by Molly Mirren
“You are not a bottom-feeder,” he repeated.
“Okay. Just a slut, then.”
He felt like a hot branding iron had just gouged his gut. “What happened to you, darlin'? Why would you say that?”
“Nothing happened.”
He knew that was a lie. There was a hollowness about her now, like some of the life had been sucked out of her. It was like she was giving up, and Jay didn't like it one bit.
He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. To his relief, she didn't stiffen or pull away.
Instead, she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “This doesn't mean we're having a heart-to-heart,” she murmured.
“Why not?”
“Because you're the last person I should talk to.”
“Why? Like you said, I'm not such a bad guy.”
She was quiet.
“Come on. Let's start with this Duncan dude. How do you know him?”
She waited a full minute to answer, but she must have finally decided it was okay. “He's the bass player for The Poonmatics.”
“‘Poonmatics’?” Jay snorted derisively. “Brilliant.”
She gave his leg an admonishing nudge.
“You know I can't feel that, right?”
She lightly pinched his arm instead.
“Ouch.”
“The Poonmatics sometimes open for my brother's band—our band, I mean. I've sort of known Duncan for a while.”
“Don't tell me. You used to change his diapers?”
She pinched Jay again, this time hard enough to sting.
“Ow!”
“Enough with the cougar references. I'm not that old.”
Jay smiled and rested his chin on the top of her head, getting a whiff of the apple scent of her shampoo. “So anyway. Keep talking.”
“There's not much to tell. I've been hanging out with him. A few nights ago, things got . . . out of hand.”
Jay steeled his jaw. “And he hurt you?”
“He . . . he just did what any guy would do, what any guy would expect.”
Jay took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. “What's that supposed to mean?”
She hesitated. “I'm not known for being chaste, Jay. My reputation preceded me.”
He got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “And that gave him the right to put bruises on you? I don't think so.” He hugged her tighter. “Erin, are you sure he didn’t force you?”
She stiffened. “Yes. It's nothing that dramatic. He's a dickhead, but he's nothing I can't handle.”
“What if . . . ” Jay trailed off, not sure how to say what he wanted to say without pissing her off. “Erin, you were really out of it. I mean, what if—”
“What if he raped me and I don't remember? Don't worry,” she said, her tone filled with bitterness and self-disgust. “He didn't. He told me he was tired of waiting, that it was time he got his reward. He wasn't so gung ho for his reward after I threw up on him, though.”
She tried to sit up, but Jay kept his arms around her.
“Still want to kiss me?” she asked. Her words were barbed, cynical.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
She pulled back and looked up at him like he'd lost his mind. “You can't be serious.”
“I am. And I want to kill that son of a bitch Duncan.”
Guilt twisted her features and she shook her head. “Duncan hasn't hurt me any worse than I've hurt myself.”
He had a feeling she was referring to something more than what had happened with Duncan. “What are you talking about?”
She wrenched away from him and put a couple of inches between them. “Nothing. It just means Duncan didn't force me to get fucked up. It was my decision.”
“What did you do? What did you take?”
“Smoked heroin, among other things.”
Jay let his head fall back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”
“It wasn't straight heroin. It was an A-bomb. You know what that is?”
“Yeah. I know what it is.” Fury roared through him, but he reined it in. Erupting like a volcano right now would just make Erin clam up. That didn't mean the need to rip that little shithead Duncan apart wasn't eating him alive. Even if Duncan hadn't raped her, he'd been rough with her, and he'd let her do heroin, for fuck's sake. Maybe he’d even talked her into doing it.
“Why did you do it?” Jay asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.
“There doesn't have to be a reason.”
“Yes, there does. For you, there does.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don't know me, Jay. I think I just proved that with all this Duncan crap. You don't really know anything about me.”
“That's not true,” he said. If she only knew how much it wasn't true.
A stray strand of her hair had escaped from its ponytail, and he reached forward on impulse and tucked it behind her ear. His skin thrummed when his fingertips made brief contact with the shell of her ear.
She glanced down shyly and ran her tongue over her top lip.
He wondered if it was in reaction to his touching her. He didn't think she was trying to be provocative, but the action made his mouth go dry.
Christ, Jay. Focus. Here he was, having a serious conversation with her, and he was getting all horny because she'd licked her lip.
He drew in a breath to clear his head and looked her in the eye. “I know you're smarter than this, Erin. You're not a druggie. Why did you do it?”
She shook her head, and a couple of tears slipped out from underneath her lashes. Jay pulled her onto his lap, enveloping her in his arms, and gently pressed her head onto his chest. It felt like she belonged there, like two puzzle pieces coming together.
She stayed in his arms for a few minutes, until she tipped her head back to look at him, more composed. “You can't keep rescuing me like this. You're supposed to be the angsty, surly cripple, and I'm supposed to be the one who comforts you and shows you life is still worth living.”
He chuckled. “Sorry.”
“Just try not to have your shit together so much.”
He smiled and ran the pad of his thumb over her soft lips. “Hmm,” he said idly. “I'll try to remember.”
