Page 16 of Irresistibly Wicked

“I know it’s weird, but we left home when we were seventeen, and like I said, it’s always been us against the world. I never saw my parents after that.”

“You were just kids,” he said incredulously. “My grandfather ran away at sixteen to escape his abusive father, but it was a different world back then. He worked construction, no questions asked, met my grandmother a year later, and married her at eighteen.”

“Wow. Are they still together?”

“Unfortunately, my grandmother passed away several years ago, but they were together until the end. They raised their kids in a loving house, free from abuse, and given how hard it is to break those cycles, I think that’s pretty damn amazing.”

“It is. That says a lot about your grandfather.”

“He’s an ornery old bastard, but he’s got a good heart, and we’ll all be a mess when we lose him.”

She loved how genuine his love for his grandfather was, flaws and all, and how easy he was to talk to. “Hopefully that won’t happen for a long time.”

“He’s a strong dude, and stubborn. He’s not going anywhere,” he said as they walked around in the grass behind the building. “I’m curious about how you made it on your own at that age. It must have been hard.”

“We weren’t on our own. Brian and I had each other.”

He seemed to think about that for a beat, his brows knitted and his eyes serious. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-four. How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Yikes,” she teased. “You’re an old man.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. I can…Shit. There I go again, sliding into the pickup lane.”

She laughed. “Seems like that’s a problem for you.”

“Not for long.” He said it like it was a challenge to himself. “How long have you been in this area?”

“Nice transition, pickup guy,” she teased. “Just a couple of years. We lived in Wareham for a while before moving over the bridge to Bourne, and then we stayed in Falmouth, Mashpee, and a few other places befo—” She stepped in a hole and lost her balance, letting out a surprised yelp, but Zander caught her hand, pulled her upright, and steadied her with his other hand on her hip. He was right there, his blue eyes holding her captive.

“Thanks” came out too breathily.

He held her hand a little tighter. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” She motioned to the hole that had tripped her up. “My foot caught the side of that hole. You’ve got good reflexes.”

“That comes from years of riding motorcycles.” He looked down at her hand in his and brushed his thumb over her tattoo. When she tried to pull her hand away, he tightened his grip and lifted her hand, brushing his thumb over the ink again. “What’s this?”

“That’s a four. It comes right after three and before five,” she teased.

He cocked a brow.

“It’s my favorite number,” she relented.

“If you want this hand back, I’m going to need to know the story behind that favorite number.”

God, this guy. She laughed softly, loving his easygoing nature. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I doubt that. You put a permanent mark on your hand, which means a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, it’s upside down, which means it’s there for you, not as a statement for others. Usually when people do that, it’s a reminder about something. We shake with our right hands, and this tattoo is on your left. That’s another indicator that you don’t want people asking about it.”

“And yet here you are, holding my hand hostage.”