by Lori Foster
“I was going back anyway. But what about your car?”
“You can’t look at it in this rain.”
“Why not?” He grinned at her. “I know I’m sweet, but I won’t melt.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“You don’t think I’m sweet?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “Yes, you’re very, very sweet. And I appreciate the offer, I really do. But my car is on the street, not in the garage, and I can’t let you fiddle with it in this storm.”
His fingers drummed the steering wheel. “Okay, then how about tomorrow?” He cut off her reply to add, “That is, if Denver doesn’t see to it himself.”
“Maybe.” If possible, she’d get it figured out on her own without burdening either of them. “I hope this storm lets up soon.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Rain lashed the windshield, making the wipers almost useless, and wind buffeted the car, howling around them. He glanced at her, then fought another grin. “You might want to make use of the mirror before we get there. You’re looking a little...smudged.”
She pulled down the visor—and screeched. “Good heavens. I’m glad you told me.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, while fighting a laugh.
“Yeah, for a clown!” Luckily she had makeup in her purse, and with Armie driving so slowly by necessity, she was able to do a few repairs. It wasn’t enough—she still looked a wreck—but it was better.
One of these days Denver would again get to see her at her best—independent, strong and put together.
Sadly, today was not that day.
* * *
AFTER MENTALLY WRESTLING his temper under control, Denver prepared his arguments, looking for sound reasons to refuse Pamela other than the obvious ones. He didn’t want her to know that he still harbored animosity.
He didn’t want her to know he felt anything at all for her—good or bad.
It was enough that he had to live with the damage she’d done to him. Because of her, his relationship with his father had been forever changed. He loved his dad. In most ways, he respected him.
But when it came to his second marriage, Denver had nothing but contempt.
“I don’t like it when you’re quiet this long,” Pamela said. “It usually means you’re thinking horrible things about me.”
“Wrong. I don’t think about you at all.” He turned and walked to the open door, giving her his back. “I was just wondering what Dad will think of your invite. He might not thank you for asking me back.”
Her hand touched his shoulder, making him stiffen in revulsion.
“He misses you, Denver. You should know that.”
Yeah, that’s why he called so often. How long had it been? Going on five years now. Long years.
He shook his head—and shrugged off her hand. “Paws to yourself, Pamela.”
“It was a commiserating gesture.”
Laughing, Denver turned to look at her. She wore the perfect expression of remorse mixed with hope. He marveled at it, saying softly, “If I didn’t already know what a lying...witch you are, I would almost be convinced.”
“Witch,” she repeated, her facial muscles drawing tight despite her effort to hide emotion. “I appreciate the censorship on that one.”
“We both know the truth, no reason to belabor the point.”
Tensed to strike him, Pamela barely held herself in check.
He almost hoped she’d do it. Then he could tell her to fuck off and be done with it.
Instead she drew a deep breath, shook back her hair, and stabbed him with her rock-steady gaze. “I can guarantee you that he wants you there.”
“Just like you guaranteed me no one would ever know if we fucked?” He straightened. “The way you guaranteed me that my dad would never get hurt?” Growing anger took him one step forward. “The way you guaranteed him of your innocence?”
Her chin quivered. “You’re scaring me, Denver.”
“Lady, a fucking typhoon wouldn’t scare you.”
She ducked around him and into the open hallway leading back to the gym.
Smirking, Denver took a step out, wanting her to run, hoping she’d run all the way back out of his life.
Voice shaking, she whispered, “People change, damn you.”
“You?” he asked with caustic humor.
She gave a sharp nod.
Bullshit. “Does that mean you’ve told my dad the truth?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I love him.”
Not for a second did he buy into the weepy desperation. “You aren’t capable of love.”
Pretending he hadn’t spoken, she insisted, “I love him and I want my marriage to work.”
“You want the perks of what he gives you.”
She actually stomped one foot in temper. “You could repair your relationship without this ever having to come up again!”
“Dream on.” There were times when he still heard the cold fury in his father’s voice during that awful time. Disgust. Disappointment. Blame. He’d made one mistake, and it had irrevocably changed his life. “Dad is never going to forgive what you made him believe.”
Trying a new tact, she pleaded, “Denver,” and in a rush, stepped up to him again, this time daring to put her hands on him.
Rage all but blinded him. He clasped her wrists, meaning to toss her hands away from him—and just then Cherry and Armie dashed in through the front doors, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
They fell against each other laughing, a puddle forming around their feet.
After saying something to her, Armie struggled with an umbrella that had gone inside out.
Grinning, Cherry pushed hair from her face and removed a sodden windbreaker.
Denver’s eyes flared.
A long skirt was glued to her hips and thighs, and her pink shirt stuck to her breasts like a second skin, showing the darker bra beneath. Thanks to the bra, nothing actually showed through, but given her rack and how everyone looked at her, that didn’t matter.
Irritation—at the situation with Carver, the way Cherry cut him out, Pamela’s appearance and now this—all coalesced into a red-hot fury.
“Denver?”
Dismissing Pamela and her small plea, he set her aside and strode purposefully toward the door.
