Faced with his intensity, with the genuine concern, she couldn’t refuse him. “All right. Come on before I change my mind.”
Chapter Six
Jake heard the man talking about a woman, and his ears perked up. He wouldn’t have noticed at all, except for the tone and the insinuation. He kept his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed, stance casual and disinterested as he stood behind the booth. Music throbbed in the room, loud enough to create a jovial atmosphere, but not obnoxious enough to make people yell to hear each other.
“You see, it’s like this,” the man said in the booth nearby. “She’s a stone cold bitch. I’ve tried to get her to notice me more than once, and she’s like ice.”
“Did you ask her out?” another man’s voice asked.
“Hell, no. I’m workin’ up to it. Figure I should get to know her a bit. See if she might be interested.”
“I’d ask her out now. What’s the use in waiting?”
“I’m waiting because I don’t think she’s going to go for it. Like I said, she’s cold. Doesn’t seem to give any man the time of day.”
“She likes that bartender. Smiles at him, as a matter of fact.”
“So? He works here. She has to act as if she likes him.”
“There’s that bouncer too. You see the way she looks at that bouncer? Like she wants to eat him up.”
Jake’s ears tuned in big time. What? His ego crowed at the thought of Marisa admiring him physically or mentally.
“Who is she to that old man, anyway?” the asshole who wanted Marisa asked.
“Which old man?”
“Dexter. The guy who owns the place.”
“Oh, she’s his niece.”
“Fuck me.”
The other man laughed. “Why? Does that scare you off?”
“Nah. Doesn’t make her any different than any other woman. I dunno. Maybe she’s one of those lesbians, you know?”
“Damn shame if she is a lesbian,” the other man said, his voice higher, less certain. “She’s pretty.”
“Yeah. Sorta. That curly hair is always a mess, though. And those glasses. Hell, you wouldn’t think a woman like that would turn down any offers when she’s as bookish lookin’ as that. She could be so hot, though, if she got rid of those glasses. And her clothes don’t show off her body. I’d like to find out what she hides under those clothes, you know?”
Jake’s alarm system went on full alert. The fuckin’ prick in the booth talked about Marisa as if she were disposable, a piece of meat to enjoy and throw away. To use sexually. After Marisa had gone to the police the other night and taps were set up on the phone, the creep who had called the tavern and her cell phone hadn’t made another call. Jake’s hands clutched into fists, and Jake wanted to walk around, grab the butt wipe by the collar and toss him from the bar onto his skinny ass. Then he’d give him a lecture on never, ever talking about her like that again. Not. That would go over well with Dexter, who wandered the room talking to patrons, checking their drinks and asking how they faired. Dexter had explained the parameters on when to kick a troublemaker out of the bar. Jake couldn’t toss a man out the door for talking trash about women.
He decided to ignore the bastard and stand in another part of the room. He didn’t need to hear more twisted words from the asshole.
“I’ve called her, too,” the man said before Jake could walk away.
Jake froze in place and listened.
“Called her?” the man’s friend asked. “I thought you said you haven’t asked her out.”
“Haven’t. I called her once and then chickened out. I hung up before I could say anything.”
His friend laughed, the chuckle high-pitched. “Damn. You are a pussy.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
We have the cream of the crop right here. Two jack offs for the price of one. Jake moved until he could see the creep’s booth. The man who had a crush on Marisa had a sharp, crooked nose in a thin, hawkish face. His bald head was tattooed right at the top with a weird snake. He wore a black leather vest over his naked, thin chest, and black jeans and boots. Biker material, maybe. His friend, incongruously, wore a red and blue flannel shirt over a navy T-shirt. Faded jeans clung to the man’s burly thighs. With long, lank blond hair and a non-descript face, he still didn’t appear harmless. Jake planned on watching them carefully.
Before either man could speak, Marisa walked by their table and smiled. She held an empty tray. One of the regular cocktail waitresses had called in sick and left Dexter in a bind. Marisa had taken up the slack. Baldy’s hand snapped out and snared her forearm. Jake bristled and took a step forward, then held back.
Wait. Wait to see what she does.
“Hey, beauty,” baldy said. “I was thinking you could help me.”
Marisa’s startled expression cooled, then she smiled. “Did you need a drink, sir?”
“Yeah. A long, cool drink of you.”
Marisa’s expression went from accommodating to annoyed. She tugged, but the man didn’t let her go. “Let me go.”
“Why, baby? What time do you get off work? We could talk.”
“I’m busy.” She tugged again, but the man’s grip appeared to tighten and she winced.
That’s it. The fucker is hurting her. Jake went forward, determined to rip the guy to pieces. He stepped up to the booth, and she smiled at him, relief evident on her face.
“Jake,” she said with a sigh.
Jake glared at the man gripping her arm. “Let her go. Now.”
The asshole released her immediately, and she rubbed her forearm with her other hand. Jake saw clear pain in her eyes, and he put himself between her and the men in the booth. “You have five minutes to pay your drink tab at the bar and leave.”
The blond man with the long hair stood, and he was a good three or four inches shorter than Jake. He held his hands up. “Hey, no problem, man. I’m not a part of this shit. I’m outta here.”
