Thrust

by Sybil Bartel

  I shoved my foot forward and the door flew back open as I grasped her arm. “You think you’re too good for someone like me? You think I’m fucking damaged? Tainted? Diseased?” My anger hit a fucking plateau and kept going.

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  “Guess what?” I propelled her back until her ass hit the wall. “I’m no fucking prince, but you’re the only woman I ever gave a damn about!” I threw her arm out of my grasp, ripped her clothes from her hand and fucking stormed out.

  I tossed her clothes in the dryer and practically tripped on a ten-pound terrier that looked like a goddamn overgrown rat. “What the fuck are you doing out of bed?”

  The little dog cowered.

  “God-fucking-dammit.”

  She started to shake.

  I shoved my hands through my wet hair. “Go lie down.”

  She lay down. Right fucking there.

  Motherfucking fuck, fuck, fuck. I scooped the dog up. “This is why I don’t fuck with women.” She pressed into me and licked my hand, the little bitch.

  I grabbed the fucking crate I kept hurricane shit in and carried it to the kitchen counter. Fuming, at her, at myself for saying the shit I’d said, I put the damn dog in the kitchen sink and grabbed a case of water out of the pantry.

  Strolling into the kitchen in my T-shirt and sweats that she’d rolled up around her hips, Olivia went to the sink. “She can’t get down from here.”

  I dumped the water on the counter next to the crate. “I know.” Nippy little rat could fucking stay there. She was all over my shit.

  Olivia leaned over and scratched the dog behind her ears. “This is too high up for you, sweetheart, isn’t it? You’re too little to jump down.”

  Her perfect fucking ass was aimed at me and I growled in frustration. “Then take her down.”

  She scooped the dog up and held her up to her face. “Mean ole daddy. I’ll let you down.” The dog licked her face and she bent to put her down.

  Fucking daddy. I threw her shit right back on her. “She doesn’t pay me to be her daddy.”

  Olivia froze. Then she sucked in air, set the dog down and straightened her back. “No, I guess she doesn’t.”

  I snorted. “Go ahead.” Polite didn’t suit her. “Fucking ask.” My cell vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it and turned the oven on.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She crossed her arms protectively around herself.

  It fucking pissed me off. “Don’t bullshit me. You know exactly what I’m saying.” I pulled chicken and turkey bacon out of the fridge. “Ask whatever the hell you want.”

  She didn’t even pretend to think about it. “Is that what your clients do? They pay you to pretend to be their daddy?” The question couldn’t spew out of her mouth fast enough.

  I threw the meat on the counter then I caged her in. Aggressive, dominant, I stared her down. “You want to know what my clients paid me to do?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “You want to know how I earned my fee?”

  She tried to lean back.

  I hovered closer. “I made them feel special.” I traced the line of her jaw. “I made them feel wanted.” I grasped her chin and lowered my voice. “I made them feel good about themselves.” Then I took their fucking money because not one of them knew what it meant to grow up like I did or come home from Afghanistan with your head so fucked-up you wanted to go back.

  “Why?” she barely whispered.

  I wasn’t her brother. I wasn’t six feet under. I had all my body parts and I was fucking present, so I wasn’t about to complain. “Because I could.”

  Her gaze held mine. “There’s more.”

  That was it. Right fucking there. Clients took what they wanted, every last orgasm. They didn’t give a shit about me. But this woman? Five foot nothing, challenging my lies when she wouldn’t even take my help during a hurricane, let alone my money? I shook my head. “You shouldn’t have tried to take those paintings back.” She had no clue what she’d set in motion.

  Her shoulders straightened. “You shouldn’t have bought them all.”

  “I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant I got to see you pissed off about it.” Because that’s when I fucking fell for her, and I was desperate enough right then to tell her that. “Wanna know why?” I pressed my hips into hers and dragged my thumb across the soft skin of her neck because that’s what I did. I made women want me. Every move was choreographed. Every touch had a purpose. My body was the weapon and my attitude the trigger.

