“Here’s your feeding trough.”
Giving her a drunken smirk, he snagged her by the waist and hugged her with one arm. “Thanks, sweetness. I’m starving.”
She snorted and pushed his hand away. “Then stop boozing and eat.”
He grunted, diving into his food.
“Bug, another.” Jack lifted his empty bottle.
“I’m gonna punch you in the face you call me that again.”
He grinned. “Beer first.”
Before she made good on her threat, I handed Ray her cell. “The piano works?”
Still scowling, she gave the instrument a fleeting look. “Yeah, it does. Jude bought it for his wife, but she walked out on him with his best friend, so it stays here. He says it’s to remind him of the perfidy of women.” She rolled her eyes.
Blocking out whatever comments she made about men deserving to be on the receiving end, I made my way to the piano. Opening it, I ran my fingers over the keys. All sounded in tune, so I pulled out the stool. The noise level in the room lowered a little, but I didn’t care about chatting drunks or the blaring TV.
I played something easy at first, one of my old compositions, and as the music spilled out, a soothing calm descended over me. The room hushed and faded away. Music filled my head until it was just the piano and me…
When the last notes faded, a thunderous applause reverberated through the bar, bringing me back fast. Pain jabbed the left side of my skull. Fuck! I rubbed my temple. I didn’t care about public approval. I’d just wanted to play, find some peace. Drawn back into the chasm of pain, I realized I should head back to the apartment, the quiet would ease me, but the idea didn’t appeal. She wasn’t there.
The emptiness back in spades, I weaved my way to my friends because reality sucked. She wasn’t with me but some asshole named Charlie.
Ila
It was long past two in the morning, when I finally left Charli and managed to get a cab and drag myself home. My head was spinning. Ugh, maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink. But Charli was so upset… I pulled out my key. Ray would be asleep. Max was downstairs, so I had to be really quiet, move with the stealth of a thief. I giggled at the thought.
Yup, I was totally wasted.
After several attempts at unlocking the door—the damn keyhole just wouldn’t stay still—I stumbled inside, knocking my shin into the side table. “Shit!” the curse flew out before I could stop myself.
A light clicked on. Hands grabbed my upper arms. I yelped and lashed out, hitting a warm chest. Then I saw who it was. “Hiya, Max.” I hiccupped. Oops.
“It’s nearly three.” His low tone held an undercurrent of anger and something else, something that even in my inebriated state I didn’t want to examine too closely. Because my body felt too warm being so close to him.
“You make enough noise to wake the dead.”
With one hand on his chest, I pushed away from him and carefully picked my way to the kitchen, determined not to fall flat on my face.
“I didn’t trip…” Darn, I needed a clever answer. Admitting I’d stumbled over my own feet wouldn’t work. It would only confirm any suspicion he had that I was drunk. I snorted. For some reason, walking and thinking at the same time was harder than I remembered. Ooh, I got it. The perfect response. I paused, faced him, and lifted my finger in the air as emphasis. “The table got in my way.”
But the brooding guy in front of me wasn’t amused. His hair was a tousled mess, heck, he was sending out all kinds of angry, frustrated vibes that were slowly netting me, sending goosebumps all over my skin, even my nipples tightened. I shuddered.
“Where were you?”
“Out with—” Wait a second. Who was he to question me? “It’s none of your business, I don’t question you, and you’ve been out every night since you got here.” The air was suddenly too warm, stifling. I pulled my coat off and tossed it on the counter next to him.
He folded his arms over his bare chest, his heated gaze sweeping over my short denim skirt, sleeveless, black, ribbed top, and the black wedges I wore. “Who, Logan?”
Flipping my hair away from my neck, I yanked open the fridge door and moaned in pleasure at the shock of icy air rushing over me. A growl reached me from behind.
“Ugh, you’re so crabby! I’m sorry I woke you, okay? Go, sleep. I’m going to bed. I just want a drink first. I’m so tired…”
“You’re drunk,” he retorted.
