Breathless (Players to Men)

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  I stared at him, my body suddenly too warm, I seemed to have lost my speech capabilities as images of his mouth on me, plagued me. I must have nodded, because he smiled and turned back to Peter.

  I inhaled a deep, shaky breath as I picked Iris up and set her on the slide again. Honestly, I had no idea how to react to Max, and felt like a gauche schoolgirl. Devyn didn’t flirt or have wicked banter rolling off his tongue. He was more the serious type.

  An hour later, Max thankfully hadn’t said anything else to cause my faithless body to wave a flag in surrender. We walked back to the apartment, eating ice cream—Max’s treat. Iris’ tiny green tee was a mess, smeared with the chocolatey, creamy confection. Peter clung to Max’s hand, licking his cone and chatting up a storm about Spiderman. “He likes ice cream, a lot.”

  “Who?” Max asked.

  “Spiderman.” Peter sighed as if at a loss that Max couldn’t understand this simple logic.

  I laughed and explained. “Whatever Peter likes, Spiderman does too.”

  “Right.”

  “Lemme lick yours.” Peter yanked at Max’s hand. “Lemme—lemme, please!”

  “Here ya go.” He held out his mint-flavored cone. Peter took two licks. “Me, me,” Iris demanded, grabbing it from her brother.

  “You seem comfortable with kids,” I said, watching Iris demolish his ice cream.

  “There was quite a school of them in the village where I lived in Peru. Followed me everywhere. Hard to avoid the ankle-biters,” he teased.

  I rolled my eyes, and as we continued up the road, my mind drifted to his comment, “I only hope your life’s better.” Was it really as bad as those few words made me think it was? Nothing showed on his face while he listened to Peter’s chatter. And, as if sensing my stare, amused green eyes met mine.

  “So, Logan, ready for a more serious date?” His tone lowered. “We can have desert after, lots of licking and sucking…only it wouldn’t be ice cream.”

  Shaking my head wryly, my face burning, I got rid of the ice cream Iris no longer wanted, along with my half-eaten one, and cleaned her messy face. Discarding the used tissues in a dumpster, I realized I enjoyed this playful side of Max. Yes, he had a wicked tongue, and he seemed determined to get under my skin, but he was fun. Devyn had been far too serious—and like being doused with cold water, my happy mood dissipated.

  Thinking of Max in this way was a sure trip to disaster. He was young and still enjoying life.

  I had commitments. Bills. And a painting career which seemed to be going nowhere. This was my reality. I had to get myself out of this rut and focus.

  Chapter Four

  Ila

  I gratefully entered my quiet apartment after a hectic workday, and Ray dashed out. “Hey, sis, I’m off to Denise’s—oh, and the washing machine’s getting fixed—yay!” And she vanished like an apparition.

  It was? Thank God. One less thing to worry about. How Ray had managed to get Mr. Wong here this fast, I had no idea. Didn’t care. I was just happy I didn’t have to lug our heavy bag to the laundromat again.

  I’d hardly seen Max since the trip to the park two days ago. It was my doing. I’d been busy and spent most of my time in my studio. However, in the evenings, he’d disappeared and hadn’t returned until well past midnight. I knew because I always listened for Ray’s return when she worked late. My stomach knotted at the thought of where he could have gone—or whom he could have been with.

  God. I rubbed a hand over my face, I really needed to step out of this barren life I led and start dating, have a damn one-night stand, anything to block out a certain too-young, inked blond taking up space in my thoughts. It was just as well I’d decided to put some distance between us.

  Rolling my sore shoulders, I headed for the kitchen to check on Mr. Wong. As I dropped my bag on the counter, a muffled curse came from the laundry room. I hurried over. “Mr. Wong—” The words dried up in my throat.

  The man hunkered near the machine looked nothing like the rotund Mr. Wong, nor did our plumber work with his shirt off. Thank God. The guy tinkering with my machine was the very person I was trying to avoid.