  She sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”

  Good fucking question. What was I doing? Because for the first time in three years, I had no fucking clue. I sucked in a breath and pushed away from her. “Making you dinner.” My cell vibrated again, and I stupidly didn’t look at the display before I answered. “What?”

  “I cannot stay here alone. There is a hurricane.”

  Christ. “That house is built like a fucking bunker. You’re fine.”

  “The wind is too strong. It will break the windows. Trees are hitting them.”

  “Put the shutters down.”

  “I am not going out in this.”

  I sighed. “You don’t have to. Go to the kitchen, by the far wall. See the remote?” I glanced at Olivia as I pulled stuff for a salad out of the fridge, but she was playing with the girl dog.

  “I don’t see it.”

  Jesus. “Look around, Irina. You’re not fucking helpless.”

  “I see no remote… oh. What am I supposed to do with this?”

  Jesus Christ, is this what her husband put up with? “Cycle through the settings until it says all. Then hit the bottom button. The shutters will close.” My cell buzzed with another call. “Hold on.” I glanced at the display. Dane. “Where are you?”

  Wind roared in the background. “All the lights are on in my house.”

  No fucking shit. “You said I could use it for three days. What are you doing, standing outside?” The crazy fuck, I wouldn’t put it past him.

  “In the driveway. Who is it?”

  I glanced at Olivia, but her back was to me now. “Irina.”

  “The client.”

  Olivia was listening, I knew she was. I didn’t have shit to hide at this point, but I didn’t want to broadcast either. I chose my words. “I’m out.” Dane would pick up on it.

  Pause. Then, “You quit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because of the woman in my house?”

  “Unrelated.”

  “Another woman,” he stated.

  I didn’t deny it. “I thought you were out of town for a few days.”

  “Plans changed.”

  Secretive fuck. “She’s on the other line. What do you want me to tell her?”

  “She stable?”

  Any other business, any other person asking, I would’ve wondered what the fuck he was getting at. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what he meant. We’d all had to dump unstable clients. “Yeah. Just spoiled as fuck. You deal with this, I’ll owe you.”

  “You already owe me.”

  I got it. He didn’t like people at his house, not while he was there. We were similar in that way. Our homes were our sanctuaries, and now mine had a woman and three dogs in it. “I’ll tell her she has twenty-four hours.”

  “Copy. Parameters?”

  Dane had left the military, but he’d always be a Marine. He spoke in code half the time, and life was a series of executable tasks to him. I knew what he was asking, and he could fuck her for twenty-three of those twenty-four hours for all I cared. “None.”

  “Tell her I’m coming in through the garage.”

  “Done. Thanks.” I clicked back over to Irina. “The guy who owns the house is there. He’s coming in through the garage. Don’t shoot him.” I doubt she had a gun, but who fucking knew?

  “What? No! You promised me, Alex. You said you would come get me.”

  “No,” I warned. “I never said that. I’m doing you this one favor
then you have to deal with your own shit.”

  “But—” She sucked in a shocked breath. “Who are you?” she snapped.

  “Dane.” Dane’s rough voice carried through the phone. “Tell Vega all clear.”

  I almost felt sorry for her. Dane was a big motherfucker. “I heard him. Don’t be a pain in the ass. He’s doing you a solid.”

  “Alex.” She said my name in a panic.

  “You’re fine. You’ll be safe with him.” For the most part.

  “Hang up,” Dane clipped.

  I smirked. “Bye, Irina.” I ended the call and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

  “Friend?” Olivia didn’t look up from petting the dog.

  I exhaled. “Former client.”

  “You sound like… you’re friends with her.”

  “Not friends.” I took out a baking pan.

  Olivia frowned. “But she’s calling you?”

  I wasn’t going to lie to her, but I also didn’t feel like I had to explain myself. “Her husband kicked her out. She needed a place to land. A friend of mine was out of town, so I took her to his place.”

  “She’s married and she’s your client?”

