Humming?
She swung to look at the front door. Maybe she should just leave. Run like hell to a neighbor's and call the cops. But it was too late. Moments later, she heard heavy footsteps move across the bathroom floor. The door swung open, exhaling a cloud of steam, the smell of her soap and her shampoo. Then a man stood in the middle of her apartment, looking from her face to the knife with amusement. His shaggy black hair was wet from the shower and dripping onto the shoulders of an old t-shirt hanging from his lean frame. Ratty jeans sagged on him, the cuffs dragging along the floor as he walked. He ambled past Sasha to grab an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen counter. He bit into the fruit, squirting juice everywhere.
"Is that a knife in your hand or are you just happy to see me?"
She stared at the man in shock, unable to believe her eyes. "James?"
"Hello, sister."
Chapter Seven
Sasha stared at her brother with her mouth hanging open. Her hand spasmed around the knife handle clenched in her first as she watched him walk around her apartment as if he was the one who paid the rent. The corner of her eye twitched. Eating one of the apples from her kitchen, he strolled across the living room to plop down into her couch, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and knocking the remote control to the floor. He didn’t pick it up.
The last time she’d seen James, she was still in middle school and getting even more involved in the volunteer program teaching her to care for and to ride horses. In the last conversation she and her brother had, he’d mocked her for wasting her time riding the horses instead of betting on their odds to win. That day, like so many others, he stank of cheap booze, his wiry body tense and nearly trembling with aggression. With the need to fight. But instead of getting into a fist fight with James, she’d crossed her arms over her chest, tucked her fingers into her armpits. She’d vowed to be better than what he thought she was; better than what people in the group home had said she was. And that meant she didn’t roll around in the dirt, fighting like a common street thug.
James had called her every filthy name she’d ever heard of that day, even some new ones she’d been shocked by. But she didn’t rise to his bait so he stalked off, still seething with anger. Not long after that he’d been busted for drugs and landed himself in jail.
Jail. Sasha dropped the knife on the kitchen counter where it clattered amid the sound of her brother’s nearly manic laughter. The blade glinted in the stream of early morning sun filtering in through the blinds.
“I guess you weren’t expecting me.” He reached into a duffle bag on the floor by his feet, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“Don’t smoke that in here!”
Staring at her, he leisurely pulled a cigarette out from the pack. He lit it with a sharp “snick” of the lighter. His hazel eyes challenged her though the smoke rising up around his face. Her hands tightened in impotent anger. She wanted to snatch the cigarette from his hands and stamp it out, kick him out of her apartment. But she knew from painful experience what a bad idea it was to get into any sort of physical confrontation with her brother. Although he was only a few inches taller than her, just above five and a half feet, he was strong. And he fought dirty. Very dirty.
She abruptly turned away from him to lift the blinds and open the kitchen window, allowing in some fresh air and forcing some of that rancid smoke out.
This can’t be happening, she thought. I left all this behind me. I cut all my ties. I hid. This shouldn’t be happening.
With the blinds open, Sasha forced herself to stand behind the kitchen counter, her hands clenched into even tighter fists. She stared at her brother, feeling helpless and afraid. This wasn’t a social call; he wanted something from her. The dread pooled in her stomach, slick and oily, slowly spreading into the rest of her body. Sasha felt nausea rise at the back of her throat.
Then anger, her trusted friend from her days living at home with her violent and erratic alcoholic parents, rose up, hot and fast. Fucking asshole! How dare he barge into her life now that everything was on track and going so well? Her eyes narrowed. And how long had he been here? She kept her eyes on him, watching her snake brother for any sudden and dangerous movements.
From across the room, his teeth flashed at her, brilliant white and straight through the drifting smoke. He looked even better coming out of jail than he had going in. Leave it to her rapacious brother to make the very best out of what would have been a bad situation for anyone else.
Sasha drew a deep and calming breath. “What are you doing here, James? How did you find me?”
He laughed at her again. “It’s not hard to find an amateur like you, baby girl. Especially if you got connections. And I got connections.”
Shit! Five years ago, she’d thought she was being so thorough. So careful. Her brother disappearing into the system had seemed the perfect opportunity for her to disappear from that old life and leave the wreckage of her past behind.
Her brother leaned back into her sofa, ankles crossed as he blew smoke up at the ceiling. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he looked her.
“I was watching the races a couple of weeks ago when I saw you on the TV. Can you imagine? I damn near fell out of my seat.” James laughed. But it was that fake laugh of his. He was far from amused. If anything he looked vicious, angry that she’d found success while he hadn’t. “I was happy for you, little sis. You were getting all that loot and riding for those fucking rich bitches.”
He laughed again, probably imagining money raining down on her from some rich woman’s diamond-studded purse. Sasha ground her teeth together, but said nothing.
