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in his hands.
    “You can park back here. I have cameras all over, so you and your car are safe. Just park away from the dumpster. That seems to be the favorite spot for people to throw up.”
    My nose scrunched. “That’s disgusting.”
    “Disgusting, but true. And you’ll be thanking me when your car doesn’t have an extra coating on it come morning.”
    “Yeah, old Bertha wouldn’t like that very much.”
    An amused smile tugged at his lips. “You named your car?”
    “Of course I did. Bertha and I go way back. She’s my oldest friend.”
    “Don’t tell me she was your first car.”
    “She was, and she hasn’t let me down yet.” I knew she wasn’t really a she and was a car, but she was faithful, reliable and resilient. More than I could say for most people in my life before college. “What was your first car?” I asked, as we took the back stairs to our place.
    He stood a little taller. “A 1988 Firebird.”
    “Let me guess. It was black?” I mocked.
    “Actually, it was red.”
    My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Red? I do not pin you as the red type. Kind of doesn’t go with the whole dark and mysterious persona you got going on.”
    Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Dark and mysterious, huh?”
    “How else would you describe it? You’re definitely not a forthcoming ray of sunshine.”
    He shrugged. “True. But I used to be into the flashy stuff.” We got to the door, and he put a bag down to get his keys.
    I couldn’t picture Jaxon in a bright red car. Nor could I picture him being into anything flashy. It wasn’t the Jaxon I knew, which only made me wonder. “Why not anymore?”
    He pushed the door open, and I expected him to let my question linger in the air unanswered, but he turned back to me with his dark, intense stare. “Realized it was stupid. Life’s more than a show.”
    A storm raged in his eyes, and I wanted to know more. What happened in his past that he refused to talk about? What made him change his outlook on life? The questions all sat on the tip of my tongue, begging to be asked, but as little as I knew about Jaxon, I also knew a great deal about him, and if I asked him any one of those questions, he’d shut down and walk away. If I was going to find out anything about Jaxon Reed, and the past he kept so tightly locked away, I would need to do it layer by layer. By the time we got down to the center, he’d finally let me in. Or so I hoped.
    So, I swallowed the questions down, and saved them for another day.
     

Chapter 8
    The first night in my new place, I was restless. I picked up a book, but, after rereading the same sentence six times, I gave up, and tossed it back onto the nightstand. I unpacked my duffle bag, but even after the last article of clothing was in the dresser, I still wasn’t tired.
    Maybe a glass of milk would help. I thought about grabbing a robe to cover my silk cami and matching shorts, but it was two in the morning, and I doubted Jaxon was up. Even if he was, he had seen me in far less.
    I eased the door open, and tiptoed down the hall. Jaxon’s room was diagonal from mine, and I stopped for a moment outside, listening for any movement. There was complete silence, and I continued on my way.
    I remembered the cups being in the far left cabinet, and retrieved one before grabbing the milk and pouring a glass. I leaned against the counter, and took a cool refreshing sip. When I lowered the glass, I damn near choked on the milk. Jaxon stood in front of me in boxer briefs and a t-shirt.
    My breath caught in my throat at how sexy he looked with the slightest ruffle of bed head.
    He nodded to my hand. “You’re a middle of the night snacker, too?” he asked as he pinned me against the counter, and grabbed a box of cookies from the cabinet above me.
    Heat radiated off of him in delicious waves, and I wanted so desperately to be wrapped in his warmth. Instead, he stepped back and leaned against the other counter.
    “No, I just couldn’t sleep.” I