Which way was the path? She turned a slow circle, trying to figure out where Brock had gone. All she had to do was take that first step, pick a direction and walk. It was easy. It wasn’t like she was in the wilds of upper New York State.
Oh my God, I’m going to wander for hours and end up dying ten feet from safety because that asshole left me here.
“Lord, woman, the path is right here.” Brock stalked back through the trees, and she had to clasp her hands behind her back to keep from throwing herself at him and begging him not to leave her out here alone again. He stopped a few feet away and narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Not even a little bit. She couldn’t tell if her hands were shaking so hard that they were making her shoulders shake or if that was her entire body struggling not to cling to the safety Brock suddenly represented. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s not like I can’t Google Maps my way to safety.”
She knew her fear of the forest was unnatural; she still couldn’t stop her body’s shaking. She had to get out of here right now, or she was in serious danger of bawling in front of Brock.
Over her dead body.
Chapter Six
Brock stepped closer to Regan, moving slowly so as not to spook her further. Because she was spooked. Her eyes were a little too wide and her entire body was shaking so hard he could see it from here. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here.”
If he’d stopped to think before storming off to make his point, he would have realized there was a reason she hated the woods beyond her being a city girl. City girls turned up their noses at places like this, but they didn’t jump at little noises or panic at the thought of moving off the path.
Stupid of him to miss that.
He touched her shoulders, giving her the chance to move away, but she only took half a step closer. “You left me out here.”
So fucking stupid. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know which way to go and—“ She snapped her mouth close and took a shuddering breath. “I’m fine.”
She was a hell of a long ways off fine, but now wasn’t the time to point it out. “Why don’t we get you back to civilization?”
“God, yes.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders, ready to catch her if she stumbled in those ridiculous heels, and guided her back to the path. She didn’t relax until they left the trees completely, her shaking lessening and then disappearing altogether. She took her next few steps a bit quicker, moving out from beneath his arm. “I’m okay.”
Did she realize how many times she’d said it? He didn’t think so. A woman like her wasn’t going to respond well to coddling, but he also couldn’t leave her alone when she was in such an obviously fragile state of mind. Truth was he didn’t want to leave her just yet. So he went with the most blunt approach. “What do you need?”
Regan blinked, seeming to come back to herself a little. “To sweat until I feel in control again.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest one particular activity that would fit the bill, but he couldn’t do it. Brock might want to get inside her again more than was healthy for his state of mind, but he wasn’t the type of man to take advantage of a woman so clearly off her game. So he put a check on his dick and went with a safer question. “Do you run? Or are you one of those prissy-pants elliptical users?”
Her eyes flashed. “I can run you into the ground, Scarlett.”
There was the spitfire he knew and enjoyed. He grinned. “Prove it.”
“Gym. Fifteen minutes.”
“Done.” He watched her walk away, glad to see some of the swing back in her step. Shaking his head, he headed to his room, happy for the excuse to change out of these damn clothes. But he’d been informed by both Colton and Kady that they expected him to dress like a grown-up, not in the faded jeans and T-shirts he favored, for the duration of the week. It was a relief to throw on some basketball shorts and one of his favorite old T-shirts, and head to the gym.
He found Regan already there, dressed in a pair of those tiny black shorts that were designed to bring a man to his knees, and a tank top. She nodded briefly at him. “Let’s do this.”
“So serious. You really need to learn to loosen up.”
As expected, she bristled. “And you could stand to loosen up a whole lot less.” She hesitated, some of that vulnerability showing on her face. “Do you care if I plug in my music? I can’t run in silence.”
The fact that she was willing to play it aloud instead of putting in earbuds made something inside him warm. He found he could really look forward to these moments of sweetness in the midst of all the tart he enjoyed. “Sure. I’m not particular about what I listen to.”
“As long as it’s got some twang, right?”
“Darlin’, your prejudice is showing again.”
She popped her iPod into the jack next to them. It was a token of how nice this gym was that it actually had docks for electronics instead of just an old radio like the one he frequented. Immediately a familiar strain of music came from the speakers. Brock stared. “‘I’m Shipping Up to Boston’?”
Regan shrugged. “Dropkick Murphys are underappreciated.”
Maybe, but he hadn’t expected a poised and pretty woman like her to have any sort of appreciation for Irish punk. She stepped onto her treadmill and said, “Seven miles an hour good for you?”
“Sure.” It’d be a nice easy pace.
“Then enough chatting. Let’s get to it.”
He obeyed as she cranked up her speed. Soon enough, they were both jogging comfortably. It was so strange. He would have guessed that she’d need a drink to calm her nerves after that fuckup in the trees, but she’d come at him with the running thing. And now her iPod was playing Social Distortion and she was humming along under her breath, which was something he never would have expected.
Turned out there was a lot about Regan that surprised him.
And masochist that he apparently was, he wanted to stick around and find out more. It didn’t matter that she seemed more than willing to write him off as a worthless POS. He had this perverse desire to prove to her that he was more than good enough for a woman like her.
They kept going, running until the miles melted away and his breath sawed through his lungs. He fell into the familiar pace, though his thoughts circled around the woman next to him.
What would it take for her to reconsider her initial judgment of him?
He didn’t like the thought of having to prove himself to anyone—not after he’d been trying and failing for the last thirty-odd years with his father. It stuck in his throat that Regan so blatantly preferred Logan to him. She’d lose her damn mind if she met Caine. He was just as driven, polished, and successful as Logan. Maybe more so.
And Brock knew just how well he measured up against his brother.
Did he really stand a chance against Caine 2.0?
…
It took twenty minutes before Regan was finally able to think straight. And her first thought was that two gym sessions in a day was going to leave her hating life tomorrow. She took a quick swig of her water and let herself finally look at Brock in the mirror.
She’d expected him to show up in a cutoff shirt that exposed those tanned and toned up arms to perfection. But no, he wore a threadbare T-shirt that had long ago faded from black to gray, the writing on the front indecipherable from countless washings. With the faint sheen of sweat on his skin and his feet thumping the treadmill in perfect rhythm with hers, he looked like temptation.
He’d handled her.
The realization didn’t sit well. She’d been about to freak the hell out when he’d come for her, and he’d known it. Instead of patronizing her or washing his hands of it—both of which she’d deserved after some of the stuff she said to him—he’d taken care of her. In a really unexpected way.
Normal people didn’t offer to jog until they couldn’t feel their legs just so the crazy woman could outrun her fear. But Brock had. Still was.
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She glanced down. Three miles. That was good enough. She slapped the stop button and waited until he’d done the same to speak. Or maybe she was being a coward, because it was significantly more difficult to say the words than she would have expected. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He flashed her a grin. “Though if you’re feeling particularly grateful, I could go for a drink.”
She could fall into that smile if she let herself. Enjoy this time with him and then get back to her life at the end of the week. They’d probably have a whole hell of a lot of fun.
No.
If her little freak-out earlier had proven anything, it was that when she deviated from her plan, she got into trouble.
He wasn’t part of the plan. They’d had fun last night, and he’d helped her out today—in more ways than one—but that didn’t mean a single thing in the grand scheme of things.
She wanted what her parents had—a true partner who loved her more than anything else in the world, supported her in her choice of career, and brought stability to her life. Which meant someone equally driven, who had the same set of goals Regan did.