Fighting the Fall

by J. B. Salsbury

  “What happened?” He looks as though he’s settled in, not moving an inch until he gets whatever information he’s looking for.

  “I already told you. I came here to see you—”

  “Not that. What happened today? Why were you at the Slade’s sippin’ booze all day with a pregnant woman when you should’ve been at work?”

  “Just sayin’ . . . you totally sound like a dad right now.” And what is it about the parental tone he’s using that makes my belly flip and my insides turn to liquid?

  “I am a dad. Don’t change the subject.”

  “No, you don’t change the subject. What happened in there?”

  He props his hands on his hips and drops his chin to his chest. “I’m a dick. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

  I blink and stare, searching for the right words, but I’m shocked at how quickly he fessed up and owned his mistake. “Oh, well . . . good.”

  Eyes back on me, he shrugs. “Your turn. Why were you drinking with Slade’s wife?”

  Aw hell. I knew I was going to have to tell him I got fired, and it wouldn’t be a big deal if I could leave it at that, but a man like Cameron is going to want answers, and I’m ashamed to tell him the truth.

  “Bad day.” I dip my chin and pray he lets it go at that.

  “Explain.”

  God, he’s bossy. “I um . . . got in a bit of trouble at work. That guy I told you about? The one doing the internal audit? He pulled me aside when I got there this morning.”

  Please, let that be enough.

  “And?”

  Dammit.

  I throw my hands up and let them drop hard on the bed. “I got fired.”

  Silence.

  “He pulled me in when I got there and he let me go.”

  He props his hands on his hips. “They have good reason?”

  Yes. “Not really.”

  I drop to the closest pillow and hope to miraculously pass out to end this conversation.

  “You need to file a complaint. They can’t fire you without good reason.”

  Why does he insist on making me go there?

  I turn my face into the pillow.

  “Judging by your reaction, my guess is they had good reason.”

  I nod into the down-feathered cushion.

  “Share that.”

  I shake my head.

  “Can’t help you if I don’t know the details, doll.” His calling me doll in that low rumbled voice has the power to make me do whatever he asks.

  “Don’t need help. I’m good.” The words are mumbled so deeply into the pillow that I’m not even sure he heard them. The bed shifts, and then the heat of his hand strokes through my hair.

  “Whatever happened was obviously bad enough that you went to seek comfort in your girl and the bottle. Not gonna lie, but you boozin’ doesn’t sit well with me. First, I know you don’t like the taste, and second I already got one drunken woman riding my ass all the time. But having said that, I understand why you’d want to numb the shit from you being let go.”

  I roll over and fix my eyes on his, which are no longer totally glaring. “You do?”

  “I do. I also know you’re freaked the fuck out to have no money after your dad took you for all you’re worth and you’re livin’ off tip money.”

  I turn my head away and heat rushes to my cheeks. He cups my jaw and turns me to face him. “Talk to me.”

  “I haven’t been living off tip money.” I’m so ashamed to be having this conversation that the words come out barely a whisper.

  “What have you been living off of?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  His eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen them, which isn’t all that wide, but it’s shock he’s feeling, I’m sure. “You fucking with me?”

  “No. I’ve been eating at work every day.”

  “Shit, Eve, that’s one meal a day.”

  I nod.

  “You can’t live off that.”

  “I did, up until the other night. I um . . . borrowed some money from the restaurant. The till was over. I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice. I was so fucking hungry, I hadn’t eaten all day, and I acted out of total desperation. Stupid, I know.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  I peek at him out of the corner of my eye. “We being honest?”

  He nods.

  “Because I want you to like me. And I already feel like you know enough about me not to like me. I didn’t want to give you another reason.”

  “You think asking me for money would be a strike against you?”

  “Cameron . . .”

  His eyes go soft.

