He sneered. “My mistake. Let me clarify. First, don’t invite it. Second, don’t take on three of them at once. And third, know when to walk away—or run, if need be.”
“I tried to, but he—” Mia growled, turning her head away. She was flabbergasted. Not a soothing gesture, no comfort, not a question about how she had fared. Her head whipped back toward him. “I didn’t do anything!” They were words she’d used before; her innocence had amused him then. This time they seemed to wildly agitate him.
He pulled her up off the bed and physically hauled her along, feet off the floor, across the room to a full-length mirror. Flynn dropped Mia in front of him, holding her there, forcing her to take in the complete reflection. Her flushed cheeks went well with the low-cut blouse and a skirt that had passed sexy two inches before. Her heeled sandals emphasized already long legs and her hair was a wild mass of heat-stricken waves. The outfit looked very different when it had lain benignly on her bed. Now, under these circumstances, it did border on licentious. Mia mentally conceded that she did not look like herself, that there could be a street corner in her future. His hand came up around her throat, cutting across her windpipe, lifting her hair up off her neck as his fingers roughly grazed her cheek. He made no effort to soften his touch. His voice was rougher than his fingers, hot in her ear. “Understand what they see.”
Mia knew she should be intimidated, but anger inched toward arousal when his arms dropped from her face, brushing against the silky fabric and across her breasts. It occurred to her what he was implying, and Mia struggled to hang on to that anger. She gave herself a cursory once-over, unwilling to agree with his insinuation. “So you think that was my fault? The way I’m dressed was a come-fuck-me invitation?”
His hand tightened around her stomach, pushing the blouse up so his hot skin made contact with hers. “No, the come-fuck-me invitation was for me, I’m sure. But when you put this on, sweetheart”—his eyes were full of anger, his fingers tugging at the flimsy strap—“and stretch out on a blanket in ninety-degree heat, with a pair of legs that make a guy practically come in his pants, most men don’t care who it’s addressed to. That guy was an asshole. He got a taste of what he deserved—they all did. But you didn’t help.”
“Let me go. I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.” Mia tried to wiggle free. His fingers pinched in, gripping harder around her waist. She wasn’t going anywhere until he said so. “Fine. But while we’re on the subject of acting out, do I get an explanation for any of that back there? I mean, were you ever going to mention the ninja warrior routine or was it just another secret Flynn gets to keep from me?”
“Why, did you like it?”
She couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or survey. She also wasn’t entirely sure where she arrived at the nerve to throw it right back at him. “Did you? Did you, Flynn, like the whole white knight thing, running to my rescue? From what I saw you’d better be damn careful about how you dole out the punishment. You’re lucky you didn’t kill one of them.” Before her brain could register what was happening, Flynn spun her around. His hand squeezed her chin, assuring solid eye contact.
“I am nobody’s white knight. Get that through your head. What you saw was reflex, nothing more. You get into a situation like that again and I will leave you to defend yourself.”
The ugliness in his voice made her want to get away. But she wasn’t particularly frightened, only hurt by his reaction. Next time, be prepared to screw them all, Mia, because next time I’ll sell tickets. What I feel for you isn’t enough to want to protect you. You’re on your own, sweetheart. It was what she heard. Flynn’s fury over having to defend her, when he so obviously could, was baffling. It didn’t make sense.
Mia reined in her composure, determined not to be bullied by what she saw as a temper tantrum. “Maybe I’ll just do that. Maybe next time I’ll extend the come-fuck-me invitation to the entire frat house!” She hesitated, mentally swinging any jab to taunt him. “You can just wait outside while I screw every last one of them. At least then I’ll know what I’m getting.”
Her words singed through him. There was a visual standoff; blinking seemed unlikely. She’d hurt him. Good. He was fighting it. It was all over his face, in his eyes, always a dead giveaway. Mia was surprised he didn’t want to have the argument with his sunglasses on. Once more he spun her back toward the mirror. She went to speak, but his hand flew up over her mouth.
“Shut up, Mia. Don’t talk. Don’t say one more fucking word.” From there he brushed her hair back from her face; not a gentle sweeping stroke, more like he was grooming her for something. “I didn’t want this. God knows I wasn’t looking for it, the way I feel when you look at me. Do you understand me, Mia? I don’t fucking need this.”
“Need what?” she spit out angrily.
“I said don’t speak.” Before she thought it was posturing. Now it was a direct order. “I can’t afford to be in a position where things like tonight happen. So you need to understand something. Are you listening?”
She nodded. Mia’s eyes were as wide as they had been the first time she saw him. Their faces were reflected in the glass of the mirror, his body pressed tight to hers. Every muscle pulsated against her and she wondered what he might do with all that anger.
“A long time ago I crossed a line that separates me from you, from the things you want, the way you live. I lost the right to all of it and I accept that. You, Mia, are an unneeded, unwanted fucking complication. Do you hear me?”
His stare was so intense against the glass she thought it might spark a fire. She nodded again, the words slicing into her, causing a pain so tremendous that it drove every other feeling from her body. He licked his dry lips and drew his head closer to hers, giving serious debate to something. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he seemed to come to a decision.
“I wasn’t in a war. I didn’t spend years training recruits to turn on a dime or how to spit-polish their brass. I wasn’t overseas defending this country. My ass was in a military disciplinary barrack because that’s where they put you when you confess to murder. That’s what I did in the Marines.”
It was a million miles from anything she thought he might say. She looked into his reflection, his eyes. They almost repeated the admission, and Mia’s forehead drew into tight contemplation. But the wide-eyed look of awe was gone. There wasn’t the eruption of mortified shock he was probably expecting, only an illogical sense of relief. There it was: the explanation she’d been waiting for, a reason for the rogue existence, the nightmares, the distance he kept from the rest of the world. Flynn searched her face, looking for something—disgust, rage, fear. She assumed it was safe to speak, blurting out the first thing that popped into her head.
“Murder? You confessed to killing someone?”
“Murder—with my bare hands.”
His anger toward her became clear, her assumption of a tantrum a moot point. The sexy outfit . . . drunken frat boys . . . her honor. She’d unknowingly put him in a horrible position, forcing him to return to a mind-set and a place he already couldn’t cope with. She tried to twist around in his arms but he wouldn’t let her budge. After a moment she stopped struggling and surrendered to his hold, leaning her head back against his shoulder. Mia wrapped her arms over his, keeping them tight, making sure he wouldn’t let go. A trembling breath exited his body as they stared at one another in the mirror. “I hear you, Flynn. What you said, it doesn’t matter, not to me. I love—”
“Don’t. Don’t say it, Mia.” The words were sharp. He was uninterested in compassion or any other placating gesture. “You’re so willing to accept what I just said, without the why or the details. How can you do that? It’s just like when I first saw you.” Their heads met with terse strokes of friction as he shook his head. “Don’t take rides from strangers, Mia. Don’t let them buy you drinks, and for God’s sake, don’t go to bed with them. Add another one to the list, sweetheart. Don’t excuse murder like I just told you I robbed a penny candy store.”
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Mia held her head stiff. “So what is it you expect me to do? Do you want me to leave? If I tell you I never want to see you again, is that the correct response? Look at you. You’re still angry with me, but you want me to punish you.” She watched him take a hard gulp. He was furious about everything—having to defend her, her inability to hate him for his confession, the way his life turned out.
“You’re right. I’m so fucking pissed off right now, I don’t know what to do with it.” He broke free from her hold and ran his hands the length of her torso, brushing over skin that was still too eager for his touch. “I take that back. I know exactly what I want to do.”
“You’re not scaring me. I’m not afraid of you, Flynn. You won’t hurt me. I was more frightened by some jerk coming on to me in a crowded park than I ever could be alone with you.”
“You think so? Another poor decision, Mia. Do you know what I want to do with this anger? How I want to get rid of it before it fucking eats me alive?” Flynn held her tight, shouting into the mirror. “Do you!” She shook her head. “I want to put some kind of mark on you that makes it crystal clear, that erases every breath that bastard put on you.” He cupped her breast in the exact same spot the frat boy had. “And you won’t like it.”
