by Sybil Bartel
Frozen, she stared.
I began to shake. God fucking damn it. “Leave.”
I am nothing. Nothing.
Thin arms came around my neck. I couldn’t breathe. Thin like a bird... Hummingbird thin. Fuck. Fuck. “Don’t touch me.” Birds break. Birds break. I shoved her, hard. “Goddamn it.”
“No.” She stumbled back.
Teeth clenched. Rage. No air. “I’m warning you.” No control.
“No.” She stared at me with pity.
My arm swept across the counter. The drain board, pots, pans, glasses, they flew across the kitchen. Shattering like everything about me that was broken. “Leave,” I ground out.
“No.”
Fuuuuuck! “I’m not gonna fucking hit you but you need to leave! You wanted to know! Don’t fucking push me, I’m warning you.”
She didn’t move.
“You want damaged? I’m damaged! Goddamn it, leave! Or you’ll be next!” My worst fucking fear settled around me like poison. I’d kill myself if I ever hit a woman again. I slammed my fist into the cupboard. “Leave.”
Carly didn’t flinch. “Broken? You want broken?” Grabbing a dirty plate out of the sink, she threw it on the floor. “That’s fucking broken!” She did it again. “See? Broken!”
“Fuck you,” I seethed.
She threw a cupboard open, grabbed another plate and slammed it to the ground. “Broken!” Three more plates. “Broken, broken, broken!” she yelled.
“Fuck you, Carly.”
“Fuck me?” She whipped her shirt off. “Fuck me? Go ahead!” She unbuttoned her jeans. “Go ahead and fuck me! Because I’m not crying!”
Fuck her? Fuck her? “You’re fucking crazy!”
Chest heaving, eyes burning into mine, she whispered. “But I’m not crying.”
I walked out of my house.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mistake
Drunk with rage, I pushed the Barracuda past seventy through city streets, dialing. Answer godfucking damn it, answer. She did.
“Graham,” she drawled. “It’s been too long.”
“I want an hour. Right now.”
She laughed seductively. “Miss me?”
No, you were the first name on the contact list. “You home?”
“Maybe, what’d you have in mind?”
“I’ll be there in ten.” I hung up.
* * *
My shirt off, the top button of my jeans undone, I was going to get what I came for but I felt fucking sick, physically sick. Long red fake nails, a face full of makeup, nothing on but a G-string and some skimpy lace covering her paid-for rack, she knew the fucking score. Murmuring bullshit about my muscles, she trailed her hands over my chest and I fought the urge to recoil.
“You’re so tense,” she cooed in a bullshit baby voice.
I didn’t say shit. I didn’t even touch her. I couldn’t. An image of another half-naked woman with hurt blue eyes kept replaying in my mind.
Sticky red lips pushed out and she fake-pouted. “Don’t you want to touch me?” More baby talk.
“No.” Hell no.
“Oooh, I think I like this game.” She pushed me down on the couch and straddled my legs. “Relax, baby.”
Relax? She wanted me to fucking relax? I couldn’t even get my dick hard. She was practically begging me to fuck her and I could not get hard. I’d lost my fucking edge. And for what? A woman who didn’t want sex? A goddamn bullshit friendship that made me feel nothing but fucked up? I had nothing to offer. Not one goddamn thing. And now I couldn’t even fucking get it up. Goddamn it, I was in over my fucking head.
Moaning, whispering more stupid shit, Baby Talk ran her tongue across my neck then bit my ear.
Repulsion hit, hard. “Get off.” I shoved her away and stood.
Her fake voice instantly disappeared and she sneered. “I’m trying to. What’s your problem?”
Not what, who. This was a mistake, a big fucking mistake. She didn’t have a goddamn thing over Carly. I grabbed the T-shirt she’d pulled off and walked to the door.
“If you leave now, don’t bother coming back,” she warned.
Don’t fucking worry. “I won’t.” I slammed the door behind me.