  “I know guys like you: rich, powerful, handsome. Women throw themselves at you for a variety of reasons, but money is a huge motivator. I didn’t want you to think of me like that.” The kindness in his expression is drilling holes in my chest. I can’t take it and turn away. “Besides, I can do this. I’ve managed to take care of myself my whole life. I don’t need or want anyone’s help.”

  He cups my face again, twisting me to him, but this time before I can even register his face, his mouth presses tight to mine and my eyes drift shut.

  I tilt my head and part my lips to swallow his answering groan as his tongue glides into my mouth. The taste, like clean water and Cameron, floods my senses. I shove my fingers into his hair, holding him to me. Heat in my belly spreads south, and I push up on one arm, desperate to get closer. He grabs my hips, drags me across his lap, and I turn so that I’m straddling him.

  All my worry and anxiety from the day work to further fuel my need. Like exercising for stress relief, I’m drowning in Cameron as therapy. I roll my hips, grinding down on the hard length that stands between us.

  “Fuck, doll.” He holds my hips still, but tugs at my waistband. “You make me crazy.” He drags his lips down my throat.

  I moan and drop my head to the side. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

  He pulls back and meets my eyes with a heavy lidded glare, but he doesn’t speak.

  Oh no. That’s gotta be bad crazy.

  ~*~

  Cameron

  My fingers dig into the flesh of her hips. I’m out of control when I’m around her. Reacting to every irritant, jealousy rises up out of nowhere intent on destroying whoever’s in sight. First Mason, tonight my own kid. How the hell does she manage to fuck with me without seeming to have the slightest clue she’s doing it?

  Good crazy or bad crazy? Shit . . . both.

  I don’t take my eyes off hers, and she drops her gaze under my stare.

  “Never mind. I think your non-answer is my answer.” Her hands slide from my neck down my arms.

  “I was married to D’lilah for six years. In all that time, including the time we dated, I never went to battle with another man for her.”

  She looks up at me, blinking. “But she’s D’lilah Monroe? I bet men were throwing themselves at her left and right.”

  I nod. “They were. And sometimes right in front of me. It’s funny. Lookin’ back, I think I was numb to it, accepted the fact that marrying a supermodel would come with that kind of attention.”

  “Had to be hard on a marriage.”

  “That’s the fucked-up part. It wasn’t. So fuck, what does that say about my feelings for her? It’s not that I didn’t care about her; it’s just I didn’t care enough. Only thing I ever fought for was my career. Take my wife, yeah, it sucks, but I’ll live. Take away my fighting, and I hit my knees.”

  “Hit your knees?”

  “Yeah, I fall. One thing I don’t do is fall. Not anymore, not ever.”

  “So you hit your knees when you quit fighting?”

  I’m not ready to share Rosie with Eve, so I lie. “Yeah. I picked myself back up and vowed I’d never let that shit happen again.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Then I meet you, and I’m all over the place, wobbling on my feet.” The words pour from my lips before I’m able to register what I�
�m feeling. The whole thing is . . . “Crazy.”

  Her eyes widen and her lips part.

  “Not sure that’s good crazy or bad crazy, but it’s fucked up.”

  “The kind of fucked up you can live with?”

  I run my hand up her back and tangle my fist into the long tendrils of her hair. “Come here.”

  She leans in, and I pull her bottom lip between my teeth before sliding my tongue into her soft hot mouth. So fucking good.

  Between her hips rolling and the firm tips of her breasts brushing against my chest, my rational thinking dissipates fast. I roll us so that her back is to the bed and she has her legs wrapped around my waist.

  “I, um . . . smell like chlorine and sunblock. I need to take a shower.”

  Fuck. That sounds perfect.

  “I’m all over it, doll.” I lift her off the bed and carry her with her legs wrapped tight to the bathroom. Setting her down, I pull my shirt over my head and step to her to help her do the same.

