Free Last Second Chance by Caisey Quinn

he said evenly. “Breathe, beautiful. Before you hyperventilate and pass out on me.”
    Unable to mask the reaction this interaction was having on her, she did as he said and took a few slow, deep breaths.
    “Van,” she said, his name a soft plea on her lips. “This job is important to me. I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I never felt that way before. Not in my own home and not with college roommates. I belong here. I want to be here.”
    He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger against his lips. She tried to ignore the thrill that raced through her at the sensation of touching his lips.
    “And you can’t afford to be kicked out for having an indiscretion with an employee. I’m sure there will be women lined up to be with you when you get out of here.”
    His smoldering stare almost broke her resolve. But she knew she was right and that they needed to stop this before it went any further. Apparently he knew too because he backed up a step and glanced around.
    “But you won’t be in that line, will you?”
    Stella closed her eyes briefly to keep him out of her head. “You don’t even know me.”
    “Feels like I do,” was all he said.
    When she looked up into his face, she was slightly relieved to see that he’d begun surveying the surrounding property. She watched as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighed.
    “I don’t want to mess this up for you, cowgirl,” he relented, backing up a step. “I’ll behave from now on. Or I’ll try to at least.” With a wink and a small grin, he turned to leave.
    “Van,” Stella called out softly, surprising both him and herself. “Um, it’s just…” She waved a hand between them. “You know, there’s a reason they refer to y’all as clients instead of patients here.”
    Half turned in her direction, he raised a brow. “I think I’m missing the punch line.”
    “You basically pay my salary, Mr. Ransom,” she informed him gently. “What you pay to stay here is pretty much what they use to write my paycheck. So, if anything happened and we…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. Couldn’t bring herself to voice that not only would she get fired, but that giving in to the pull of her strange curiosity about him would be an awful lot like prostitution. “This isn’t a brothel. Despite what some of the nurses may be willing to do for you.”
    There. She’d said it. Laid it out in plain language. Surely he’d understand.
    He let out a short humorless laugh and shook his head. “Message received. Have a good night.”
    The wounded expression on his face tugged on her emotions. The unfamiliar sensation left her disoriented as he walked away.
    For as long as she remembered, she’d kept her feelings at bay. Swallowed the hurt when her mom had treated her like a doll or one of the prized livestock instead of like a person. She’d been numbing herself against the sting of her father’s rejection since she was a child. Had taken her first serious boyfriend’s relief at being done without shedding a single tear. Wished him well when he’d moved on to her roommate without a backward glance.
    But for some reason, this near stranger, this man she barely knew, had managed to break through her impenetrable barrier and reach her in a place she kept buried. And worse, she was still wearing his sweatshirt.
    Because I’m cold , she told herself.
    The stifling realization that this was the reason for more than why she was wearing his shirt kept her up half the night.

V an lay in his bed that night trying for the life of him to figure out what it was about her that had him so intrigued.
    He tended to find women like Stella Jo Chandler boring. With their five- and ten- year plans and their refusal to step outside the lines. He liked his women a little edgier. Easier. Liked to watch them crawl to him on all fours and beg. He had a feeling that would never be something he’d get to see the beautiful brunette do, except