Blackmailed by the Hero

by Julie Particka

  So she had gone to work on the dripping pipe.

  And it turned into a geyser. She’d had no clue. None. The only answer had been towels, and she was pretty much out of those now that she’d used the last one to dry off.

  It would have been bad enough if the super had shown to repair the leak, but it had to be Dante racing in to her rescue. One more guy determined to fix things. To make everything right. To take care of her.

  To look ridiculously smoking hot as he scooted a few inches under her kitchen sink. He’d taken off his shirt while she was gone, and for the first time since running into him again, she had a perfect view of the body she’d lusted after. With him still twisting a wrench on one of the pipes, he wasn’t even going to notice her staring. Or drooling.

  The muscles of his arms bulged as he worked the tool. She’d asked once if he’d ever measured them, and he’d only laughed. The one thing she knew for sure was his arm was bigger around than most guys’ necks were. And both arms were covered with ink. Most of his tattoos she’d seen before, but she liked the way he’d worked the new one on his chest into his shoulder design.

  He had told her the multihued fire reaching up from his elbow was the first piece he’d gotten—shortly after he started wrestling as the Inferno. The flames licked the design above where it looked as if his shoulder had ragged gashes torn through the skin, revealing gears and mechanics running underneath. Those were his older ink.

  Since then, he’d let the mechanized theme carry over his chest. Rather than slashes through skin, this was displayed as an open wound—a clockwork heart beating for all to see. The heart bore a jagged line through it, as if the craftsman who’d made Dante had pieced him together from mismatched bits. Man and machine forced into one body.

  Vicky frowned. There was another new one below that, right at the edge of the mechanics. It looked like a word, but Dante had twisted away, and she couldn’t quite make it out. She needed to know what it said. There was absolutely no logic to it, but the desire had her feet moving before her brain kicked into gear.

  “See something you like?”

  Vicky jerked her gaze up to Dante’s face. He’d scooted out from under the sink while she’d been looking, and there was no hiding her appreciation now—she could feel her nipples straining against her bra and poking happily against the fabric of her wet tank top. “I…was just wondering if you think it’s fixed now.”

  Something strange flickered in his eyes as he smiled at her, but all he said was, “Only one way to be sure.”

  He twisted the knobs under the sink, and the sound of water moving again made her wince, but there was no more spray. She knelt down on the towels and peeked—dry as dry could be. He’d even mopped up the water that had been in there earlier. “Thank you.”

  Grunting, Dante pushed to his feet and laid the wrench on the counter. “Not a problem. I can be a rather helpful guy to have around if given the chance.”

  “I’m starting to see that.” As she stood, he was drying his hands on the small kitchen towel, the motion moving his biceps, triceps, and lats in ways that made her want to rub her legs together until she could shove him out the door and have a little one-on-one time with BOB. She strode quickly into the living room, desperate for space. It didn’t do any good—her imagination followed her.

  And Dante was only a step behind. “Any chance there’s an unsoaked towel I can use before I head home to change?”

  Vicky tried to shake off her thoughts, but moving on from his muscles only brought her to his soul-stealing eyes. Her mouth went dry with how close he stood, and how close to naked he was. It would take less than a minute to have him undressed and in her bed.

  But she wasn’t supposed to want that. Bad news, Vicky. Bad news.

  “Vicky?”

  The instant his full lips moved, sounding out her name, she stopped caring about bad news, or any news at all. She stopped caring about BOB or the wet towels on the floor or the fact that her super could walk in at any minute.

  After five years of waiting, of wondering—she just wanted his mouth on hers.

  She reached out, her fingers tangling in his hair, and crushed her lips against his. It wasn’t like the kiss outside Mortensen’s house. This wasn’t fraught with anything but need, and damn, did she need it. He only hesitated for a second before kissing her back with as much hunger as she felt. The next thing she knew, she was against the wall as his lips carved a path down her neck.

