

“I have my business, for one.”

Having a business created a difficulty? “I admire what you’ve accomplished. And I’m willing to support you in it. How is that a drawback?”

“I’m used to being independent.”

“Understood. I can work with that.”

“But…Claire said Amber Rose has a brother who’s a doctor.”

He couldn’t help chuckling. What did Amber Rose’s brother have to do with this? “I’m not following you.”

“My brother is an ex-con.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded to let her know it was all clear to him now. “But exonerated means he didn’t do it.”

“My uncle did. My own mother might have put him up to it. And Virgil hasn’t come out of those prison years unscathed. You know The Crew might never let us live in peace. They might not let us live at all.”

“They won’t hurt you as long as I’m here to protect you. But I understand your concern. And, just to save you the trouble of bringing it up, I also understand that your children’s father was an abusive jerk who may come into the picture at some point in the future. Any other warnings and disclaimers?”

She raised her eyebrows, as if what she’d already said should be more than enough to scare him off, but since he didn’t concede the point, she barreled on. “I’ve heard how sweet Amber Rose was.”

“You’ve heard a lot.”

“You’re a favorite topic among the ladies. It’s Pineview, remember?”

“So…you’re different, like you said.”

“And…maybe not as good. I’m aggressive and stubborn and…and I can be angry. Besides all that, I have baggage.”

“Beyond what you’ve listed?” he teased.

“Maybe.”

With her legs between his and the softness of her breasts against his chest, the memory of making love to her at the cabin made his pulse leap. “What are you really worried about, Vivian?”

“You loved her so much.” Her voice fell. “I don’t see how I could compete with that.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. He craved the taste of her, the smooth texture of her bare skin. And it was her he wanted, not a substitute for Amber Rose. “You don’t have to compete. I loved my late wife, will always love her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love you just as much.”

He bent his head to kiss her, but she resisted. She seemed hesitant to trust what he’d told her, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been through so much. But as he slid his hands up the back of her shirt, kneading her tense muscles and coaxing her to stop worrying, her lips parted and she began to respond.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured as their tongues met and touched and met again. “All you have to do is hang on to me.”

Making love to Vivian this time was a completely different experience, even better than at the cabin. Myles slowed everything down so he could memorize her body, enjoy it and let her enjoy his. As his hands skimmed over her breasts, her waist, her hips, coaxing her to become more pliable, to believe him—to believe in him—she closed her eyes and arched her back and didn’t fight him when he brought her to the brink of climax. At that moment, her eyes flew open and latched onto his, and he silently pleaded with her not to deny him.

“I don’t think I can—” she started, but he removed the hand she’d just placed on his chest and pinned it, along with the other one, above her head.

“Let go,” he whispered. “All you have to do is trust me.”

She must’ve taken him at his word because her legs tightened around his hips, telling him she was as committed as he was, and it wasn’t ten seconds later that she gasped and her eyes drifted shut. He tried to make the pleasure last as long as possible, but before the final spasm disappeared, he found his release.

The pain made it difficult to move. But worse than the pain was the struggle to breathe. One of the bullets must’ve collapsed a lung. All Virgil could think about was Peyton and Brady and the new baby. How he’d never see them again, never meet his new daughter. Peyton would have to go on without him. Maybe Laurel was already dead. His past had gotten the best of him, despite everything he’d done to outdistance it.

Then, suddenly, anger came to his rescue. It seemed to grab his heart and throw it against his rib cage. That wasn’t a pleasant sensation, but it lent him enough strength and presence of mind to dive for the gun Gully had