“You want to turn around now,” Zane said softly. “You want to turn around and walk away. Otherwise, you won’t be walking anywhere.”
“Yeah?” He took a step forward and drilled a finger into Zane’s chest.
Mentally, Zane calculated. The guy only had an inch or two on him, but he outweighed Zane, a good twenty pounds of solid muscle. He stood there like he knew how to move—probably knew how to throw a punch or two. In a straight-out fight, it could get ugly. Zane had gone through more than his share of straight-out fights.
Then he saw the glint of silver flashing in the man’s hand and he stopped worrying—he just moved.
* * *
One minute, Hawk was standing there.
Keelie barely even processed what happened, Zane moved so fast. He’d dodged to the side and struck out low with one leg—she’d seen that. Then there was a wet, sickening crack and Hawk crumpled to the ground. Furious, pained noises left his throat and his leg stuck out at an impossible angle. Keelie barely managed to snap her jaw shut before she swung her head around to stare at Zane.
Cool and collected Zane, with his horn-rimmed glasses and serious smiles.
He stood there, watching Hawk with a dispassionate gaze, then he shifted and kicked the knife her way.
Hawk lay there panting, glaring at Zane. “You fuck! My knee.”
“You better count yourself lucky the knee is all I broke.” He pulled his phone out and then scowled.
No. That was her phone.
He held it out and they traded.
Words burned on the tip of her tongue.
Words like thanks.
Words like I didn’t know you could do shit like that.
Words like . . . whoa.
If you’d asked her earlier, she would have said, I don’t like the tough guy act.
But right then, her heart was racing and she was having a hard time seeing anything but Zane.
He punched in a number and lifted up the phone.
“I need to report an attack, please.”
She closed her eyes. Great. He was calling the cops. Of course, this shithead was going to have to go to the hospital, thanks to the busted knee.
“You asshole! You calling the fucking cops?”
Hawk went to get up but went down with a screech when he tried to put weight on his leg.
Zane ignored him, still talking into the phone.
A few seconds later, his eyes came back to Keelie’s face and she swallowed.
“I had it under control, you know,” she blurted out.
A shutter fell across his eyes and he inclined his head. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything.
And she felt like an idiot.
* * *
“I’m fine, Ani.”
“You’re not fine!” Anais all but wailed into the phone.
Keelie fisted a hand in her hair, leaning against her car as she watched the paramedics finish loading that jackass Hawk into the back of an ambulance. His real name was Jethro. That made her smile a little. Jethro Bush.
And Jethro Bush was still cussing and giving everybody in sight the death stare.
Asshole.
“I am fine,” she said once Anais had paused to take a breath. “I had it under control and all, but if it makes you feel any better, Zane is apparently some sort of Superman under those glasses of his and—”
“Zane?” Her tone changed, and Keelie could have groaned. “Zane was there?”
“We ended up getting our phones mixed up and he was just bringing mine to me. Great timing, too. Anyway, Zane was there and it all worked out. Okay?”
There was a pause and then Anais sighed. “Okay. Is . . . is there anything I can do?”
Distracted, she glanced over at the cops and her gaze landed on Zane. He stood there, relaxed and easy, hands hanging loose at his sides, head dipped down as he listened to whatever the female officer was saying—she was petite, her head barely reaching the middle of Zane’s chest.
And she was smiling at Zane.
That smile really pissed Keelie off.
“Keelie!”
She mentally kicked herself and jerked her attention away from Zane. “No, honey. There’s nothing you need to do . . . except . . .” she trailed off, wondering the best way to put this. Blunt. She’d just be blunt and straight-up. Keelie didn’t know any other way. “Look, Ani, I know you mean well, but let’s not try the blind date thing again. I can handle my social life on my own, okay?”
There was a heavy, sad pause and then Anais sighed. “Keelie, I’m sorry . . . I just . . . you stay home all the time. You work on art and stuff and you do tattoos and you read. That’s not a life.”
“Maybe it’s not your kind of life, but it works for me.” She worried her lower lip for a minute. “I’ll figure it all out on my own, okay?”
“Okay. You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Nah.”
A few minutes later, they hung up and she was left standing there watching a pretty cop flirt with a quiet, sexy photographer. And that quiet, sexy photographer stood there, smiling in that solemn way of his. Of course, he couldn’t just shut the woman down, could he?
Keelie scowled and forced her gaze away. She had no business getting jealous, not when she’d been out on a date—yeah, it was the date from hell, but she had been out on a date. Not to mention she’d turned him down more than once or twice.
That didn’t matter, though. It still burned to see him turning that slow, serious smile on somebody else.
* * *
Zane let himself into Zach’s old loft. The place was empty since Zach and Abby had started living together. Collapsing against the door, Zach pulled of his glasses. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he counted to ten. Ten didn’t do it. Neither did twenty.
Fury and frustration and worry warred inside him, a bubbling, burning brew that just wouldn’t go away.
