In Your Corner

by Sarah Castille

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Ray turns to Jake and growls. “And did they listen? No. They went on their own. Left the car on the street. Good thing I was in the office when Jake came by. Do you have any idea how dangerous this area is?”

  With no apparent thought for her safety, Penny shrugs. “No. How dangerous is it to visit a house on the good end of the street beside a garden with swings and slides, especially when Amanda has pepper spray and takes fight classes?”

  Ray clenches his jaw. “I’ll take Penny home and tomorrow we’re all gonna have a little discussion about taking me with you when you go to dangerous areas of town.”

  Penny frowns. “Does this mean the wine bar is out?”

  “You don’t have to look out for us, Ray.” I fold my arms, matching Jake’s posture, although without the rippling muscles, fierce scowl, or twitching biceps. “But I forgive your stomping and growling because I know this is your way of saying you care.”

  “My job is to look out for you when your man’s not around.” Ray reaches into the car and grabs Penny’s handbag. “I’m sure he’ll be lining you up soon as we’re gone.”

  “How about we stop at the wine bar first?” Penny says. “I’m kinda thirsty.”

  “I thought you were a PI, not a bodyguard. And, he’s not my man. He’s…a friend. Like you.”

  Ray snorts a laugh and glances over at Jake. “A friend does not go fucking crazy when he thinks his woman is in danger. A friend does not need to be physically restrained from tackling any warm-bodied male within a one-mile radius of his woman’s vehicle. A friend gets irritated, worried, and mildly annoyed. Like me.”

  I look up and catch Jake’s gaze. He appears calm, cool, and collected if not mildly annoyed. Definitely a friend.

  As soon as they’re gone, Jake opens the passenger door and gestures me inside. “Get in.”

  “Hello to you too.” I pause on the sidewalk. “But this is my car. I’ll drive.”

  Jake clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m driving.”

  “Oh come on.” I wiggle free and take a step away. “We’re a long way from the eighteenth century.”

  “Don’t push me right now.”

  For the first time since we arrived to find him at my vehicle, I look at him. Really look at him. Pulse pounding in his neck, body tense, mouth drawn into a thin line, eyes narrow. Maybe more than mildly annoyed. Definitely not in a mood to be pushed.

  “Okay.” I give an exaggerated sigh and slide into the passenger seat. A few minutes later, we are speeding through the city streets in the wrong direction.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t talk.”

  A chill forms in the air between us and a sliver of resentment works its way into my chest.

  “I’m not liking this bossy new you.” I twist my bracelet around my wrist. “First, you crash my interview. Then, you commandeer my vehicle. Now, you’re telling me to shut up.”

  “Please, baby…” His voice cracks, and I can see from the white knuckles gripping my steering wheel and the firm set of his jaw, he is right on the edge. Resentment shifts to wariness and I shrink back in my seat.

  “Okay. I get it. You’re angry. Although I think you’re totally overreacting.”

  We drive in silence for another five minutes. Suddenly, Jake makes a sharp turn and pulls into a dark, narrow alley.

  “Get out.”

  My heart goes into overdrive. The alley is barely wide enough to allow us to open our car doors and the only light comes from the street behind us, a dim, yellow glow that stretches the car’s shadow far into the darkness. An empty Dumpster clings to the slimy brick wall and the ground is littered with debris.

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  He exits the vehicle, then stalks around the hood and tugs open my door. “Out.”

  “Jake…”

  “Last time, baby.”

  His term of endearment gives me the courage to get out of the car. I tell myself he’s not really angry. Maybe just concerned and, perhaps a tad worried. The sweet, sensitive part of him is still there—the part that helped me fix up the house and finish my push-ups, the part that has sacrificed everything to help his family.

  After I step out of the vehicle, he slams the door closed and stalks up and down the alley. Finally he thumps his fist on the Dumpster lid, sending a boom of thunder through the dank space. As he closes the distance between us, I fight the urge to pull out my cell phone and call for help. This is Jake. He would never hurt me.

  “Why didn’t you wait for Ray?” He looms over me. “Or call me?”

  “Families live on that street, Jake, and we weren’t planning on taking a long walk through the neighborhood. We went in, interviewed the witness, and came out. And I had my pepper spray. I didn’t go unprepared.”

  “It isn’t a safe area of town. You could have been hurt.”

  My stomach clenches. “It’s no more dangerous than Ghost Town, and I’ve been alone there lots of times.”

  “And look what happened the last time you were there…”

  Tensing, I hold up my hand. “Don’t go there. Not right now, when we’re both annoyed and liable to say the wrong thing.”

  “Fuck.” He pounds his fist on the brick wall. “Fuck. The thought of you in danger…it was too fucking much.”

  “Jake…” I touch his forearm and he jerks his hand away.

  “I thought you were going to die in that alley outside Hellhole.” His voice rises to a shout and he leans in toward me. “I thought I would lose you without really ever having had you at all.”

  “I understand you were worried, but you don’t need to be so angry.” I press my hands against his chest and push, but he’s too big and too heavy, and if he even notices my efforts, he gives no sign. Instead, he continues to rant, and finally, I snap.

