by Anne Conley
“You hungry, Princess? I’ll get you a bottle, shhh …”
The baby was hardly even crying. Deena Rae stifled the eye-roll she felt. Of course, babies were meant to be spoiled, but seeing this tiny bundle in the big alpha male’s cranked arms was funny. “Princess” had him whipped.
Simon muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “not a fucking daycare” but Deena Rae just smiled softly.
“I think it’s sweet.”
“Be careful with this guy at your complex, Deena Rae,” Simon said. “It could be something funny.” She nodded, not wanting to admit she wanted in the guy’s pants almost too bad to care.
“I get that, sir,” she deferred to her boss. “It’s crossed my mind but doesn’t quite fit, somehow. But I’ll be on the alert.”
Hollerman, who had been quiet up until this point, started talking. “That’s the club … Ignite, right? The one y’all have been talking about? I’ll go back and look in my notes, but it seems like we’ve never been able to get anything to stick to that guy. He got the place from his uncle and keeps his nose pretty clean. If you’re going to find something on him, you’ll have to dig deep, I’m thinking.”
Deena Rae nodded. “I’d figured that much out. His paper is all real clean. He’s a model citizen, and the club seems to be on the up and up, aside from sex in back rooms.”
“We all going to the funeral?” Hollerman asked.
Zack had been off for the last two days. In fact, as far as Deena Rae had been able to tell, Zack had been gone most of the last two weeks because of his dad’s illness. He’d been in a few times, but he’d been distracted and useless.
Simon spoke up again. “I think we should at least go as a solidified front for Zack, to pay our respects. So we’re all cutting out of here at lunchtime to go get ready. Office will be closed the rest of the day.”
“Well, I’ve actually got some work to do then.” Jordan hopped off the leg machine and grabbed his towel. Deena Rae followed suit.
As if protesting everyone going to work, baby Princess, AKA Lauren, let out a howl.
“I’m getting it, Sugar. I’m getting it.” Ryan was digging through an enormous bag. Deena Rae went over and stilled his hand.
“What are we looking for?”
“There should be a couple of bottles in there. And I’ll need a diaper and stuff.” He was sticking his finger in Lauren’s mouth to suckle on, quieting her. Deena Rae couldn’t help but imagine the germs on his fingers. He didn’t wash them after doing his thing in the gym, and she didn’t want to think about what they left lying around in their sweat after every workout.
She dug through the bag, past tiny clothes, rags, pacifiers, tubs of powders, finally grabbing a diaper and holding it out to him.
“Try the side pocket?”
“Why do babies have so much shit?” Deena Rae asked, still digging.
“No idea. But I swear to God, it’s worth it. I can’t explain it, but it’s totally worth it.” Ryan’s eyes were soft and watery as he gazed down at the tiny human in his arms.
“Please don’t let her grow up with you calling her Princess at every turn,” Deena Rae blurted out. Her uncle had a dog named Princess. The uncle who’d made a pass at her when she was fourteen, sticking his hand down her pants. At eighteen, he’d tried it again, when they were talking about tattoos with her cousins. He spent more time with Princess than humans, and it sickened her to know why. Her uncle had helped her find her voice against pervy men.
Ryan was watching her with one eyebrow raised as she found the bottle of milk. “Why?”
“Because it’s only perpetrating the myth that some man will save her in the end, and you need to teach her to save herself.”
Chapter Thirteen
Slade had been at the church too long. He’d gotten there early enough to be the first person in the sanctuary and had gotten a good look at his dear old pop. Then he’d sat in a back corner, where he could watch people enter and sit, but he couldn’t get the man’s image out of his mind.
It was a morbid fascination that brought him here, not his mother’s insistence. At least that’s what he told himself, but he knew it was wrong. Slade had wanted to see all the people whose lives his father had touched, all the people who had memories with his father. He watched the slide show as it played snapshots of his life without Slade. He watched the people with tears in their eyes at the loss of a life that had somehow touched theirs.