“Please,” she groaned, “tell me you're not thinking about kissing me again.”
“I'm not thinking about it. I'm going to.”
“Don't,” she said, pushing her palm against his chest in warning.
“Why?”
“It's just a really bad idea.”
“Why?” he asked, frustrated. “Why is it a bad idea?”
“Aside from the fact that you hate devs—”
Jay’s nostrils flared. “I don't—”
She put a finger over his lips to shush him. “—and aside from the fact that I swore I'd never date a wheeler again, it has to do with holding on to what's left of my self-respect.”
Jay was incredulous. “Oh, really? Let me get this straight. Smoking heroin and almost getting raped is okay for your self-respect, but kissing me isn't?”
He knew by the way her features hardened he shouldn't have thrown her mistakes in her face, no matter how much her reasoning sucked. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he said. He placed his hand on her cheek. “I'm sorry.”
She shoved at his chest and started to get up.
“No.” He grabbed her arms, not tight enough to hurt her but just enough to keep her on his lap, and growled, “Stay, dammit.”
“You don't understand.”
He struggled to keep his emotions in check, but he knew the look he gave her was intense. “What I understand is there's something between us that's driving us both insane. Don't go.”
Her body was still stiff with resistance, but the air between them was crackling. He was positive she wanted to kiss him as badly as he wanted to kiss her. “Come on, Erin. Don't fight it. I know you feel it, too.” He gave her arms an imploring squeeze. “Stay here with me.”
She grimaced. “I'm b
roken, Jay. You of all people know there's something wrong with me.”
“Bullshit.”
She swallowed thickly and shook her head. “I can't risk getting hurt. I can't take it anymore.” After a hesitation, she added, “That's why I smoked the heroin.”
“That doesn't make sense,” Jay said, frowning.
She looked at him. “I smoked the heroin because I was trying to stop thinking about you.”
“What?” He thought he couldn't have heard her right.
“I couldn't stop thinking about you,” she said, her features twisting with torment, “and I—I needed relief.”
Jesus. Jay was torn between elation she'd been thinking about him and horror she'd gone to such an extreme to get him out of her mind. Loosening his hold on her arms, he slid his hands up to her neck and rubbed the delicate line of her jaw with his thumbs. “Thinking about me is not a bad thing,” he said gently.
Erin put her hands on his wrists. “Yes, it is,” she said, her voice filled with anguish.
“Why?” With a small smile, he confessed, “If it helps, I've been thinking about you, too.”
“It doesn't help. It gets my hopes up and sets me up for a bigger fall.”
His chest tightened, and he wanted to murder every bastard who'd ever hurt her, including himself. “I swear to you, darlin'. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“But you will, even if you don't intend to. Trust me. In my case, history always repeats itself.”
He shook his head. “We'll take things slow. Let me prove myself. Give me a second chance.”
“I never give second chances,” she reminded him, but now she sounded doubtful, and her eyes touched him in a way that ignited a bonfire inside him.
“You know what they say about never,” Jay said huskily. Working his fingers around to the nape of her neck, he pulled her to him. This time there was nothing light or tentative about the way he kissed her. He was hungry, and he crushed his mouth to hers, wanting to devour her.
Her lips fit perfectly with his, and when he probed with his tongue, she let him in and mingled with him, her tongue and mouth hot and moist. She tasted like chicken soup and toothpaste, and he'd never tasted anything so intoxicating.
She straddled his lap and melded herself to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he felt like his soul was about to take flight. She was sexy and soft and warm in all the right places. He wanted more of her but knew he'd never get enough, not in a million years.
A moan of pleasure escaped her throat, stoking the lust inside him. He loved the sound of that little moan, loved knowing she was enjoying this as much as he was.
Finally, when they started to taper off, Erin nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth and rested her forehead against his. “Wow,” she whispered.
Jay pressed his lips together to keep from grinning like a fool and tried to catch his breath.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. “Start something with me?”
Joy flooded through him so fast he couldn't find his voice, so he brushed a kiss across her lips to give himself a second. When he did speak, his voice was filled with emotion. “I don't want to do this with anyone but you.”
“You deserve better, Jay.”
“No,” he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Now was the time. He should tell her he was Panhead, but he didn't have the balls to do it. All he could think about as he breathed her in was that she was finally in his arms, and he wasn't about to do anything that might make her leave. But he knew the truth. He wasn’t the one who deserved better. She was.
“We'll take things slow?” She sounded so vulnerable.
He groaned, his body still begging to be with her. “What moron came up with that bright idea?”
Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “That would be you.”
He smiled but then turned serious. “We can take things as slow as you want, as long as you promise you'll give me a chance. Just get to know me and let me get to know you. No more Jay the wheeler; no more Erin the dev. Just you and me,” he said, pointing to her and then to himself.
She grabbed his finger and kissed the tip of it, making his heart jump, and said, “I promise.”