* * *
I got home past dark. The garage was one vehicle short. The kitchen was spotless and there was a note on the counter.
You left me no choice. I took the Ducati. You know where to find me.
I got in the shower then fell into bed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Match
I was screwing around in the garage the next morning when Myles pulled up.
He walked in and looked at the empty space where the Diavel usually sat. “Where’s the Ducati?”
“No fucking idea.”
Myles blanched. “It was stolen?”
“No. Carly took it.”
Pause. “Carly took your bike?” His voice had no intonation.
“We got in a fight. What do you want? I’m fucking busy.”
Myles stared at me a moment, then chuckled. “Yeah, you look real busy. What’d you fight about?”
“None of your fucking business. You done?” I threw some tools around.
“Not by a long shot. Didn’t she get the memo when she started dating you?”
“I’m not fucking dating her!”
Myles threw his hands up. “All right, relax.”
“Fuck off.”
“Well if you aren’t dating her, then what could you have possibly fought about?”
Because I’d turned into a fucking pussy overnight, I told him. “My mother.” It took everything I had not to fly off in a rage at the thought of that psychotic bitch who birthed me and how I’d lost control yesterday because of her. I was just fucking like her.
Myles gaped at me. “No shit?”
“No shit.” I kicked a cupboard door shut.
“Your mother showed up and you fought with Carly about it?” Myles asked, half confused, half concerned.
“Georgia didn’t show up!”
“But you fought with Carly?”
Fuck. I tried to calm down. “She broke every fucking plate in my house. Threw them on the floor.”
Myles stared at me. “She broke...your dishes.” It wasn’t a question.
Oh my God. “You a fucking parrot? That’s what I said. She broke my dishes.”
“What the hell happened? Did you burn dinner?”
I glared at Myles. “Are you fucking laughing at me?”
Myles grinned. “No, I swear! I’m not!”
“You fucking liar.”
“Dishes?” he asked, trying like hell to hide his grin.
“Fuck, Myles! I told her I was broken, okay? Then she threw the shit on the ground, told me that was broken and I walked out. I came home later and she’d taken the Ducati to get home because I’d driven her over here.”
Myles stared, then his eyes went wide as fuck. “Holy shit! Are you in love with her?” He broke into a shit-eating grin.
“I don’t do love.” Goddamn it.
“Yeah, okay, keep telling yourself that.” He smiled knowingly.
I had to rein it in, this wasn’t Myles’s fault. “She’s off-limits, Myles, do you get that? Off-limits.”
“Why? Because you don’t do love?”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Inhaling and exhaling, I was a little calmer. “She walked in on me after the show two nights ago.” Maybe now he’d get the picture.
“Walked in how?”
Christ, I didn’t want to talk about this. “I’d just finished with the chick in my office, she was pissed about me kicking her out, we were arguing and Carly showed up at my door. I was half dressed and the dumb bitch said something to Carly as she stormed out. Carly knows my game. She knows I don’t do relationships.”
“Okay, first, this is me not telling you again about using your office as a sex den, but damn it, Graham, it’s a legal issue and you know it. One chick makes one complaint
and we’re out of business.”
“I know that.” I didn’t need a fucking lecture.
Myles held his hand up. “Second, it’s not like you were dating Carly and she walked in on you with another woman. She seems like a reasonable girl. If you want to be with her, move forward, don’t dwell on your past.”
“You make it sound so simple.” I bit out sarcastically.
“I’m not an expert but I got the impression yesterday she was into you. Shit, you gave her the Rebel.” He grinned.
“Yeah, then we fought and I went looking for a piece of ass somewhere else.” Sighing, I rubbed my hand over my head.
Myles cringed. “Jesus, Graham.”
“Judge me all you want, I don’t give a shit.” But maybe I kinda did.
Myles looked around my garage. When he turned back, his face was void of emotion. “Straight up, no bullshit. Do you like this girl?”
