Free Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) by Lea Griffith

forcing her to stumble backward.
    “Get out of my house, Gavin,” she said in a menacing voice as she backed away from him.
    “Make me, Phie,” he tossed back.
    She flipped her hair over her shoulder and glared up at the man who had once been a boy so beautiful she’d envied him. Now he was twisted and ugly. Oh, his face was as handsome as it’d always been, but his demeanor, what made Gavin who he was, was heinous to the core.
    He walked into her house, touching her knickknacks, running his hand along her antique desk before snickering at the old pictures on her mantel. He turned to her and cocked his head arrogantly.
    “Why do you keep those?” He nodded at the pictures.
    “Why are you here? I thought I asked you to never come near me again.” Anger vibrated in her tone. She’d sworn never to let the man before her know how much he affected her. She couldn’t stop the rage from leaking through.
    He chuckled, the sound cold and empty of humor. “Aw, Phie, whatsa matter? You still mad at me?”
    She rubbed her arms under the throw coat and stared at him, willing him to answer her question. When had he changed from the boy she’d loved so much into this mean, coldhearted man? “I’m not anything, Gavin. Now why are you here?”
    He looked forlorn for a moment, his face reflecting her disquiet. Emotions flashed so fast it was like watching a movie in fast-forward. “I came to talk to you. Warn you about some folks who may be looking for me.”
    “I’m done with this, Gavin. Leave. I told you no more, and you have the audacity to come here? What if they’re following you? After the last time I’d think you wouldn’t be so careless.” She rubbed her forehead this time, her finger running along the raised scar at her hairline. It was a souvenir from the last time people had come to her looking for him.
    Sorrow ended the film on his face. Deep, abiding, it carved grooves in his features, made her breath catch. She would forever be connected to him. She loved him still. They’d shared so much.
    “I need your help, Phie.” He took a deep breath and turned to stare at the pictures again. “I really need your help. He’ll kill me if I don’t get him what he wants.”
    She girded her heart. Shoved her pity and love deep within her, locked it away, and faced the man who’d almost gotten her killed. “No.”
    He stiffened and looked at her over his shoulder. For a split second, he was hers again—carefree, uncomplicated, clean Gavin. Then it passed. Like a shadow hiding from the light, it scattered, and he was once again this Gavin.
    “You have to, Phie. I need you. He wants information—” His tone was melancholic and designed to draw her back into his web of lies and deceit. She had to consciously stiffen her spine against the plea.
    She cut him off before he could complete his sentence. “Leave, Gavin. Leave now,” she ordered.
    “No! I won’t leave, you bitch. I need your help.” When she stayed silent, he tried another tactic. “What would Mom say?”
    It stung, that reminder, however unstated it may be on his part, that her mother cared about the man before her. She would be disappointed were she to ever recover enough to know that Sophie had denied him help. Dig deeper; this man doesn’t care about you or the bond you used to have.
    Her shoulders straightened again. “I said no. Now leave or I’ll call the cops.”
    He was in her face in a millisecond. “You fucking bitch. How dare you!” Spittle flew from his mouth, hit her in the face as he raged at her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her fiercely.
    She was stunned. A cry rang out. Had it come from her? Before she could gather her wits, the shaking stopped, and a roar sounded from her entryway. She was pushed back as Gavin was literally tossed to the other side of her living room. He slid along her hardwood floor, slammed into her wall, and lay there, unmoving.
    She turned and found herself nose to chest with the man she’d