She's Got It Bad

by Sarah Mayberry

  Emotion burned in his belly, expanded in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face into the warm skin of her neck. Zoe. His, at last. He felt as though he’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

  No wonder he hadn’t been able to walk away from her.

  For a few short seconds, panic gripped him as he thought of his father and his mother and the promise he’d made to himself. Then Zoe’s arms came around him and she rested her head on his chest.

  Slowly his body relaxed as he gave himself up to it. It wasn’t like he had a choice. He loved her.

  He always had.

  10

  FOUR WEEKS LATER Zoe stood with her eyes tightly closed, Liam’s chest warm and solid behind her. His hands covered her eyes and his voice rumbled through her body every time he spoke.

  “No peeking,” he said.

  “Stop fussing. I want to be surprised,” she said.

  She could hear the guys talking amongst themselves and the scuff of footsteps on the floor, along with the faint click of metal on metal. Nerves thrummed in her belly, sending adrenaline tingling into her fingertips.

  This was it, the great unveiling of their competition chopper. She was about to see if her ideas had worked, if art and form and function had come together in a cohesive whole—or if between them they’d created Frankenstein’s monster.

  She wanted it to be good so much she felt a little sick. She wanted to make Liam proud, to repay his faith in her. She wanted the guys to be repaid for their welcoming camaraderie and easy friendship. And she wanted it to sing for her own sake, too, because she’d worked hard and wanted to be proud of what she’d achieved.

  “Okay. Here we go,” Liam said near her ear.

  The warmth of his hands left her face and she opened her eyes. In front of her was a sleek, shiny motorcycle, its lines long, low and sexy. Her gaze traveled from the elongated front forks back to the handlebars, then along the body. Fat tires, chrome alloys and a custom-made, hand-tooled, cherry-red leather seat drew her eye next, but nothing commanded as much attention as the images that jumped out from the bike’s fuel tank, fenders and oil pump. Zoe’s avenging angel strained forward, power and determination in every line of her beautiful face and body. Purple and orange and red flames licked at the tips of her wings and her streaming hair, propelling her forward. More flames licked along the fenders and curled around the oil pump cover.

  Zoe blinked and took a step backward. The bike looked incredible. She couldn’t quite believe that she’d had a hand in creating it.

  “Well, what do you think?” Liam asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. You guys have done an amazing job. The way you’ve shaped the exhaust pipe to echo the curve of her wings. And the gear shift…I honestly don’t know what to say,” she said. She reached out to caress the custom, chrome “suicide”

  gearshift, the head of which was a rounded, stylized heart in keeping with her old-school tattoo theme.

  “Listen to Miss Modesty. This bike is made by your paint job, lady,” Vinnie said. “If we don’t win the build-off with this little puppy, I’ll eat my boot.”

  The other guys added their agreement to Vinnie’s, and Zoe flushed hotly, touched by their praise.

  Liam’s hands landed on her shoulders from behind and he leaned close.

  “Suck it up, babe. I know it kills you to hear nice things about your work, but you’d better get used to it. Come August, you’re going to have praise coming out the yoo-hoo once Jacinta has finished with you,” he said.

  She pushed an elbow back into his belly but he dodged away, laughing. She turned to tackle him, but he grabbed her around the waist and before she knew it she was being lifted over her shoulder in a firefighter’s carry. Liam spun in a circle, whooping and hollering, the guys yelling their encouragement. Zoe laughed with them, then slid a hand down the back of Liam’s jeans to grab a handful of his boxer-briefs.

  “Unless you want to sing like a soprano, you’d better put me down, caveman,” she threatened.

  The guys doubled up with laughter as Liam set her on her feet. Vinnie handed around beers and they all raised their drinks.

  “To whipping butt at the build-off,” Liam said.

  “Bloody oath!” Vinnie said.

  “And the rest,” Paul said.

