Free Hidden Embers by Tessa Adams Page A

he didn’t recognize and couldn’t explain.
    Then it was gone and he was cold again. Lonely. Desperate to connect in a way he never had been before.
    “My brother died yesterday.”
    As soon as he said the words, he wanted to call them back. What kind of idiot blurted something like that out—especially to a woman he’d just met? It was a lot more than she’d signed on for. After all, this whole night was supposed to be about fun and games, not his complete physical and emotional collapse. But it was so much easier to show his pain to a stranger, to her, than it was to acknowledge it to his clan members.
    Jazz didn’t say anything at first, and he waited, expecting to hear all the meaningless platitudes that strangers voice at times like these—followed by a run for the door. But she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Instead, she slipped behind him again, tightened her arms around his waist and just held him for long moments, the feel of her heart beating steadily against his more soothing than anything he’d felt in a very long time.
    When she finally did speak, she said the one thing he never expected to hear. “Was it your fault?”
    Anger surged through him, even as he told himself he was grateful she hadn’t pulled her punches. “It was completely my fault.”
    “Somehow I doubt that. Death is rarely anyone’s fault—at least not completely,” she answered. “Things happen.”
    “How can you say that?” He shrugged her off, got up and paced across the room on unsteady legs. “For all you know, I could have pointed a gun at him and shot him.”
    He whirled to face her, and if he expected her to be scared, he was disappointed. Instead, she regarded him steadily from her spot on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest like they were having the most regular conversation in the world.
    “Did you?”
    “Shoot him? Of course not.”
    “Well there goes that argument.”
    “You’re being pretty flippant considering I just told you my brother is dead.”
    She didn’t look as embarrassed by his observation as he’d expected her to be, only a little sad. “It seems to me that you’re torturing yourself enough for both of us. Someone needs to keep a level head here.”
    He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything he could say, as a small part of him wondered if she was right. Turning away, he faced out the window toward the parking lot where the last of the traffic from the bar was slowly working its way onto the main street. It was easier than looking at her, easier than seeing that odd understanding in her eyes.
    He struggled for control, continuing to watch the mass exodus until the last car had turned out, leaving a lonely red Mustang as the lot’s only occupant. “Is that your car?” he asked, at a loss for anything more meaningful to say.
    She crossed the room to peer over his shoulder. “Yep.”
    “You want me to change the tire now?”
    She wrapped her arms around his waist, skimmed her lips over the ornate lines of the dragon tattoo that covered most of his back. Her easy affection was balm to his tattered soul, even before she answered, “It’ll still be there in the morning.” He felt her smile against his shoulder blade and allowed himself to sink into her words. He didn’t know why, but she helped keep his demons at bay, and right now he was too worn out to do anything but let her.
    “Besides,” she said, “I can think of a better way to spend the rest of the night.”
    “Oh, yeah? And what way is that?”
    She leaned away from him a little and he almost protested, except her voice was light and teasing and still close when she whispered, “Guess.”
    He turned just in time to catch the wicked grin that flashed across her face. It aroused him all over again, and he gave himself over to the feeling. If sex was the only thing he could bring himself to share with her, then he’d settle for that. The oblivion that came with losing himself in her body sounded