Chapter 19
Erin loved watching Jay cook. His large, strong hands were nimble and skillful when he was chopping, and he could dice an onion at warp speed. The ripped shoulder and arm muscles under his plain navy T-shirt flexed and bulged with every little movement, the same way they did when he worked on his motorcycle.
He was one of those cooks who never measured stuff out, just went by taste and instinct. Whatever he did worked, though. So far he hadn’t concocted anything that didn't delight Erin’s taste buds.
It was beyond sexy. Who knew a guy at ease and confident in a kitchen could be such a turn-on? Then again, Jay would probably ooze masculinity even if he were wearing capri pants and a fanny pack.
Jay had to turn his wheelchair sideways to get as close to the counter as possible and stretch his arm up to the sink or stove to reach the knobs, since he couldn't stand. It was one of the few differences between him and an able-bodied cook. He also did most of his chopping and mixing and so forth on an all-purpose, sturdy wooden tray on his lap or at the table instead of at the counter. The pots, pans, and dishes he used were in the lower cabinets within his reach, and most of his ingredients were on the lower shelves of the kitchen's small pantry.
Erin studied him as he concentrated on his latest concoction, stirring it with a wooden spoon at the stove. Blond stubble covered his jaw (no shock there), giving him a roguish appearance. He was wearing his Oakland A's baseball cap backward, his blond hair sticking out the back and flipping upward—but not in a girlie way—wherever it brushed his shoulders. He always wore a cap when he cooked as a precaution. Nobody liked hair with their meal, he said.
He had on loose jeans and white socks, and his thin legs were hugged in close to his well-engineered chair, designed to minimize ramming his feet into things. Erin liked how Jay's chair seemed a part of him, how it fit his personality. It was black and sporty, made with titanium parts that promised power and speed.
His feet rested perfectly together on the solid metal footplate. Their stillness made them look unnaturally prim and proper, but they didn't detract from Jay's appeal. Like everything else about him, the sight made Erin feel hot and restless low down in her belly and stole her breath for an instant.
She wondered if his newly found acceptance of her would last if she told him she'd just been perving on his paralyzed feet. He'd said he wanted to get to know her, not Erin the dev, but the harder she tried to separate the two, the less she succeeded. So much for ever being normal.
Disheartened and embarrassed by the direction of her thoughts, she shoved them away and said, “You ready for me to set the table?”
“Yeah,” Jay replied absently, reaching up with a dish towel in his hand to grab hold of the handle of the stainless steel saucepan simmering on the stove.
He set the saucepan on his lap tray, which was not only handy but also protected his insensate legs from the pan's heat. He used his index finger to wipe up a bit of homemade red pasta sauce that had sloshed over the side, then popped it into his mouth.
It was a quick, totally unconscious gesture, but, again, Erin got a heated reaction in her nether regions—and was relieved that this time the cause was something normal. Jay's hands were big, masculine, and callused from years of pushing the wheels of his chair, yet they were also surprisingly elegant, and this wasn't the first time she'd wondered what those lean, graceful fingers of his could do to her.
She thought of the way her spine had prickled when he'd brushed his callused thumb over her cheek a week ago, then ever-so-lightly touched his lips to hers and told her he liked her.
Just get to know him, he'd said. Just give him a chance.
And then there was that second kiss, the one that made her toes curl and sent a zing through her veins. There had been other
kisses since that one, kisses that pulled her deeper and deeper into the possibility of unequaled bliss . . . or unequaled despair. The more she was around Jay and got to know him, the more she liked him. He was everything she'd ever wanted in a guy: funny, intelligent, thoughtful, and affectionate, not to mention heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
He was also the perfect gentleman. Jay had kept his promise to take things slow. He'd never put any pressure on her to have sex, but even without that level of physical intimacy, they'd grown close in a very short amount of time.
Already Erin's feelings for him were intense, and she wasn't sure she could hold up her end of the bargain to take things slow. Sometimes she wanted Jay with a desire that was literally painful, and it was all she could do not to give in to her slutty side and drag him to the first bedroom she could find.
She felt like she was on a runaway train that wouldn't stop barreling down its tracks, no matter how hard she applied the brakes, sparks flying. She had the constant need to always be touching Jay in some way, to breathe in his clean maleness and feel his deep, buttery voice glide through her. She craved him more than she'd ever craved any guy, and it terrified her.
Not for the first time, Erin wondered what the hell she was doing. She was playing with fire by letting her guard down. Her brain screamed that trusting Jay was a bad idea, that it would only lead to heartache, but her heart countered that it ached painfully whenever he wasn't around.
Her track record when it came to relationships sucked, but maybe, for once in her life, she would catch a break and things would work out with Jay in spite of their rocky start. She'd decided to take the plunge, to let herself have a chance at happiness, because staying away from him definitely didn't make her happy.
After she finished setting the table, she dug out two of her grandmother's crystal wine glasses and added them to the settings as a finishing touch. She wasn't a wine person, but Jay—this rugged man who owned a Harley, a muscle car, and a huge Rottweiler-ish dog—had insisted the dish he was cooking needed red wine to go with it.