Shoving off the door, he put his suitcase on the floor close to the bedroom and kicked off his shoes. He could still see her, like her face had been captured on one of his fucking cameras, pale skin, eyes glinting—the blue eye all icy with fury while the brown one was practically glowing and shooting fire. Her pretty mouth had been flattened out to a tight line and she had looked perfectly ready to do whatever in the hell she had to, while that roughneck son of a bitch stood over her, ready to hurt her in so many ways.
Zane knew all about people who liked to hurt.
It was a secret he’d kept to himself for a long time, one he didn’t plan on sharing, ever, but he knew far too much about the kind of mindset that made a person want to hurt.
But he was just supposed to ignore that.
Because Keelie had it under control . . .
“Fuck that,” he muttered.
He headed down the hall and hoped like hell Zach hadn’t managed to get most of his shit moved into storage.
* * *
An hour later, muscles limp and lax as putty, his mind was almost clear.
The weights hadn’t helped much. He hadn’t expected them to.
The treadmill had helped some but he’d only been able to do three miles before he gave up. Running nowhere fast never seemed to do much to burn off any sort of energy for him.
The heavy bag had helped.
Now his hands were sore, his thighs were screaming at him, and he almost felt like he could sleep.
Of course, every time he closed his eyes, he still saw Keelie.
Saw the way that bastard had been moving in on her, the way Keelie had stared at him after he’d taken the guy’s knee out. The way she’d studiously avoided looking at him after she’d told him I had it under control . . .
Translation: I don’t need your help.
Too fucking bad, because he didn’t regret that. Not at all.
Just thinking about it was enough to make his muscles knot back up, so he pushed it out of his mind.
It was over.
It was done.
He’d say something
to Zach and the guys at the shop would make sure to keep an eye out in case the guy came back around looking for her. Nothing much for him to do, since Keelie hadn’t really wanted him involved in the first place.
Like he was just supposed to . . . what? Stand there?
“You’re doing a first-class job of not thinking about it,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face as he headed out of the little gym Zach had set up.
He needed a shower. Needed to put some food in his belly and then he’d collapse.
There wasn’t anything in the fridge but there was some canned ravioli and boxes of macaroni and shit in the cabinet. Zane had to take a minute to be glad his brother had the appetite of a twelve-year-old because, otherwise, Zane might have just gone without food all night. He wasn’t going anywhere without some sleep.
He opted for the ravioli. Dumping the thick, gooey mess into a bowl, he shoved it into the microwave and dug out some ibuprofen from his bag. The way he was going, he would need another bottle before he headed home. His head hurt, his hands hurt . . . his heart—
He closed his eyes.
He really, really needed to take some time and think this through before he committed to moving here. Yes, he needed to move on with his life and focus. Yes, he wanted to try and . . .
He swore and slammed a fist onto the counter. He didn’t even have the balls to say it out loud. He wanted to take a chance on making something happen with Keelie. He knew as well as he knew his own name that she felt something. But feeling something and being willing to take a chance on it were two different things entirely.
If he moved here and she never took that step, then what?
“Then you deal,” he said softly, forcing himself to acknowledge that very reality. But he couldn’t keep hiding away from it because he was afraid.
It was time to start thinking about all the things he could have, all the things he wanted . . . all the things he’d always wanted.
Things he’d never have if he just kept dreaming, instead of reaching.
* * *
A little while later, showered, tired, and pissed, he made his way back out into the living room. He wasn’t going to sleep. Not yet.
Get dressed. Coffee . . . caffeine rarely had much effect on him anyway. Then he could spend the next few hours going blind on the classifieds. Sooner or later, he’d be tired enough to sleep, he figured.
If he lucked out, he’d find something he could use for his studio around here. That was the plan, at least. He’d have to check out San Francisco or his mom would never let him hear the end of it. He had no desire to move back to California. He spent enough of his life there—the first eighteen years—but he’d go through the motions to make Mom happy.
In his gut, though, he knew where he needed to be. Right here, in Tucson.
This was . . .
Somebody knocked.
Scowling, he eyed the clock on the wall.
Past midnight and, other than Zach, nobody knew he was here. Cautious, he grabbed his phone as he moved closer to the door.
“Zane. Open the door. I know you’re up.”
Keelie—
He managed, barely, to keep from throwing the door open.
So much for putting her out of his mind.
He even managed to paste a bland expression on his face when he opened the door.
It was harder to keep that expression, though, when Keelie’s gaze dropped from his eyes to his chest.
He should have grabbed a damn shirt. Self-conscious, but determined not to show it, he stood there as she cocked her head to the side, studying the tattoo he’d let Zach put on him years ago. It was an owl in flight and it started midway across his chest and continued up, one wing spreading over his shoulder, the body stretched out along his torso, with the tail feathers ending down his side. Maybe not the typical tattoo for a guy, but if he was going to have one, he figured it might as well be something he didn’t mind staring at every damn day for the rest of his life.
Normally, he didn’t mind at all if women stared.