  Yes. Yes. And holy hell, yes.

  The single word was on repeat in her skull. She wanted this. Needed it.

  Her fingernails scraped against his chest, clawing over his mechanical heart on the way to something she already knew was all flesh. She fought with the button on his wet jeans, yanking until she was sure they’d have to cut his pants off. Then his hands were there, too, opening the button and zipper as if they’d just been sealed, waiting for his okay.

  She slid her hand under the fabric, shoving it down as she reached for him. He was so hard just touching him made her moan, and as if he’d forgotten about her mouth until the sound, suddenly his lips were on hers again.

  There was nothing but the sensation of Dante. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, his cock…

  Until the door opened. “Hello? Anyone here? I came to take a look at that plumbing issue.”

  And like that, the spell was shattered.

  What the hell was she doing? Dante was off-limits. Even if he wasn’t her brother’s best friend. Even if he wasn’t bad news. Even if he hadn’t blackmailed her to go out with him after she’d crawled into bed with him by accident.

  He was a client.

  He could destroy her.

  Vicky yanked her hand out of his pants and ducked under his arm, headed for the door. “My friend came over and took care of it. But if it starts leaking again, is there a plumber I should be calling directly?”

  The few minutes talking to the superintendent cooled her blood and got her brain under control. When she turned around, however, she was still faced with a shirtless and sexy as hell Dante.

  She bit her lip for a full ten-second count before she said, “You should probably go.”

  “Vicks…” He stepped toward her with his hand outstretched like he was going to brush it along her cheek or her arm or do something else to soothe away the stress she’d heard in her own voice.

  “No. This was a mistake. I’m sorry. We need to work together and we can’t… I don’t want… This can’t happen.”

  His hand dropped to his side, and he let out a sigh so deep it felt painful. “Why? Just tell me that.”

  Because I’ll let you save me? Because I haven’t found my way yet, and you’ll just make me get lost again? Because I don’t know up from down when I’m with you?

  “Because you’re a client, Dante, and besides that, I don’t know you anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did.” And that thought was the one she knew would keep her up tonight. “Please, just go. We’ll pretend this never happened and start on the party tomorrow.”

  Jaw tight, Dante brushed past her and yanked open the door. He stood there for a minute, staring at her before he said, “You know, Vicks, I might be an actor by trade, but I’m not sure I can pull off pretending that never happened. I don’t think you can, either.”

  Then he was gone. She sagged against the wall and raked her hands through her damp hair, certain that no matter how right he might be, she had to try.

  Chapter Seven

  Dante had left Vicky alone the rest of the day, only texting late that night to ask when and where she wanted to meet for party planning. He’d planned to nudge her about their dating agreement, just to see where things really stood between them, but she saved him the trouble by mentioning it herself.

  I haven’t forgotten what I agreed to regarding dating you, but public only from now on. There will be no more surprising me at my apartment.

  He wasn’t about to argue, considering she’d given him more than he expected after wh
at had gone down at her place. Still, he had to scramble for somewhere to go, since he’d thought she’d tell him to stick his threats so far up his ass he’d be spitting them out. The one thing he had going for him was she’d made it pretty clear she wanted to get to know him. Lunch at the diner had been part of his past, but they needed more of that kind of time together before there could ever be anything deeper.

  He’d been planning a sunset walk on the beach to talk, but then he’d gotten a call that put beach-going on the back burner. Not wanting to lose the extra time with Vicky, though, he’d sent a text asking her to wear comfortable clothes and sneakers to their meeting.

  They’d stowed her binder and laptop in his trunk and had been driving on the 405 for a while when she said, “So, when do I get to find out where we’re headed?”

  Debate over the wisdom of what to say lasted only a few seconds. “We’re going to see my little brother.”

  Her brows wrinkled in consternation, and she twisted in her seat to look at him. “You have a brother?”