“Am not,” I grumbled. I got an ice-cold soda from the fridge, cracked the tab then faced him. A little of the booze cleared from my head, thanks to the cold air, but heck, I still felt a little unsteady, so I held onto the open door. Relenting, I finally answered his earlier question. “I was with Charli. We cleaned out her cheating boyfriend’s stash of really expensive tequila.” I grinned. “Then we had a bonfire.”
He went utterly still. “Charlie. A girl named Charlie?”
“Yep, Charlotte. My bestie. She finally ditched that dirt-bag.” I sipped my soda and bit back a moan of pleasure when the fizzy, sweet liquid hit my parched throat.
The tension lines around his sexy mouth eased, and damn, the tattoos all over his body were so hot.
“How many?”
I barely heard him, my gaze roaming over each piece of ink, especially his webbed one tangled with the demonic ram leading to his right nipple. I wanted to trace the entire artistry with my tongue right to his piercings then lick and suck the tiny nubs.
“Logan.” A stifled groan escaped him and he grabbed me by my upper arms. “How. Many. Drinks?”
“Huh?” I blinked and met his taut gaze. “Oh, the entire bottle.”
“And along with that?”
“Oh…” I thought back. “Hmm, we started off with a pitcher of margaritas, then Charli made the call, and yeah, the slanky answered, so we finished the Patrón. Then we burned all his clothes. That was fun.” I drank more soda.
“I’m sure it was.” Shaking his head, Max set me aside and crossed to the cupboard. He retrieved the bottle of Advil and handed me two. “Trust me, in the morning, you’ll be grateful you took these.”
Ignoring the pills in his hand, my mind in a whirl, I gently touched his piercing.
He went motionless. But I was too caught up in what I was doing to notice his reaction.
“Did it hurt?” I ran my fingertip over the barbell and the tiny male nipple pebbled.
“A little.”
“Then, why?”
“Why not?”
I blinked like an owl at his terse response, looked up at him, then gave in to the impulse and lightly caressed the tight lines of his bristly jaw. His lips tightened. Something dark flared in his green depths. He grasped my hand and pulled them off him. “Take the damn pills, Logan,” he said, tone gruff now.
“Okay, okay. You’re worse than Ray.” I swallowed the things with my soda, dropped the can down, and swayed. “Whoa!” I grabbed the counter so I didn’t faceplant.
Wonderfully strong arms swept me off my feet. “You’re wasted.”
“Am not,” I mumbled. Eyes closed, I nuzzled my face against his neck. “Mmm, you smell so gooood…you always do.”
A rough exhale escaped him as he climbed the stairs. Moments later, he settled me on the bed in my darkened room. I grasped his arm. “Kiss me, Max.”
Our kiss in my kitchen that wasn’t quite a kiss haunted me.
“You have no idea how much I want that, and I’ll probably want to kick my ass once I’m downstairs that I didn’t, but when I kiss you again, Logan, I want you sober and aware. I want it all.”
Why must he say all those things? Why did he have to be a nice guy now when I wanted to forget—forget how hard and lonely the past two years were, or what cheaters men are. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep.
He untied the laces at my ankles then pulled off my wedges. Then warm fingers briefly stroked my feet. Oh, that felt good. Covers came over me. “Good night, dancing girl.”
Why did he keep calli
ng me that? But I kind of liked it, and I liked his soft and tender tone.
Gentle hands brushed my hair away from my face. “You’re just as fascinating drunk as you are sober.” I heard the wry note in his low voice. Then he added quietly, “Why do you put up every barrier you can between us?”
I don’t want to be hurt again. And with you, I will.
Chapter Five
Ila
My back ached and my eyes burned. It was just past six the following evening, and I’d been painting for three hours straight.
“Same time tomorrow?” Gus asked as I walked him to my front door, flexing my stiff fingers.
“Yep.” After a quick goodbye, I headed for the kitchen and opened the fridge. With my stomach near collapsing, and since cooking would take too long, I grabbed a cup of Oreo pudding then frowned. Instead of the wilted lettuce and limp carrots I knew usually hibernated there, fresh juice, yogurts of various flavors, fruits, and veggies took up the space. I hadn’t done any shopping, so who—Max?
