And yet, I did.
I blamed myself.
And I’d spend the rest of my life trying to make sure his sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. If not for me, and his duty to me, what would his life had been? Would he have focused on his studies? Gotten a scholarship to some fancy college, with some fancy degree? Would he have been the type of guy who wouldn’t have to run away from his home, from me, to be happy . . . and alive?
Those were questions that would never be answered, but I’d do my damned best to make this city a safer place, taking out one gang at a time. The problem was that at some point, maybe soon, the DEA would want me to rat on the Sons. They didn’t typically go after the gangs that dealt with guns—that was ATF territory, and I’d purposely avoided that division so I’d never be forced to go after the man who had taken my brother in—but there was no guarantee that the Sons wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire, or that the DEA wouldn’t team up with the ATF, since they already had a man deep undercover.
Every time the Sons discussed possibly taking on drugs, and dipping into that world, I’d voted against it emphatically, knowing if we went down that road, I’d have to betray them all. Taking down the man who survived in a world of violence so his little sister would have a better life wasn’t something I wanted to do. After all, Lucas had done it for me.
Who the hell was I to judge?
“Thanks for letting me stay at your place,” she said, hugging my arm against her side. Her soft breast pressed up against me, and I gritted my teeth, because hot damn, she had some amazing tits. “I can’t believe I lost my keys.”
Yeah. Me either. “It’s not a problem. But whatever you do, don’t leave my place without me. This isn’t your country club anymore, sugar.”
“I know.” She glanced around, tightening her grip on my arm. The streets were quiet for a Tuesday night. No one was out, no voices raised in anger or amusement, like there would be on a Friday night. All was still . . . except for us. “I grew up here. I know what it’s like.”
I glanced at her. Tate had been raised in a mansion, so that had to be a lie. By the time Tate and Skylar had been born, their father was extremely wealthy off the profits of the gang he’d founded. As far as I knew, Tate had lived in the Daniels mansion for the past fifteen years. and I assumed that Skylar had grown up there, too, in secrecy. “You did?”
“Yeah. Up until high school.”
I frowned. What game was she playing? “I thought you grew up in West Boston.”
“Tate did.” She pressed her lips together, not meeting my eyes. “I wasn’t always in an ivory tower. When our parents split up, I went with my mom, and Tate stayed with our father. He grew up in West Boston, and I was here, a few streets over, with my mom.”
So that’s why no one knew about her. She’d been raised separately. This was the kind of intel I never would have gotten if not for this date. The kind of stuff we would have only been able to guess about, under other circumstances. “And your dad didn’t support you?”
“No,” she said, her voice short.
I said nothing, since she was clearly uncomfortable talking about her dad. I pulled her to a stop gently. “This one’s mine.”
She glanced up, her brow furrowed. My home was an end row house, and the brownish-red brick exterior was cleaner than any other on this block. I made sure to take care of the house I grew up in, where Ma had lived and died. I’d installed new windows last summer, and the porch had been rebuilt, too. It had taken a hell of a lot of sweat, but I’d done it.
All by my damn self.
I took pride in that.
She glanced around the whole street of brick homes and broken streetlights, taking it in. Run-down homes. Even more run-down cars lining the streets. And if she could see the people living inside those homes, she’d probably race off in the opposite direction, miraculously “finding” her keys, no matter that she’d once lived here. Steel Row had a way of sucking the life out of you until you were an automaton with a broken soul.
Trust me.
I would know.
“Yours is the nicest on the block,” she finally said, staring at it again. “You did all this work yourself?”
“Yeah,” I said, staring down at her, brow furrowed. “How’d you know?”
“I told you, I’m good at reading people. You look proud. Your chest puffed out with pride as you looked up at your home.” She lifted a shoulder, glancing up at me through her lashes, a seductive glint to her expression that I couldn’t ignore no matter how hard I tried. “You’re clearly good with your hands.”
Normally, I’d make some sexual innuendo that would have her naked in less than three minutes, but this was Skylar Daniels. I fisted my hands at my sides so I wouldn’t touch her—because Christ, I wanted to touch her—and simply said: “Yeah.”
“Well?” She smiled and pulled at my arm tipsily. I grinned back, swaying slightly, pretending to be as messed up as her, when in all reality, I was completely sober. She steadied me even though I was easily twice her size, concern crossing her expression. She was so damn free with her emotions, and there was no guesswork involved. If she was happy, you knew it. I had a feeling she made her anger just as clear. I’d gotten a small taste of it earlier. “Let’s go in. I can’t wait to see the inside.”
I heard her words, felt her tugging on me, but I didn’t move. The moon shone down on her hair, and the streetlight reflecting off her bright blue eyes made them twinkle with life. She shone, almost like she was from another world, and I couldn’t look away. She was so clean, so damn pretty—far too shiny for a guy like me—and she had no place being in Steel Row, but still, I was glad she was here with me. Which was strange, considering the fact that I never brought chicks home. This was my sanctuary. My home. The one place I could truly be myself, and it wasn’t for anyone else but me.
And yet, here we were.
Standing outside.
About to go in.