  In his crouched position, Max’s jeans slid low, revealing his black boxers with a designer label on the waistband. He didn’t turn at my mistaken use of Mr. Wong’s name. Muscles slipped and slid beneath the tattoos on his back and biceps as he worked on the washing machine. The urge to stroke those flexing muscles, to touch him, took hold. Clearly, I was losing my mind, and my darn body seemed to take pleasure in reminding me that I was still alive.

  “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” I forced myself to concentrate on why I’d darted over in the first place.

  “It will hold for a while,” Max said, ignoring my question. “The machine should work now. But you need to get a plumber to check it out soon.”

  “Only if we abduct Mr. Wong,” I muttered. “You know about fixing washing machines?”

  Unfolding all six-feet-three-or-four inches of his sculpted, tattooed body, he picked up his tote and dropped it on the machine. “I read the manual. It seemed simple enough.”

  He still didn’t look at me as he hauled out a bundle of clothes and dumped the load into the drum before I could tell him about sorting the colors. Since he didn’t seem to have any lights, I remained silent.

  Moments later, the sound of water rushing into the metal drum filled the quiet. He pulled out a gray, very creased t-shirt from the bag and turned. He frowned at his bruised knuckles.

  “Let me see that.” I grasped his hand and studied the bloody scrapes. “What did you do, punch the thing into obedience?”

  When he didn’t answer, I looked up and got caught in the intensity of his stare, as if he were memorizing every inch of my face. I dropped his hand. He moved closer, and I found myself with the machine at my back and his warm body in front of me. He didn’t touch me, yet I was held there, helpless. Hypnotized.

  “And this…” he said softly, “is why no matter how much you hide, this thing between us will always draw us together.”

  My mouth opened and shut. Words eluded me. His hand came up, and his thumb slowly caressed my lower lip. My breath caught. “Logan—”

  “That wound should be seen to,” I blurted, pressed past his warm body, and fled to the kitchen, feeling as if I’d run a mile. My movements jerky, I pulled out the first-aid box from the sink cupboard and dropped it on the counter.

  He walked into the kitchen. His bag landed on the floor with a loud thud.

  I dug through the box and found what I needed. Avoiding his gaze, I said, “Let me see that.”

  Tossing his tee on the counter, he held out his hand. “Knock yourself out.” His terse tone held an edge of frustration.

  It was a struggle to focus on my task with him so close. I swabbed the wound with disinfectant, put a Band-Aid on it then tossed the used cotton ball in the trash. With his brooding stare on me, I scrambled for something to do and pulled out my wallet from my satchel.

  He grabbed my wrist like a striking asp, expression furious. “Don’t.”

  “You fixed the washing machine—”

  “I taped a fucking pipe. Any idiot could do that.” His anger licked at me, raw and furious.

  “Sorry,” hovered on my lips, but too rattled to say anything, I tugged my arm free and dropped my purse on the counter.

  God, I was making a mess of everything.

  “What is it about you?” he asked, leaning against the counter, arms folded. Anger banked. “You slap down every friendly overture I make, and yet I can’t seem to keep away.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about? I don’t slap anyone down.” I put the first-aid kit away.

  Low, disbelieving laughter sent goosebumps skating over my skin. “Come on, Logan, at least quit lying to yourself. You only spoke to me because I fixed your washing machine, then you wanted to pay me as if I were some skivvy. I walk in anywhere you are, and you put up those prickly barriers as if afraid I’ll be
all over you. I don’t get it. You’re friendly with other men—like your client. But not me. Why?”

  Because it terrifies me, this hold you seem to have over me.

  Shutting the cupboard door, I straightened and settled for, “You’re imagining things. You forget we spent the afternoon with Peter and Iris. We spoke.”

  “You felt safe because the kids were a barrier,” he countered, pulling on his tee. “Once I told you I wanted you, you hid in your studio. Whenever our paths crossed the last two nights, you took off as if I were Hannibal Lecter. True, I’m dying to eat you, just not in his way.”

  My face must have matched my cherry-red top. It was all I’d thought of since he said those things to me. “You spent those two nights in the bar,” I shot back.

