by Diane Saxon
“I’m not some weak-willed little female you’re talking to. I’m a goddamned strong woman. I never said I was getting involved with you. Perhaps I wanted a little fun, a roll in the sack. Perhaps it was me who wanted to fool around. It’s not me who’ll get hurt; it’s you.” She poked a hard, blunt fingernail into his chest. “I’ve never cried a single tear since my daddy died when I was eight. So don’t let anyone tell you I can get hurt. No one can hurt me.”
Blood boiling now, she leaned in close. “Your ego’s too big for words, but I’ll tell you one thing, Michael.”
“What would that be?” His cool, assessing look threw her temper over the edge and down the other side. She knew there was more.
“You can’t deny you want me, and you can’t deny you want this.” One hand grabbed him by his shirt, and the other gave a sharp yank of his blond hair as she jerked him toward her, taking his mouth with hers with a savagery that would have shocked her had she been thinking straight. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, wrapped her arm around his neck, and hauled him in closer. She deepened the kiss, forced his lips apart, and sunk in deeper. She leaned in to him, pressed her entire body against the length of his. She could sense his need. Feel his hunger. Taste his restraint. She knew the moment he let go of the reins.
He responded to her savagery, dragged her as close as he could, leaned into the car, he almost heaved her on top of him, drawing her hips closer, moving them against his own with his hand firmly gripping her bottom.
Not yet beyond sanity, she yanked hard on his hair almost ripping it out of his head as she broke their embrace and stepped free of his arms, holding hers wide. Chest heaving, she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth in disgust, staring deep into eyes, no longer cold and aloof, but turbulent and tormented.
“You’re a fool, Michael.”
She smacked her fist viciously against his chest in frustration, watched him stagger back a step. Silent.
She turned and strode off back down the street in the direction of the sheriff’s office, adjusted her gun, swiped a hand under her nose, and held her head up high.
Chapter 9
Sweat trickled down her spine and between her breasts. She’d already completed her warm-ups and stretches and was on the row machine when Ethan arrived with Michael in tow. Wondering what the hell made him think he would be welcome, she mumbled at them and continued.
They set up in the weights corner, and she tried to ignore them. She wiped a towel over her arms and legs, chest, and face, and then paper-toweled the row machine, before she moved over to the bicycle, and turned her iPod up high so she didn’t have to listen to the grunts coming from the corner.
What could she say to him after she’d kissed him like that yesterday? She couldn’t even look at him, and when she did she just wanted to kiss him again. A heat she’d never felt before started to grow inside her, deep inside. A need she didn’t know she had, didn’t want to acknowledge, spread its evil fingers through her body, hot-wiring itself to her heart.
She felt so stupid about her aggression, her seething anger toward him. She was known for her laid-back nature. She was cool. She dealt with volatile situations every day of her life with an ease and mildness that came naturally.
Temper simmered slow and dangerous in her stomach, waiting to erupt into a spitting, seething volcano. How could he have this effect on her and remain so withdrawn himself?
The place might belong to her, but she thought she should just go. Finish this one exercise so that her brother didn’t notice anything. Because God help her if any of her brothers found out she had the hots for Michael. She’d never survive. They’d stepped in between her and every boy and man she’d ever encountered, and the only one who appeared to have been impervious to their protectiveness was Michael.
It appeared he was also impervious to her.
Jaw clenched, teeth grinding, try as she might, she wasn’t going to be able to hold on to her temper.
He thought he was capable of hurting her?
Well goddammit.
He had.
*
Ethan’s cell phone rang, and a moment later he had gone.
Michael watched Bill from the weights corner. She wore a baby-pink oversize T-shirt with a Playboy logo on the front and a knot tied at the waist. If anyone looked less innocent in baby pink, she certainly did. Her black cycle shorts emphasized the flatness of her stomach, and her hip bones were clearly visible, her leg muscles well-defined. He couldn’t take his eyes off her backside as she pedaled with fierce concentration. The same pert little backside that had been pushed firmly into his groin not so many weeks ago.