  She’s still in her black pants and white oxford that she wore to work this morning. Her eyes devour my chest, drifting from my side to my arms, studying my tattoos while she unbuttons her blouse to expose a bright white lace bra. I bite my lip to dull the urge to run my tongue in the valley of those perfect breasts and lose myself in the sweet and creamy smell of her skin while pushing inside her body.

  I lean over and crank the shower on. When I turn back to her, she has her shirt off and bra loose. I watch in awe as she slides the straps down her arms, revealing herself to me.

  “Damn.” I suck in a breath as she hooks her thumbs into her pants and slides them, along with her panties to the floor.

  I kick my pants off and pull her into my arms so fast a giggle escapes her lips.

  “Laugh while you can. What we’re about to do will be anything but funny.”

  Her eyes flare, and a tiny grin tugs at her lip. “Promise?”

  I smack her ass, expecting her to giggle, but fuck me . . . she moans. I rub the tender spot on her backside and she presses in deeper, asking with her body. I swat her again, this time with more force.

  “Yes.” She drops her forehead to my chest.

  I grind down against my urge bend her over the countertop and fuck her hard. “Shower.”

  She slides past me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear she pressed in to rub those beautiful tits along my ribs as she went. Tempting, teasing, this girl pushes every single hot button I have while creating some of her own.

  I follow her into the shower where she steps beneath the streaming water. She tips her head back, and the water cascades down her face and along the long column of her neck. Beautiful.

  Lathering up a bar of soap, I tug her free from the spray. “I’ll wash you.”

  She doesn’t speak, but simply nods and waits. I turn her to face the stone wall and push her long hair to the front to expose her shoulders. Starting there, I rub bubbles into her skin, pressing in circles with my thumb to relieve the tension I feel she’s carrying there.

  Her head lulls to the side. “Mmm, that’s nice.”

  “Quiet.” It’s instinctual. I can’t even explain to myself why telling her what to do turns me on, but her trusting me, turning herself over to me in compliance, is hot. And the way her body sways on her feet, I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one enjoying this game.

  I move from her shoulders down her back to her hips, every place my hands touch eliciting a small moan of approval. I step in close, pressing my front to her back while my hands wrap around to cup her breasts. She braces herself, both palms pressed flat against the wall. I slide my hand up to her neck, her chin, and cup her jaw, twisting just her face to meet mine. I push my tongue deep into her mouth, and she welcomes it with an eager thrust of her own.

  My other hand slides down her belly to between her legs. “Open.”

  She follows my instructions and widens her legs so I can get between them.

  “Tilt your hips.”

  She does.

  “Little more.”

  Pushing against the wall, she arches her back, tilts her hips and offers what I’ve been asking for.

  “Good girl.”

  I play, prime, and then in one long thrust, I’m in. One hand on her hip, the other wrapped around and filled with her breast, I move.

  She meets me stroke for stroke, putting pressure on the wall to leverage herself against me. “More.”

  My hand comes down on her ass. “Not yet.”

  She groans and drops her head forward. Her long wet hair is spread over the slope of her back, which leads to the dip and flare of her hips. My eyes set on our connection and the pressure builds. The sound of our breathing mixes with the steam and sits heavily in the air.

  I grind and roll against her, back and forth with deliberate strokes until her legs quake. I wrap my arm around her chest and pull her back to me, knowing that when it hits her, she’s going to lose her footing.

  “I’ve got you, babe.”

  Her head flies back and a long deep moan vibrates so deeply in her chest that I feel it against my arm. I hold her there until she comes down. Her head drops back to my shoulder and her body goes limp.

  “Hands back to the wall.”

  She tilts her blue eyes to me, and a tiny grin lights her sated face. “’Kay.”

  I lift one eyebrow and she giggles. Fuck, this woman is cute as hell, sexy as shit, and breaking me down with every flutter of her long lashes.

  She resumes her position, and I move slowly until she’s backing up to chase me down. Her back dips, arching to take me in completely.

  “That’s it, baby.”

