by Brea Viragh
“Get out of my house,” she commanded against his lips. Somehow, the demand had lost much of its potency.
“Make me.”
Brock took a moment to drag her up to him, to bury his face in her neck, uncaring when she scratched at his face. She tensed, back curving to press herself closer. “You’re a son of a bitch,” she ground out. Using her teeth, she drew his lip toward her and bit down. Gentler this time. Her frustration ebbing.
“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” He pushed her away, shoved the hair from his face, and let out an exhausted sigh. “I didn’t come here to fight. You have to believe me.”
“Then why did you come?”
“Because I wanted to see you. I didn’t realize it was a crime to miss you.” He gentled his touch, running his fingertips along her shoulder blades. Down her back to her hips.
“It’s a crime when you walked out on me. Ran across the country to find your adventure. And you’re not allowed to miss me.” Her finger rose to point at his chest. “It should be illegal.”
Brock chuckled. “You broke up with me. You told me to leave! I didn’t realize I had to remind you. Man, your memory is shoddy.”
“I’m a vet. There’s no such thing as a shoddy memory in my profession.”
“Then you must be the first of your kind. Oh, and I’m not going to apologize for kissing you.” He forced himself to rise to his feet. Take careful steps in the opposite direction. When he faced her again, it was from across the room. He leaned against the wall and casually crossed his arms over his chest.
“I didn’t ask you to apologize.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and stared him down. Which was difficult from her position on the floor. “Like I didn’t ask you to come inside. And like I didn’t ask you to stay for coffee.”
He’d had every intention of coming over for a nice talk. Sure, she would be mad at him. No one held on to temper like Nasira. It was part of her, the energy scattering through her system and making her come alive. He hadn’t expected a fight where he’d be forced to defend himself against a black eye.
Gingerly, he touched his lip and scoffed when it stung. It wasn’t surprising.
He should leave. Call her out for being bat shit crazy and go home to his sleeping daughter. His overworked grandmother. The life and people and places calling him back from California.
Nasira was one of those people, too. He took one look at her heavy-lidded eyes and pert lips and found himself unable to leave.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he began softly, training his gaze on the floor. “You hurt me too. I don’t think I should still be punished for a decision we made when we were teenagers. I don’t regret anything that happened between us. Not then, and not now.”
“I don’t want your regrets.”
“Then what do you want, Nasira? Because I can’t keep apologizing. And you can’t keep acting like this.”
She turned to watch the street through the window. She heard the edge in his voice and knew his foul mood was rising. Good, she thought. The more reckless he became, the more in control she felt.
“I know I’m the one who broke things off,” she said. “I knew you were leaving and didn’t want the pain of being left behind when I knew I couldn’t go.”
“And now?”
“I want you to suffer. Or go back to Los Angeles, or wherever the hell you want to go next. As long as it isn’t here where I have to see you.” She swiveled around and stared at him over her shoulder, her smile frosted around the edges. “It’s a small thing to ask. I’m sure you still have a lot of adventures inside of you.”
His voice was hard. “I’m staying. I moved back into the house for a reason.”
He looked, she decided, pissed. Pissed and dramatic. Broody in the way only a man could be. And because of it, she indulged herself with another jab at him. Another push to creep him closer to the edge.
“To do what, Brock? To raise a family? To get me back? You’ll be bored soon and you’ll want to escape. The same way you did before. This town is too small for you. You’ve never been small.”
“I was trapped before. I was eighteen and trapped and I wanted to know what life was like. I shouldn’t have to justify a rational, logical decision. Millions of people do the same thing.”
“And you’ll feel trapped again, I know. I won’t have to wait long. You’ll leave again,” she warned. She placed her hand on her waist. “Let me get this out in the open so we can avoid confusion down the road. My roots are here. Here is where I plan to stay. It’s better for the two of us if you leave.”
He mimicked her posture and hooked his hands in his pockets. “In the effort of avoiding confusion, I’ll be honest with you. Because I left to find myself and you stayed doesn’t mean your ties to this place are greater than mine. We both come from the same place, we both have family here. I’m staying.”
Let him go, her mind whispered. It would be easier. Fate was not easily beaten, and she knew it was their fate not to be together. She shouldn’t feel the need to try to fight against it. It was better for the whole if she accepted it.
“You know,” Brock continued, “I thought maybe we could grab something to eat and talk. Like civilized human beings instead of heavyweight champions.”
“I’m really not hungry.” Nasira shrugged. “And I’m sure you have places to be.”
“It’s fine. I’ve cleared my schedule for the afternoon.”
“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but afternoon is passed.”
“I had a feeling.” He yawned. “Girl, you took a whole lot out of me with your elbows. I wouldn’t mind a nap.”
“Which means you should leave,” she said, her words deliberate.
“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”
Brock did not expect a magazine off of her coffee table to slap him in the face. When had she had time to grab it? He never even saw her move. “I say you’re good and ready now.”
“You’re going to kick me out? After our kiss?” Brock gripped the magazine, rolled it, and stared deploringly at her.
