Liberty pushes back from the table. “I had your bike towed this morning. I’ll take you to town so you can sort it out with the mechanic.”

I stand too, fast enough to make the floor tilt. “Hey, wait.” When she pauses to look at me, I’ve got nothing. A first. I run my hand over my tangled hair and remember her washing it. “Don’t you want to know my name?”

Hell, it’s the last thing I want to give. But it irks that she’s already rushing me out the door. And damn if I know why that bothers me.

She looks me over, a slow inspection that makes my skin itch and swell. It isn’t a hot look. It’s judgment. And I’m clearly found lacking. Another first.

Her hair sways, catching the sunlight as she shakes her head. “No. No, I don’t.”

And then she leaves me with a cup of cooling coffee and a plate of biscuits.

Liberty

I’ve been alone too long. I don’t know how to act around people anymore. Especially not this guy. Yesterday he was disgusting. Drunk and too far gone to function. I should have left him on my porch, called the police, and cleaned myself up while they hauled his ass away.

But I couldn’t. Not all drunks are bad. Some are just lost. I have no idea what this guy’s issue is. I only know that, when faced with the decision, I hadn’t the heart to leave him.

So I dragged him to my bathroom and washed him clean. There was nothing sexual about the act. He stank something awful and was so butt-drunk, it was all I could do not to wring his thick neck for being so reckless.

Not to mention I was pissed to have to give my bed up to the idiot. No way was I going to be able to haul him upstairs to the guest rooms.

But now, in the light of day, I am at sea when it comes to my drunken bum. His presence in my house is immense. As if a mere room could never contain him.

Presence. My mom used to say there were those who just had it. I never understood what she meant until today. Because even though he’s fumbling his words and clearly hung-over, this guy vibrates with vitality. It permeates the air like a perfume, soaking into my skin and making me want to rub myself all over him just to get a little bit more of that feeling—as if by being near him, I, too, might be something special.

It makes no sense. But then life rarely makes sense to me.

And now that he isn’t piss-ass drunk and filthy, I can see the beauty of him. His body is long and tight with a sort of rawboned strength of sinewy muscles and sharp movements. His hair is still a tangled mess, falling down to his shoulders and the color of rich, dark coffee. A thick, unkempt beard covers most of his face, which is…annoying. Because it hides too much.

But what I can see points to an attractive man. His nose is bold, a bump along the high bridge as if he once busted it, but the shape fits his face. Prominent cheekbones and what looks to be a stubborn chin under all that fuzz give him an air of pure masculinity.

His eyes, however, are downright pretty. Framed under the dark slashes of his brows, they shine like obsidian.

How could a person not be swayed? Those eyes tracked my every move around the kitchen earlier. Unnerving me.

I shoved food at him just to make him look away. He hadn’t, though. Even as he inhaled my biscuits like a man starved, he watched me. Not in a sexual way, though, more like I was a mess he’d inadvertently walked into. The irony made me want to laugh.

Now, I just want to get away from him. Talking about my parents reminds me why I should hate this guy—this drunk-driving stranger who took not only his life but the lives of everyone he shared the road with into his unsteady hands. My life will never be the same because of a drunk driver, and I have little respect for those who do it. Even if they quote Shakespeare and have cheeky, somewhat cute smiles.

Not looking back, I get my keys. He’s not far behind though, his boots clomping just as loudly as mine, echoing in the front hall. He’s got a fresh biscuit in hand and is chewing on the remnants of another. I refuse to find that endearing.

“You really don’t want to know my name?” he calls.

I grab my sunglasses. “Why is this bothering you? It isn’t as though we’ll ever see each other again.”

His frown grows. “Seems like common courtesy.”

“After that shower, I think we’re past basic etiquette.”

Oddly, this makes him smile, and when he does? Oh boy. It’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds, all brightness and open joy. I’m fairly blinded by it and have to blink and look away.

“See, that’s my point.” He gestures toward me with his biscuit before taking a huge, grunting bite. “You’ve seen me naked—”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s disgusting.”

He keeps chewing. “You’ve washed my cock—”

“Hey, I didn’t get anywhere near your dangly bits, buddy. ”

That grin of his wraps around his food. “In my mind you did. And you washed my hair. You can’t wash a man’s hair and not know his name. That’s just bad juju.”

“Juju?” I try not to laugh as I head for the door. “You’re still drunk.”

“Clear as a crystal, Libby.” He’s right behind me, dogging my steps. “Now ask my name.”

I stop short and turn, and my nose meets the center of his chest. The contact ripples through me like a vibrating wave. I step back and tilt my head.

He gives me a slightly smug, completely antagonistic look. But his voice drops, sweet and cajoling. “Come on, ask.”

God, that voice. I’ve been trying to ignore it because it’s the kind of voice that can pull you under, make you lose your train of thought. Low and deep and powerful. He talks, and it’s a melody.

He’s staring at me now, waiting, his dark gaze expectant. It sets off a slow thud, thud, thud in my chest. I haven’t stood this close to anyone in a good, long while.

Swallowing, I find my voice. “All right then, tell me.”

But he doesn’t speak. He freezes as if he’s caught and is suddenly wary.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I laugh, not really amused at all. “You bug the hell out of me to ask, and now you pull a Rumpelstiltskin?”

He blinks as if shaking himself out of a trance and then glares. “Don’t worry, your firstborn is safe from me.” He sucks in a breath and thrusts out his hand. “Killian.”