Page 39 of Missile Strike

By the time Isabella caught up, Danny was leaning against his Mustang, arms folded.

“Your friend doesn’t trust me.”

“What makes you say that?” Isabella hedged. “She doesn’t know you.”

“She knows whatever you told her about me.” His expression turned grim. “Which probably wasn’t flattering, was it?”

“Danny—”

A few quick steps and he stood in front of her, his body heat sending prickles of sensation over her skin. “Bella, I was nineteen and grieving my sister, and I handled everything wrong. I never should have touched—”

“That!” She jabbed him in the chest. “That is what I hate.” Heat and moisture blurred her vision. “I wanted you to touch me. And after what I thought was an amazing experience, despite how sad the day had been, all you did was call it a mistake and run away.”

Danny’s jaw went slack. He stared down at her, disbelief and confusion warring in his eyes.

Maybe the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. She had a dog named after him, and now she’d blurted out how he’d ruined her teenage fantasy.

Her muscles coiled, ready to bolt for the safety of her house.

“Bella.” His grip on her arm was gentle but firm. His voice low, her name on his lips brushing over her skin like velvet. “We need to find a way past all this so we can work together.”

He hesitated. “I want us to be friends.”

Friends. The word settled like vinegar on her tongue.

“So I’ll be compliant?” she snapped.

He dropped her arm and stepped back, his expression unreadable. “Whatever you think of me, know this—that night meant something to me, too.”

His jaw flexed. “But you need someone I don’t know how to be.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again like a fish trying to breathe air.

He drove off, leaving her standing there.

Looking and feeling like a fool.

Chapter Nine

I wanted you to touch me.

Early morning sun filtered through the canopy of leaves, dappling the greenway where Danny had chosen to run.

He’d come to clear his mind so he could focus on his job.

Securing the gala.

Keeping Bella safe.

Instead, he couldn’t escape Bella’s words from the night before.

For six miles he’d tried.

His feet pounded the dirt path, weaving around exposed roots and furrows carved by runoff. He’d survived firefights that left less of a mark than Bella standing in her driveway, telling him he hadn’t understood a single thing about her.

Entering the clearing where he’d started, he stopped to stretch before heading to his car.

Dammit.