Nasira nodded. “Especially because of our kiss.” She scratched her neck. “I must have lost my mind.”
“Or maybe you finally realized there is no fighting fate,” Brock said.
She stopped, his words an eerie echo of her internal monologue. Then scoffed. “This is not fate. This was you coming and trying to win me over and catching me at a weak moment. Knocked my defenses down. It won’t happen again.”
“Sure. We’ll see.”
The way he said it instantly had her back rising. “Exactly. We’ll see.”
She was unwavering in her need to be right. To win. If he said it would happen again then she was bound and determined to prevent it.
“I’m sure you have things to do that don’t include bothering me.” She took her time sitting on the couch, crossing her legs. She knew full well he watched her. The heat from his gaze warmed her heart.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” she amended.
Brock stretched, his shirt tugging up at the end, each muscle moving with infinitesimal leisureliness sure to infuriate her.
She forced her gaze away. “You’ve learned some new moves while I was away.”
“Let me show you what else I learned.” In exact opposition of his earlier slowness, Brock strode forward and tugged her up to meet him until their chests collided. “There will be nothing casual about this.”
“Try to justify it,” she tossed back. “This doesn’t make it right. You came back because it suits your needs. Why not try to get me in bed while you’re here? It’s better than sitting at home twiddling your thumbs.”
“Sue me.”
He crushed his mouth against hers and let himself taste. Let the crazy mess of emotions he’d stuffed down crash over the both of them. If she damned him for taking what he wanted, then so be it. Like he said earlier, he refused to regret.
The unique scent of her seared through him and lit his nerve endings on fi
re. His senses fogged and when her arms tightened, molding him against her, his heart kicked up a notch and galloped until he heard his pulse in his ears.
She felt the same way he remembered. Harder in some places, perhaps. Her intoxicating scent slithered into his system until he lost his train of thought. The memories of their past relationship came back to him and merged with the woman he held in his arms until both blurred.
When he opened his eyes once, the two images came together in crystal clarity. Nasira.
She said his name and moved against him. Her fingers rose to take hold of his hair, tugging him closer. It pleased him to see her breath was uneven.
She pushed him away and still he felt the reverberations of her kiss. She was the only one able to get him going. To meet his passions.
Her voice was hoarse. “This proves nothing, Brock.”
“It means we still have something between us.” He waved his hand. “I know you feel it too.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Nasira grabbed another magazine and tossed it at him, disappointed when it dropped to the floor short of its target. “You missed a lot while you were gone. Kissing me was only a small piece of it, and one I hope you enjoyed because you aren’t getting another taste.”
He sent her a wide grin to cover the pump of energy coursing through his nervous system. “I’ll be back. I believe in starting fresh and giving people second chances. This is ours, if you’ll let me make it right. We’ve both changed.” He reached out to touch her hair. “Let me prove it to you.”
“You want me in your bed.”
“Absolutely. There’s no point in denying when it goes without saying. And this long, beautiful hair. You never let it get this long before. I like it a lot; really suites you.”
Nasira tipped her head up and stared at him, blinking twice. “Thanks? I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“And you’ve gotten better at taking a compliment.” Brock moved back. “I’m trying to remember the last time you got one where you didn’t blush afterward and call me a liar.”
“Well, number one, you are a liar. Number two, I never blush.” She walked her fingers through the air. “Now kindly go home where you belong. I’m done with you.”
Brock finally moved toward the door with a final look over his shoulder. “Will you beat me up if I kiss you again?”
She bit her lip, the haze of their encounter finally wearing off and clarity returning. Purposely stilling her feet from moving to him, she scowled instead. “Yes. I will.”
He laughed and surprised her with the sound. “Then I’ll have to try again tomorrow.” He strolled out, blowing an air kiss her way. “Until then, beautiful.”
Could she feel any guiltier? Nasira wondered. She listened to the echo of footsteps down the front porch steps and out onto the sidewalk. Even then she waited a few more seconds before rushing to the window to double check that she was at last alone.
Only then did her hunger register, stomach growling ominously. She clutched her arms around her midsection and marched down the hallway toward her cozy kitchen. Her eyes landed on the spot on the floor where Brock had her pinned down. An image of the both of them flashed through her mind and had the very same blush she disputed rising to her cheeks.
Her eyes popped wide and she shook her head. “Oh my God, what did I do?”
It wasn’t the kiss, she thought, grabbing a wheel of cheese from the refrigerator and slicing it angrily. She could reason it away as a natural part of being human. It was Brock. He was still so stubborn, smart, and charming. So steady without being overbearing or illogical about it. She loved the way the light played over his body, the way his mouth quirked when he found something amusing. And the way his hair fell past his shoulders, perfect to grab onto.
It was all of his intriguing intensity balanced with a calm strength and easy humor. He was the first man she’d ever let herself become involved with, ever let herself love without hesitation or strings attached.
Add their history onto it and he became a steaming pile of something she knew better than to get involved with.