He watched the wife and son James Ward had acknowledged and provided for, instead of him and his mom, as they sat on the front pew, reserved for family members and close friends. The wife was put together, wearing a nice dress, her hair coifed just so. The son was wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses with a gorgeous golden retriever sitting tall at his side. Tall, well-built, with blond hair and soft facial features, he looked like his mom. Slade had been blessed with his own mom’s hair, but he had the unmistakable characteristics of his dad’s face—sharp, angular features, craggy eyebrows, and a large mouth.
He’d noticed it before, but it was all too clear in the stillness of death. As he’d looked down at his father’s waxy-looking face in the casket, their physical similarities were clear.
What made a man choose one family over the other? Had his mom done something to make him choose? The story was that his wife had some weird genetic thing that skipped generations, and when it fell on their son, James had chosen to stay with her and support the son with the disability. Because they needed him to.
Which essentially left Lori and Slade in the dust, hadn’t it? Nothing was done for them. Once Zack had been born, James had a change of heart and decided to stay with them, with nary a look behind him at his other “mistakes.” He’d become the model father and husband. And, apparently, community member.
The sanctuary was filling with young men Slade’s age, former scouts his sperm donor had given more attention to than the “other” son.
Then she walked in.
Deena Rae looked forward, her eyes never straying, so he wasn’t worried about being seen. It was as if she knew she was the most beautiful woman in the room and didn’t care. She wore a simple black dress under Slade’s leather jacket and had her hair pulled back in some cool-looking twisty shit—the perfect mix of badass and classy. She was followed by six guys and another woman, and they all went to the front row, where Zack and Michelle were. They exchanged hugs, and Zack motioned for them to sit next to him.
Sit next to him.
Slade stared, baffled, as Deena Rae sat next to the boy who’d taken everything from him.
He didn’t stop staring as the service started. His mind was in a tail spin. Everything he’d ever understood about his life was floating away, to be replaced by this new understanding of how his life really was. He didn’t understand it all, but he didn’t like it.
He’d met this weird, beautiful, bitchy woman he couldn’t get enough of. She’d shown up at his place of work after he’d been blackmailed by his boss to do all sorts of decidedly illegal shit. And now, his sperm donor dies and she shows up here, too? Just when he was trying to sort all his emotions about his dad—but not really dad—dying?
It was fucked.
Slade ducked out in the middle of some asshole talking about a jamboree with his dad. A jamboree he never knew about. A man who’d never cared about him enough.
And a woman he didn’t really know.
Chapter Fourteen
Deena Rae needed some cheering. It wasn’t that she actually knew Zack’s dad, but funerals in general were a total downer. Just seeing someone being lowered into the ground was so final, and knowing that person had touched so many lives was just so … heartbreaking.
Besides, she was tired of seeing people cry.
So she was distracting herself by messing up all of Slade’s creases on his neatly hung-up clothes in his closet. She needed to know her attempts at chaos in his life meant something. The toothpaste tube was all squished to hell, like she li
ked it. The utensils were all over his drawer instead of in their assigned slots. She still wore his jacket; it had quickly become her favorite piece of apparel. It smelled like him—leather and spice—and she loved the way she felt in it. Untouchable.
The front door opened and shut, and Deena Rae closed the closet door, peering out through the slats. This was new. They’d never actually caught each other in their apartments before. She was considering what to do when he found her. Should she strip? Be wearing nothing but the jacket? Deena Rae would admit that was a hot fantasy she’d toyed with since she’d borrowed the thing.
But the sound of a girlish giggle stopped her thoughts.
He’d brought home a girl.
And she was stuck in his closet.
Fuck.
Peering through the slatted door, she was helpless as she watched them kissing, hands everywhere, as the girl methodically stripped the two of them before falling on the bed.
Deena Rae looked around the closet, as if a way out would magically appear. Nothing.