“Scotty?” she asked, staring at me with her nose crinkled up adorably. How she could be related to a ruthless guy like Tate Daniels was beyond me. She rested her hand on my chest, and my heart sped up at the innocent touch. “Everything okay?”
It took all my control not to reach out and push her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear with a gentle touch. What the hell was wrong with me? Where were all these soft, tender feelings toward a woman coming from? I wasn’t an asshole, but I wasn’t this guy either.
And yet here I was.
Wanting to do it.
Like a dumbass.
“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat, and leaving her hair untouched. “Come on.”
We went up the stairs to my porch, Skylar watching me while I pretended not to notice. It was a game we all played on dates, and I usually played it well. But with her, my game plan was off. And I wasn’t sure why. After I removed my key from the latch, I hit the light switch and motioned her inside, scanning the streets to make sure no danger lurked outside before shutting us in my home together.
I locked us in and turned to her.
She was taking it all in, spinning in a slow circle, and I looked, too, trying to see what she saw: hardwood floors I’d sanded and stained myself, and the spot in the corner where a jagged edge had sliced my palm open. I pressed my finger to the scar and eyed the beige carpet I’d stapled in place on Memorial Day weekend last year. It led into a kitchen with white cabinets, and a blue tile countertop I was dying to rip up. Pale yellow walls continued throughout the downstairs level, the same color Ma had painted them years ago, but with a fresh coat. There was a white banister on the carpeted stairs, leading to three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs.
A few family pictures, mostly older ones, and not much else.
It wasn’t much, but it was home.
And for some reason, it was important to me that she like it. “Does it live up to expectations?�
� I asked, keeping my voice dry.
She turned to me, an angelic smile lifting her perfect pink lips at the corners. She had dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. As if she wasn’t already pretty enough. “Yes. You have a beautiful home, Scotty. It’s so . . . so . . . warm. It reminds me of my old house, with my mom. And it’s totally not what I expected.”
My brow rose. “What did you expect?
“I don’t know.” She shrugged her coat off, tossing it on the chair by the door I used when I needed to sit to pull my boots on. “I guess . . . more of a bachelor pad. Black furniture. Tan walls. Artistic renderings of the naked female body. Empty beer bottles lying on their sides all over the furniture. Stereo system that starts with a snap of your fingers.”
A small laugh escaped me before I could choke it back. “Wow. Turns out, you read me wrong after all.”
“Guess so,” she said softly, stepping closer to me, hips swaying as she approached. When she was mere inches from me, she trailed a finger from my shoulder down to my abs. “It’s a pleasant surprise, though. Being wrong.”
“I bet it is,” I said, my voice coming out in a croak as I caught her hand and stopped her an inch shy of reaching the promised land. She’d been flirty all night long, that flirty-ness growing with each glass of wine she drank, but she hadn’t been so bold as to literally grab my cock. If I hadn’t stopped her in time . . . well, there would have been no stopping me. “Skylar.”
Grinning, she held her hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Sorry.”
Yeah. Sure she was. And I was Martha Stewart. “It’s late, and we both had a lot to drink. I’ll show you to your room for the night, so that no one makes any mistakes they regret in the morning,” I said, stepping back, out of reach, and gesturing to the stairs. “After you.”
She wobbled where she stood. “But—”
“Bed. Now.”
That was part of the reason why I’d let her get away with her little lost-keys act. I wanted to keep an eye on her until she sobered up. I felt a responsibility to her, since I’d allowed her to try to match me drink for drink.
She stared at me for a second, looking as if she might argue about getting sent to bed like a child, but then she spun on her heel and headed for the stairs. I followed behind her, immediately regretting my choice. Her ass swung with each step, haunting me, taunting me, and looking as if it would fit in the palms of my hands perfectly. She wore a dress that hadn’t seemed all that tight, and yet somehow, right now, it was. It barely hid a damn thing.
For the few things it did hide, my mind filled in the blanks very enthusiastically.
She reached the top of the stairs and paused, glancing over her shoulder. I sensed her attention turning back to me and I quickly looked away from her ass, but I was too slow. At least, the smirk she gave me said I was, anyway. She gripped the banister hard and pressed her thighs together, shifting ever so slightly. “Which way?” she asked throatily.
“Left.” It was the guest room farthest from mine—also, coincidentally, my childhood bedroom. “Last door at the end of the hall.”
She turned left, reaching the door without catching me staring again—though that didn’t mean I wasn’t. I was a dude, and she had a fine fucking ass. As she pushed the door open, she turned on the light and drew in a breath, smiling. “Wow.”
I glanced inside. There was a queen bed with a striped comforter in the middle of the left wall, three windows on the other two walls, and a chair beside a dresser. Understated, but elegant. I might be a killer and a DEA agent, but I knew a good room layout, and I had no shame about it. “Okay. Well. Bathroom is at the other end of the hall, and there’s a Keurig downstairs in the kitchen if you wake up before me.”
She stared at me, fidgeting. Her waist was so tiny I could probably encompass it with both hands. Her hips flared out gently, giving her a curvy appeal, and her slender legs were longer than you’d think on such a short woman. “That’s it? You’re going to bed already?”