  Zoe laughed and drank to the toast. Everyone fell to talking, circling the bike and admiring what their joint efforts had created. Zoe hung back a little, surprised by the buzz of achievement she felt. Creating a tattoo for someone was fulfilling but it was essentially a one-person occupation and she’d never felt like this at the end of a job. Working in collaboration with Liam and his crew had been fun, challenging and infinitely rewarding. Like being part of a big, dysfunctional, potty-joke-obsessed family.

  Seeing her hovering, Paul called her over to ask how she’d finessed the flames on the oil pump cover. She was squatting beside him, admiring the cutouts in the alloy wheels when Liam joined them. His thigh was hard against hers as he crouched beside them.

  “Hope you’ve got enough spare time in your schedule to take on some more paint jobs,” he said.

  “Once this thing becomes public property everyone is going to want a Zoe Ford bike.”

  “Stop it,” she said. “You don’t have to keep blowing smoke up my skirt.”

  “I’m not. Trust me, in a few weeks’ time you’re going to be run off your feet trying to keep both me and Jacinta happy,” Liam said.

  She could see the sincerity and pride in him at what they’d achieved. She could also see something else, and her heart squeezed tight in her chest, just as it had every time she’d caught him looking at her in the same intense, warm way over the past few weeks.

  Liam cared for her. He cared for her a lot. It was in every look he gave her, every caress, every word he threw her way.

  She had to quell the impulse to reach out and cup his face. As happened so often lately, words crowded the back of her throat. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say them. Once, a long time ago, she had boldly declared her love for him. Life had taught her to be more cautious since then. For now, it was enough to look at him and understand that somehow, by some miracle, this thing between them was real and it wasn’t going anywhere.

  It had taken a while for her to work that out, longer still to accept it. After their first week together she’d stopped giving herself a hard time about how she felt and what she wanted. The simple truth was that she was a goner where Liam was concerned and she could do nothing but ride this thing out to its inevitable conclusion. There was no point trying to hold back or protect herself—she’d tried both strategies and failed dismally. She’d take what she could get, store away the memories and endure the pain as best she could when it came.

  Still, she couldn’t forget the fact that they hadn’t spent a night apart since he’d asked her to stay that first Friday. And that he was the one who had asked her to stay the night, not the other way round. Then there was the way he made love to her: with a single-minded intensity and depth of emotion that made her tremble inside. At work, he sought her out constantly, casually touching her arm, her shoulder, her back as though he couldn’t be near her and not make contact.

  Every day the reality of their relationship reinforced what she so desperately wanted to believe—

  he was as invested as she was.

  Maybe he even loved her, the way she loved him. Maybe one day soon he’d even say it out loud.

  And then, maybe, she’d find the courage to say it in return.

  Dizzying thoughts. For now she contented herself with leaning on his shoulder as she pushed herself to her feet, giving him a surreptitious squeeze before she let him go. The guys all knew she and Liam had something going on—they weren’t blind, after all—but by mutual, unspoken agreement she and Liam tried to keep things professional during work hours.

  “What time’s the truck coming tomorrow to take the bike to the build-off?” Vinnie asked as
he flipped the cap off his second beer.

  Liam had organized a spit roast and catering for the grand unveiling. Consequently, the boys were settling in for a big night.

  “First thing, but don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” Liam said.

  He was one of the few who wouldn’t have a hangover tomorrow, Zoe knew. He never drank to excess. After their talk on the beach, she understood why control was so important to him.

  For a moment she was overwhelmed with a rush of tenderness as she watched him laugh with one of his crew leaders, his big body relaxed and at ease as he took a pull from his beer. He was a good man, despite the roadblocks life had thrown in his way. He was one in a million.

  And he’s mine. I get to take him home and make love to him. I get to hold him in my arms all night. I get to wake up with him tomorrow morning. And hopefully the morning after that, and the one after that.

  The thought still felt tentative, uncertain, as though she was trying it on for size. But she was prepared to believe. She wanted to. After years of not believing, of not daring to dream, she had started to want things for herself again. And she wanted Liam, more than anything in the world.