“When I heard you were riding in the Kentucky Derby, I made like a bullet and came straight up here from Florida,” James continued. “This whole town is hot for this horserace, so I figured no matter if you came in first or last, you’d do pretty good.” He paused to look at her, as if re-evaluating her prior worth. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you up there on top of the winner, riding and waving at the crowd like a fucking queen.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m your brother, right? It only makes sense for me to come and congratulate you on your good luck.”
Sasha flexed her fingers as she waited for the other shoe to drop. With her brother, there was always something else. Usually something dangerous and unpleasant for her.
He plucked a piece of tobacco from his tongue, looked down at it. Wiped it on her sofa. “We’re family, right? So I figure me being fresh out of the clink and all, I need some help. A cushion to take me through the first few months.” James looked at her expectantly.
“No fucking way.” She growled the words at him, her fists shaking in fury.
How dare he expect help from her when he was just like all the others ganging up on her as a child to make her life hell? Where was all his talk of brotherly love and family loyalty when he was beating on her? When he was encouraging his disgusting little friends to fondle her and pay him for the privilege.
“Get out of my fucking apartment, you asshole! I wouldn’t give you a dime for the fucking donation box.”
“Oh, really?” Her brother’s gaze hardened even more. He drew deeply on his cigarette then ground it out on the arm of the sofa.
Sasha winced as the smell of burning fabric filled her nostrils. Unable to take it anymore, she flew across the room, slapping the cigarette out of her brother’s hand. He grabbed her wrists as the dead cigarette fell to the floor.
“Fuck off!”
She shouted the words in his face, the anger lashing through her. Her face was hot. Her belly clenched and hard. Sasha kneed James in the stomach and twisted away from him. But he followed, tripping her with a sudden sweep of his legs. She slammed into the hardwood with a sharp cry, elbow already flying up to dig into his throat. He gasped but dropped his body down on top of her, sitting on her stomach, his hands pinning her shoulders to the floor.
“You’re damn well going to pay whatever I tell you!” he shouted. His breat
h blew hot and rank against her cheek. “If you don’t, I’ll tell all these rich motherfuckers who you really are. I’ll fucking show them pictures of what you came from. I’ll parade in front of them like a fucking beauty queen and tell them you and me are the same.” He slammed her shoulders into the floor. “You hear me, bitch?!”
She struggled in his grip, slamming her knees into his back. “Go fuck—!”
A sharp knock on the door cut off her words. She stiffened. Immediately, James released her, jumped to his feet to sit back on the couch. His face was red. The beginnings of a bruise rose on his pale skin. A hole gaped at the front of his t-shirt where Sasha had torn it in her rage. She felt a brief flare of satisfaction that she’d damaged him somehow. Then almost as quickly, she felt shame. She hated what he turned her into. She hated it.
Breathing heavily from their confrontation, she went to the door and looked through the peephole. She drew a breath of surprise. It was Damien Taylor. She fought a heady feeling of relief at his presence. She would have been happy to see the devil himself if that meant saving her from her brother’s brutality, she told herself.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Mr. Taylor,” she called to him through the door.
Through the peephole, she saw his head jerk up at the sound of her voice. Was it her imagination or did he look hurt? No, it had to be her imagination. That beautiful mouth of his hardened.
“But, I want to talk with you,” he said. “And I have your purse.”
Shit.
After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door. The peephole had muted his appeal. In her doorway and in the flesh, he was undeniably gorgeous. Undeniable. From the top of his neatly trimmed blond hair to his loafered feet, he was the singularly most appealing man she’d ever slept with. Or met. Or ever seen. He smelled of aftershave and toothpaste, an expensive aloe soap. His gorgeous body that she’d seen naked what now felt like weeks ago was clad in a white dress shirt and dark designer jeans. She clenched her fists against the sudden need to touch him, to reacquaint herself with the muscled heat of his chest she’d felt last night.
Damien’s blue eyes fastened on the motion. He took a single step toward her. And Sasha drew in another breath of his clean masculinity.
Suddenly, she was conscious of not having taken a shower. Of her brother’s grubby presence in her apartment. She opened her mouth to demand her purse, but Damien neatly slipped into her apartment. At the sight of James, his eyebrow arched in question. But he said nothing.
“This isn’t really a good time,” she said.
“I’ll wait,” Damien countered.
She turned to her brother who was watching her and Damien with a calculating look. For a moment, she tried to see him through Damien’s eyes. His faded and ripped t-shirt. The thrift store jeans that were too big for his skinny body. His hair still damp from the shower and sticking up in all directions from their fight. As if reading her mind, James bared his teeth at her in what could have passed for a smile. He bent down and picked up his duffel bag.
“I’ll call you soon, Sasha.” His voice was low and intent, promising another visit. Whether or not she wanted one.