  It doesn’t take long before I’m walking the line. I try to slow down, prolong my completion, but the sound of her moans is impossible to ignore. She twists her neck to look back at me, those big eyes half covered by sex-hazed lids. Our eyes locked, her teeth pull at that full bottom lip and the visual hits me in an erotic assault.

  I power into her again and fold forward to growl into her neck. Perfection. My legs go wobbly, but I resist the urge to drop as the aftershocks roll through my body. Fuckin’ hell, this woman.

  Wrapping both arms around her waist, I pull her back to my chest, keeping us connected.

  “That was beautiful.” Her arm comes up to reach behind my neck and hold me to her.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Her breath hitches, and she goes tense in my arms before she relaxes again. “I’m on the pill. Just in case you’re wondering.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “Been in your bathroom, babe.”

  “You snooped!” She smacks me playfully on the forearm.

  “I find it fucking hilarious that you leave shit out all over the place and when people see it you accuse them of snooping.”

  “I didn’t leave them out!”

  “They were right by your sink.”

  “Oh, well that’s probably true.”

  “You good?” I back away at her nod, and she shivers.

  Finishing up our shower, I wrap Eve in a towel before grabbing my own. “I’ll grab you a shirt to sleep in.”

  “Oh, um . . . I’m staying the night?”

  “Not unless you don’t want to.” A hollow cramp aches in my gut. What the fuck is that?

  “I thought maybe I should go home.”

  The cramp gets worse. “Why exactly would you think that?”

  She drops her gaze and picks at the towel. “I don’t know. I guess I just don’t want you getting sick of me too soon.”

  Is she fucking crazy?

  I cross to her and tilt her chin to get her eyes. “Babe, what you just gave me in that shower . . . You think I’ll ever get sick of you?”

  “Oh, so . . . it’s about the sex. I mean that’s cool if it—”

  “No, it’s about you. You give it to me the way I like, listen when I need you to listen, but fight me when I need you to fight me. And I fuckin’ love it when you fight
me, babe. I’m thinking I’d like to get in there while you’re pissed at me. Watch you come unglued while I’m buried deep.”

  Her eyes slide closed. “Damn.”

  “You want that too.”

  “I do.”

  “Spend the night with me, Eve. I’ll pick a fight with you in the morning.”

  She bursts into laughter, and the sound loosens something in my chest, making it, I don’t know, lighter.

  That’s what Eve does. She makes everything a little lighter, even when she’s being a pain in the ass, and I dig that about her. I’ve lived a lot of my life under the heavy weight of failure—as a father, a husband, and a fighter—and then this girl breezes in all shit talk and ’tude, and fuck if she doesn’t lift some of that weight.

  Twenty-Three

  Eve

  Waking up jobless isn’t as bad when I get to do it in Cameron’s bed. I’m tucked to the front of his body, his big arm heavy over my waist, and everything seems hopeful from here.

  The newly risen sun barely filters in through the thick wooden blinds. It must be early. I turn my head to the clock and groan. It’s early.

  After a few minutes of staring, sleep doesn’t come, and I push out from under his arm. He rolls and I take a minute to admire his back. I have no idea how often this guy works out, but he’s clearly friendly with the inside of a weight room.

  In nothing but one of Cameron’s tees, I tiptoe out into the hallway and softly close the door behind me. Maybe I can whip up another breakfast masterpiece. It would be a good way to apologize to Ryder after the way his dad treated him last night. If he’s even here.

  I dig through the kitchen and pull out some bacon, eggs, and a few veggies for omelets. The ones I make are never as pretty as the pictures, but they taste pretty good. As quietly as I can, I find an empty bowl, a cutting board, and a knife.

  With the lack of distractions in the quiet house, a vision from last night assaults my mind: Cameron standing in the doorway looking every bit the predator and ready to kill. My insides clench at how his jealousy hit me in very private and personal places. It made my stomach flutter and my skin flush with the excitement.