She scowled. “It’s fine,” she told herself. “It was a simple thing, really. It was a kiss. Doesn’t matter if it was with Brock. I can kiss Brock if I want to. Seduction is overrated. I’m a grown woman capable of taking what I want without feeling guilty.”
The microwave dinged and she jumped. Eyeing the half bottle of white wine she’d removed, Nasira told herself not to feel guilty about the wine either. If there were ever a time for wine, it would be now.
With the bowl in hand and bottle tucked carefully beneath her arm, she moved into the living room and deposited herself on the couch with a loud thud.
“Men suck.” She spoke to the glob of melted cheese. “They come into your house and break down your defenses until they have you naked.”
Tearing a chunk off of her bread, Nasira shoved the entire thing into her mouth and considered her options. Places between her legs that hadn’t been touched in too long felt deliciously awake.
There were two options. She could go against her own better judgement and let Brock back into her life on the condition that things between them stayed purely physical. It would be a nice change to have regular male attention. She didn’t need it, of course. But she could only imagine how good things would be between them if they rekindled their fire.
Brock would remain on his side of town raising his daughter and she would be content to do whatever she pleased on her own side. Which meant a steady stream of work, home, and repeat.
The thought of his daughter brought a sigh to her throat which she quickly squelched with another mouthful of cheese. A child. Who would have guessed? Now he’d gone and jumped the gun, reproducing with someone else. It figured. He’d never been one for falling in line with her cozy image of the future.
“He went and had a kid without me!”
Once more the cheese offered her no response and Nasira resorted to licking the bottom of the bowl. Outside, twilight had come knocking and the last slivers of sun were disappearing behind the rolling hills. It may have been her imagination but she could already feel the chill in the air, the heat of those early spring days melting into darkness while everyone waited patiently for summer.
Gah, what could she do now? Nothing, obviously, and she was damned determined not to give Brock a call on the home phone number he’d hastily scribbled for her. She hoped the morning would bring a clearer head.
Sleep beckoned and, after placing her bowl in the sink and making sure the last dregs of wine were safe within the confines of her elbow, Nasira retired to bed and tried not to recall the smell of him.
CHAPTER 5
It took some doing but Brock finally managed to fish the key from his pocket and fit it into the rusted latch without much noise. A little elbow grease and furious swearing under the breath and the door creaked open.
He’d have to add the door to his to do list. A trip to the local hardware store, a can of WD-40, and a new lock for the front.
Odessa had left the outside porch light burning bright for his arrival, not knowing exactly when Brock would find himself home. He appreciated her willingness to sit with Callie on such short notice. Odessa loved children but it didn’t assuage his parental guilt about leaving the two of them to find their way with each other. After all, he had responsibilities to attend to and never saw the merit on pawning them off on someone else.
He kept his footsteps soft as he rounded the corner to check first in the living room. Though the television caused dancing shadows on the newly painted wall, he saw no sign of his grandmother or daughter. One eyebrow crooked upward while he tiptoed past the dining room and small drawing room resplendent with dust and cobwebs. Everywhere he looked, his damnable to do list grew longer and longer. The joys of homeownership.
No one ever said the job would be easy.
“Hello?” Brock called out softly. “Anybody home?”
A gentle chuckle turned his attentio
n from the den to the kitchen situated at the back of the house. His footfalls increased until he closed the distance between them, stopping short in the doorway.
“It was a long evening for you.” Odessa shot him a wry smile, turning toward him to reveal the sleeping baby nestled in her arms.
Instantly contrite, Brock shifted his weight and tried not to look as embarrassed as he felt. “Things got a little crazy for a while. I’m sorry I—”
Odessa shushed him. “Never you mind. I was happy to watch this one for you. She is an angel.”
“Yeah, only with other people. For daddy, she grows into the harpy she truly is. Don’t let her fool you. I know she’s cute, but she’ll eat your soul if you give her half a chance.”
He surveyed them. The quiet baby soothed to rest by those ancient hands who’d done the same thing with countless others.
Odessa would not ask what he’d done. She had no need to. “She’s going to need you soon,” she murmured, speaking more to the baby than Brock.
“I can put her to bed, if you want. I don’t want you to trouble yourself any further.”
A quick slash of eyes told him the words he’d meant in kindness were more of an insult than anything else. “I don’t mean the baby, boy.”
“I don’t follow you,” he replied.
“Of course you don’t. Men are so blinded by their own emotions they have a hard time seeing what others need. Especially when those others have no clue themselves.”
Unsure of what to say, Brock moved to the laminate counter and leaned his weight against it, listening to the creak of joists in desperate need of replacing. “How can you expect me to know what you’re saying? I’ve never been good at riddles and I’m running on fumes and exhaustion.” He touched the sore spot on his lip and winced.
“This isn’t a riddle,” Odessa countered. “This is hard fact. Try to keep up with me, will you? You’re young enough.”
“Hard facts sound like ramblings to me.” Maybe he’d pushed her too far, Brock reprimanded himself. Obviously asking his grandmother to babysit this long was beyond her ability. He should have taken her age into account in the first place. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly.