by Shauna Allen
“You’re on.”
“So. Your day? Wanna talk about it?”
She dug her fingernail into a groove on the table. “Just the same old shit, I guess. I just wonder sometimes how I could’ve ever . . . why I went into practice with Angelo Moretti.”
My stomach knotted, knowing she’d had a thing with him. I didn’t know him well, but from what I did know, he was a highbrow, arrogant ass who looked down his nose at most folks. I swallowed and fought to get myself together. “He giving you trouble?”
Her eyes snared mine and I was once again caught up in the depth and emotion hidden there. She seemed to snap to something as we studied each other, as if she could read my jealous thoughts. “Not the kind you’re probably thinking. We’ve been over for a long time. It’s just work stuff.”
“What kind of work stuff?”
She sighed deeply, looking forlorn. “Different philosophies, I guess would be the best way to describe it. He wants to take on the richest, most elitist clients he can get his hands on and pump up our coffers, while I just want . . . I want . . .”
“You just want to help people.”
“Yes.” She sat back and took me in, obviously surprised at my concise read. “To help people. How—?”
“How could I possibly know that about you when your own fiancé doesn’t?”
“Ex fiancé, but yeah.” Her answer was barely a whisper.
“Because he’s a fucking idiot that obviously has no idea who you are.”
“And you do?”
No. Stop. Shut up, my brain was screaming at me. This conversation was moving past commiserating over a bad day to something much more. But my mouth wouldn’t listen. “Yes. I do.” How was this not obvious to anyone in her orbit? “It only takes a minute in your company to see your loving, giving heart, Rachel. You care about people. Even when they don’t want you to.”
Her mouth popped open, but she snapped it closed. “Jesse.” My name was a whisper on her lips.
I watched, transfixed, as she slowly slid up from her seat and rounded the table. She held my eyes the whole time until she was directly next to me. As if on autopilot, I pivoted so she was standing between my knees. I gripped her hips, my gaze dropping to the dip of her belly.
Her fingers found their way into my hair. “God. Jesse. How do you do this to me?”
I leaned my forehead against her stomach. “Probably the same way you do it to me.”
She clutched my shoulders as if to yank me up. “Come here.”
I stood, our eyes locking.
“I could easily fall for you,” she whispered.
Equal parts pain and pleasure lanced through me at her words. Rather than answer, I ducked my head and claimed her lips with my own. I kissed her senseless, poured everything I had into her mouth. Anything but admit I was falling for her, too.
Rachel
Jesse kissed me like his life depended on it. In that moment, it felt like mine did, too. He filled my every pore, seeped into my soul. I’d never experienced anything like it; never knew anything like it could exist.
“Ahem,” a deep male voice came behind us, making us jump apart guiltily.
Jesse glanced over my shoulder and I’d swear a faint blush stole up his cheeks. I dropped my head to his chest, embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. Jesse held me close, as if protecting me, one hand warm on my lower back, one forked through the hair at my nape.
I snuggled in further and inhaled deeply, loving his fresh soapy scent.
“I, uh, just needed a drink,” Micah mumbled.
I finally drew back slightly and turned to glance over my shoulder with a small smile. “Hey, Micah.”
His dark eyes were apologetic. “Hey, Rachel.” His gaze darted to Jesse then back. “I’ll be out of your way now. Have a good night.”
I watched him practically run out with his glass of milk then turned smiling eyes back to Jesse. But he wasn’t smiling at all. “What’s wrong?”
His hold on me tightened a fraction before he looked at me. His face softened immediately. “Nothing. I’m just . . . I don’t like . . . I like to keep my private business private.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Is that what I am? Your private business?”
His sky blue eyes darkened like a storm cloud. “You know what I mean.”
I reached up and pecked his cheek. “Yes. I do.” I moved back to my seat, giving us both some space. “And your private business is hungry. I believe you promised dinner?”
His shoulders relaxed and he drummed his blunt fingers on the tabletop. “Will a burger work for you? If not, I’m sure I could find some of Micah’s healthy shit.”
My stomach ground appreciatively. “A burger sounds perfect. Lots of cheese.”
“That’s my girl.” He turned and sauntered into the kitchen, pulling out a pan and a package of ground beef.
My girl. The words rolled off his tongue so easily, so innocently, but they gave me the big, fat, warm fuzzies. I took another sip of my Coke and watched his broad muscular back, enjoying the view of his shirt tight across his muscles, his jeans low on his hips, his bare feet.
“Anything I can do to help?” I asked.
He glanced up from making the meat into patties. “Nah. I’m not much of a cook, but I can slap together some cheeseburgers.”
I was taken aback by his easy, flirtatious smile and wink. That man could cook me a burger any day.
“So, other than you and your ex having a run-in over different ideas, anything else on your mind?”
I gazed down at my hands, knotted in my lap. Before I could think better of it, I told him all about meeting Daisy Williams.
“She sounds cool.”
“Yeah. Very. I’d love to do what she does one day.” I paused. I’d spoken without thinking it through, but I suddenly realized it was the truth. Absolutely.
Jesse grinned at me from his post at the stove. “What’s that?”
“She represents child abuse victims.”
He flinched, his face tightening up as he looked away. “That’s . . . admirable. Someone has to do it.” His last words were spoken under his breath, making me wonder what I’d said wrong and desperate to get our easy banter back.
I infused lightness into my voice. “So, I told you about my day. How was yours?”
He moved about with easy grace, his large body taking up a majority of the small kitchen. “It was okay. Tune-ups, oil changes, yanked a motor for a rebuild . . . saw my parole officer. Nothing too exciting.”
I couldn’t tell if he wanted to talk about it or not, but I was curious. “How often do you meet with him?”
He set the meat in the pan and it began sizzling. “Every two weeks. Unless he gets his panties in a wad and wants me in sooner for one of my random drug tests or some other bullshit.”
“You don’t like him?”
His eyes slid to mine. “I like him okay. As much as you can like a guy like him, anyway. He’s not there to be my friend. He’s there to make sure I don’t fuck up. I don’t, so we get along fine.”
He told me a little more about parole and his restrictions as he flipped our patties and sliced up some veggies. I’d never given much thought to the other side of the legal system. I worked on the “safe” side, protecting victims, occasionally dealing with the criminals. But once the case was over, once the verdict or sentence was announced, I never really considered what happened to those people. Not really.
Eventually, we had two juicy, loaded cheeseburgers, chips, and pickle spears in front of us. “Thank you,” I said, picking it up to take a bite. I moaned appreciatively. “Yummy.”
Thankfully, our conversation began to flow easily again, and I felt so much better as the tension of my day drained away. Over a bite of pickle, he asked me about my brother.
I drew up my serious brother’s face. “Weston’s . . . Weston. He’s stable and upstanding as ever. He’s an architect in Denver. We talk sometimes, but we don’t have a ton in
common.”
Jesse studied me and I knew he couldn’t truly understand. Not as close as he was with his brother and sister. “How did he handle it when your dad died?”
I shrugged, sadness tugging at my heart. “Okay. Better than I did.” My gaze dropped to my lap. “I was a mess for a long time.”
A warm hand clasped mine from across the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bum you out.”
I glanced up. “No, it’s okay.” At his unsure look, I reassured him, “Really. Sometimes I just wish West and I could talk. Like, really talk. But, he’s just not like that. We planned the funeral together, split Dad’s assets, and now it’s pretty much the obligatory holiday call. Not much more.”
Jesse’s eyes softened. “Sorry, baby.”
I blinked, loving and hating his sweet endearments because they made me feel entirely too much, while they probably meant nothing to him.
Picking up a chip and munching, I let the subject drop. He took the hint and we finished our meal in silence. We did the dishes together then I scooped us both big bowls of ice cream. We made our way to the living room and settled onto the leather sofa. Smirking, I took in the bachelor pad with its big screen TV, plush, man-sized furniture, minimalistic decoration . . . as in a black rug and Hooters calendar on the far wall.
Then I caught sight of a pile of three or four books tucked away on a shelf. I faced Jesse, his mouth wrapped around his spoon. “I brought you something.”
He swallowed. “Besides the ice cream?”
“That was a given. This is a gift.”
“A gift?” His brows dipped, confused. “Why?”
“Why not? You’re my . . . friend, and when I saw it, I thought of you, so I had to get it. It’s no big deal.”
He didn’t say anything else so I jumped up and ran to my purse. I drew out the paper wrapped package and returned, handing it to him. “Thank you. For everything.”
His gaze darted down to the package then back up without taking it.
I shook it in his face. “Take it.”
He finally did, his face alarmingly stoic. I watched, suddenly nervous, as he unwrapped it. Once the old book was in his hand, he studied it closely. “Dr. Zhivago.”
“You haven’t read that one yet, have you? I mean, it wasn’t on your vast list of deep reads . . .”
His searing eyes lifted. “No.”
I tilted my head, trying to decide if he loved it or if it was a dumb idea. I simply couldn’t read him. “I can take it back if you don’t—”
“I love it. Thank you.”
My mouth snapped closed. “You’re welcome. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will.” He examined it another long moment then set it gently aside to resume eating his ice cream. This time I didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. I’d made him happy! I wanted to jump up and twirl and do a little happy dance, but I kept my cool. Decided to flirt a little instead.
“So . . .” I waited until I had his full attention. “I hope you haven’t forgotten your little IOU on riding lessons. I know I haven’t.”
He stared at me blankly for several seconds. Then it must’ve clicked. “You’re serious?”
“Deathly.”
His eyes darkened and narrowed. I thought he was going to turn me down flat. Then he stood and held out his hand. “Come on.”
I stared at his outstretched fingers. “Where are we going?”
His brow lifted in challenge. “Your first lesson.”
Hot damn.
Jesse
Rachel sat frozen, eyeing my hand like it would bite her.
“You’re not chickening out on me, are you?”
She glanced up at my smirk. Pasting on a matching smile, she grabbed my hand and stood, our bodies brushing. “Never.”
Without letting go of her hand, I took in her clothes. In black slacks and a burnt orange silky top that nearly matched her hair, she must’ve just come straight from work. She did ditch her shoes by the front door. Luckily, they weren’t heels today. Thanking my lucky stars I’d had the foresight to clean up my room a little, I led her down the hall.
She tugged back a bit. “Wait. I thought this was a motorcycle lesson.”
I smiled at her discomfort and watched her gaze dart to my thankfully made bed then back. “It is. But you need to change first. Can’t have you out there in these pretty things.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You have women’s clothes in there?”
“Uh . . .”
“That is either really creepy or I’m jealous. Not sure which.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at me.
I laughed. “No reason to be jealous or creeped out. Leta left some clothes when she crashed here a couple months ago.”
Her whole demeanor relaxed. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I stepped through the door, stuck on the fact that she was jealous. Over me. That was crazy.
She hovered in the doorway, taking in my bedroom, while I rifled through my dresser and found Leta’s old yoga pants. I bypassed her tight little sports bra thing and yanked out one of my T-shirts, handing it to Rachel. “Here. This should work. I’ll meet you outside.”
I spun away without waiting for her reply and closed the door behind me. There was something uncomfortable and intimate and wonderful about having her in my room, staring at me with those doe brown eyes. She was all kinds of perfect and my body wanted her like nobody’s business. That much was painfully obvious. Hell, by some miracle, she wanted me, too. But what could possibly come of it? It was only a matter of time before she figured out I would only dirty up her pretty, perfect life. Yes, I was a convicted criminal and she was a lawyer, but it was so much more than that and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep the ugliness from her.
Feeling like a fraud, I paced the living room like a caged lion.
“Better?”
Her soft voice stopped me cold. I spun and spied her at the end of the hallway, the lamp light casting her hair in an orange halo. She slid her hands down her hips as if straightening out wrinkles.
I swallowed at the sight of her in my shirt. “Yes. Much.”
She offered me a small smile then slid her flats back on and followed me out the door.
I led her to my Harley, where she gazed at it with something akin to sexual longing in her eyes. God.
I swept my hand gallantly. “Hop on.”
Her gaze darted to mine, then the biggest, brightest smile I’d seen from her all night creased her cheeks. She straddled my bike, making my groin tighten. She grabbed the handlebars with gusto. “What now? Where are we going?”
“Whoa there, Evil Knievel. We’re just going to start with the basics today.”
Her smile fell comically and I suppressed my laugh. “I’ll teach you all about maintenance stuff once we have your bike up and running . . .” At her puzzled look, I clarified, “Oil. Tire pressure. Things like that. Plus, you’ll need to practice and get a motorcycle license.”
“Yeah, yeah. Snoring here. Teach me something about this bad boy.”
“Oh. Before I teach you anything, I’ll need your promise you’ll always wear a helmet.” The idea of her being a statistic grated me.
“Of course.”
“Okay.” I pointed to the right handlebar. “Turning that toward you is like the accelerator in your car. Squeezing the bar is your brake.”
She studied the components like a good little student then indicated the left handlebar. “What’s that one for?”
“Clutch.”
“Clutch? I have to switch gears?”
Now I belly laughed. “Yes, you’ll have to switch gears. With your foot.”
She was looking decidedly less excited now. I took her through the basics of disengaging the transmission with her hand, using her foot to change gears, much like a standard tranny car. “Your Indian will be basically the same.”
“When can we ride?”
“When you’re ready,” I said without apology.
We went
over it all a few more times and I answered all her questions. I may have used every opportunity to touch her and inhale her sweet lemony shampoo scent, but I figured it was worth it.
It was pitch black by the time we were done, the lot empty and silent. I glanced at my watch, my stomach tightening when I realized it was after ten. Then I relaxed. I was at home.
She noticed. “I guess I should be going.” She hopped off the bike, using my forearms to balance herself. “Thanks for the lesson. And dinner.”
My gaze was glued to her lips. “No problem. Thanks for the book.”
Neither of us moved. We stood, studying each other. I felt the fire, the subtle simmer of heat, combined with the threat of being burned. I cupped her hips, unable to stop myself. I’d gladly sacrifice myself to the fire if it meant she’d look at me like this all the time.
I bowed my head and nipped the side of her mouth. She moaned softly as she wound her arms around me. Rocking her against the bike, I ground my hardness into her belly. I swallowed her groan as the kiss became frantic. Our tongues fought the other for entry, dancing and twirling in near aggression. Her hands slid down my back, raking me with her fingernails, until she cupped my ass, dragging me even closer. We gulped from each other, great life-sucking kisses. On and on, until I was considering taking her right there on the back of my bike.
She broke off, her breath heaving in great gusts, her eyes even darker, glazed in lust. “Take me inside, Jesse.”
I untangled my hands from her curls and cupped her shoulders as reason returned. “I can’t.”
“Why not? It’s pretty obvious that’s where this is heading.”
I heaved a ragged breath and let my head fall back to gaze at the stars for a moment. Sex with Rachel would be a fucking dream come true. But it had to remain just that. A dream. Because the last thing I wanted was to become her nightmare.
I stepped back reluctantly, hating the rush of cooler air between us. “You know why not. I’m so . . .” I raked a frustrated hand through my hair. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“No. I don’t know. God, Jesse, you are so frustrating. I know you want me. I want you. We’re two consenting adults, no strings. I won’t push you for anything, I swear.”