The Proposition (The Plus One Chronicles)

by Lyon, Jennifer

  “Lady, are you getting in?” the cabbie barked.

  Sloane shifted his attention to her profile. Her eyes were wide, her jaw bulging at the joint.

  Walk away, damn it.

  Slapping a hand on her hip, she muttered, “Do it.”

  The two words took him by the throat. Sloane recognized the iron will fighting to dominate whatever terrified her.

  Not only was he not walking away, God help anyone who got in his way.

  He stepped up next to her. She was breathing in her nose and out her mouth, determination crystallizing her blue eyes into jewel tones. He kept a small space between them and said softly, “Kat.”

  She whipped her head around and sucked in air. Frown lines hovered between her eyebrows before recognition smoothed them out. “Sloane. I was just leaving.”

  Unlikely, given the death grip she had on the doorframe and her dilated pupils. “Okay,” he said.

  She turned back to the cab interior. “I need to get in.”

  “That’s usually how it’s done,” Sloane assured her.

  “People do it all the time.”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Right.” She frowned. “I thought you went home hours ago.”

  Ah, there she was, coming back online. “I rarely do the expected.”

  She sucked in her lips and blew out a breath. “I bet you could get in the back of a damned cab.”

  He leaned against the side of the idling cab. “I don’t know why I would. I have two cars, plus a limo. Getting in a cab seems redundant.”

  She pulled her mouth tight. “Do you have one of those cars with you tonight?”

  “A Mercedes CLS63. Black. Perfectly safe. I even know how to change a tire should the need arise.” He was taking her home, however, he’d let her come to that realization on her own. But damned if he didn’t want to pull that band out of her hair again. Or just touch her in general.

  “The meter is running, lady.”

  Sloane leaned back a fraction to glare at the annoyed cabbie.

  The other man shut his mouth and turned around.

  Finally Kat sighed, stepped back and shut the door. “I don’t suppose you’d let me drive?”

  Sloane handed the cabbie a couple bills before Kat could get her wallet out. “Tell you what. I’ll drive, you pick the music.”

  She raised her chin. “I can pay the cabbie.”

  “Move faster next time.” He closed his hand around her elbow, keeping his hold gentle.

  She stiffened.

  Time to get serious. “Use your words, Kat. You’re in control here. All you have to do is tell me to get my hand off you, and I will.”

  She looked up at him. “You’re blunt, aren’t you?”

  Pleased that she hadn’t snapped at him to let go of her, he steered her toward his car. “In most cases, bluntness works.”

  “And in other cases?”

  Opening the door, he waited until she slid in and said, “I do whatever it takes to win.”

  ***

  Kat sank into the butter-soft leather, her body heavy with fatigue and aches. Her eyes were gritty, her head throbbed, yet she was vitally aware of the man next to her in the driver’s seat.

  Sloane guided the car through the quiet streets of San Diego. He had his shirtsleeves pushed up, revealing strong forearms dusted with hair and lined with veins.

  “Music?”

  Normally, she loved music. She’d blare it when creating recipes, doing her version of dancing. But right now she was just too overwhelmed. “None, thanks.” Scoping out the interior, she said, “Nice car.” Like a hundred-K nice.

  “Big enough for me. The other car I have is a Fisker Karma.”

  The name didn’t register with her. “What’s that?”

  “Electric car with solar glass roof.”

  “You have an electric car and a limo?” Wasn’t that counterproductive? A limo had to be a gas guzzler while the electric car was all about new energy and protecting the environment.

  “The Fisker is for fun, the Mercedes useful, and I get a lot of work done in the limo.”

  “Do you keep a driver on call?” Who was Sloane Michaels? Curiosity bubbled through her exhaustion.

  Sloane glanced over at her. “He lives in a guesthouse on my property.”

  She tried to figure him out. Who was that rich and yet took down a thug with a knife? Hell, who was that rich and ran toward a knife? “How did you disarm that guy so easily?”