She hadn’t let up in all the time he had been there. Her energy levels were obscene, her fitness amazing. She probably would have made a great member of his team if she could just leash the fury that pulsed around her.
He took long gulps of air through his nose to prove he could still breathe. His chest was tight and so were his loins. If he had ever seen anyone sexier than Bill, it wasn’t a memory he could drudge up at that moment. He really hadn’t thought tall, limber sweaty women were his thing, but then thinking wasn’t his strong point right now anyway.
He touched her arm gently, and she almost leaped off the bicycle. She snatched her earplugs out and glared at him
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t touch me.” As he backed off he lifted a placating hand.
“I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes. Ethan had to go; he said to tell you he would see you tonight at the game.”
“Uh…thanks. You finished yet?” Snappy and sharp, she checked her watch, climbed down, wiped the seat off, and rubbed herself with her towel. He found he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. A familiar kernel of lust unfurled in his belly. Her gaze flicked over him again, one dark eyebrow lifted, waiting for an answer.
Blank. His mind was blank. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t remember the question.
Heat and annoyance bounced of her in waves.
She smelled like cinnamon, sweet and spicy. His senses clamored, his brain clouded. Recalling how she had moved against him yesterday, how she’d demanded a response, she’d awakened his desire for her again with a kick-start like a blowtorch.
He’d wanted her the first time he had ever seen her, when he’d touched her, his hormones had gone into overdrive. He had really thought he could have a quick, robust sexual work out with her. No strings attached. She had given every impression of being interested. She claimed that was what she wanted from him.
Trouble was he already knew it was never going to be that simple between them. She wasn’t quite as worldly as he’d thought. And he wasn’t quite as detached as he’d believed.
He’d spent the last few weeks away distancing himself from her. Knowing the best thing all round was to walk away before he found himself in deep water. Trouble was, all of the convincing, all of the self-belief just bit him in the ass the moment he saw her again. Not quite the very moment her saw her. He’d thought he was doing quite well until she’d grabbed him. Desire had raged through him like an outback wildfire, and when she’d strutted away, he’d damn near run after her.
A bead of sweat trickled lazily from her throat down the line between her neat little breasts. He visualized his mouth there, his tongue tracing a path back up that track. He swallowed.
“Michael?”
With a guilty start, he dragged his attention away from her breasts. “Uh…Uh…Yes, umm. No, just the rowing machine now.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, shot her hip out, and lifted her chin.
“You’re stu-stu-stuttering again.” This time it wasn’t said teasingly but with an impatient lash. He smiled. She might act like a teenager sometimes, but she wasn’t impervious to him.
She strutted across the room to confront the punching bag and started to give it a working over. He sat on the rowing machine to watch her. Her movements were fluid and confident. Sh
e was sleek, powerful, and sexy as hell.
Bare-fist fighting. Probably pretending it was his face. He sat back to appreciate her form. Her body weight was evenly distributed, her balance steady, and he admired the way she hit the bag, hard and fast with a straight wrist, relaxed arms and shoulders, belying the clenched jaw and hard eyes. Limber and fleet-footed, she’d have made a great boxer. He watched her leg come up and her foot smash the bag. Possibly a better street fighter.
Despite his resolution to remain distant, he couldn’t help himself.
“Do you want to give that a real go? A one on one?”
She stopped punching and gawked at him as if he were stupid.
“One on one, with you? Do I look like I’d kick a dog?” She replied as he stood up and walked loose limbed toward her.
“I think I could be a good match. One on one.”
She sneered at him her lips pulled back. “You’re so full of shit. You think you can take me on, fuck face?” She angled her body to hit the punching bag again.
He caught it on its backward swing and held it away from her. Tilting her head to one side, she slapped her hands on her hips and glowered at him. He felt the heat of her temper as it rolled off her. Felt it and enjoyed it. It turned him on.