“Denver, wait!”
He barely heard Pamela with the rush of his heartbeat sounding in his ears.
With all eyes on Cherry, no one else noticed his approach. He watched as Armie tried to stuff her back into the windbreaker.
As she laughingly smacked his arm.
As drips of rainwater fell from her hair to slowly track over her boobs and into her cleavage.
Two steps from them, he growled, “What the fuck is this?”
Stunned, Cherry pulled up short, her smile disappearing in the face of his obvious anger.
Stepping in front of Cherry—shielding her from him?—Armie held up both hands. “She’s oblivious, dude. Take a breath.”
“You brought her here?” His gaze transferred to Cherry, and he easily pushed Armie to the side. “Looking like that?”
Hurt, Cherry pokered up just as she had while talking to Carver. Keeping her voice low in a laughable bid for privacy, she whispered, “You told me to come here!”
Uncaring that the entire rec center watched, he leaned into her, jaw muscles knotted and his irritability spiking. “Jesus, Cherry, you look naked.”
“What are you talking about?” Hastily she peeked down at herself, plucking at the sodden material of her skirt.
He narrowed his gaze on her jutting nipples.
That drew her attention there and she gasped, slapping her arms around herself.
Reaching to his back, Denver grabbed a fistful of his shirt and in one jerk stripped it off over his head.
Cherry snatched it from him before he could offer it, holding it in front of her chest.
“Put it on,” Denver told her.
She went from embarrassmen
t to a flash fire of anger. “Are you ordering me?” she asked, incredulous over the possibility.
For a single second Denver thought she might throw the shirt back in his face. He braced himself—
And Armie stepped up next to her, snarling to Denver, “Ass.” Then to Cherry, “Jealousy makes guys nuts, honey. Ignore him.”
Going combustible all over again, Denver knotted up from the soles of his feet to the top of his ears. “You—”
“Dating groupies again?”
Ah, hell. He’d forgotten all about Pamela.
Both Armie and Cherry leaned to look behind him, Armie with male interest, Cherry going red in the face, the shirt clutched tight in front of her body.
Fed up, Denver faced his stepmother. “Later, Pamela.”
Ignoring him, she smiled at Armie. “Introduce me.”
Armie cocked his head to the side, giving her a thorough once-over.
On the ragged edge, polite manners well out of reach, Denver growled, “I’m busy.”
Of course, that didn’t stop Pamela. She stretched out a hand. “I’m Pamela, Denver’s stepmother.”
Cherry’s mouth dropped.
Armie adjusted from interested to cold but polite civility, saying, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” After the briefest possible handshake, he said to Denver, “I’ll be in back. We need to talk.”
Glowing with mortification, Cherry tried to drum up a smile. “Hello. Nice to meet you. Clearly I got caught in the rain and I didn’t realize—”
To cut off her groveling, Denver slung an arm around her. “Pamela was just leaving.”
Like the cunning bitch he knew her to be, Pamela showed her teeth in a “got you” grin and spoke only to Cherry. “So nice to meet you...Cherry, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Such an unconventional name.” Not said as a compliment. “You and Denver are dating?”
She licked her lips. “We’re...”
When Cherry looked at him with so much uncertainty, he wanted to rip through the concrete walls. “Not your business, Pamela.”
“Denver!” Cherry tried to free herself, but he didn’t let her. It sucked, but he needed her at the moment. To apologize for that, he kissed her forehead.
Stymied, Cherry stared up at him, then at Pamela.
Pamela watched with shrewd speculation. “Never mind him, Cherry. I understand Denver and his...ways.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Cherry must’ve wondered the same thing because she quit resisting him and instead leaned into him. “What ways would that be, Ms. Lewis?”
“Call me Pamela, please.”
“All right.”
Wow. Denver stared down at Cherry in awe. She was always so sweet, occasionally defensive, but never curt. Now, though, her tone held as much cold bite as Pamela’s.
“Despite Denver’s surliness, it’s clear the two of you are...involved? So I’ll just include you in my invitation. You see, my husband’s birthday is coming up and I know Denver’s dad would not only love to see him again, but he’d enjoy meeting you, as well.”
“I see.” Cherry put her shoulders back, her little nose in the air. “Has Denver accepted the invitation?”
Pamela’s smile slipped. “Not precisely.”
“Then I certainly can’t accept.” She snuggled closer under his arm. “But he and I will talk about it, and if necessary, he can get in touch with you.”
Making her mouth smile seemed to strain her, but Pamela managed it. “Thank you.” She peered out the window at the blowing rain. “Nasty weather.”
“As I said, it caught me,” Cherry explained, and now she stepped away from Denver. “I was halfway across the parking lot when the downpour started and of course I’d forgotten my umbrella.”
Critical, Pamela said, “But you did have that handsome young man to assist you.”
Crossing his arms, Denver waited to see how Cherry would handle Pamela’s veiled accusation.
She surprised him by smiling, the first mean smile he’d ever seen from her. “Yes, he’s a very good friend of Denver’s and so he gave me a lift. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go change.”
“You keep clothes at a gym?”
