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Sitting in her chair, watching Skyla in her element, made Blake feel more at ease than he’d felt all day. He wasn’t bothered by a bar fight. He’d even started a few back in his college days. But when that asshole put his hands on Skyla, Blake saw red. He barely remembered what happened in the moments that immediately followed. He’d acted on pure instinct, his only goal to get between Skyla, and anyone threatening to hurt her.
She was tough as nails. No one would ever mistake her for a damsel in distress. If anything, she was a damn warrior. But no one was ever going to put their hands on her the way that guy did. There was something evil in his eyes that reminded Blake of the way he caught Royce glaring at Skyla the other night. He’d wanted to step in then too, but it didn’t feel right to interfere any more than he did when he didn’t have all the facts. Tonight was different. He didn’t give a damn what he’d missed. The second he walked through that door and saw Hank grabbing Skyla, Blake’s decision was made.
The surprised way she looked at him for defending her, only showed just how much of a warrior Skyla was. But it also spoke volumes about the kind of man her father was. “So, how come your dad doesn’t come around more often?”
Skyla shrugged, but he didn’t miss the tension that set over her body. Whatever was going on between them was big. “He’s retired now, so he doesn’t come around as much.” That was an understatement, but now that Blake had her talking, maybe this was his chance to find out more about whatever their connection was to Arlo J. He needed to figure this out already so he could move this case along, and stop spending so much time with her. Skyla was dangerous to him, worse than any bullet or black eye ever could be.
He removed the ice pack from his face. The thing wasn’t that cold anymore, and he wanted to be able to see Skyla with both eyes. His jaw tightened at the thought. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he thoroughly enjoyed looking at her. And those whiskey-colored eyes with gold flecks, yeah, he could lose himself in those.
She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and his gaze followed the movement, landing on the butterfly tattoo. “That butterfly tattoo is beautiful. I noticed it before, and I think it has something written in the wings, but I couldn’t tell what it said.”
Skyla sighed, her posture relaxing as her fingers brushed over it. “One wing has the word Niwa. It was my mom’s Japanese name. The other one has the word Chouka. It means butterfly in Japanese.” Her voice softened to a near whisper, and Blake found himself straining to hear her. Not because she was talking too softly, but because he genuinely wanted to hear everything this woman had to say. “It was her nickname for me.”
Damn. Blake shifted in the chair, making it groan just a little under his weight. He was close to his mom, but Skyla and her mom practically had their own language. “I guess I don't have to ask if you two were close,” he said, pushing a hand through his disheveled blond curls.
Skyla smiled, a fine sheen of moisture in her eyes. “She’d go out into her garden every day and just spend time with her flowers, and all the butterflies they attracted. Sometimes she’d take me out there with her, and we’d lose track of time. I’d tell her about school and my friends. She’d tell me the names of the new seedlings she’d planted.”
Blake closed his eyes, imagining a young Skyla with her mom, content and happy. “Sounds amazing.”
Skyla nodded. “After she died, my father let the garden go. It’s overgrown and mostly dead weeds now. Every once in a while, I’ll look out my window and see a butterfly though, and it’s like she’s coming back to visit me. I designed the tattoo and got it as soon as I turned eighteen. That way, it feels like she’s always with me.”
“It’s beautiful,” Blake breathed. Skyla was beautiful. The life she’d had before losing her mom sounded almost magical. “May I ask how she died?”
Skyla drew in a deep, ragged breath. Shadows descended on her whiskey-colored eyes, and Blake instantly regretted asking. He never wanted to cause her pain like that. “I’d stayed out past my curfew, and she was angry when she picked me up from a friend’s house. She was yelling at me, not paying as much attention to the road as she should’ve been. A truck swerved and hit us head on. They said she died on impact.”
Blake squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. “Dang. I’m so sorry. Loss like that… James died of a sudden heart attack when I was fifteen.” He wasn’t even sure why he’d let that small detail slip. He wasn’t looking for pity or even compassion. But in the moments after the words came out, he knew why. Simple connection. With Skyla.
