Come Back to Me

By Cameron Hart

She thinks she's too broken for love. He'll pick up the pieces and love every part of her.

Emma: I never expected to see Hot Cop again. He came to my rescue after my piece of crap car broke down on the side of the road. Sure, he's sexy, kind, and a solid decade older than me, but I don't have time for a man in my messy life.

Then he showed up at my work, telling me all of these sweet things, making me feel so... treasured. Part of me wants to get lost in this fantasy, but a bigger part knows I need to back out before my past comes back to destroy us both.

Roman: When I saw the little pixie of a woman cursing and wrestling to roll her window down on her rust-bucket of a car, I knew she was the one for me. My little spitfire. My dandelion. My Emma.

She thinks she has a big, scary past, but she doesn't realize I'm her future. I've been in love with her since the moment I saw her, and my little dandelion isn't going to get away from me. Will I be strong enough to fight the demons she keeps telling me about when the time comes? You better believe it.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cameron Hart
• Release date: Jun 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227772428

Cameron Hart

Hello. I'm Cameron Hart, and I write sweet steamy romances. I’m a USA Today Bestselling author with over forty books available. I write romance with lots of heat, plenty of sweet, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. I graduated from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop in 2012 with a degree in creative writing. When I’m not working on my next book, I can be found reading, crocheting, doing yoga, and chasing around my grumpy cats. **What to expect from a Cameron Hart book: Lots of heat, plenty of sweet, and just enough drama to keep things interesting. No cheating, safe, guaranteed HEA!**

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One look at the stunning waitress carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and I’m a goner. I wasn’t looking for a sweet little thing with auburn hair and more baggage than I can fit on the back of my bike, but there’s no going back now. She’s mine. I’ll prove to her I’m more than capable of handling her past and making her feel safe again.

Chapter 1

Emma

Goddamnit! No, no, no! I curse at myself and smack my palms down on the steering wheel of my ancient station wagon. The red and blue lights continue to flash in my rearview mirror. Despite being a bit of a reckless driver, I’ve never actually been pulled over before.

It’s not that I’m a bad driver, per se. Although my best friend and roommate, Harper, might disagree. I’ve just never been one much for rules. And it’s not like I do anything super dangerous. Mostly speeding, maybe not stopping all the way at four-way stop signs, especially when there is no one else around. Sure, there’s the occasional switching of lanes without using a signal. And, fine, sometimes I push my luck when storming through yellow lights, but I mean, c’mon. Those things should really be longer anyway.

I know I’ve been testing fate, driving like this and not getting pulled over, which is why it’s surprising that breaking down is the thing that made a cop stop and notice. The thing is... I can’t have my license run through the system. I’m such a fucking fool. I got too comfortable here and now I’m about to blow it.

I gather my registration and proof of insurance, hoping against hope the cop can just check that and maybe not ask for my license. I know, I know, that will never happen, but maybe it’ll buy me some time. To do what, exactly, I’m not sure.

I start the slow process of rolling down my window. It’s a manual hand crank, and it often gets stuck. I’m busy arm wrestling the damn crank when I hear a tap on my window.

What? I snap. It’s my automatic response when I’m annoyed and someone makes it worse. But, shit, it’s a cop. One I’m hoping won’t give me a ticket or run my license. I mean, hi.

God, I’m such an idiot.

I look up for the first time and notice the freaking wall of a man standing outside of my window. All I see is his huge chest at first, but then my eyes drift up towards his face. He’s grinning at me, but when my eyes lock with his, all smugness drops from his face. He’s staring at me with the same intensity, almost shock, that I know he sees reflected in my eyes.

Holy shit.

I don’t think I’ve ever described a man as beautiful before, but there’s really no other word that fits him. His face is all hard angles, which makes his soft lips stand out all the more. He has a mess of dark brown hair, thick eyebrows and lashes, and brilliant green eyes that are searching mine like I’m a puzzle and he wants to find all of my pieces and put me back together.

Yeah, good luck, buddy.

Finally, he clears his throat, pulling both of us out of whatever the fuck that was.

Miss, can you roll down your window? His deep voice rolls through me, blanketing me in warmth. I can’t say anyone’s voice has ever affected me this much. A girl could fall right into those eyes and wrap herself up in his voice and never leave. Which is terrifying and dangerous and why I need to get my shit together.