I backed away a step, my hand on the knob, escape so close I could taste it on the tip of my tongue. “That’s it. Good night, sugar.”
“Wait!” she called out, lifting a hand.
My grip on the knob tightened. “Yeah?”
“I need help undressing.” She shoved the piece of hair I’d wanted to touch earlier behind her ear, ducking her head and shooting me a shy look. “Can you unzip me?”
I swallowed a groan, knowing if I had to bare that skin inch by inch, she might not leave here untouched, consequences be damned. “Can’t you just do it yourself?”
“No, there’s a latch, and it’s too hard. I usually get my neighbor to help me.”
Stiffening, I took a step toward her, feeling like I was walking toward a freshly sharpened guillotine instead of a drop-dead gorgeous woman. She was just as dangerous to my well-being. “Male or female neighbor?”
She lifted her brows, spinning and giving me her back. “Does it matter?”
“No.” I rested my hands on her shoulders, breathing in her soft, floral perfume. “Yes. Answer the damn question, Sky.”
“It’s a girl,” she answered softly, watching me over her shoulder. The way she looked at me—half seductress, half innocent smile—made my pulse soar and my gut clench tight. “The zipper?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
I took a deep breath, running my hands over her shoulders, allowing myself one lingering touch, before I focused on the job at hand. Frowning, I wiggled the top of the dress until the latch came free. I could have stopped there. I should have stopped there.
But I, like a dumbass, unzipped the dress, slow inch by slow inch, baring smooth, creamy flesh that made my pants grow tighter by the second. I’d seen a lot of women’s backs. Hell, it was hardly an erogenous zone, for fuck’s sake. But on Skylar, that tiny patch of tempting skin was enough to make my breath catch in my throat and my pulse quicken.
The tips of my fingers brushed her, and she tensed beneath my touch, swaying closer. When the zipper was completely undone, I stood behind her, staring down at the present I’d unwrapped. I took a step closer, breathing in her scent, letting my chest brush against her back. I made sure not to let my cock touch her ass—I wasn’t that much of a masochist. But damned if I wasn’t tempted anyway. “Done.”
Slowly, she turned to face me, holding the dress to her chest. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry yet somehow watering, too. Which made no sense at all. That was fitting, though, since she made me feel all tied up in knots. She bit down on her plump lip, her cheeks flushed, and her breath escaped her on a whoosh. Something about the way she looked at me, at the excitement building in her eyes, warned me she was about to do something stupid.
A perp usually got that look right before he went on a suicide mission and pulled a gun with ten DEA agents surrounding him. He knew once he reached for it, he’d have more holes in him than a damn pincushion, but he did it anyway. It was a last attempt at defiance, or a Hail Mary, if you wanted to call it that.
Skylar had Hail Mary written all over her beautiful face.
And I had no one to blame but myself.
CHAPTER 6
SKYLAR
Scotty was watching me like he was torn between running away, pulling me closer, or tossing me out onto the curb in nothing but what I wore. I wasn’t sure which of those things he was actually thinking about, although I was nearly positive I wouldn’t be showing Steel Row the color of my underwear. Either way, it was all-or-nothing time. I’d come up with a lame excuse to get him to bring me back to his place, and I’d gotten him in a room with a bed. Now it was time to play my ace, and see if it got me a winning hand.
Sucking in a deep breath, I counted to two . . .
And dropped my dress to the floor around my feet.
His jaw dropped, and he stood dead still, not running, but not pulling me closer either. At least he didn’t toss me over his s
houlder and head for the front door. I guess I had that going for me.
Maybe.
His warm green gaze dipped down my body, taking its time. He lingered over my chest and slowly focused on my hips before climbing back up to my face. By the time we locked gazes again, it felt like an hour had passed, though in all reality it hadn’t been more than a couple of seconds. My limbs were trembling, and weak, and I swayed toward him even though he didn’t move an inch toward me.
Scotty curled his hands into fists, slowly releasing his fingers one by one. I watched his hands breathlessly, like it was some kind of sexy countdown and once he reached the last finger he would . . .
What?
I didn’t have a clue. But I was dying to find out. I had a feeling he wasn’t the type of guy to rush into . . . well . . . anything. He thought out every single action with the possible outcomes, weighed the pros and cons, weighed them again, and then finally made a decision. I could literally see him deciding whether or not I was worth the risk of getting in trouble with my brother.
The second he released his pinky, I tensed, breath held.
Decision time.
He lifted his foot like he was going to take a step toward me, but then he didn’t. I could feel the magnetic pull between us—the same one I’d felt the moment he first touched me—and it was stronger than ever. It was like the universe was trying to tell me something, like this man was supposed to be mine, and I could see it. Feel it. Sense it.
He was mine.
But either he didn’t feel it, or he was ignoring it, because he stood in the same freaking spot he’d stood when I first dropped my dress. And I was starting to feel like an idiot.
A mostly naked one.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he finally said, his voice gravelly, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m not kidding around when I tell you if I touch you, your brother will, quite literally, kill me.”
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