“Now what?”
“Your language is appalling, woman. Your mother should have washed your mouth out with soap when you were little.”
“My mother died when I was a little girl.” If she thought that might gain her a sympathy vote, she was in for a surprise.
It gave him pause for a moment though, and he felt his heart twist as he watched her still, serious face. He wasn’t here to give her sympathy. She knew it; he knew it. So he wiped it out ruthlessly. She wouldn’t want it if he offered.
“Then one of your brothers should have.”
“They tried, the little fuckers. Never managed to pin me down long enough. I’d have kicked their balls through to their throats.”
She smiled, swift and feral. Quick as a flash he returned the smile, knowing she deliberately provoked him with her foul language and aggressive attitude. Mean simply didn’t cover it. She was vicious. Her eyes black and deadly.
“Well then, looks like you missed out on a vital part of your education.” He grinned wolfishly, twitched his eyebrows twice up and down, looking forward to being the one to fill in that gap. “Looks like I’m going to have to rectify that.” He let go of the punching bag, watched it swing back toward her.
She sidestepped it easily, and her flat eyes never left his.
“You and who’s army?”
“C’mon, Bill, you can do better than that. That’s a childish reply.”
He knew he was too close to home with that remark. As a half-smile flitted across her face, she narrowed her eyes at him, and he knew he had her.
*
Bastard. Fury boiled below the surface. Rage at his rejection, anger at his heartless teasing. Resentment at her brothers for allowing her to grow up childish, protected, and unladylike. It had never mattered before, and she couldn’t let it matter now.
She battened it down, lifted her right hand palm upward, and beckoned him toward her with her fingers.
“C’mon then, tiger. See what happens when you try and wash my mouth out with soap.”
He came at her with admirable agility, but she stepped to one side, spun and elbowed him in the stomach as he went past. She heard the whoosh of his breath as he doubled over, and grinned with delight. She jabbed her right foot backward into his left knee, swung around, and swiftly followed with a side kick from her left foot into his right thigh. Her lips drew back from her teeth as she bared them at him letting out a low growl from deep in her chest.
Arms back to a defense position, she flicked his ear with a rapid straight-arm punch from her left and brought the heel of her right hand toward his jaw. She controlled her movements. Her kicks had been hard and fast, but she pulled in the punches, snapped them back, never quite hitting with full force, allowing him to dodge and avoid. He countered her movements with defensive ones of his own, never getting the chance to go on the attack himself. He was good but not as good as her.
He kept up with her but didn’t appear to be able to move fast enough to do anything but defend himself. She pushed him backward across the room. She was going to kick his ass into next week. Blood sang through her veins, and adrenaline launched the same blood around her body. Throwing back her head, she let out a wicked laugh.
“C’mon, tiger, you can do better than that.”
She skipped forward, closed the gap between them, confidence making her arrogant. She hooked her leg between his and flipped him.
He should have ended up flat on his back with her on top, but something went wrong, and he grabbed her, rolled as he went, and landed on top. Her breath slammed out of her lungs and left her gasping beneath him. His hard, lean body covered every inch of hers.
“Well now, Bill, I just need the soap.” He gave an evil grin straight down into her face.
Embarrassed and furious, she grit her teeth and stared up at him. The volcano in her stomach went from simmer to boil in a split second and though he had her pinned flat on her back, she bucked and thrashed underneath him, frantic to escape, forgetting everything she’d ever been taught, losing her form. Panic set in as she lurched underneath him, powerless to dislodge his body from hers.
*
Laughter rolled off him as he bent his head toward hers. She lunged forward and smacked her forehead on the bridge of his nose, bringing tears to his eyes. They both yelped in pain, and for the first time, his temper unleashed.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and rapped them into the mat, her head jerked backward as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers in a savage, passionate, punishment. He pinned her arms, forced them above her head, holding her wrists with one hand, his other squeezed her neck gently so she could not repeat the same move.
