“I didn’t mean it that way.”
He stepped another foot closer to her, and she shrank back slightly. The intensity of his presence was something she couldn’t seem to get used to.
“How did you mean it, Krista? Why do you always seem to say something and then try and take it back a second later?”
“You’re confusing me. I’m nervous.”
“If I make you so nervous then maybe you should just go.”
“I care about you, Gunner.” As the words came out, she immediately regretted them. Not just because of the look of disbelief on his face, but because it was the truth—
and it was humiliating.
“You care about me?” he scoffed. “You don’t even know me. You’re high on the idea of me, of my fame, of what I represent to you. Do you honestly think I haven’t met a million girls just like you, Krista?”
Something about the derision in his voice and the contempt in his eyes made her run. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the hate that she felt coming from him.
All Krista wanted to do was get away from him.
She didn’t care about her job, or Drew Ellis, or Las Vegas or any of it. At that moment, all she could do was run.
She ran to her car and got inside, crying and shaking. The keys were still in the ignition, so it was easy to turn it on and the engine rumbled to life.
His words were echoing in her ears as she stepped on the gas and started to drive away from the cabin.
Do you honestly think I haven’t met a million girls just like you, Krista?
Of course he had, she thought, as her vision blurred, doubling and tripling through her tears. He’d met so many women who wanted something from him, who thought that they had a connection with him, were special in some way.
She’d been a fool, an idiot, and a liar.
She was driving too fast, but she just had to get away from this place, try her best to wipe it from her memory. Krista was horrified that she’d become so obsessed with Gunner King that she’d allowed herself to try and turn fantasy into reality—worse, that she’d become confused between the two.
She drove faster, swerving to avoid a sharp turn in the path and then suddenly smashed headlong into a tree. She heard the crashing of the front headlight as her body was thrown violently forward. Her seatbelt snapped into action, preventing her from going anywhere.
Luckily, she hadn’t been able to drive fast enough to really hurt herself. She was more shaken up than anything.
Looking out the front windshield, she saw that the front of the car had been caved in.
Her head had snapped forward quickly during impact, and she could already feel her left shoulder and neck muscles tightening as the shock began to wear off.
Krista put the car in reverse and tried to back away from the tree, but the car wasn’t moving. It sounded like the front of the car might have been pushed into the wheel well.
“Dammit!” She shrieked, smacking her palms on the steering wheel five or six times. “What the hell is wrong with me?” She was crying harder now. It was all self-pity, and shameful, and it made everything worse.
Why couldn’t she have driven carefully and started speeding once she’d gotten to the main road? Why did she have to crash here of all places?
Moments later, her worst fears were realized, as Gunner came running down the narrow road, looking anxiously at her car. She could see him in her rearview mirror, but she didn’t get out.
He approached the driver’s side door. “Krista, are you okay?” he called out.
She didn’t answer. She was still crying and she didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want him to yell at her and call her an idiot, a reckless driver. Whatever other things he was going to say—she didn’t want to hear them.
“Krista, open up.” He tried the door but it was locked. “Krista, open this car or I’m going to break a window and come in.”
She rolled her window down. “Just call the police,” she said. “I’ll wait here until they come.”
“The police? In this town?” he said. “It’s one guy, Denny Harbacker. They call him Dumbass Denny behind his back and sometimes to his face.”
“I don’t care,” she said, not looking at him.
“Listen, I need to know if you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Please, just leave me alone. I’ll walk down the hill. I don’t care.”
“I’m not letting you walk down the mountain by yourself. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Leave me alone, Gunner!” she shouted.
She fully expected him to say screw it and walk away. But he didn’t. When she looked up again, Gunner was still standing there by her door. His eyes weren’t angry or harsh or judgmental, just concerned.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Get out of this car and let me bring you inside.”
Krista realized that Gunner was right. It was ridiculous for her to sit inside a car that wasn’t capable of being driven anywhere, acting like baby. So she opened her door and got slowly out of the car, grabbing her purse, wincing a little as she did so.
“What is it?” he asked, alarm in his voice. “What hurts?”
“It’s nothing,” she told him, shaking her head. “My neck’s a little bit stiff. It’s fine, though.”
“Come on, we need to get some ice on it right away.” He put one hand on her lower back and the other around her shoulder, slowly guiding her away from the car. She was surprised at the gentleness of his touch.
For a man as big and powerful as he was, Gunner’s hands were sensitive, holding her just tightly enough, but not exerting undue pressure.
Her body was tingling and warm as she realized how close they were, and Gunner still didn’t have his shirt