She glared back, matching his defiant strength. “It’s not working. You don’t frighten me. You certainly can’t make me hate you.”
“Yes, Mia, yes, I can. Don’t forget that. I’ve done worse. Hate is fairly low on my list of transgressions. Maybe that sweet little college-educated head of yours doesn’t comprehend me. Language issues again, Mia. I don’t want to make love to you. I don’t want to have sex with you. I just want to fuck you, hard and mercifully uncomplicated. It won’t be nice and sweet, the way you like it, what you’re used to. It will be a man who spent years in prison. Lots of anger, baby. That guy tonight, I could have torn his head off. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He jerked her hard again. “Jesus Christ, that appeals to you?”
Mia looked boldly into his eyes. “No, but still, you won’t hurt me.” She even smiled, calmly gazing into his stare.
“What makes you so fucking sure?”
She replied with something more intimidating than his own threat. “I have more faith in you than you do. You see a single disaster when you look into that mirror. I see the whole beautiful man.”
“Fine, then. With your permission, allow me to disprove your theory.”
The lack of reply was as good as a green flag. Flynn grabbed a fistful of blouse. The sound of shredding fabric hit her ears before she grasped what he had done. He tore it from her body as if it were made of tissue paper. Mia stifled a gasp, holding her posture perfectly still. The culprit, the destroyed blouse, wafted to the floor and she realized he had wanted to do just that since they walked into the room. Her mind was working fast to keep up, wondering exactly what the difference was between making love, having sex, and just getting fucked. A shudder writhed through her body. He felt it and his breath jerked in, knowing he’d created doubt. He hesitated and she knew Flynn was questioning every action. Mia forced calm, her chin up slightly, blinking rapidly at her half-naked reflection. It was almost a poker game, a gamble on both their parts, and he upped the ante.
“Now, take off the skirt or we can just go the same route as the blouse, if you’d like.”
It might very well have been the most reckless decision she had ever made—a wild leap of faith. But Mia was determined to prove him wrong the only way she knew how: by offering herself unconditionally. “If you don’t mind, it was rather expensive.”
He tipped his head to the side and gave her a small push forward. The idea that she wanted to salvage the forbidden skirt seemed to further fuel his rage. “I don’t care how the fucking thing gets off you, just do it.” Her fingers trembled as she tried to undo the zipper. She nervously glanced up at him. Flynn was staring as if she were a hooker who was taking too long—time was money. Add a lack of patience, Mia thought, to his list of tarnished virtues. As she kicked off the sandals, thankfully the zipper let go and the skirt fell to the floor. On tiptoe she stepped out of it, standing before him in nothing but a pair of lacy black underwear.
“Did I ever tell you, you have the nicest set of tits I’ve ever seen? Including the ones I’ve paid for.”
That answers the hooker question.
“And this.” He grabbed her around the waist, pushing the underwear aside, cupping his hand around her. “This slightly used—” He stopped, stumbling on the coarse word in her presence. “Well, you don’t have a clue. I watch them, Mia. Every guy you pass has a fucking wet dream starring you. And you never notice. How naïve can you be? Christ, don’t you think it was my first thought? You’re just goddamn lucky the one thing you learn in prison is self-control.”
A tiny gasp escaped her throat and she fought the urge to push his hand away. His voice had disintegrated into a raspy whisper, burning hot in her head. The attempt to exploit her vulnerability was making headway, but Mia refused to give in. She’d learned that much from him. He wanted her to beg him to stop, proving that he was nothing more than a vile animal. She didn’t react, hanging on to a fine thread of composure. Mia held her voice steady. “Now what, Flynn? Shall I get on my knees and service you? You seem pretty attached to that mirror. Maybe you’d like to watch?” She met his steely gaze straight on. This wasn’t what he was expecting. “Would that put you in the place you need to be?” For a moment she thought she had him and he would back down.