Probably. As I contemplated the changed status of my fridge, I grabbed a spoon, and before I shoveled the dessert into my mouth, an annoyingly big hand grasped my wrist, stopping me.
“There’s food on the way.” Max wrestled the pudding from my grip and put it in the fridge. Then stood there like a damn food guard. “You should eat a proper meal.”
Thoughts of asking him how much I owed him faded, and I scowled. “It is proper food, and I like it.”
His eyes gleamed, apparently thoroughly entertained by my grumpiness. “No, it’s not.”
Ray walked in and added her five cents worth. “If I didn’t feed her, she’d starve away or eat what she thinks contains all the important food groups.”
“Pudding does contain important energy-building nutrition. It’s all I need,” I muttered in self-defense.
My sister, the traitor, snorted. “Yeah, like sugar, fats, carbs, and more fat.”
Heat scoring my face, I cut Ray a dagger glare, which totally bounced off her thick hide. “You eat them, too.”
“And you complain. But I eat healthy most times.” A grin on her face, she pulled plates from the cupboard. “We’re having Thai. Max’s treat. Hopefully, it will be here soon. I’m famished.”
“Where were you the entire evening?” I asked her. Better than having my eating habits dissected.
“You missed me—how nice.” Ray gave me a one-arm hug before rushing off to the dining room with the plates. “I covered for one of the girls at the bar for a few hours, and then Max came by…”
As Ray continued talking from the other room, Max strolled closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Ugh. I was trying not to think about last night. “No. I was busy.”
He merely stared at me. Squirming a little, I sighed. “I think I disgraced myself with you.”
His lips quirked. “You don’t remember anything?”
“Do you recall stuff when you’re drunk?” I countered.
A shrug. “I’m usually too pissed to recall anything the next morning. Mostly, I don’t care, but I can tell you what happened if you’d like.”
Of course, he would.
Did I ask you to kiss me?
And at his teasing smile…eesh, no. Better I lived in ignorance. He was thoroughly enjoying whatever embarrassing thing I had done last night. I turned away.
“Chicken.” Amusement laced his voice.
Yeah, I was. I grabbed the silverware and walked into the dining room.
“Ila, about the fair—” Ray began.
“I can’t.” I dropped the cutlery for her to handle, stepped around Max, and escaped to the kitchen for the sodas.
“God, she can be so stubborn,” Ray grumbled. “Maximus, you’re coming, right?”
“I haven’t been invited.”
“You are my friend, I’m inviting you. Besides”—she raised her voice—“you’ll have fun, unlike some people, I might add. It’s a summer fair, and really awesome. Ila and I usually help out. Dad’s on the committee.”
Sighing, I grabbed the sodas from the fridge. At times, my sister could be as persistent as a bull terrier. I popped my drink and took a sip, then headed back to the dining room with the others.
“Where’s this happening?” Max asked as I left the other two sodas on the table.
“Millbrae, my hometown.”
“All right, count me in.”
My cell rang. Grateful for the interruption, I set my can down, snatched my phone off the sideboard, and answered.
“Ila Logan? Titus Connor. Pierre gave me your business card.”
Thank God! “One sec.” I was so glad I had a legitimate excuse to escape from the fair conversation. “It’s work.”
I headed for my studio to speak to Titus, aware of Max’s narrowed gaze following me.
Ten minutes later, clothes changed, I grabbed my coat and bag and hurried downstairs. “Ray, I’m meeting with a client.”
“Where?”
“At Pirate’s Cove in The Haight.”
Max walked out from the kitchen. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
He strolled closer, his gaze pinning mine. “You aren’t walking the streets alone this late in the evening.”
“I’m not, I’m taking a cab.”
His jaw angled in that inflexible jut I was coming to know. Ugh.
“Fine.” I blew out an exasperated breath and headed outside. He was making it so hard to stay apart, worrying about me…caring.