  “I would have asked you to join me had I believed for a second you’d come.” His gaze lowered to my lips then drifted up to meet my eyes. My tummy flopped at his sensual stare. “Would you?”

  This was heading into dangerous grounds.

  “No. I’m on a deadline with a client’s work. Uh, thanks for fixing the machine.” I pivoted, grabbed my purse from the counter, and shoved it in my bag. Truth was, I had no idea how to handle a guy like him. He drew me like an irresistible flame, and I didn’t want to get burned again. I’d barely survived Devyn. Hell, I was still struggling to move past him.

  “Logan?”

  “What?” I spun around, and my heart nearly leaped out my throat. He was standing so close.

  “You’re trying really hard to dislike me. So I might as well give you a reason to.” He slipped a hand around my nape, and before I realized what was happening, his mouth lowered to mine. And then he was kissing me. Not hard and demanding like I’d expected, but tenderly.

  His lips glided over mine in a kiss so sensual, my resistance melted. My knees caved. His arms tightened around me, and I could feel every inch of his hard body pressed against mine. His tongue teased the seam of my mouth. He sucked on my lower lip as if tasting, memorizing me for an endlessly long moment and desire surged. A tiny moan escaped me.

  Max made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a hum and a growl. It was incredibly hot. Then he pressed his mouth to mine once more and raised his head. I blinked dazedly at him, caught in a maelstrom of emotions. His thumb caressed my moist bottom lip—a touch I felt all the way to my damp, achy core.

  “The next time my mouth is on yours, it won’t be for a simple taste, and it won’t just be on these lips either,” he said softly. “I will take everything you have, then I will demand more. Later, dancing girl.”

  He picked up his tote from the floor and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me shaken to my very bones.

  I stared at the empty doorway, a hand pressed to my churning stomach. Why had I thought that I could keep him at arm’s length? Max played by his own rules, ones I realized I had no hope of beating—he wanted me, and nothing would stop him, unless I accepted this attraction between us or moved far away. But I couldn’t do that either.

  My mind in turmoil, I made my way to my studio. The strong smell of turpentine and oils greeted me. From the undraped bay window, daylight streamed inside, giving me the natural lighting I sometimes needed. A blue futon sat at one end of the room, and on the other, my canvases and easels waited. A shelf along the wall held rows of paint tubes and two wooden containers with various sizes and types of brushes.

  My cell rang. When I saw the name on the display, the daze Max had left me in dissipated, and a smile took over. I hit answer and speaker at once and set the phone on the table. “Mom, how are you?” I asked, setting up for Gus’s appointment. I selected the oil colors and brushes I would need. “Did the visit to the doc go well?”

  “I’m fine, La, stop fussing,” she scolded. “Are you coming home with Ray next weekend? It’s the fair, and you know how Ray and y…your dad are about these charity-driven events.”

  At the slight hesitation and slur in her voice, my chest ached. She’d been through so much in the last couple of years. The second stroke she’d suffered two years ago had taken its toll. Therapy helped. But she’d never be the same again.

  Ray and I tried to go home as often as we could. Recently, with Kate’s deadlines, I hadn’t made the trip. But this visit…it meant spending time at the fair, and I wasn’t ready for that.

  “I’m not sure, Mom. I have three window designs to finish—”

  “Every time you’ve b…been home, you’ve only stayed for a few hours. I know it’s hard being here, with what Devyn did, but you have to put the past behind you, d…darling. Get closure and live again. Meet new people.”

  “I know...” I inhaled deeply, biting my thumb nail. My mind drifted to Max. Hastily, I shut him out. “I’ll try, Mom.”

  And as she chattered on about the ladies group she belonged to, another truth hit me. Despite the knocks life had handed her since she’d turned twenty, being diagnosed with type one diabetes and high blood pressure, then recently, the strokes that took their toll, she was determined to live her life.

  Unlike me.

  After Mom had ended the call, I logged into my bank account on my cell. And made the payment, a measly two thousand dollars. At this rate, the outstanding balance—a quarter of a million—would take decades to pay off.

  My stomach heaved. I prayed this friend of Pierre’s who wanted to hire me would be the answer to my financial troubles so I could ease the burden on the people I loved.