I sighed and ran my hand over my head. I more than liked her. “I want to protect her. And when she smiles at me?” Damn. I shook my head. “It’s the best part of my day.” That was as much as I was willing to admit.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I have a temper and it’s bad. You know that.”
“I think you handle it.”
“Yeah, well, around her I don’t. And that’s not the biggest issue. She’s told me she’s off-limits. She’s been hurt before, seriously hurt. She has her own scars. Ones I can’t fix.”
Myles thought a moment before he replied. “Maybe you’re trying for the wrong thing.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Myles shrugged. “I dunno, dude, just saying...you know her, I don’t.”
Did I? Besides what happened to her? “I don’t know shit, except I can’t fix her past—hell, I can’t even fix mine and I sure as shit wouldn’t ask her to do it for me.”
“So what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. We are who we are.” Fuck. Maybe I was trying for the wrong thing. Maybe she just wanted someone who could live with her shit, not fix it. What the fuck did I know?
“What if you try asking her out? See what happens.”
“I’ll think about it.” Not a chance.
Myles laughed and smiled his famous smile. “No, you won’t.”
“I hate your fucking smile.”
He grinned wider. “You’re just jealous.”
“Yeah, of you and every other idiot out there who hasn’t sealed the deal with his girlfriend.”
“Cold-blooded, man.”
“It’s my best quality.”
“Sucks being you.” He laughed again. “I gotta go. I’m taking Sam to work. I just stopped by to tell you to show up for practice. I got the kinks worked out at the studio. We need to record.”
“Whatever. Hold up a sec.” I pulled my phone out. “If Carly’s home, you can drop me off to get my bike.” I texted her.
Me: You home?
The reply was almost instant.
Carly: Yep
Me: On my way
I glanced at Myles. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Crosshairs
Myles dropped me at Carly’s apartment and I was a little relieved not to see my twenty-thousand-dollar motorcycle parked out front. I rang her bell and waited, wondering what type of mood I’d find her in after yesterday. She’d already proved she was remarkably forgiving but I knew I was pushing the limit.
Carly opened the door, all smiles. “Missing something?”
Yeah, you. My relief at seeing her smile was instant but I gave her a hard time anyway. “There better not be a scratch on it.”
She shook her head. “Have a little faith.”
“You forget I’ve seen you drive.” Like a bat outta hell.
“Now I’m just insulted. C’mon up, I’ve got the key upstairs.”
I followed her, admiring the view.
“Want some coffee? I just made some.”
Her apartment smelled amazing, like cinnamon and fresh bread. I remembered I hadn’t eaten. “Yeah, sure. Smells good.” I followed her into the kitchen and looked out one of the windows. The Ducati was parked by a garage in back.
“I’m making muffins. They’ll be ready in ten minutes. Looking for the bike?”
“Checking to make sure it’s in one piece.”
“Would I destroy a machine like that? Jeez!” She looked affronted then busied herself getting coffee.
“I have no idea.” Women were capable of crazy shit.
She handed me a mug. “Well, I wouldn’t, but you might need a little gas.” She winked and set her small kitchen table for two.
“I don’t think I want to know where you went.”
I got her full-blown smile. “She opens up nicely on the highway.”
If I hadn’t seen her ride, I might’ve been having a heart attack right now. “Do you have any self-preservation?” I’d bet a month’s paycheck she didn’t go the speed limit.
Her face turned serious. “Lots, that’s why I was careful not to drop the bike.”
That statement, the look on her face, I couldn’t let it slide. I set the coffee on the counter and grabbed her hand. She flinched but I held tight and lowered my voice. “You think a bike’s more important than you?”
She glanced at our hands, then lifted her face. The change was instant. Spark, sexual tension, electricity, call it what you want, it was there, hard core.
She barely shrugged.
I wanted to kiss her. I’d wanted to kiss her since I left her in my bed that morning. “It’s not,” I whispered, holding her eyes.