  He glanced at her. Their eyes met and his mouth curled slowly at the corners. Then his gaze dipped below her face and he gave her a long, slow, lazy head-to-toe. She could practically feel him touching her, his gaze was so hot. When he once again met her eyes his smile curved into a full grin.

  Cocky bastard. Cocky, wonderful, generous, sexy bastard.

  Because she couldn’t stay away, she made her way to his side. He smiled at her, then gently clinked the neck of his beer bottle against hers in a silent toast.

  Mine, she told herself again as she stared into his eyes.

  Happiness welled up inside her. She smiled.

  A month ago she would never have imagined any of this. Right now, right this minute, however, anything seemed possible.

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT Liam rested his elbow against the bar at Thrashed and waited for Zoe to come onstage. Or, more accurately, Vixen. Zoe had kicked him out of her change room half an hour ago before she started her transformation into her stage persona. He’d seen enough of her costume to know tonight was going to be one hell of a torturous experience. High heels, sheer stockings, a PVC miniskirt. The crowd was going to go nuts, as they had last time he’d seen her perform. And he was going to want to storm the stage and make it clear to every horny asshole in the audience that she was his.

  He wasn’t looking forward to it. On the other hand, there was a wildness in Zoe when she was onstage that spoke to something equally wild in him. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened last time he’d visited her in her dressing room after a performance. This time around, he would watch her taunt and tease the crowd with what they couldn’t have and know that he alone would get to touch her. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was enough of a Neanderthal to get off on the idea.

  There was movement onstage and a ripple of excitement went through the crowd. The lights flashed once, then dropped to darkness. Liam smiled to himself as the audience fell silent: Zoe sure knew how to milk a moment for all its drama.

  The lights came up at the same time that the music kicked in. A spotlight found Zoe at center stage, both hands gripping the microphone, one long leg twined around the mike stand as she sang the opening lines. Her face was geisha white, her eyes black and heavy with sixties-style kohl, her eyeliner sweeping out from the corners of her eyes to give her an exotic Cleopatra look.

  Her mouth was a juicy, wet plum, a perfect match for the plum tank top she wore. The top was cropped to just below her breasts and he was almost one hundred percent certain she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath it. The PVC skirt sat low on her hips and high on her thighs, a ridiculous strip of plastic that barely covered her ass. Sheer black stockings and black garters completed her ensemble.

  She looked wild, wanton, sexy as all hell. The crowd whistled and howled its appreciation.

  He ground his teeth. This was going to be a lot harder than he’d thought.

  It was one thing to tell himself she was performing, that none of the men howling for her would ever come close to touching her, but it didn’t stop him from feeling fiercely possessive. She was his. He adored her, admired her, needed her. He didn’t want to look into a sea of faces and know they were all imagining her naked, wet and willing.

  But he understood that Vixen was a very real part of Zoe’s personality. She’d used her alter ego to reclaim power when she’d felt worthless as a woman. He would never ask her to lock away that part of herself, no matter how much it killed him.

  By small degrees, he forced himself to relax and enjoy the show. Zoe had a great voice and she knew how to work the stage. Her band members were tight and knew what they were doing. As live performances went, it was entertainment with a capital E.

  If only he didn’t have the fierce, compulsive urge to cover her with a blanket, all would be good.

  By the time Zoe was banging out the last song of the night, he was on his second beer and feeling almost sorry for the poor saps in the audience. Zoe hadn’t let up, shaking her ass at them, teasing them mercilessly with her hot body. A lot of very horny men would be staggering out of the club tonight, if Liam had any guess.

  The crowd erupted into applause as Zoe wailed the last notes and took a bow. After a few shout-outs to the crowd, the band exited the stage. Liam settled back to wait. It was tempting to join her in her dressing room, but he didn’t want a quickie against the wall. After over an hour of sexual torture, he planned to inflict a little of his own once he got Zoe alone.

  One heel hooked on the boot rail behind him, Liam slid his hand into his pocket. His fingers found the irregular edges of the key he’d had cut during the week. His front door key. For Zoe.