  Max

  Seated in the back of Mulligan’s Bar, Jack glowered at his fourth or fifth beer. No point in asking him what was wrong. It could only be home, but he never said shit unless he wanted to.

  War was sucking face with some girl in the back. At least he’d found a way to kill time until his suspension was over. We’d met in junior high, when his fists came crashing into my face, missing the dickhead he was aiming for. It was just before the accident. Hell, I never walked away from a fight. I welcomed it. And we were both slapped with detention. Later, I found out the football team assholes were messin’ around with the new hockey guy.

  War and I banded together, Jack jumped in. Yeah, we settled the score with those dumbasses. Bruised, bleeding, and victorious, we’d become friends, and had cemented the deal with our first ink. Me, a demon ram with the requisite curly horns for my star sign. I was rockin’ high on adrenaline and way cool.

  I swallowed another mouthful of Heineken as my restlessness hiked. Ever since I’d kissed Logan this afternoon, I’d been unable to stop thinking about her. Not that I ever could, I thought darkly.

  When she was around, I didn’t feel so dead inside. For a brief moment, she’d even made me forget the shit in my life.

  That day with the kids, she was friendly, more open, but the moment it was only us, her walls went back up. Frowning, I pushed the nutshells on the table around with my beer bottle. Why was she so wary around me? No matter my teasing or how much I wanted her, I wouldn’t force myself on her…

  Or was it just guys in general? What the hell had her ex done?

  Only one person could answer that. I scanned and found my target at the bar. Ray was working tonight. People got out of my way as I headed for her. Good. My visible skin art always had them reacting that way. Sure, they were of the dark, scary sort. But they were damn fine ones. Hell, the musical notes should sweeten the whole outlook. Whatever.

  “Hey.” Ray grinned when she saw me. “You want a refill?”

  I shook my head, changing my mind about grilling her. Ray was about as communicative as a damn tree stump when it came to her sister. Beside, she’d warned me off. Not interested in more of the same, I said, “Lend me your cell for a sec, I need to make a call. My batteries are down.” A lie.

  “Sure.” She handed her phone over and disappeared with her order. I went through her contacts and then rang Logan. She answered on the third ring. “Ray—” At her breathy voice, my tense stomach muscles eased. “I can’t talk now.”

  “It’s me. Are you done wit
h the silver fox?”

  “Max?” Her tone turned husky with surprise. “Yep, a while ago.”

  “Good. Get a cab and come over to Mulligan’s.” I’ll find a way to make her talk to me.

  “I can’t…” Another pause. “I have to go, Charli needs me.” She hung up.

  She was out with someone else? Anger buzzing through me, the urge to put my fist through the counter took hold. My fingers fisted around Ray’s cell, I headed for my friends.

  “He won’t do it.” War’s slurring tone finally pierced the haze in my skull. He was back, but there was no sign of his groupie. With no idea what the hell my two drunken friends were having a pissing contest about—nor giving a shit—thoughts of getting smashed took over.

  “Max—” Jack thumped my back, irritating the shit outta me. “Chaos here insists you lost your balls after your hiatus from life and won’t walk over there and play that old baby.”

  “Stakes?”

  “You move back in with me.”

  “No.” Like I needed a damn babysitter. I signaled Ray for a refill then glanced to where Jack pointed, half expecting to see some geriatric chick—he’d done shit like that before—not that I’d back down from it. I’d buy the woman a drink, talk for a bit, and leave. Instead, I spied the baby grand piano parked against the wall in the back, just off the bar. I hadn’t played anything in over four months. Maybe music would ease the frustration inside me. I cut Jack a flat look. “I can play anything. And since you’re so interested, my balls are just fine.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he muttered, nodding to the brunette at the next table, who was now furtively watching us. She’d given me the look a while ago. Normally, I’d nod, and she’d be over in a flash, but she didn’t interest me. The one who did—the one who I wanted—was with fucking Charlie. Not me.

  Ray appeared with a plate piled high with spicy wings and set it in front of War. She set my beer down.