Her brother slipped behind Damien then, after throwing her another leering grin behind her boss’s back, left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. The sound of the slam reverberated like a gunshot through the apartment. Sasha clenched her jaw but couldn’t stop the sigh of relief from whistling past her teeth.
Then she turned to face Damien, knowing that she wouldn’t like whatever it was that he came to say.
Chapter Eight
Damien looked at her with his intense blue eyes, watching her every move but saying nothing until the silence stretched and grew, nearly suffocating in its size. Sasha cleared her throat.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure. Mineral water, if you have it. Orange juice, if you don’t.”
She nodded and walked to the kitchen, very aware of his presence in her small apartment. He dropped her purse on the coffee table and followed her into the kitchen, his steps quiet and graceful.
“I was disappointed that you had to leave my house so soon,” he said.
Sasha went to the fridge and took out two small bottles of Perrier. Fetched a glass from the cupboard for Damien but none for herself.
“I thought it was best for me to go,” she said.
She passed him a bottle of water and a glass then stood by the counter in the small kitchen while he stood near the fridge barely three feet away. He put the empty glass on the counter, unscrewed the top and put the bottle to his mouth.
Sexy, sexy man. Her brain supplied the thought while she stared at his mouth that was sucking on the bottle. She vividly remembered the feel of his mouth on her nipples.
“Why? Didn’t you enjoy yourself last night?” An eyebrow rose, a suggestion that he already knew the answer to his own question.
Sasha briefly thought of denying it. But remembering how incredibly turned on she had been, how wet, how she had alternately whispered and screamed his name as he made love to her, she realized here was no denying her reaction. No denying that she had thoroughly enjoyed him last night. Even now, her body swelled and made the way for him, eager to join with him again. She cleared her throat and swallowed. A blush colored her cheeks.
“Yes. I did,” she said. “You know I did.”
She touched the cold bottle of mineral water, tracing a finger through the condensation. Even with the admission still seasoning the air between them, she couldn’t look at Damien. She heard the dull thud as he put his water on the kitchen counter, felt him coming close to her.
“Then why not indulge ourselves again. I had…an incredible time.” He settled a hand lightly on her elbow, and that touch burned. “Your mouth is so sexy,” he murmured. “All morning I’ve been thinking about how it would feel on my cock.”
Against her will, Sasha’s eyes dropped to the crotch of Damien’s jeans. She licked her lips. He groaned softly. Settled closer to her until his hips brushed hers. He was already hard. She stepped back. And stumbled into the edge of the counter. He followed with the heat of his body, his scent.
“No. No. I can’t.” But God, she wished that she could. She took a deep breath.
“Why not?”
“Please…” She pressed her palms against his chest, aware more than ever of that gesture as a one of femininity, of submission. “I can’t—” She took a deep breath. “I can’t think when you’re so close.” She licked her lips aware that his eyes fastened on her mouth. Her body screamed to be closer to him, to bend underneath his will, to feel the strength under his and scream his name until she was hoarse.
His mouth tilted at the corners. After another flickering look at her mouth, he stepped back until he stood on the other side of the small kitchen. Sasha took a deep breath.
“I’m very tempted by you,” she said. “You’d tempt the most sainted angel in heaven to sink down into sin with you. And I’m far from an angel.” Sasha bit the inside of her cheek. “But I can’t do this with you. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. Already, as the only female jockey at Taylor Stables, people have been spreading rumors that I slept with you or with Linc to get this position. Finally, after this Derby win with Impact, I have a solid reputation. I don’t want to ruin it. I have a lot to lose in this; you don’t.”
Damien held the Perrier bottle in his hand, the condensation dripping around his fingers. “But wasn’t the sex worth it? It was magical between us. Tell me I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Admit it. You loved everything we did and want to do it again.” A hint of something lurked in his eyes. A trace of uncertainty even as his confident words faded away in the small kitchen.
She shivered at the rough tone in his voice. It was the same tone he’d used with her last night as he’d ordered her to touch herself, as he commanded her to come for him. Sasha squeezed her thighs together, trying to tamp down her mounting arousal. She couldn’t give in to
him again. She’d only screw herself if she allowed him to fuck her again.
“No amount of good sex is worth the reputation I’ve built for myself,” she finally said. “And it’s definitely not worth my job.”
“Your job is in no danger from me, Sasha. And as for your reputation, no one has to know what you’re doing when you’re not at the stables. I—” He lifted a hand toward her, then, as if remembering her earlier plea for him not to touch her, dropped it back to his side. “We can be discreet, Sasha. I want you. Come to me.”
She swallowed, tempted by his urgent tone, seduced by the idea that he wanted her enough to argue with her, to try and persuade her to be with him like that again.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then he focused his intense blue eyes on her. “What if I said this can be just sex? No emotions. No strings attached. Completely separate from the professional relationship that you and I have.”
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