The man headed for the bar. Marisa touched Jake on the shoulder but didn’t speak.
“Another thing,” Jake said. “If you’re the one calling her, I’m warning you to stop.”
The remaining man smirked. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Then get out,” Jake said, anger roiling inside him.
The man stood and went to the bar. Jake didn’t wait to see what else he did.
Instead, he turned to Marisa and reached for her forearm. Anger burned inside him. “He hurt you.”
She shook her head. “No.” Her face hardened. “I didn’t need your help.”
Surprised, he released her arm. “That’s what bouncers are for. To keep the patrons safe and kick out undesirables.”
She drew in a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes, under those silvery-framed glasses, had a defensive gleam. “I can’t rely on you or any other man to fight my battles for me, Jake. It’s not practical and it’s old-fashioned.”
She stalked off, pissed at men in general.
Dexter caught up to her at the bar a short time later. Concern narrowed his eyes. “What happened over there between you and Sullivan?”
“Did you see that creep grab my arm?”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed even more. “Jake grabbed your arm?”
“No. No.” She waved one hand. “There were these two guys in a booth.” She explained what went down.
Her uncle’s eyes cleared, and now amusement curled his mouth. “And you object to Jake’s help? He’s working for me as a bouncer, dear. It’s his job. I’ll have Jake keep a watch for the guy. He isn’t coming in here again after what he did to you.”
“It was no big deal.” She didn’t know why she said that. “The guy was a jerk, sure, but he’s harmless.”
“He doesn’t sound harmless to me. Do you want to take off the rest of the evening?”
A headache started an annoying throb in her temples, and her blood still pumped anxiously. “No. I’m fine. You wouldn’t let any of the other waitresses go
home after a stupid encounter like that. I shouldn’t be any different.”
“Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll talk to you later.”
After her uncle walked away, she spied Jake watching her from across the room. His gaze captured and held hers. Something dangerous in his eyes sent a hot, undeniable longing into her blood. Chill out, girl. It’s over. Jake had only been doing his job, like her uncle said. She drew in a deep breath as she acknowledged that she’d overreacted. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. Damn it. She’d apologize later.
The rest of the evening dragged until closing time. Jake, naturally, helped her and Dexter. He went outside at one point and came back in, and she wondered what he’d been doing outside. She didn’t ask, though. She didn’t speak much at all to him, and when she did, she kept it business. Before her uncle left, she headed upstairs to her apartment. Once inside the quiet coziness, she expected the night’s experiences to finally come to a head. Her blood continued to hum with a strange awareness, a jittery sensation she didn’t welcome. She went to the small kitchen and nuked a cup of water for chamomile tea. Chamomile tea always calmed her, and maybe she needed it to ease the coldness that ached in her bones.
A knock on her door coincided with the microwave dinging, and she jumped.
She headed toward the door, but when she reached it, she called out, “Who is it?”
“Jake. Can I talk to you a minute?”
She sighed, trying to decide whether to let him in. Time to eat crow.
She opened the door. Jake stood in the doorway, his calm expression marred only by the concern in his eyes. When she didn’t invite him inside, he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. He almost looked deflated. Not an attitude she expected.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She backed away and gestured inward. He followed, and when she closed the door, she locked it out of habit. Should she lock herself in with this man? Jake crossed the room to the dark brown leather couch and settled down.
The microwave dinged in the kitchen again, and she headed into the kitchen to retrieve her drink. “Would you like something to drink? I’m having chamomile tea.”
“No, thanks.”
She returned to the living room, tea in hand, and sank onto the far end of the couch. She sipped her drink slowly and silence gathered significantly.
“Here we are again,” he said.
She sipped her hot tea and almost burned her tongue. Awkwardness and nervousness threatened to obliterate any chance of her holding a rational conversation.
When he settled more comfortably on the couch, she thought he was solid rock. Dependable. Immovable. That translated into a great thing or a horrible thing depending on how she chose to perceive it. Her hand holding the mug trembled. Oh boy. He’d managed to unnerve her yet again in a way she didn’t immediately understand. She placed her cup of chamomile tea on the coffee table. If she wanted to have any reasonable conversation, she needed to handle her physical responses to Jake.
Silence gathered in the room, the tick of a small crystal clock on the fireplace mantle, the steam rising from her tea. Peace surrounded, allowing the edginess she’d encountered moments ago to ease. The fact he didn’t to rush into conversation surprised her. For this space in time he seemed willing to just…be.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” she asked when she couldn’t take the quiet any longer.
“I’m sorry and yet I’m not.”
Amused, she turned toward him more fully. “Sorry that you rushed up like my big, bad ass bodyguard?”
“That’s the part I’m not sorry about. When he grabbed your arm, I held back when I wanted to rush forward and tell him to get his fucking hands off you. When I saw that his grip was hurting you, that’s where my patience ended.” His voice, though low and modulated, held an edge. His eyes flashed with anger held in check. “No man ever…ever has the right to hurt a woman like that. Call it old-fashioned, but there’s a part of me that says I’m physically stronger than most women and if another guy who is physically stronger than a woman seems intent on hurting her, all bets are off. I’m going to protect her from harm. I’d do that with a little girl or a ninety-five-year-old woman and every female in between. Sue me.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I wouldn’t sue you for that. I appreciate you wanted to help me. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. Being a bouncer is your job.”