  “Yes. Well, no.” He swept a hand through his hair and let the strands flop over his forehead again. “Big Brothers Big Sisters brother. His name’s Juan, and he’s almost eighteen and not so little anymore.” At long last he pulled into the exit lane for Venice Boulevard.

  Still seeming confused, Vicky said, “And you want to ask him to the party? We’re not at that point yet.”

  “I wish.” The breath he blew out was one of remorse. Things had been going really well for Juan lately, so Dante hadn’t come around as much. He should have known better. “His mother called. Juan skipped school today. She’s worried.”

  “Oh.” The single syllable said more than if she’d babbled the rest of the drive. It contained half a dozen questions, along with what were likely a few moments of judgment.

  “I debated asking you for a rain check on today, but we already missed party planning yesterday and you need your paycheck. Besides, you said you wanted to get to know me.” He shrugged as he pulled to a stop, the seat belt cutting across his shoulder in a way that hurt. Rubbing at the old injury, he gave Vicky a wan smile. “This is part of me.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked as he turned north toward Venice—the hitch in her voice said she knew the area’s reputation. This wasn’t a walk on the beach, not by a long shot.

  “I didn’t grow up here, but home was like this in a lot of ways. Houses might have been a little bigger, but they were more beat-up. And the gangs were just as active. Drugs, prostitution, guns—I grew up with all of it.”

  “With it? Or with it?”

  The implication was clear—was she going to regret wanting to know? “A guy down the street saw a bunch of gangbangers talking to me one day when I was about twelve. Came out and chased them off with a fucking rake.” He laughed, seeing it again in his head. It had been his crossroads, that moment, and he’d never been more sure he’d made the right choice about anything in his life. “Never thought those guys would have been scared away by something like a rake, but Mr. Corbitt had more than a touch of crazy in his eyes. I remember growing up, people had said he’d been in Vietnam and came home with multiple pieces of metal buried under his skin. The stories said he refused to let the doctors take them out. That if he’d survived being shot, he could survive keeping the souvenirs.”

  “Sounds like an interesting guy. Was any of it true?”

  Dante drove slowly, looking for a familiar face…or someone jogging in a vain effort to outrun their demons. “Everything except that he didn’t have the slugs taken out. He did keep them, though—in a jar on his desk. He said they reminded him to be thankful he was alive.” There. Juan. Right out in the open with his damn basketball. Dante pulled the car toward a free parking spot. It was tight, but he could make it. “Mr. Corbitt took me aside and told me a real man didn’t need a gang. A real man made something of himself. He taught me how to fight—boxing, karate…wrestling. In a way, he became my gang. I didn’t need those assholes. I had the scariest guy around watching my back. He’s the reason I am who I am and not…something else.”

  She was unbuckling her seat belt the instant he threw the car into park. “Do you ever talk about him in interviews? I’ve never heard this story before.”

  “No,” Dante said, his hands choking the wheel as he thought about what had happened to Mr. Corbitt. Like Juan, Dante had his own demons, and he held them as close as he could so he never forgot that it was his job to do the right thing—rather than the easy thing. “Some of my past isn’t for public consumption.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” She laid a hand on his arm and smiled.

  She couldn’t know how badly talking about it at all hurt, and he didn’t want her to. Getting to know him really meant she wanted to see all the good stuff. The now stuff. The past was ugly and would only get in the way. He’d give her enough to understand, but deep down, he was sure she’d never want more than that. More was just…messy. “You wanted to know. But he’s the reason I mentor Juan. I wanted to be that for someone else.”

  “Hence this side trip.”

  Nodding, he jerked open his door and climbed out of the car. By the time he rounded to Vicky’s side, he’d chased away the ghost of Lee Corbitt and could deal with Juan. Or he could try to. At least the kid was alone. That was something.

  He took Vicky’s hand in his and clicked the alarm on the car. Not that it would stop anyone really determined, but at least he’d get a heads-up if and when it got jacked. The steady thump-thump-thump of the basketball was barely interrupted by the occasional swish. With all the dribbling, Juan wasn’t out here for a pickup game or even to practice. He was thinking—hard.