  He guided the car around a corner. “Used to fight.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Fight? Like…get in fights, or fight professionally?” Had he been like those thugs tonight? Why had she thought she’d be safer with him than in a cab?

  His mouth quirked. “Both. I fought in UFC for a few years. Before I started my company.”

  Oh God. She couldn’t be in the car with him. A smoldering commenced in the center of her chest, but she forced herself to breathe. In the last years, she’d been getting better at controlling her panic attacks. Tonight, however, they were kicking her ass in unrelenting assaults. “Why? Why would you want to hit people? Hurt them?”

  His granite jaw clenched in silence. Finally, he said, “I like to win.”

  A loaded statement. Wanting to win might be simple, but the drive behind it tended to be a complicated snake pit of emotions and experiences. She focused straight ahead, on the dark and quiet streets as the powerful car slid through the night. Needing to fill the thick hush descending over them, she asked, “And did you?”

  “Two heavyweight championships before I retired.”

  I do whatever it takes to win. That’s what he had said when he handed her into the car. “Impressive.” It was all she could think to say. The tension in her chest kept twisting and constricting. He liked violence. He hurt people.

  “You don’t sound impressed.”

  His gaze raked her skin, making her feel exposed and vulnerable in the car with him. “I don’t like violence. I just…don’t.”

  “It’s a violent world. You might not like it, but it’s there.” He paused, then added in a softer tone, “Like tonight when you were attacked. It took controlled violence to deal with that situation.”

  She closed her eyes beneath a hot wave of nausea at the memory. “You broke that guy’s arm. I heard the bone snap.”

  “Quick and effective. And then I stopped once he was down. That’s the control.”

  She faced him. Visually explored his darkly sensual mouth, the nose that had an unnatural bend, and eyes that seemed to pierce through her. Intense. Dangerous. Sexual. When he shifted his attention back to the road, she asked, “Did you want to keep going? Keep hurting that guy?”

  His jaw scissored. “When I opened that door to the alley and saw you crawling on the goddamned asphalt with that look of raw terror…” He clamped his lips together.

  Kat fought the need to hunch her shoulders. “Go on.” She had to know.

  “I wanted to kill them both.”

  Tightly leashed violence bled through his voice, and she shivered. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she said, “You didn’t.”

  “No. Control, Kat. I live by it.” He rubbed his neck. “Anyway, I retired from fighting years ago. I run a company now.”

  She struggled to get onto safer footing with him. “What’s your company?”

  “SLAM Inc. I have gyms all over the nation. We develop fighters, do merchandizing, own an entertainment company. Various things.”

  “All having to do with fighting.”

  Challenge flowed from him. “Not all. But that’s where I got my start and where I built my wealth. I’m not apologizing for it.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.” Noting where they were, she said, “My building is there on the right.” Kat tried to get the censure out of her voice. She had no right to pass judgment on the man who had rescued her and Kellen. She was tired, sore and dreading being alone. “You’ve had two very successful careers and you can’t be mo
re than what, thirty? That is something to be proud of.”

  “Let’s talk about you. You do cakes?” A grin worked his mouth, teasing the left side into a sexy curve. “And emergency brownies, if I recall correctly.”

  Bubbles of amusement tickled her throat. “Sugar Dancer is my bakery, and emergency brownies are helping make us a success.” Pride chased out some of her fatigue. In that respect, she understood what he meant about not apologizing. “My condo is there, just drop me anywhere.” She released the seat belt and reached for her purse.

  He slid the car into a guest space and turned off the motor.

  She pulled out her keys and said, “Thank you for—”

  “Christ. You really think I’d just dump you off here? And drive away?” He shoved open his door and got out.

  Kat snapped her mouth shut and opened her door. She was sore in general, including a headache from that thug trying to drag her out of the car by her hair. The worst was her leg though, it hurt like a bitch. She used the seat for leverage and managed to shift her right leg out, then her left was easy enough.

  Sloane crouched down in the opened door. “You’ve been limping on that leg all night. How badly were you hurt tonight?”