She didn’t move.
Slowly, so slowly, I raised the hand holding hers. Up and away from us, I held her hand out. “You’re more important.”
She swallowed.
I pulled back, quick and sure, and she fell against my chest with a gasp.
“Graham,” she whispered.
“I want to kiss you.”
“Okay.”
My other hand cupped her face. I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You’re beautiful.”
My nose ran along her cheek. Her breath touched my face, sweet and warm, and I brushed my lips across hers. I kissed her jaw, below her ear, my thumb caressing the soft skin of her cheek. I tried to move slow, but with every breath I felt my restraint bleed away. I found her lips again and moaned. Releasing her hand, I wrapped my arms around her and crushed her to my chest. I kissed her like I needed her more than I needed my next breath.
Everything stopped but the feel of this fragile bird coming apart in my arms as her body melted against mine. The low seductive sound in her throat, the grip of her hands on my arms, the flutter of her heartbeat in my ears, it fueled something deep.
Not thinking, used to getting what I wanted, used to a different type of woman, I spun us around and lifted her onto the counter. Pulling her hips to mine, my hands snaked under her thighs and brought her legs around my waist. I pushed into her, straining to get closer despite our clothes.
Too late, I realized I’d gone too far.
Every muscle in Carly’s body had frozen.
“Hey.” Breathless, I grabbed her face with both hands. “This is me stopping, okay?”
Fear in her eyes, chest heaving, she stared at me like she didn’t see me.
“Hummingbird?”
She didn’t respond.
I dropped my hands and pulled her into my arms and off the counter. Suddenly, everything she’d said that night outside the bar made sense. “Free as a bird, baby. It’s just you and me. I stopped. You’re okay. You’re free.” I rubbed her back and kissed her hair, pissed at myself and enraged at the sick fuck that did this to her.
She inhaled sharply and pushed me away. “I’m good.”
I bent my knees so I was eye level with her. “I would never hurt you. Not like that.”
“I know.” She looked away.
But she didn’t. A
nd I had no one to blame but myself. “Do you?” I asked quietly.
Carly spun around. The fear was still there but now there was something else, something close to anger. “What do you want from me, Graham? Really? Because you say one thing, then do another. I feel like I’m caught in your crosshairs, too stupid to move.”
The words stung but she had a point. What did I want? Besides her in my bed? I didn’t know. There was too much baggage between us. And what if I did get her? Even if I did break through her defenses, then what? I finally said the only thing I was sure of. “You’re not stupid.”
She laughed without humor. “Around you I am.”
“That makes two of us.” I knew the feeling.
The timer on the oven rang. Carly sighed and pulled a tray of muffins out of the oven. I was silent while she plated them and took them to the table. When she sat, I followed suit and we ate. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, I didn’t notice. My heart was in my stomach.
“Can I ask you a question?” Carly broke our silence after a few minutes.
“Yes. You’re a great cook, by the way.” I was making up for lost time. I hadn’t told her that morning she stayed over that her omelet was good.
“Thanks.” She flushed, then her voice went shy. “Why did you kiss me?”
I didn’t answer right away. “I do lots of things around you that I shouldn’t.”
“Not really an answer.”
“Does Harlan know what happened to you?” I don’t know why I wanted to know this, but it’d been bothering me since I’d found out about her past.
“No.” She looked away.
“What about other men you’ve dated?”
“I don’t date.” She shifted in her seat. “I told you this.”
“There’s been no one since...?” I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.
“Harlan doesn’t count, we were never alone together, so—” she inhaled, “—you.”
Me. Only me. I stared at her, feeling the responsibility. “What was different a few minutes ago from when you were in my bed the other morning?” I needed to know what set her off.
“What do you mean?” She looked anywhere but at me.
“You weren’t afraid that morning.” Or maybe she had been and I hadn’t noticed.
“It was...” she tucked her hair behind her ear, “...less personal.”