Yeah, I’m trying to do that. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a top of the line vehicle. I tug at the crank, throwing all of my upper body into it, which isn’t really saying much. The window moves exactly one inch, which makes Hot Cop smirk. The arrogant, beautiful bastard.

Don’t hurt yourself, little one.

What did you just call me? I may be little, but I know how to take care of myself, and I sure as fuck will not be taken down by this damn window! I channel all of my anger and ridiculous attraction to Hot Cop into my task, and a few seconds later the crank gives way.

I roll the window down the rest of the way with ease and then glare at the stupidly attractive cop.

Impressive, he chuckles. The sound makes me clench my thighs together. Everything okay here? Need me to call you a tow?

Nope, really, it’s fine. She just does this sometimes. You know how finicky women can be, I go for a joke, and he seems to like it, based on the little upturn of his soft lips. Just gotta give her some time to rest and then rev the engine a bit. I’m told it’s the timing belt. I have no idea what that is, but I know replacing it costs about five times as much as she’s worth, so... I shrug.

Sounds about right. You really shouldn’t be driving this car though, especially if it stalls out a lot. It’s dangerous.

Heat rushes to my face and I have to literally bite my tongue to stop from yelling that not all of us have money for a new car. I can already hear him asking why I can’t just ride the bus, to which I verbally assault him in my head and let him know that between college classes, my waitressing job, and my coffee shop gig, I can’t wait around for the bus all day. He’d probably point out that having an unreliable car is just as bad as the bus.

I glare at Hot Cop even harder, angry at him even though our argument is all in my head.

He keeps smirking at me like he knew what I was thinking, and then clears his throat. Well, I guess I should probably check your license and registration while I’m here.

I make a point to give him an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. I should be flirting or something to get on his good side, but for some reason, my mouth won't cooperate. Grabbing the registration and insurance information, I hand them out the window.

My stupid hands are shaking, partially from the exertion of rolling the window down, and partially due to my goddamn nerves. And, okay, if I’m totally honest, partially because I swear to God I’m staring at a Roman statue.

Hot Cop’s fingers wrap around mine where I'm holding onto the papers, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth across my knuckles. It's a featherlight touch, one I didn't think someone of his size would be capable of.

Are you alright? There’s such sincerity in his voice. His brow knits together and worry flashes in his green eyes.

Y-Yeah, I say in the most unconvincing tone ever. I clear my throat and try again, going for confidence this time. Yes. I’m fine. I yank my hand back once I know he’s got a hold of the papers.

Hot Cop looks over the paperwork and then asks the inevitable. And your license?

Panic seizes my throat, but I swallow it down and take a deep breath. I have it. I just... Fuck. What do I even say? He can’t run it. It was a risk even getting a license in the first place, but the last thing I need is for it to be run through a police database.

Before my brain officially decides on a story to tell, my mouth runs off and word vomits all over the place. Look, I swear I don’t have a record, which, I know, is something someone who has a record would say, but it’s really true. You can look at my license, I grab it and flash it to him, not letting him take it. See? It’s up to date and everything. Maybe you don’t have to run it this time? I can’t... Just, please?

To my complete surprise, it looks like he’s considering my ridiculous request. I can see him debating with himself. It gives me hope. I start praying to a God I don’t believe in that he lands on the side of letting me go.

No such luck.

Sorry. I have to run your license. It’s protocol.

I know, I know, I know, I mutter to myself like a crazy person. Shit. I’ve got nothing. The panic comes back in full force now, gripping my throat and making it hard to breathe. I go for broke before my throat closes up completely and my panic attack hits me with full force. He can’t find me. Please, he—

I feel tears sting my eyes as my vision tunnels.

No, no, no, don’t pass out now. He’ll take your license and run it. Stay awake, dammit!

I see him reach for the door of my car, opening it and kneeling down so his face is close to mine.

Breathe for me, little one. You’re okay.

I don't understand what he's doing, why he's being nice. I don't really have time to spend worrying about that, however, since I'm currently trying not to pass out like the weak piece of shit that I am. God, just thinking about Craig finding me sent me into a tailspin.

