Free Turn Up the Heat by Serena Bell Page B

could tell her.
A convicted felon.
    It might scare the shit out of her. She might run the other way. And that was what he wanted. It was.
    Or it might not scare her. It might turn her on.
    He toyed with that for a moment, struggling with how he’d feel about it. If she
liked
that he’d held a knife to a man’s throat. If it became part of her game.
    His gut clenched. Because what he’d done, the time he’d served, wasn’t a kink, wasn’t a thing to take pleasure in, get off on, celebrate. It was a terrible thing he’d done, maybe for the right reasons, but maybe not. He didn’t want her to like it.
    And besides, he’d gone over this with his lawyer and his parole officer. The importance of being discreet. Word spread fast, particularly in small communities, and there would be enough ways for gossip to leak from Yeowing and make his life difficult without a bunch of people in Tierney Bay knowing his situation. There were plenty of real-world obstacles to his success without his having also to endure the suspicious glances of the homeowners whose property he tended—like Lily’s neighbors, for example.
    It would be one thing if she were his wife, his girlfriend, even his lover. But she was…
    She was just…
    An escape valve. That’s what she was. A way to blow off steam.
    “Not relationship material,” he said. “I’m not relationship material.”
    “What makes you think I’m looking for relationship material?”
    “Look at you. You’re young. You’re sweet—”
    She huffed—surprise or scorn, he wasn’t sure.
    “You are. I see you in the diner. You like the families. You like the kids. You take time with people. You take care of people.”
    She soaked it up, those green eyes bright. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
    “It’s true. The other waitresses don’t do that.”
    “They’ve got problems at home. They’re tired, have a lot of responsibilities.”
    “See, that’s it. You see that about them, and you cut them slack. You see how people have it tough and you want to make it easier for them.”
    “How do you know all that?”
    But she didn’t say it like she thought he was wrong. She said it like she thought he was right and was a little terrified that he could see it so easily. Like she hadn’t meant anyone to know. Like the tough act she’d put on for Hadley, and to some extent for him, was the only thing she wanted people to see.
    “Anyone should see it, looking at you,” he said. “Anyone who bothers to pay attention.”
    But he knew from personal experience that some people never bothered to pay attention. And his paying-attention skills had been sharpened by years of having nothing to do but pay attention.
    “Well,” she said. “You’re the only person who’s ever said that. So, thanks.” For the first time, she looked shy, tilting her head away. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”
    “Yeah, what?”
    “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
    He’d lost the thread, distracted by the attentiveness on her face when he’d told her what he saw in her. She’d led him right into a snare.
    “I’m only here a couple of months. Just till I get my feet under me and earn some money. Then I’m going to Chicago. Soon as I can. So—yeah. I’m not relationship material either.”
    Her cheeks got pinker and her chin dropped a degree, which messed up his willpower.
    “That. What happened the other night.” She emphasized
happened
in the universal code for
I’m not going to say the words.
“In the alley. Rough.” She wouldn’t look at him. “I liked it that way.” She said it in a rush, as if saying it fast enough would take the shame out of it.
    He
knew
that shame. All of a sudden he was angry at having felt it himself. At the fact that she had, surely, felt it before. He wanted to draw the shame out of her, suck it out of her like venom.
    He took her chin and tilted it up, so she was forced to look in his eyes. “I know. And I liked that you did.” And he