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I should have asked Billy where he’d gotten the car from, but I’d trusted him. I’d trusted that what he’d said about finally getting on the straight and narrow was true. And if this is a stolen car and not a ploy by Jesse to torture my family, then that has to be a lie.
Keep it together.
I’m not going to collapse under pressure. I refuse.
“It’s not a stolen car,” I say. “I didn’t steal it.”
“But you got it from your brother.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You’re being detained,” Jesse says. “Turn around. Hands on the roof of the car.”
My breaths come quickly. Blood rushes to my ears. This is my worst nightmare. Getting arrested will suck, but Jesse Taylor being the one who does the arresting? Stick a fork in me. I’m not done, I’m overcooked.
“If you don’t follow my commands, I’ll make you.”
I’m tempted to see if he’ll follow through with the threat, but even I’m not that stubborn. I turn around and place my hands on the roof of the car.
“I need to pat you down. You want me to call a female police officer to the scene?” Jesse asks.
“No.”
He clears his throat. “Do you have any weapons I should know about?”
“No.”
Jesse places his hands on my waist for the briefest moment, circling them like he’s holding me for real, and my skin prickles, my breath catching. His tan hands move over the back pockets of my jeans, removing the license and registration and placing them on the roof of the car beside me.
He pats my legs gently, and I widen my stance. Jesse’s hands sweep over the insides of my thighs, moving lower to my calvesand then my ankles, then up again and around to the front of my jeans. He dips his fingers into my pockets, tugging gently, so I’m pulled toward him.
I can barely breathe, and I hate it.
Jesse’s hands shouldn’t do anything to my pulse, or my skin, or my breath.
He straightens and brushes over my arms and finally across my breasts and back down to my waist, leaving a wake of goosebumps.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
“Get your fill?” I murmur.
“Hardly.”
The word is said quietly.
“What?”
“Hands behind your back,” he says.
I do it. He slips cuffs onto my wrists and tightens them. Not too tight. Loose enough that they don’t hurt too much.
JesseknowsI don’t steal cars. I’ve lived in Heatstroke my entire life. I’ve run the diner ever since my dad passed. I’m a law-abiding citizen, albeit a wild one, so in what world does he think I’d steal a car?
The rational part of my brain mentions it’s his job, but I don’t care. I’m too angry. Angry at myself and Billy, and the whole goddamn situation.
“You have ten seconds to get these cuffs off me, Taylor,” I say, my frustration finally getting the better of me.
He takes hold of my upper arm and I misstep and collide with him. He steadies me, his breath hot on my ear.
