Wanted by J. Kenner

one quick shake and turned him loose. “Get the hell out of here.”
    As soon as Bruiser disappeared into the wash of bodies, I rounded on Evan. “What the fuck?”
    Evan stood as calm as if he were standing in a lecture hall giving a presentation. “He’s an asshole.”
    “So?” I mean, I was hardly going to argue the point. “I was dancing with him, not marrying him.”
    He took a step closer to me, and despite my irritation, my pulse kicked into high gear. “And now you’re not doing either,” he said.
    “Oh.” The word escaped my lips, more breath than sound. It wasn’t even the sound I wanted to make. What I wanted, was to ask why. Why was he there? Why had he shoved the guy away? He’d followed me here, of course. The odds that this was a coincidence were simply too astronomical to fathom. But why? Did he regret walking away from me on the roof? Was he jealous of Kevin? Or, for that matter, of Bruiser?
    Or was he simply watching over me? Looking out for me the way that Jahn had said he always would?
    “He was dangerous, Angie,” Evan said, leading me to the edge of the dance floor. “And what the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”
    My eyes snapped to his face, and the words were out before I could think better of them. “Maybe I like dangerous men.”
    He hesitated only a heartbeat before replying, but even if he’d planned the words for a year, he couldn’t have cut me deeper. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
    Without thinking, I lashed out, intending to slap his face. I didn’t make it. He caught my wrist and pulled me close until I was mere millimeters from him, the heat from our bodies so intense I feared I might spontaneously combust.
    He stood a full head taller than me, and he had me so close that my lips were almost pressed to the indentation at the base of his neck. He smelled like sin and despite how riled up I was, I had to fight the urge to sneak my tongue out and taste him.
    He bent his head, his breath brushing over the top of my ear as he whispered to me. “I get it,” he said simply.
    I went completely stiff. “What exactly do you get?”
    “That you’re still crying for him.”
    I felt frozen and my breath caught in my throat. Somehow, I managed to force my words out. “What do you mean?”
    Something brushed my hair, and though I couldn’t know for certain, I imagined it was his lips. For a moment he didn’t answer, just held me. The thrum of the music pounding through me had nothing on the surge of blood through my veins. I wanted to stay like that forever. Lost in a forest of the senses. Lost in his arms.
    This was what I’d craved—why I’d come out tonight. Not the club or the music or the alcohol, but this. The numbness vanquished, my senses on overdrive.
    I’d known that the music and the dancing would get me there. That I’d be able to thrust my hand through the curtain and draw in at least a moment or two of real, solid sensation, even if most of it slipped through my fingers like trying to clutch sand.
    But I’d never imagined this. Never imagined that I even had it in me to feel so much all at once. To know—to really and truly know —that I was alive.
    I swallowed again. Part of me was afraid to speak for fear of breaking this spell. But another part of me had to know. “Evan?” I finally whispered, not at all certain he’d be able to hear me over the roar of the club around us. “What do you get?”
    “You,” he said simply, and though it couldn’t possibly be true, right then it was the best thing he could have said to me.
    “I miss him,” I said hoarsely, as if that explained why I was going wild in a sleazy club instead of curled up under a blanket sipping hot cocoa and crying.
    “I know,” he said, and I felt a shiver run through me because I knew it was true. He knew. Not about the numbness. Not about the times I couldn’t take it anymore and had to fight through the fog. But about tonight and my grief and everything that I’d lost. About