Slade was sitting against the headboard with this woman straddling him, and …
Jesus, dude was hung.
She slammed her mouth shut at the discovery, suddenly not wanting any part of this. While they’d never spoken of exclusivity, and she hadn’t officially broken shit off with Rick, she was still hurt by this display of wantonness she’d wanted to share with him.
Well, it looked like she was going to, whether she liked it or not.
Not. She didn’t like it at all.
When Slade’s face was buried in the woman’s neck, Deena Rae made her escape. She slipped out of the closet and into the other part of the apartment.
But she wanted him to know she’d been there during his little escapade—to see if he had any shame whatsoever.
A wicked idea formed in her head. Finding a notepad in a kitchen drawer, she wrote a note to leave on the door before slamming it shut behind her and racing back to her apartment, giggling maniacally all the way.
Chapter Fifteen
Slade heard the door slam and almost ignored it, since he was currently balls deep in Angelica, but when he realized what the slamming door meant, he pushed her off.
“Hang on. Someone’s here,” he muttered, finding his underwear on the floor and tugging them on.
He was ready to tell Deena Rae they were done with the bullshit they’d been playing. He was done. He didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. He was too fucked up, and she wasn’t helping anything.
But she wasn’t there.
Which meant she’d been there and had seen him with Angelica. He tried to tell himself he didn’t give a shit, but guilt panged around his insides. He’d wanted to tell her like a semi-normal human—by breaking into her apartment and leaving her a note, asking for his jacket back.
He rolled his eyes at himself. He was so fucked up.
When Slade found the note, a chuckle escaped him. Before he could hide it, Angelica was reading it over his shoulder, and he knew his night was done.
Didn’t want to interrupt, but I thought you should know I went to the doctor today. You need to get tested for herpes. –DR
“What?! Are you serious right now? Is that for real? Oh my God. I cannot believe you had sex with me with herpes.” Angelica was rummaging around for her clothes, and Slade could only watch, amused.
She’d gotten him. Again.
“It’s totally treatable, I hear. You really shouldn’t worry about it too much,” Slade offered off-handedly, realizing he’d have to go talk to Deena Rae. He was still mad but was trying not to laugh at this new turn of events.
“I’m leaving. There’s no way I’m going to let you back inside my princess tower.”
“What?” Slade couldn’t hold back the laughter at her words. Princess tower? “Never mind. You’re right. You should go.” He looked over to Deena Rae’s apartment and saw her standing on her balcony.
Her body was rigid, and she wore jeans and his jacket. Damn if she didn’t look hot in it, but he was still pissed at her. Apparently, she was a little angry at him, too, because she flipped him the bird when he turned his head to her.
He stalked to his shower. Fuck this. He needed answers.
Minutes later, Slade was pounding on Deena Rae’s door, unsure of what he was going to say to her but certain he needed to say something.
When she opened the door, the down turn of her mouth and flash of her eyes told him she was pissed. A tell-tale flush rose on her chest, the pale skin mottled with a ruddiness belying her temper. Her eyes sparkled fire, dancing angrily at him.
Slade lost it.
He buried his hands in her hair and attacked her mouth with his, pushing the door closed behind him. She’d interrupted something he needed. If he couldn’t get it from Angelica, he’d get it here.
For fuck’s sake, he’d buried the father who wasn’t his father today.
Deena Rae’s mouth was hard, unyielding, and angry. He loved it. His tongue sloppily traced the edges of her mouth, getting ready to just force its way in when she finally relented and opened for him. Once she’d allowed him in—both her mouth and her apartment—he broke away and took a step back, hitting his back on the door.
“I need to talk to you,” he spat, still angry, but it had faded somewhat with her taste on his lips.
She looked at him from head to toe. “You showered the skank off?”
He nodded, watching her warily. “You armed?”
She let out a half-hearted chuckle. “Do I need to be?”
“You have a tendency to try to hurt me when I’m talking to you.” And when we’re not talking.