Shit. This was getting too serious. Too deep. Too fast. He didn’t want a relationship with her. He didn’t want anything from her but the goddamn truth about her involvement with Arlo J. It was now or never. He had to pull the trigger. Throw everything he had at her and hope it panned out. If not, he didn’t have a plan b.
“He blames you.” Blake said, schooling his features, putting up every guard he had against the woman sitting in front of him. If he was going to pull this off, he had to stop caring. Had to keep his own emotions behind an iron clad fist. There was no going back.
Skyla’s eyes darkened, and she stood hastily from the cot. He was getting under her skin, exactly where he wanted to be. “Your father blames you for her death,” Blake repeated. “So, you have to find ways to hurt him. To get back at him, right?” His insides withered at his words, but he stuck them, prepared for whatever repercussions they had. Skyla wasn’t going to crack unless he broke her, and tonight, he was seizing the opportunity to do just that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think you’ve overstayed your welcome. It’s time for you to go.” She threw open her office door and glared at him, but he didn’t move.
Damn, this was the warrior talking, but he didn’t miss the hurt shining through in her eyes, or the small hitch in her voice.
Blake shrugged, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he didn’t know that his words had likely sliced through Skyla like a sharp knife. He wasn’t actually sure if her father blamed her until this very moment, but there was no mistaking it now. And no going back.
No matter how his body ached when he was near her, no matter how his mind played tricks on him when she was around, none of it mattered. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got happily-ever-afters. But he’d be damned if he was going to be the kind of guy who failed his colleagues, again. Failed Caden after he’d gone to bat for him.
He swallowed, wishing he could swallow the next words he was about to hurl at her. “How far would you go to get back at your old man for not loving you? I mean, he forces you to work here, right? Hardly ever comes around anymore. Doesn’t love you enough, clearly, or else you wouldn’t be stuck here every day, working yourself to the bone while he entertains women and does whatever he pleases. So, tell me, Skyla, what will it take to get back at him, and how many lives are you going to wreck before you finally call it quits?”
The fury racing through those glorious whiskey-colored eyes was enough to send him to his knees. She was so beautiful. Angry. Happy. It didn’t matter.
Blake never thought he had a weakness. Then he started spending time with Skyla Madigan. Turned out she was his Kryptonite.
The way she glared at him, anger and pain in equal measure, she obviously didn’t know it, and he planned on keeping it that way.
“Get. Out.” Skyla ordered, keeping her tone more tempered than he deserved. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I want you to leave. Now.”
Blake nodded, but he was unwilling to admit defeat yet. She wasn’t going to break for him tonight, but she was just about to crack. He stood as if he was in no hurry to leave, because he wasn’t. The woman didn’t scare him, at least not in the way she probably hoped to. “Does Royce know what you’re doing? Does he know how far you’re willing to go with your little charade?” Blake inched closer to her until his face was just inches away from hers. Fuck, it would take less than a second for him to lean in and kiss her. Just take her mouth with his and never let go.
Her cheeks burned a spectacular rose color, whether at his accusations or his close proximity, Blake wasn’t sure. She tried to take a step back, but the backs of her knees hit the edge of her cot. And he almost smirked at the idea of having her sweet, little body trapped beneath him, right where he wanted her. Fuck, fighting with this woman was better than any kind of sex he’d ever had, and he hadn’t even touched her. No, he had. Earlier. Fuck, he was losing his train of thought. He really did need to leave before he acted on this crazy desire that had been building since, he didn’t even know when.
His large frame surrounded her, but there was no fear in her eyes. Anger. Fire. Passion. Maybe even a little lust. But no fear. And he perversely liked that. Liked being close to her like this. But more than that, he felt closer to whatever she was hiding than he ever had before. Her father was definitely in on it - whatever it was. Now, he just had to put the pieces of this weird puzzle together in a way that made sense. “You’re going to run Madigan’s into the ground, aren’t you?” He asked, keeping his tone even and low, like the sound of a deep base that could slowly penetrate her skin and vibrate through her whole body, until she had no choice but to surrender to it.