  The judgment was laced through her question thicker than the bacon I was wrapping around the chicken. “Her husband was older and he knew.”

  “So that makes it okay? That’s still adultery.”

  “Not my problem.” Not anymore.

  “You come between and a husband and a wife and you think it’s not your problem?”

  I wrapped the last chicken breast, washed my hands and threw the pan in the oven. “A guy on a diet goes to a fast food joint and orders a burger. Is that the restaurant’s fault? No. They simply provided the commodity. They didn’t tell the guy to cheat on his diet.”

  She held firm to her bullshit. “They may as well have.”

  “How? By selling a basic human necessity?” I grabbed a cutting board and a knife and dumped them in front of her. “Make the salad.”

  She didn’t move. “You’re comparing food to sex?”

  “We need to eat to live and fuck to procreate.” Both necessities. I measured out some rice and water and put it in the microwave.

  She watched my movements. “Now you’re selling sperm?”

  “No.” Not that I ever considered it. “Far less profitable. Which is a sad reflection on society.” I crossed my arms and leaned on the counter opposite her. “Salad isn’t going to make itself.”

  She glanced at my arms then inhaled. “So you helped her.”

  I was vain enough to flex my biceps. “Yes.” I wanted her looking at me.

  “That was… nice of you.” She dropped her gaze.

  I closed the distance between us because I couldn’t fucking leave her alone. “I’m not an asshole.”

  Her arms tightened around herself and her voice got quieter. “I know.”

  “Do you?” It took everything I had not to touch her.

  It took everything I had not to reach for him. He smelled so good, like soap and promise, and I wanted those ridiculously huge arms around me. Every passing second, it was harder to hold on to my indignation, and if I were being honest, I understood why he hadn’t told me what he was. Drunk or not, revenge or lust, I never would’ve slept with him after the fundraiser.

  I turned my back to him and stared at the cutting board. I hated that a client was calling him. I hated it a thousand times worse than anything I’d ever felt when I saw Jesse with Jennifer.

  “You gonna answer me?”

  My eyes closed and I breathed in. Even his voice was sexy. Deep, but not loud, he could drag me under just whispering my name. “What was the question?” I knew what it was.

  His hands landed on either side on me on the counter and his breath touched my neck. “Do you know what your problem is?”

  Besides the fact I’d fallen so hard for him it hurt? “I don’t know how to cook?”

  He inhaled. “You’re jealous.”

  I was. And I had too many questions to count, but one stood out more than any other. “Why me?” I picked the knife up. “You could have any woman you want.”

  He took the knife from me and turned me around. “You’re seriously asking why I want you? After you felt what we were like together?”

  Heat flamed my cheeks and I dropped my gaze.

  He lowered his voice. “Look at me, Olivia.”

  Hesitant and vulnerable, I looked up.

  His deep blue gaze held mine. “Do you know what it feels like to be inside you?”

  I bit my bottom lip and shook my head.

  “Like I’m fucking home.”

  I sucked in a breath and fought tears, but he wasn’t finished.

  “Like every other bullshit moment in life is wasted energy. When I’m inside you, the rest disappears. I know you feel that connection. It’s more than every way I can make you come. I’ve fucked enough women. I know the difference. Sex is sex. But with you?” His expression so intense he looked angry, he shook his head. “It’s like coming home.”

  A tear slid down my cheek.

  His hand came up, but then he made a fist and dropped it. “I told you I’m not playing games,” he ground out. “I’m not giving up my clients for you. I’m giving them up because I don’t need them.” His nostrils flared with an inhale. “I knew this day was coming. I planned for it. But the timeline?” He stared at me. “That’s all you. I’m not going back. I don’t want to go back.”

  It was everything and nothing I wanted to hear. My heart broke as much as it soared, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what to think. I felt guilty for being angry with him at his past, but God, I wanted to fall into his arms because he felt more like home than anything in the past two years had.

  But when I didn’t say anything, he shook his head and stepped back.