He smiled. “Apology accepted.”
Everything womanly within her responded on the deepest, most primal level to his male protection. Her heartbeat picked up, and awareness of him as a man gathered more speed. Her belly fluttered with nervous delight, her body opening to his testosterone whether she wanted it or not.
Fuck it. She smiled. It was what it was. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“There’s more. Let me be frank…and this isn’t coming easy for me.” He shifted on the couch, as if he couldn’t find a comfortable position. “I have a big fault. Sometimes I care too much. At least, a couple of girlfriends I had in the past said I was overprotective. I backed off when I was married, and my wife said I was cold. Unfeeling. Said I kept too much of myself to myself. Right after the divorce I had attitude. I wondered how I could be protective and still be cold. I didn’t look deep enough to try and figure out what these women were saying to me. You’re the first woman I’ve listened to that way. I want to know. I want to learn.”
To say she felt astonishment wouldn’t cover it. That a man could lay things on the line with her like this…holy crap.
“That’s…” Oh, what could she say? “I’m not used to men talking about how they feel.”
His eyes turned genuinely worried. “Should I shut up?”
She made a small sound of disbelief, and the vulnerability she saw in his eyes opened a wide, new place inside her that she felt had never been touched before. “No. Heavens, no. Go on.”
He sighed, and Marisa thought she heard relief in it. “I’m on a learning curve. I don’t have a right to expect you to understand that, but if I want your respect, it’s obvious you don’t take bullshit off of anyone and you like honesty. So I’m being honest until it hurts.”
She blinked. “I’m…well, let’s say I’m astonished. You are direct, aren’t you? But you know what? I do respect that.” Warmth exploded deep in her belly, and she found herself leaning toward him a bit, eager to know and understand. “Do you think you backed off from your wife because women in your past said you were too protective?”
“Yes and no. I was thinking about that just tonight. I cared about all the women I’ve wanted to protect, but with my wife I went too far and tried not to care as much. So yeah, I screwed up. But I also think I wasn’t as protective because I truly didn’t love her as much as I thought I did.”
“You were mixed up.”
“You could say that.”
“You were human, in other words.”
Jake grinned. “Thanks. I’m glad my actions tonight didn’t convince you otherwise.”
Remorse stung her. “Like I said, I overreacted.”
He shook his head. “I held back. Believe me. I heard him talking about you like you were a piece of ass. It made me feel…possessive.”
That word hung in the air. Telling. Not telling.
When she allowed his statement to sink in, he continued. “But I think it goes back to when I was a kid.” He grinned. “Yeah, my sordid past. I said we didn’t have a dysfunctional family. In the immediate family we didn’t.” He leaned forward until his forearms rested on his thighs. His eyes drilled into hers. “My mother’s sister, Jane, had this bad tendency to get mixed up with men who didn’t respect her. Low-life, crummy, no-good bastards who didn’t like women. Mom tried to help Jane, but it didn’t do her much good. Jane was really stupid about this one thing in her life even when she was so damned smart in every other way. She was a bank executive. She was a real sweet woman with a head for business. She taught men to treat her like cra
p, though.” He laid his arm along the back of the couch as he turned toward Marisa. “Anyway, this guy who treated her like crap shot her point blank in the head one night and she died.” He swallowed hard.
Marisa’s heart ached, a slow, slow thump of hurt rising in her own chest. “How old were you?”
“Ten. I was devastated. She was a second mom to me and she deserved more. I think I was angry that she didn’t ask for more.”
She reached out and placed her hand over his, pressing his fingers as gently as she could to convey her feelings. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded and looked away. “Thanks. I’m not using this as an excuse. It’s one reason why I think I tend to jump in when a woman needs help. Even when she doesn’t want it.”
She lifted her touch, her fingers cupping his jaw line. “Jake, you’re a gem. Thank you for telling me all this. For sharing.”
He nodded and stood up slowly. “Well, that’s it. I thought I’d explain myself before you got the impression I was just a jackass.”
She chuckled and stood as well. They were close. So close she drank in his delicious male scent. “I never thought that, Jake. Never.”
Then, because she wanted it…ached for it, she did one thing maybe she shouldn’t. She had no guarantee how he’d respond, though she thought she knew what he’d do. More than that, she had no guarantee where it would all end. Marisa took the leap.
“Did you feel like your wife didn’t understand your job?” Marisa ached with a desire to know. The more he revealed, the deeper her understanding of this complex man. The more she craved to know.
“If she did, she never showed me. She didn’t want to talk about my missions.”
Surprised, she said, “You can’t talk about Special Forces missions anyway.”
He smiled. “No. But I can talk about the emotions. There were things I wanted so damned badly to tell her, but she shut down. Told me she didn’t want her life filled with those ugly things.” He grunted in derision. “My ugly emotions.”
God, how she understood. “Alec, my fiancé, wouldn’t tell me much of anything. And he wasn’t even Special Forces.”
Private Maneuvers: Hot Zone Book 3 Page 7