“You like it rough, Bill?” He panted in her ear. “I can do rough.”
His body pressed its weight on top of her, his legs tangled in hers. His mouth descended to grind against her lips. He forced his tongue into her mouth; scraped his teeth over her lips. The animal sound that escaped her throat was echoed by his own deep guttural groan.
He felt her body go limp underneath him, and for a moment she was submissive, utterly still. He moved his hips into hers, lifted his head, and looked into her wide brown eyes. His heartbeat still pounded in his ears, but the quick backlash of his anger was already over. He dipped in, licked her lips, nibbled, cajoled until she responded.
Her mouth returned his kisses as completely and brutally as his own just had, kicking his aggression back up a notch.
She bit his lip. He sucked on her tongue. He released her wrists. She fisted one hand in his hair, dragged him closer. Her other hand hugged his shoulders, pulling him in tight, nails digging into his flesh. Her body squirmed under his, seeking more, demanding more. Her hips undulated under him, making him wild with want.
His mouth left hers to travel down her jawline, nipping, sucking, licking down her neck, tracing the bead of sweat just as he had imagined. He heard her soft gasp as she turned her head, nipped his ear and shot his senses into riot. His mouth blazed across her shoulders, sucking in her soft, sweet, flesh. Desperate, he was oblivious to whether she was keeping up or not. Grasping her T-shirt in both hands, he hauled it over her head and flung it on the crash mat, quickly followed by her pretty pink bra. He settled his mouth on her nipple and suckled. Her back bowed as she gasped out his name and pressed his head closer with her hand, writhing underneath him, her body telling his she wanted more.
Breath rasped through his lungs as he worshipped her body. Her breasts, small and perfect, fit into his hand as he squeezed, pinching her nipple roughly while devouring the other with his mouth, his teeth nipping. Her taste drove him crazy.
He couldn’t wait. He had to have her now. He was hot and hungry and beyond caring.
She wa
s in ecstasy, he knew she was, her body squirmed beneath him inviting him to take more, and her desperate whimpers goaded him on. As his mouth tugged on her taut dark nipple, his hand pulled at her shorts and he slid his fingers inside and groaned with pleasure as he found her wet, swollen heat between her thighs. Knowing she was ready for him, he plunged two fingers deep inside her…and felt her body go rigid with shock as a yelp burst from her lips. She pushed frantically at his shoulders, and her voice was pitiful as she cried out.
“No, Michael…no. Please let me go…please.”
He heard the panic. The desperation in her voice as it screamed through his head.
He flung himself backward off her, and pain pulsed through him as he landed on his backside on the floor. He took in her shocked, horrified expression.
He tried to move forward again, to comfort her, reaching out with one hand, but she scrambled back away from him, awkwardly trying to cover herself up with her abandoned T-shirt. She was breathing quickly, short, shallow breaths. Her eyes, huge and frightened, stared at him from across the gap between them.
His lungs felt as though they might explode as he gasped in air. He thought of his sister, Lydia, who had been raped by her ex-husband, and the fear and horror she had felt at anyone coming near her until Sam.
“Oh God. Oh God, Bill. I didn’t know, I’m sorry, someone hurt you before?” He lifted his hand toward her again in supplication. “Did something happen to you?”
“No, no.” She denied, her voice panicked and breathless. “I just didn’t realize we’d gone so far, I didn’t want you to…” She paused.
Confusion rolled like fog through his slow, lust-thickened brain. For a long moment they simply stared at each other. No more words came from her mouth, and she no longer appeared horrified, but embarrassed. Her gaze slid away from his. She stared at the floor.
Panting in frustration, he felt his vision darken. She wasn’t hurt. She hadn’t been raped. She just hadn’t meant for him to make love to her. It had been a game. Probably because he had rejected her. Lead him on, tease him, and make him want. Get him back for distancing himself. Well he had wanted. He wanted still.