Deena Rae was silent, her mouth smooshed into a funny look on the side of her face. The mouth he had just stopped kissing. Why did he stop? Slade could easily forget the anger and kiss the shit out of her, fuck her like he hated her, and be just fine.
Except he wouldn’t. Slade knew that. If there were something here, he needed to know what it was. He needed to know what her connection to Zack was. His brother.
She’d taken off his jacket, and he missed the look on her, even though she still rocked the jeans-and-tank-top look. Nipples poked through, and her shoulders were strong and bare, aside from the thin straps of her tank. No bra.
Slade digested that information but didn’t dare do anything with it. It would negate the idea of talking he’d come over here to do.
Deena Rae walked over to the bar separating her kitchen from her living area, where she kept her liquor. Her hips swayed as she moved, slinking around, the grace undeniable. She unstopped a bottle of gin and poured a healthy amount into a shaker, adding some olive brine and a bunch of shit from the fridge. His eyes were glued to the movements, even as she ignored him, totally lost in her drink-making.
When she had poured two martinis into glasses, she handed him one and took a healthy swig of her own. “You really think I can hurt you?” she asked with a gleam of something in her eyes. It looked like triumph, or maybe it was mischief. He wasn’t sure.
Slade shrugged in response, taking a timid sip of his drink. Yes. “Jesus, what is this?”
“A filthy fucking martini. You never answered my goddamned question.”
“I really have no idea with you.” He didn’t know her at all. He’d tried to know her. He’d gone through her things and saw she was neat, but not organized. She liked to cook. He knew that. She usually had something thawing in the refrigerator for cooking at night. He knew she kept her personal things locked away in the safe she kept in her bedroom, because they sure as shit weren’t lying around her house. He hadn’t found any check stubs, any logoed clothes, anything to tell him what she did all day. He knew she shredded lots of stuff. He knew she had some sexy fucking shoes, a drawer full of silky panties, and kept herself armed to the teeth. He knew she sent out mixed signals, like a kitten ready to claw his eyes out. “I don’t know you. And every time I think I do, I realize how wrong I am.”
“Do you trust me?”
Deena Rae asked as she took another healthy gulp of her martini, and a harsh laugh escaped him.
“No. Why should I?” If they were trying to start a relationship, in spite of his best efforts otherwise, they were going about it the most fucked-up way imaginable. Everything was instinctual with her. At least, on his part. Slade was feeling around with her, trying to go with his gut because she was giving him nothing.
Tossing her drink down her elegant throat, Deena Rae backed away and turned to go into her room. “Come on,” she said from the doorway. Slade followed, a little wary, no idea what he was getting into this time.
When he got to the doorway, he stopped, finding her in the middle of her bed, leaning on the headboard. Deena Rae raised her hands—outstretched on either side of her—and motioned for Slade to cuff them. His cock twitched to a semi-erect state, even though he seriously just wanted to talk.
“Why?” He’d set his drink down in the kitchen after the initial god-awful taste of it, but now he wished he had something to wet his suddenly parched throat.
“You don’t trust me. You think I’ll hurt you. You want to ask me questions. Clearly, I have a modicum more trust in you, so as long as you promise not to stick your dick in my mouth, we can do it this way.” She shrugged as if handcuffs were no big deal.
Slade seriously did not understand this woman.
But he did what she said, watching her carefully. “You ever let douchebag cuff you?”
She shook her head no, her eyelids at half-mast. Her breasts pressed against her tank top with every breath she took, and the breaths were coming faster. His cock pressed more insistently against his jeans, but he ignored it. He wanted answers tonight. If the answers were the right ones, sex could be later, but right now, he needed to focus.
After Deena Rae was cuffed, he stood at the foot of her bed and looked at her.
She really was gorgeous. She looked so open and giving right now; it was a little odd because that wasn’t a normal look for her. He had the opportunity to get some answers and he’d be damned if he was going to waste it. Slade continued watching her face as he started asking questions.