  “Stop.” I raise my voice loud enough for him to hear. “Back away. You’re scaring me.” This time when I push, I put all my effort into it. This time Jake takes a step back, and suddenly I can breathe again.

  “I’m scaring you?”

  “Yes. You’re bigger than me, stronger than me, louder than me, and angrier than me. Not only that, you’re a professional fighter and—”

  “You think I’m going to hurt you?” He cuts me off and his voice rises to a disbelieving growl.

  “I think you’re out of control.”

  He takes a step forward and I flinch, turning my head away, bracing myself for the inevitable, but the inevitable never comes.

  “I am always in control,” he says through gritted teeth. “And I would rather cut off my arm than hurt you. But when I went to your office and Ray said you were at Hunter’s Point…fuck, Amanda. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Swallowing past my fear, I meet his furious gaze. “Shouting and pounding your fists and trapping me against the car sends me a different message. I understand you were concerned and worried, and if I didn’t think it was coming from a good place, I’d walk…maybe even run away right now.”

  Jake bristles and opens his mouth, but I press on. He needs to hear what I have to say.

  “You have to understand,” I continue. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I rarely ask for help. And I’ve never had anyone worry about me. I’m not someone who needs to be protected and looked after. This is why I don’t get close to people. If I’d known you were going to react like this…that you would care this much…I would have handled it differently.”

  “Would you?” His cold, bitter tone takes my breath away.

  “Yes.”

  For a long moment, we stare at each other in a mini-standoff, chests heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. Finally, his tension eases—a slight drop of his shoulders, a loosening of his fists. “Next time, you ask me for help.”

  “Next time, you try to deal with the situation with
out using violence and anger, and you don’t scare me.” I smooth my hands over the heaving chest of the sweaty, pumped up alpha-male glowering in front of me and whisper, “And you accept I can handle some dangerous situations that aren’t really dangerous situations on my own.”

  He grunts and suddenly I am hyperaware of his body so close to mine, the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt into my palms, the rapid beat of the pulse in his neck, and the full, sensuous lips only inches away from my mouth. Fueled by adrenaline and emotion, electricity sparks between us, igniting the flame of my desire.

  Through half-lidded eyes, his gaze follows my fingers as they drift down over his tight abs to his belt buckle. When I tug on his belt, he grabs my hand and draws it away.

  “You’re heading for a dangerous situation right now.”

  “I like to live on the edge.” I lean up and nuzzle the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne and the unmistakable musk of arousal. Does he want me as much as I want him? I hope so. Fear and anger and lust make for an intoxicating cocktail, and right now I want to get drunk.

  Jake groans but doesn’t move. “Stop, baby. I’m barely keeping the lid on my control as it is.”

  “So let it go.” I lean up to nibble on his earlobe. “There’s no one around.”

  “Fuck.” He grabs my wrists and brackets them behind my lower back with his hand. My back arches, pressing my breasts against his hard chest. My nipples tighten painfully. If this is his way of stopping me, it’s not going to work.

  “Don’t you understand? If I lose control, you’ll get hurt, and hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  A pained look crosses his face. “You don’t really know me, Amanda. And that’s my fault as much as it is yours. The more I let you in, the further you drew away, until I was afraid to be totally honest with you about what I needed.”

  “What do you need?” I know what I need. I need him inside me. Touching me. Stroking me. Showing me he wants me.

  With a low growl, he tightens his grip on my wrists, pressing them against my lower back while his other hand tangles in my hair. He kicks my legs apart and presses his thigh against the curve of my sex. Holding me immobile, on the threshold of pleasure and pain, he kisses me so hard and rough and dirty, a moan tears out of my throat.

  “This is what I need, baby. I want all of you. I won’t settle for anything less, and until you can give that to me, this is as far as I’m willing to go and as close as I’m willing to get.”

  ***

  “Thanks for inviting me for lunch, but we could have had our meeting at the office.”

  I slide into the booth across from Ray and pull out my notebook. The little Italian café in the SOMA District is packed, and the waiters have to run an obstacle course of briefcases, backpacks, chairs, and feet between the kitchen and the tables. My mouth waters at the rich, spicy scent of tomato sauce laced with the yeasty fragrance of baking bread from the brick pizza oven.

  “Shhhh.” Ray puts a finger to his lips and I frown. The restaurant is a cacophony of sound, from the ring of cell phones to the clang of cookware, from the shouts of the cooks in the open kitchen to the very loud buzz of the crowd.

  “Why shhhh? No one will be able to hear us.”

  He lifts his chin toward a table in the corner. I follow his gaze and freeze. Farnsworth and Evil Reid.

  Immediately, I put a hand up, shielding my face. “What are they doing here? What if they see us?”

  Ray shakes his head and huffs a breath through his nose. “Our booth is situated outside their line of vision. Restroom is behind them. No chance they’ll see us unless they have some reason to walk this way. Keep your menu in case they do. They’re meeting someone and I want you to see him in person. I knew the meet would be here since they come to this restaurant for lunch every Thursday.”