Keelie was a different matter entirely, though. Her interest seemed to waver between professional and personal, her eyes narrowing as she studied what felt like each line, each feather. But at the same time, a pink blush settled along her neck, climbing higher and higher, and her eyes glittered.
His cock was standing at attention by the time her gaze moved back up to meet his.
He turned away. Shirt. Needed. Now.
“Zach?”
“Yeah.” He headed down the hall, letting her come in and shut the door. “He’s about the only one who would have a chance of talking me into it. He needed the practice and the portfolio and all that jazz. You know how he is.”
“I’ve seen that design before. Zach has it pinned up in the gallery.” She paused and then added, “I didn’t realize it was you.”
“That’s because it’s just the tattoo.”
He grabbed his suitcase from the floor and hauled it onto the couch, unzipped it. Unlike Zach, he was organized down to the nth degree and had a neatly folded polo in hand in two seconds flat. He pulled it on and zipped up the suitcase before looking at her. She was studiously looking elsewhere, that pink blush lingering on her cheeks, and, even from five feet away, he thought he could see the mad flutter of her pulse.
“What’s wrong?”
She swung her head around, a frown twisting her lips. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Keelie, it’s past midnight. You’re here. I doubt you’re here to chat. So it makes sense that something is wrong.”
She grimaced and pulled out her phone, checking the time on the display. “Shit. I didn’t . . .”
She trailed off and sighed, moving deeper into the loft and dropping down on the couch with the familiarity of somebody who’d done so more than once.
Jealousy pricked at him, yet again. How often had she been over here to see Zach? Not that it even mattered. Zach had never been for her. It was starting to feel like Keelie wasn’t for him, but that didn’t erase the envy.
His gut knotted up and the dull headache that had started to fade came roaring back to life. Just being around her somehow made him feel like that stupid, goofy kid he’d been in middle school before he’d shot up a few inches and grown into his hands and feet.
She shifted, slid him a quick glance from under her lashes.
His blood pulsed thick and hot, his cock jerking in demand as memories swam up to the fore. He could remember her shooting him that same nervous, shy look more than once, could remember the taste of her mouth, the satin of her skin under his hands.
Out of self-defense, he seated himself at the bar. Far away from her, tucked behind a barrier, where she wouldn’t notice, even if she had been inclined to look.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, her voice weary.
Then she looked over at him. “Except for the fact that I’m a total bitch.”
He blinked.
“Ah . . .” Where did this come from?
“Look, you don’t need to respond to that, okay? I know how I am and I know what I’m like. But I was a bitch to you earlier and it’s been eating at me ever since I left the restaurant. I was driving by on my way home and saw the lights—for a second, I thought somebody might have broken in, then I saw the rental car parked out front, realized you were here.”
The words were coming out of her hard and fast, like she had to get them out now or she’d lose them. Zane stayed silent, staring at the surface of the bar. He was hard-pressed, though, not to go over there and cover her mouth with his, cut off that pointless flow of words. She had no reason to apologize to him.
Except for the fact she felt like she needed to.
So he stayed quiet.
“You helped me out of a bad spot, and I know that, I’m sorry . . .”
She finally wound down, huffing out a breath. “I�
�m sorry, okay?” She smoothed her hands down the front of the black jeans she wore and then stood up. “So, are we good?”
From under his lashes, he studied her.
Good?
No. They weren’t. He couldn’t see her without wanting things that he just couldn’t or shouldn’t want, but that wasn’t her fault. Instead of saying that, he shrugged. “Sure. We’re fine. But there wasn’t any problem on my end anyway.”
Well, there were problems, but he was too tired, too messed up just yet to go into them.
Too likely to haul her against him and finish what they’d started out in the garden a few months ago. Better to wait. Yeah, much better.
She nodded. “Okay.”
She started for the door. Because he couldn’t stop himself, he slid off the stool and trailed along behind her, torturing himself with the scent of her. The sight of her . . .
Chapter Four
“Okay.” She said it again, heading toward the door. “We’re good.”
She hated that he’d pulled the shirt on.
She wanted to have the nerve to go to him, splay her hands wide across a chest that was more delightfully muscled than she could have imagined. Wanted to learn the lines of that tattoo, wanted to learn the feel of his body, the taste, the warmth.
She wished she was the kind of woman who could do that.
It was stupid, really, because sex should be easier than this.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t attracted to her. She knew he was.
But nothing about this was easy. It was even harder, actually, knowing that he was attracted. It made it that much more terrifying.
Sex had never been easy for her. Relationships just never worked and she couldn’t find it in her to trust anybody enough to really open up to them.
Either the guys were looking for an easy time, or they wanted something more and she couldn’t give that.
Life was easier without those complications, so she simplified. It was her and her vibrator if she really needed it. Otherwise . . .
But right now, she had this ache inside that was unlike anything she’d known. To top it all off, Zane was looking at her with that polite distance in his eyes. It was like that heat from a couple of months, even a couple of hours ago, had never existed and it was a bruise on her soul.
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