  Dante didn’t call out; he didn’t want to startle the kid. Damn, Juan was looking skinny. And scruffy. He needed a good meal and a fucking haircut. Rounding to the other side of the basketball court, he approached Juan head-on. “School give you the day off?”

  The ball paused, the sudden quiet jarring. “Fuck. Mom called you, didn’t she? I told her I had shit going on.”

  “What kind of shit?” Dante tried to keep his voice even, but he heard the note of accusation sift in anyway.

  “Aw, man. Not that.” At an arched brow, Juan thrust the ball toward Dante, catching him in the chest. “A scout came to school.”

  “A scout?” Dante dribbled awkwardly.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Huffing out a breath, Juan held his hands toward the ball.

  Dante bounced it off the blacktop, but before it continued on its way to Juan, Vicky caught it. The way Juan’s gaze shot toward her was borderline accusatory, like she shouldn’t be there. And maybe she shouldn’t have been.

  Then she spun the ball on a fingertip and gave a crooked smile. “How about instead of an interrogation, you and I play for answers?”

  “Play?” The aggression disappeared, replaced with an amused light.

  “Horse. If I make a shot, you have to fill him in”—she cocked her head toward Dante—“with a piece of the puzzle. If you get a shot, you can ask him anything.”

  Oh, that could end badly.

  “What about you? Can I ask you?”

  Before Dante could advise her that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, she said, “Sure.”

  Vicky dribbled up to the faded free-throw line, and the ball soared into the net. Juan came toward her with the ball, but she wouldn’t budge. “You owe an answer first.”

  “I didn’t miss yet.”

  “That wasn’t the deal. The horse part only determines when we’re done. Faster someone loses, the faster the game’s over. So what do you want more? Your pride or your privacy?” She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded toward Dante.

  Grumbling something in Spanish, Juan spat, “A basketball scout came to school, said he’d heard things about me.” He waved a hand toward the free-throw line. Vicky moved out of the way, and he made the shot as easily as she had. The ball hit the post and bounced back toward him. He thrust it at Vicky. “First q
uestion, who the hell is she?”

  “Parole officer?” At Juan’s glare, Dante held his hands up. “It was a joke. She’s Evan’s sister and a friend.”

  “I’m also his party planner, but he likes to forget I have a job.” Vicky stepped outside the three-point line and made another shot.

  “Lady, you’re going to have to try harder at some point or this is going to get really boring.”

  “Out of practice, hotshot. Give a girl a minute.” She grabbed the ball, leaving him time to talk.

  Slowly, over the course of many shots both made and missed, Vicky got Juan to admit he’d been recruited by a college. One on the East Coast. “Not sure how I feel about leaving Mom here on her own.”

  Dante shook his head. He knew Juan’s mother and how hard she worked to keep her kids in school and out of trouble. A college education for him would be her dream come true. “Talk to her instead of worrying her. She thinks you’re looking to join a gang.”

  “Isn’t that what college is? A huge gang of smart people?”

  Dante shook his head. “If that’s what you really believe, maybe you don’t deserve that scholarship. Maybe you want to stay here your whole life. Be the guy who hustles tourists for money on the beach? Or is it worse than that?”

  “Fuck you, man.” Juan ripped the ball from Vicky’s grasp, rushed the net, and slammed it through. “Last question.” He pointed at her. “Why the fuck are you here with him?”

  For the first time since they’d arrived, Dante turned his attention to her. Juan would either take what he said to heart or not, but she’d not only seen this side of his life, she’d joined right in. And she’d been pretty amazing. Mr. Corbitt would have been as impressed as Dante was, maybe more. Now, her cheeks were slightly flushed from the game, and her hair was sticking to her neck. She gave a gentle shake of her head. “I don’t really know, but I think I might be starting to figure it out.”

  …