  I panicked. “What do you want me to say?”

  He took the rice out of the microwave. “Whatever you want.”

  He was defensive now. “That’s not fair.” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. I’d know him hours, hours, but the crazy part was it didn’t even seem weird. “I’m allowed to be confused. I’m allowed to feel whatever I want.”

  “I’m not the fucking emotion police.” He opened the oven and used tongs to flip the chicken.

  The scent of the turkey bacon he’d wrapped the chicken in filled the air. “No, but you act like all you have to do is say a few words and everything should be fine. Life doesn’t fall into place like that.” It never did. My brother was dead, my mother was in another state pretending she’d never had kids, and I’d fucked a guy who charged women for sex.

  “I’m not holding shit back from you. You want to make that complicated, that’s on you.” He shut the oven door and pushed me aside to get at the lettuce. Quick and methodical, he chopped lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers, then threw it all into two bowls.

  Now I was angry. “What do you want me to say? I forgive you? I don’t care about your past? Even if I did say those things now, it wouldn’t matter. You’re pissed that I didn’t give you whatever response you expected.” My voice whiney, I sounded pathetic and needy.

  He grabbed two plates out of the cupboard and practically slammed them on the counter, but he didn’t say anything. Silverware followed then he took two beers out of the fridge. He popped both caps off and handed me a bottle without looking at me.

  I took it. “You going to say something?”

  “Dinner’s almost ready. Napkins are in the drawer by the fridge.” He checked the chicken again.

  I yanked the drawer open. Linen, real linen napkins, all neatly folded and perfectly pressed, lined the front of the drawer. I took two and resisted the urge to wrinkle the hell out of them before I grabbed the silverware he’d taken out. I set two settings at the stools on the other side of the kitchen island then I sat my ass down and took a sip of beer. It had some stupid Belgian label and of course it was the best-tasting beer I’d ever ha
d.

  Confused, still pissed off, and about a thousand other emotions, I settled in to stare as he took the chicken out of the oven and plated it along with the rice. Except he didn’t just plate it, he moved as if every step was choreographed to make him look like the sex god he was. His muscles flexed, his shoulders stretched, even the set to his jaw was sexy. Then he slid our plates across the island like he was a cooking show pro and set one bowl of salad by each of us with a flourish.

  Every second of his little act made me angrier.

  “I know what you’re doing,” I accused.

  He sat down next to me and took a sip of his beer, but he didn’t respond.

  Arrogant prick. “Where’s the salad dressing?”

  He took another swig of beer. “Don’t have any. Never use it.”

  Who the hell didn’t use salad dressing? “It’s eat or consume, not use. Salt, pepper?”

  “You don’t need it.” He picked up his knife and fork and cut into his meat. “I seasoned the chicken before I baked it.” He calmly took a bite.

  I yanked his napkin off the counter and held it up in front of him, then I wrinkled that fucker into a ball. Once I’d decimated the ironing job that napkin had gone through, I shook it out and threw it on his lap. “Don’t forget your napkin.”

  His second bite almost to his mouth, he paused only a fraction of a second. “Thanks.” Then he popped the chicken in and chewed.

  Not the reaction I’d been hoping for, I jabbed the fork in the meat and hacked off a chunk with the knife. “How’d you know where I was?” Suddenly starving, I shoveled the bite in. Holy shit it was good.

  “Talon.”

  I’d figured as much. “Why’d you come for me?” I cut off another too-big bite and chowed it down.

  “You don’t want me to answer that. How’s your chicken?”

  “You know it’s delicious. And yes, I do want you to answer.”

  “Good.” He ate three forkfuls of dry salad.

  “Why don’t you use dressing?”

  “Empty calories.” Two more huge bites and he finished off the salad.

  I put my fork down. “Seriously?” He was one of those guys?

  He nodded at my plate. “Eat. And yes, seriously.”

  Disheartened, I picked my fork up. “It never would’ve worked between us.” I loved food. All kinds of food.