  “Just cuts and bruises. I’ll be fine. Sloane, I appreciate everything you did tonight.” She made her voice firm despite being so damn tired. “But I need you to move back and not trap me.”

  A second ticked by. Then another. Just Sloane’s gaze on her, digging through her protective walls. But she refused to explain or justify herself.

  “I scare you. Not intimidate, but downright scare.”

  Yes, but she hadn’t backed down. Didn’t that mean she was getting stronger?

  Except tonight when Kellen had needed her.

  Sloane rose and gave her room.

  Kat got up, although nowhere near as gracefully as he had, and why did she even notice that?

  He reached around her and shut the door. “Give me your cellphone. I’m going to put in my phone number.”

  Confused, she frowned at him. “What for?”

  “Because I’m going to watch you get into your condo. You’re going to check around, make sure it’s safe, then lock the door and text me that you’re okay.”

  “I’m safe. I have an alarm.”

  “If you don’t text me, if I think you’re in trouble, I’m coming in. Give me your phone, Kat.”

  “But you don’t even know me.” Why would he care this much? Be this intense? And why did that make her less afraid and more…interested?

  He leaned back against the car. “I know you now. I’m not leaving here until I know you’re safe. You want me gone? Give me your phone.”

  Kat handed him her phone.

  ***

  Kat lifted the bread dough from the bowl and dropped it on the floured surface. Music pumped through the speakers. She had it synced to her iPod which was on shuffle. This was one of her favorite times of day—early morning, the bakery was still closed and she was in her industrial kitchen, prepping for the day.

  In her safe zone. It had been pure luck that she’d had Kellen as her physical therapist, and his parents owned the bakery. Eventually he coaxed her into meeting his parents, and they offered her a part-time job in their bakery kitchen. Here she had begun the process of healing, finding herself and figuring out who she really was.

  By the time Kellen’s parents had been ready to sell and retire, Kat knew she wanted the bakery and bought it. Just over a year ago Sugar Dancer became hers, and she hadn’t yet regretted the decision.

  She drew in the scent of yeasty bread as she began working the dough with her hands covered in thin gloves. The healing cuts made the gloves a double necessity.

  Unbidden, she thought of Sloane’s much larger hands, with the thicker knuckles.

  The hands of a fighter.

  A shiver raced down her spine. In the solitude of her kitchen, she could let herself admit it—Sloane excited her. Thrilled her. And terrified her right down to her bones. Confident power radiated from him and kicked her right in the libido.

  Pounding on the door jerked her out of her musings. Panic slammed into her.

  Who was it? Why the frantic hammering when a simple knock would do? She wasn’t expecting any deliveries. No one was due to show up for at least another hour. Yanking off a glove, she grabbed her cellphone while she debated what to do.

  “Katie. It’s David. Open the door.”

  David. Her ex-fiancé. A clash of memories and fears rooted her to the spot. Why the hell would he come here? Had something happened to her parents? Her brother? She glanced at her phone screen, but there wasn’t a missed call.

  “Katie, I know you’re in there. It’s important.”

  It must be. For months after she’d broken up with him, she’d refused to see him, avoiding her parents’ attempts to get them back together. Only something vital would bring him to her bakery doorstep. Curiosity tamped down her anxiety enough to face him. Opening the door, she scoped out the man a few inches taller than her. It had been five-and-a-half years and he’d definitely changed, but then so had she. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

  “I heard about the carjacking.”

  Surprise dulled her reaction long enough for him to push past her. Kat swung around, letting the door close. “Heard?” Once she had loved and trusted Dr. David Burke. Sure, he’d been overbearing and bossy, but that had made her feel cherished. But the brutal mugging had changed all that. Changed her. She wasn’t that trusting girl anymore. “How would you hear, David? I didn’t tell my parents or my brother, so you didn’t hear from them.”

  “I have friends at the police station.”

  Friends or spies? “Right, because you hang out with cops. Hey maybe you joined a bowling league too.”