  “I only just gave you the Farnsworth case. How do you know they come here every Thursday?”

  Ray lifts an eyebrow. Thus chastised, I slump back in my seat. “Okay. You’re amazing. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Finally I get a smile. “Never one to turn down a compliment.”

  The waitress arrives to take our order, and after she leaves, Ray gives me a rundown on where he is with my cases. While he’s talking, I glance over at Evil Reid and Farnsworth laughing together and a pang of regret tightens my gut. Did I really ever have a chance at partnership when Evil Reid and Farnsworth are so tight? Maybe all those years I was working hard, I should have been playing the game. Making friends. Sleeping with the enemy…or enemies.

  “So who is this guy you want me to see?” I drum my fingers on the table beside the bread basket which I am NOT going to indulge in today. No bread. Bad bread. Carbs and Amanda don’t mix.

  Ray covers my hand with his own, forcing my fingers to still. “He’s not a good guy. You ever see him, you call me ASAP. You do NOT pull shit like you did at Hunter’s Point.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “I sense you’re a little annoyed about last night.”

  Ray leans across the table. “I was fucking out of my mind and that’s sayin’ something. I’m a pretty relaxed kinda guy. I don’t interfere in people’s lives. But you and Pen, all sweet and innocent, traipsing around Hunter’s Point dressed the way you were dressed…”

  “I’m touched by your concern,” I say dryly. “However—”

  “You need help, you ask for it.” Ray cuts me off with a growl. “Big problem of yours, not being able to ask for help. Get over it.”

  “Um…thanks for the advice. You’ll be pleased to know Jake agrees with you.” My voice is tight with sarcasm, but if Ray even notices, he gives no sign.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The waitress arrives with our pizzas, but before I can dig into the mouthwatering feast in front of me, Ray grabs a menu and holds it up at the edge of the table.

  Instinctively, I duck down behind it. “What? What is it? Are they coming?”

  He shakes his head. “Short, skinny Italian dude in the red shirt. Gold chains around his neck. Whole lotta trouble going on there.”

  “He looks like he’s in the mafia,” I whisper as I peer over the menu.

  “He is.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Seriously?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Ray snorts a laugh. “Name’s Eugene Clements. PI. Farnsworth hired him to replace me.”

  I press my lips together and glare. “Funny, Ray. Very funny.”

  “It was funny.” He treats me to a rare Ray smile. “Shoulda seen your face. Sheet white.”

  My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “So why did I never know about your sense of humor before?”

  Ray’s smile fades. “Nothin’ funny about Farnsworth & Tillman. Your firm, however, amusing as hell.”

  Evil Reid pulls a blue file folder from his briefcase with a picture attached and hands it to Eugene. Even from this distance I can recognize my firm PR shot. My heart stutters in my chest.

  “Omigod, Ray. That’s a picture of me.” My voice rises above the din. “That file is about me!”

  Ray’s hand grips my wrist with what feels like an iron claw and he pulls me across the table. “Discretion. Name of the game.”

  “Okay.”

  “Silence. Also the name of the game.”

  “Okay.”

  He releases my wrist and nods to my pizza. “You can eat now.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite. It creeps me out thinking someone is watching me.”

  A curious expression crosses Ray’s face. Regret? Distaste? Consternation? But before I can figure it out, it’s gone.

  Ray devours his pizza while I toy with what could have been a delightful feast, and the next five minutes pass in silence. Farnsworth and Evil Reid leave t
he café but Ray still doesn’t speak. For some reason, this scares me more than anything, and I struggle to find a topic to divert our attention.

  “Ray, can I ask you a question?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause when a woman asks if she can ask a question, then she’s wantin’ to ask a question no man wants to answer. If it was just a normal question, you would have asked it. Normally.”

  “Okay.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes and then Ray sighs.

  “What was the question?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “It’s not important.”

  “Question. Now.” He barks the commands like a drill sergeant. Maybe in a past life he was a drill sergeant or maybe it was a past life within this life, like before he became a PI, which would explain the commando clothes and attitude.

  “Um…well…if you were a guy…”

  “I am a guy.”

  I give Ray a nasty glance and continue. “As a guy, if a woman said to you she wanted you, meaning she wanted to have sex with you, and she said she wanted it right then, and every time you were together, she pretty much shouted it in your face, but each time you just teased her and walked away, would you expect her to keep waiting? Or would that mean you weren’t really serious and you were just having fun with her? Or would it mean you were serious but you wanted to wait? And if you wanted to wait, why would you want to wait, because it’s not like you hadn’t had sex before?”

  “Christ.” He shakes his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Well?” I hold my breath as I wait for Ray, of all people, to give me relationship advice.

  “Wouldn’t wait.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “Not for any reason?”

  “Woman’s in the mood, that’s the time to do it. And if it was my woman, to hell with everything else. She wants it. She gets it. Done.”

  “You don’t need some time to think about it?” My voice rises to a squeak.

  Ray gives me a wry smile. “Stats say a man thinks about sex about twenty times a day. Man like me, more. When it comes available, a man does not turn it down. Especially if it’s his woman. A real man looks after his woman. You get me?”