“No, but one of Denver’s good friends will loan me something.” She looked at Pamela with a mix of loathing and pity. “It was nice meeting you.” Her gaze flashed over to Denver, but only for a split second before she again focused on Pamela. “Quite...educational.”
Denver watched as she exited the confrontation, drenched, makeup destroyed, holding his shirt in front of her. She didn’t look back, and she kept her shoulders squared, her chin lifted.
He realized he was grinning.
“Very odd, Denver.”
“Yeah. She’s something.” He gave Pamela a mock salute. “Later.”
“Wait.”
His long sigh made his impatience plain.
“Will you attend?”
“Like Cherry told you, we’ll talk about it.” And suddenly he meant it.
Just last night he’d made her a promise to share everything with her, get her thoughts on problems.
Pamela was a problem. The estrangement from his dad was a problem.
His jealousy was the biggest problem.
Starting right now, he’d keep his promise—and hope she’d forgive him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NOW WEARING DENVER’S SHIRT, Cherry poked her nose into the locker room. It fascinated her, this all-male domain. The rec center got some female members, but not many, not on the scale of the fighters, so while they had a small changing room that included two toilets and sinks with some hooks on the wall, they didn’t have this elaborate setup, an expanse of lockers, benches, open showers...
Did men have no modesty at all? If it weren’t for the wall of lockers, she’d be able to see all the showers. Into the showers. Anyone who might be naked in the shower.
She heard water running, and sucked in a breath. It almost made her cough, but she fended it off in favor of another deep breath.
The room smelled good. Like clean male sweat, aftershave and soap.
The water shut off and she decided it might be prudent to announce herself.
Sounding like a strangled frog, she called out, “Yoo-hoo?”
A static moment of silence preceded a softly muttered curse, then she heard the sound of big feet padding across a wet concrete floor.
Using a towel to dry his naked chest, another towel around his hips, Armie poked his head around the corner. His eyes widened at the sight of her standing there just inside the doorway. “Cherry?”
“Hi.”
Dumbfounded, he looked around her, beyond her, saw she’d come on her own, and gave a slight frown. “This is the locker room, hon.”
“I know.” She nodded down at herself and rushed to explain. “I need something dry and it’s not like there are clothes in the breakroom.” Feeling wicked, she asked, “Anyone else down here?”
“Just me.”
As he walked toward her, one hairy, muscled thigh playing peekaboo with that loosely wrapped towel, she quickly backed up a step.
Expression mocking, he reached past her for a locker, drawing out jeans, a T-shirt and Captain America underwear.
She stared at the bright briefs, inadvertently imagined him in them, and snorted a laugh even as her face went hot.
Lifting a brow, he asked, “Plan to stick around while I dress, or you want to give me a little privacy?”
From behind her, Denver said, “She’ll give you privacy.”
Cherry went rigid. She locked eyes with Armie, taking strength from his amusement, and finally turned to Denver. “Excuse me,” she said, as haughtily as she could, and she stepped out of the room. But since she still needed a change, she only went to the other side of the door and leaned back on the cool, painted concrete block wall.
For a few seconds, no one said anything. Then a locker closed and that seemed to break the silence.
&
nbsp; “Listen,” she heard Denver say. “That shit earlier—”
“You,” Armie said, “better start apologizing to her.”
“I figured I’d start with you.”
Yes, Cherry thought, he did owe Armie an apology.
Apparently Armie disagreed. “Not necessary. Desperate men do stupid things. And you, my friend, are desperate.”
“What are you talking about?”
Armie snorted. “One look at you and anyone can see you’re a man fighting a losing battle.”
What battle? Cherry wondered.
“Yeah,” Denver said as if making a grand confession. Then, “Fuck.”
“Sucks, I guess,” Armie commiserated. “But I hear tell it’s easier once you give in.”
“Somehow, with Cherry, I don’t think it’s going to be easy no matter what I do.”
Cherry was so put out by Denver’s forlorn tone that she pivoted from the wall and right back into the locker room.
Where Armie stood naked.
She squawked.
He jumped and quickly covered his goods with big hands.
Denver jumped in front of her and just as quickly covered her eyes with his hand. “What the hell, Cherry?”
She sputtered. Didn’t matter what Denver or Armie covered—the image was emblazoned on her brain. “I thought he’d gotten dressed!”
Suddenly Armie cracked up. His roar of laughter bounced off the walls of the locker room.
Cherry just stood there, Denver’s palm covering the top half of her face.
“It’s not funny,” she groused.
“Maybe a little funny,” Denver told her. “How much did you see?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Everything in the front.”
Armie got it together long enough to ask, “Did you want me to turn around and give you another peek?”
Cherry bit her lip.
Denver stiffened. “Damn it, girl—”
“No!” She cleared her throat, blindly reaching out to find his chest and pat it. “No, I don’t. Truly.”
“See, there, Denver. Truly she’s not interested.”
“You’re not helping, Armie!” Cherry wanted to smack him. “I’ll be embarrassed for the rest of my life, thanks to you.”
“No,” Denver told her. “You won’t—because you’re going to forget what you saw.”