“That was my second choice. But if you insist.” As he nudged her toward the floor, Mia recalled the promise he once made to call her bluff. “Have at it, sweetheart.”
He didn’t hesitate, unzipping his jeans, yanking them off. His penis, hard as a railroad spike, jutted at her stunned face. Mia froze, almost as stiff as him. She’d done this before, to his grateful satisfaction, but never from this position. The Flynn she knew wouldn’t dream of asking. But he didn’t ask. I just offered. Another swell decision. The hotel room carpet was rough and scratchy on her knees. She wondered how prostitutes compensated for that, or was it just a hazard of the trade?
Mia fought the degrading image of him throwing a twenty on the dresser, leaving her there afterward. Then she embraced it. No, give him what he thinks he wants. Make it worth a fifty. The only other choice was to crumble at his feet. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Rising tall on her knees, Mia gripped him tight at the hips, taking the full length of him in her other hand. Biting crossed her mind, nothing devastating, maybe just a nip to snap him out of it. But she quickly thought better of it. He was agitated enough. She took a deep breath, slowly taking him into her mouth. His weight immediately went back, bracing himself against the wall. A low growl radiated from within. For a guy who could beat the snot out of three strapping college boys, he suddenly seemed quite at her mercy. He shook off the vulnerability by grabbing a fistful of her hair, urging her on with a string of filthy expletives that she tried not to hear. Mia was almost relieved as he grew more rigid. In a moment it was all going to be over. Apparently Flynn drew the same conclusion, pulling Mia to her feet at the last possible second. She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, positive of one thing: She shouldn’t make the next suggestion.
“Nice try, sweetheart, but it’s not gonna get me there.”
Mia grappled for her resolve. She wanted to make eye contact, make him look at her to see what he was doing. He was wise to the tactic. Flynn’s arms flew around her body and turned her so she couldn’t see his face, hauling her to the other side of the room, bypassing the bed. Any hint of a game evaporated. She fought off the fear with memories: every tender touch he’d ever put on her, the way his eyes told her that he loved her. He won’t. I trusted him ten minutes ago. Trust him now. Prove to him that he’s not what he thinks he is. There were no signs or warnings; everything was moving wicked and fast. Mia sucked in a sharp breath. It was like being plunged into ice-cold water as he bent her over a table.
She nearly screamed out for him to stop, biting deep into her lip, drawing blood to buy silence.
“Remember, I have your permission.” With a fast jerk her underwear succumbed to the same fate as the blouse. “I assume you packed another pair.”
“Flynn, I . . .” She struggled for something to make him wait, make him stop without directly telling him. “Don’t you, um, don’t you need a condom?” It was the only rational thought that spun out of the hysteria in her head.
A cynical laugh sputtered to the surface. “Make a mental note, Mia, safe sex doesn’t enter into this act.” He was always a step ahead, reading her thoughts. “Unless you want me to stop? In case you were a little vague on the definitions, this is getting fucked, sweetheart. There are no rules.”
He stood still behind her, giving her the opportunity to get away and call it off. Mia didn’t move. He was in some horrid place she barely understood, but Mia held firm to her belief that he wouldn’t—couldn’t hurt her. His hands ran up the length of her back, bumping over every vertebrae, the two of them at a truly awkward standoff.
Shit, this isn’t good.
Mia could feel the deep gulps of air blow in and out of him. They were harder, more fear-filled than the panicked breaths she was trying to squelch. He sounded as if he’d been running a marathon. Mia sensed hesitation. She knew his eyes were on her bare body, how exposed and fragile she must look. Her gaze locked on a small tabletop sign that was shoved in her face: Let us know how we can improve your stay! She squeezed her eyes shut. There was no comfort from above or below, the smooth grain of the wood cold and hard. Tears seeped through her closed eyes, running sideways across her face.
Flynn’s voice cut through the tension, something short of pleading. “Mia, tell me you want me to stop, goddamn it. Tell me you don’t want this.”
Find the courage. He will not hurt me. She wouldn’t let him hear the fear, her voice steady and tight. “It’s not my choice. I won’t tell you to stop.”
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