Max flagged down a cab. Moments later, as the vehicle merged into the traffic, he asked, “Why do you meet them at bars?”
“Because I don’t want strange men at my home unless they are genuine clients and their deposit checks have cleared.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
Did he think me mercenary? I cut him a quick look, but his expression remained inscrutable. Figured. When I wanted to know his thoughts, I couldn’t read him. “I don’t usually meet them at bars but at the Starbucks near us. That reminds me, what do I owe you for restocking the fridge?”
“You don’t.” It was said in a tone that allowed no argument and had me reluctantly saying thanks. And shutting up. I really couldn’t see him doing the shopping; it had to be Ray.
A short while later, we walked into Pirate’s Cove in Upper Haight. The smell of malt and spicy tacos permeated the air. The dimly lit, wooden interior added more to the intimate surroundings. Instantly, I spotted Titus. How could I miss the up-and-coming underwear model plastered on billboards and fashion magazines?
“He’s here.”
“Where?”
I nodded to the middle where every female eye was focused. Max slipped his hands into his jeans pockets, gaze fixed on Titus. A second passed before he nodded and walked off toward the bar.
Why I’d expected him to say something, I had no idea. Pulling my gaze away from him, blowing out a deep breath, I made my way to the table in the center of the place.
Titus looked up from signing a napkin. Deep blue eyes shifted to me. More cellphones flashed. A lock of dark brown hair fell over his brow. The guy was sleek and beautiful in a waif-like way, his pale features cut from marble.
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his fawning admirers. “Ila Logan?”
Thankfully, Pierre must have described me since he didn’t mistake me for another of his panting female fans.
“Yes.” I took the seat opposite him. The waiter approached, I ordered a V&T. As I set my purse to one side, Titus picked up his glass of water. “Thanks for meeting me. You come highly recommended.”
Really? While that was good to hear, especially for my business, Pierre had never seen my work. Not that I knew of.
I smiled politely. “Thanks.”
“How long have you been painting?” he asked, taking another sip of his water.
“Professionally, two years.” My gaze slid to Max. He had his cell pressed to his ear, a beer before him. As he spoke, he rubbed his brow. D
id he have a headache? Lines of strains bracketed his mouth. He appeared weary.
“That’s not very long, is it?” Titus said, pulling my attention back.
The waiter set my drink at my elbow. Nodding my thanks, I took a big gulp of my liquor and tried not to look at Max again. And failed. He dragged his fingers throw his hair as he continued with his call, his expression morphing into frustration.
“I do have one work in progress and another that’s to be collected in a few days,” I said, wondering what was going on with Max. “You’re welcome to see them. And I could give you phone numbers of my former clients. They appeared satisfied with their portraits.”
“I’ve seen your work,” Titus murmured. My gaze rushed to his. He had? Titus straightened the cuff of his sleeve. “But that’s not what I want…”
No? Frowning, I picked up my drink and took a sip as he spoke. When what he said finally registered, I almost choked on my drink. “What?”
Max
I swallowed more of my Heineken and tried to keep myself occupied so I wouldn’t obsess over what was happening at the table in the middle. I didn’t like Logan alone with the pinup, but this was her job, I reminded myself. Getting out my cell, I called Jack.
“Hey, bud,” he answered on the third ring. “What’s up?”
Tell him a girl had gotten my mind twisted into a damn knot I had no idea what was happening to me? Jack would laugh his ass off. I only knew I couldn’t leave this alone, at least until I figured out what the hell it was.
“Nothing. My Jeep?”
“Still here. You coming over for it?”
“No.” My gaze flicked across the room to Logan.
She’d taken off her coat, and in her white, sleeveless top, her deep golden skin exposed, and with all that flowing dark hair, she appeared fragile…beautiful. The need to walk over, shove the bonehead model away, and show everyone in this booze-joint to whom she belonged took hold.
Problem was, I should have never kissed her. Now I was being territorial as shit and hungered for more.
“What the fuck’s going on with you, man?” Jack growled.
Breathless (Players to Men) Page 7