Free His Conspiracy Girl (Emerald City #4) by Allyson Lindt Page B

want to suck the rest of us into your world?”
    He stepped closer, voice firm but kind. “Did I know who you were? You approached me in the bar. And are you listening to anything I’m saying? What you said… You’re right. I want to get on with my life.”
    “And you want me to help, right?” Her voice cracked. She sniffled and took a deep breath. He was listening; he was making sense; he wanted to make amends. Maybe she was just fooling herself that he was sincere, but part of her wanted so badly to believe it. Her past warred with the now. “I’ve heard this story before. I’m not interested in helping you uncover a conspiracy, and I’m doubly not-interested in being used and left behind as an unfortunate victim, once you get the information you want.”
    He shook his head. “Really? After the emotional, heart-felt lecture about my living in the past, you’re comparing me to… I don’t even know. An ex-boyfriend, maybe? You’re basing what happened between us on someone else’s mistakes?”
    She clenched her teeth, top lip pulling up in a sneer. Of course she was. She’d learned from her past. Maybe. So many doubts beat in her skull. The fury she poured into her words had faded. “Because you’re doing exactly what he did. How do you even manage? How do guys like you make that connection seem real, when you don’t even care?”
     
    *
     
    Camden needed to make things better, for so many reasons. Because Ana had a point. Because he needed to move on. Because, as much as he wanted to dwell on the past and push the present aside, and forget about anything but vengeance, for the first time in years there was a new face he couldn’t get out of his thoughts.
    As much as he loved his sister and niece, and as much as he cherished their memories, suddenly he had something in the present worth working for. He didn’t know what it was about Ana, but he wanted—no, he needed her. He couldn’t even fully articulate why, but finding out was a priority.
    Except, her angry glare, gorgeous flushed cheeks, and pursed—but still kissable—lips told him she wasn’t interested in listening. He uncrossed his arms again, trying to stay open, despite her defensive posture.
    Each time she spoke, her words dug more deeply than he thought possible. He had to consciously keep himself from closing the distance between them. He desperately wanted to tell her she was wrong. To prove she misunderstood. And he didn’t know how. He fumbled for a response. “Now you’re wrong.”
    “I—” She fumbled, no more sound coming from her throat. “Excuse me? Like you have any room to talk.”
    “Stop.” He kept his voice low and calm, pushing as much force into the single word as he could. He stepped closer, ignoring her glower. “I don’t know who you’re comparing me to, or why. I don’t know what I’ve done to become a ‘guy like me,’ in your eyes. I do know what you said the other day, about appreciating the life I have and moving on, hit home harder than  should be possible. And I do know you’re in my thoughts more than I ever realized another person could be. And whoever it is that filled you with so much distrust, I’d grind them to a pulp for hurting you, if I could. But maybe—just maybe—you need to take your own advice, and let the past be the past.”
    “Or maybe I was spewing bullshit when I said that, and the only way we can keep from being hurt again in the future is to learn from our mistakes.” The edge had slipped from her voice, but not from her expression.
    “I’m not trying to use you.” He poured as much sincerity into his words as he could. He traced a finger down the side of her face, not quite touching her, but resting close enough to feel the heat of her angry flush. Her hand flew up to slap his away, and he caught her wrist in a loose hold. “At least tell me what I’m defending myself from.”
    She jerked away, stumbling back a step when he let go. “You used the mic we