  He’d meant to give it to her before the unveiling and ask her to move in with him but something had held him back. He’d never lived with a woman before. It went against all his rules. But he’d given up pretending he had any control where Zoe was concerned. Even though it scared him on a visceral, bone-deep level, he wanted to share his life with her.

  He straightened as the stage door opened and Zoe emerged, her hair subdued into a ponytail, her face bare of makeup, jeans and a T-shirt replacing her provocative stage gear. Lust thumped low in his belly. Call him old-fashioned, but he much preferred her without all the bullshit.

  His fingers curled around the key as he watched her weave her way toward him. He’d give it to her now, before they joined the rest of the band for pizza. Nerves danced in his belly, but he knew she’d say yes. Hoped she would, anyway.

  She was halfway to the bar when three guys stepped in front of her. Liam tensed, then reminded himself that Zoe could more than handle herself. She’d given a couple of overeager fans the stiletto treatment tonight when they tried to join her on the stage. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate him interfering. Still, his gaze narrowed as he watched a thickset blond guy lean close to talk to her.

  The expression on Zoe’s face was the first giveaway that something was very wrong. Her face went blank with shock and from across the room he could see the color drain from her cheeks.

  She shook her head and backed away from the three men, but the blond guy followed.

  Liam was already pushing his way toward them when recognition flashed in Liam’s brain. He knew that blunt nose and thick neck and mean mouth. It had been twelve years, but he recognized him.

  He could hear Zoe’s voice rising in distress as he drew closer. “I don’t want to talk to you. I have nothing to say to you.”

  Marty Johannsen spread his hands wide even as he loomed over her.

  “Don’t be like that, Zoe, baby. I’ve come all this way to see you after I heard about your little act. I’ve been telling my boys how we knew each other back in the day,” he said, his smile suggestive.

  Liam was two strides away when Johannsen made the mistake of reaching for her, grabbing her upper arm as he tried to halt
her retreat. Zoe jerked backward, attempting to break his grip. As if in slow motion, Liam saw Johannsen’s arm tense as he pulled her toward himself, dragging Zoe off balance. Liam could see the fear in her eyes, and his mind flashed to a hundred other memories of a woman wide-eyed with terror and fear. Then he was on the other man, his fist smashing into bone as animal instinct took over.

  This was the man who had taken away Zoe’s future. This was the weak shit who had taken advantage of her vulnerability and taken what he wanted without thought of the consequences—

  consequences Zoe would live with for the rest of her life. This was the man who hadn’t had the guts to meet Zoe’s eyes the day after he’d taken her virginity but who could turn up twelve years later to assert his bragging rights and see if he could get lucky again.

  White-hot rage took over as Liam threw another punch then another. Johannsen staggered backward, reeling from the unexpected attack. Blood spurted as Liam smashed his fist into the other man’s nose. Johannsen tried to draw up his arms to protect himself, but Liam was faster, stronger. Then Johannsen was on the ground and Liam was on top of him, pounding him with blow after blow. Vaguely he heard screams, felt someone tugging at his shoulders, trying to haul him off the other man. Then a thick arm snaked around his neck and he was being hauled backward.

  He choked, struggling for air. His right arm was bent up his back and used to force him to his knees. Then the arm around his throat was gone and he could breathe again.

  Panting, sweat dripping from his face, he lifted his head and saw what he’d done, the pulp he’d made of Marty Johannsen’s face. Then he saw Zoe, a hand pressed to her mouth, tears in her eyes as she met his gaze.

  He dropped his head, hating what he’d recognized in her face: fear.

  Zoe was afraid of him.

  It was his worst nightmare.

  He was his father’s son, after all.

  ZOE’S ASS WAS NUMB from sitting on the hard wooden bench at the police station. Her stomach was hollow and empty, her eyes sore from lack of sleep. She’d been waiting for nearly ten hours—overnight, in fact—for Liam to be released.