Stay with me, sweetheart. Just breathe with me okay?

He takes my hand and places it over his heart. I attempt a few shuddering breaths and then finally pull in enough air to ease the burning in my lungs.

That’s it. Keep taking deep breaths for me.

I nod and do what he says. He’s looking at me with such concern and concentration, like his only job in the world right now is to take care of me. His hand comes up to my face and I feel the rough pad of his thumb brush away a tear that must have escaped.

When I finally calm the hell down, I take my hand off of his chest. I suddenly feel lost without the contact, like he was my anchor and now I’m just drifting out to sea. I swear the look he gives me says he feels the same thing.

Here, he says, breaking whatever moment I’m sure I conjured up in my head. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a granola bar. This will help with the adrenaline crash. Hot Cop takes my hand again and sets the granola bar in my palm, curling my still shaking fingers up and placing my hand back in my lap.

Thanks, I manage to say.

Do you get panic attacks often?

I shrug. I haven’t had one since... Shit, what am I saying? I can’t give him any information. Well, any more than I already have. I mean, I used to. But it’s been a while.

He’s still kneeling down next to me, giving me a comforting and understanding smile, even though his eyes still look full of worry.

Are you okay to drive?

I nod yes, not trusting myself to open my mouth in case I inadvertently spill all of my secrets. And to a fucking cop, no less.

Hot Cop looks me up and down, not in a sexual way, though I wouldn’t mind that either. No, it’s more like he’s studying me for any damage. Seemingly satisfied with what he found, he nods and stands up. Before stepping away, he rolls my window up for me. It’s such a sweet gesture, on top of how he took care of me, and then let me off the hook.

Thank you, I all but whisper. I’ve never meant it more in my entire life.

You’re welcome, dandelion.

My breath catches in my throat again, and I’m sure he sees the shock in my eyes. Why would you call me that?

Hot Cop gives me a sweet smile. I’ll tell you some other time. I nod, still in shock. Was it a lucky guess? Does he know? Be safe, okay?

Yeah, I manage to squeak out.

He looks like he doesn’t want to leave, and honestly, I don’t want him to either. I’ve spent most of my life alone and fending for myself. Harper is my closest friend, but she doesn’t know about the life I left behind in Florida. I’m just lucky she liked me enough to invite me to move with her and her family out here to Atlanta when we were sixteen. Harper has no idea how much that saved my life, and I’ve never told her. I don’t to be more of a burden than I already am.

But something about the man standing in front of me makes me want to curl up inside of him and let him carry the weight of my past, my pain, my fear. Those thoughts are exactly what I need to avoid. Letting someone in could be dangerous for both of us. Still, when he closes the door, I feel an ache in my chest.

Stop being so dramatic. Thank your lucky fucking stars that he felt sorry for you and didn’t run your license.

I shake the foreign feelings that have taken up residence in my bones, forcing them out. Starting up my car again, I rev the engine and then signal to merge into traffic, taking one last look at Hot Cop in my rearview mirror. He looks about as stunned and pained as I do.

Doesn’t matter. That was a close call. I’ve gotten lazy and comfortable here, especially living with Harper these last few years.

Speaking of, I better get my ass in gear if I want to make it to Harper’s dad’s house in time. He invited us over to meet his friend or something. Harper’s dad and stepmom are insufferable, and I’d do anything to spare her even a moment alone with them. Well, anything but speed and break traffic laws, of course.

Chapter 2

Roman

What the hell was that? Who the hell was that?

I saw the piece of shit station wagon stalling on the side of the road, and while I’m a detective and don’t technically have to do stuff like this, something drew me to the vehicle. I placed the light on top of my car and flipped it on. I’ll admit, seeing the little pixie of a woman trying to maneuver the window down on her car made me smirk a little. Especially her snarky response. There’s a surprising amount of sass all bottle up in her pretty little package.

But then her eyes found mine and all the air was sucked out of my lungs, replaced with the burning need to claim her, protect her, make her mine. I instantly felt an all-over possessive ache for her. Everything about this woman called to me. Her long, messy black hair, her crystal blue eyes, her rosy cheeks, and soft, pink lips. I even loved that she was so fucking small I could practically carry her