  “Sarcasm is a low form of humor. But for the sake of argument, having goals and focus doesn’t make me a snob.” David perused the bakery kitchen. “Interesting use for your chemistry degree. Was it really worth giving up any claim to SiriX to run a donut shop?”

  She clenched her fists at his snide expression and donut-shop crack. “Yes. My bakery is worth it.” And a donut shop would be too, if that had been her dream. But that wasn’t good enough for David or her family. When she left the family company a few years ago, it had caused a bigger rift between her and her parents.

  David pushed a hand through his hair, the thinning locks a reminder of the eight year age difference between them. “That was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t come here to fight.”

  “Then why?” He never did anything without a reason. She’d learned that working for him at SiriX, and dating him. But David had been very protective of her, so it wasn’t inconceivable that he’d asked a police officer he knew to let him know if Kat was ever hurt or attacked. On the other hand, she’d stopped trusting David’s motives years ago.

  “I want to know if you’re okay.” He paused, swallowing. “I worry about you.”

  Did he? Never mind, it didn’t matter anymore if she believed him or not. “I’m fine.”

  His green eyes honed in on her. “Cops said a bystander stopped the carjacking.”

  “Yep.” The back of her neck and jaw began to throb with tension. Did he see this as an opportunity to play hero and get her back? She remembered what he’d told her when she broke up with him, and when she’d refused to take his calls, he left the same message on her voicemail. “David, I know you think I’ll come limping back to you.” Those words didn’t sting as much as they used to. “But it’s not going to happen. Now I have work to do.”

  Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he rocked back. “I was upset, I didn’t mean it when I said that. I lash out when I’m angry, it’s meaningless.” Sighing, he added, “When it comes to you…” he trailed off, looking away from her. “I lose control. Feel too much.” His green eyes, so raw and honest, hit her. “I don’t think I knew how much I loved you until I lost you.”

  An old memory surfaced—Kat had taken David
dinner when he was working late as a surprise. She’d interrupted a meeting with a man she hadn’t recognized, and David lost it. He’d grabbed her arm, dragged her out of his office and told her to never do that again. He’d been furious, his left eye twitching and his hand on her arm clammy. Kat had rarely seen that side of David, but even then it had made her uneasy. Later David apologized, telling her the man was a former friend asking for money. David said he didn’t want the guy anywhere near Kat, didn’t trust him. He’d always been protective like that, and yeah, he had tended to get angry when he thought she might be in danger.

  “Hey, Katie, you’re zoning out. You okay?” He lifted a hand toward her.

  Her heart rate spiked. The sight of his hand coming toward her hit a bone-deep, fear-driven instinct. Maybe it was irrational, but to her, it felt real. She retreated to her worktable and strove for calm. “I go by Kat now.” Grabbing a fresh glove, she pulled it on. “The door locks automatically, so go ahead and let yourself out.”

  “You’ll always be Katie to me.”

  His softer tone caught her with an unexpected twist of nostalgia. Of longing for the way she’d once felt. Special. For awhile Kat had felt like the woman her parents wanted her to be. Smart enough to get a genius like Dr. Burke to be interested in her.

  She shook her head, breaking the spell. She’d been lying to herself, to David and her family—she had tried to be what David wanted.

  But she wasn’t. Really never had been. The only difference was that once she had at least tried.

  “I’m not that girl anymore, David. Let it go.” She didn’t know how to make it any clearer.

  “I’ve tried. But I can’t stop caring. I think about you, wondering if you’re coping.” He leaned on the worktable across from her. “Are you still having nightmares? Any more flashbacks? Or panic attacks?”

  His tone was soft and caring, but his eyes behind his glasses were narrowed, focused like when he examined test tubes. Calculating adjustments and fixes. Don’t recoil. You’re safe.

  “What’s going on here? You suddenly show up after years, and ask about my flashbacks?” It didn’t make sense. She clenched her hands over the edge of the table. “Are you really worried about me? Or what I might remember?” Why couldn’t she just believe him? It would be so much easier if she did.