Hurts So Good

by Mallory Rush

  His unexpected answer was more arousing than the gripping need to feel him inside. Andrea wet her dry lips... and connected with his, they were that close.

  "I'm sorry for that. But I'm not sorry that I'm on your mind and—"

  "Under my skin."

  "Am I?"

  "Like a splinter to the bone. Gloating yet?"

  As much as she should be, since it did give her the edge, she wasn't. Her purpose was changing with each of their encounters, until she wasn't even certain anymore what it was.

  "Here's a news flash, Neil. It's pretty hard for me to gloat when beignets lose their flavor and I've been using triple coats of concealer to hide the circles under my eyes." She laughed softly, but her voice caught when he slid a hand over the swell of her breast. "At least I'm fitting into my jeans again and—"

  "And since we seem to be feeling much of the same, can I hope for a change of heart? Exercise is one thing—although our exercise could be very enjoyable—but I'd much prefer to see you to safer and closer quarters. I was wrong to be such a jackass before, but you're wrong to let your pride get in the way of good sense."

  "Back to that." She sighed. "I thought you'd gotten the message, Neil. Put yourself in my position—"

  "You mean... like this?" In one smooth roll he had her on top of him, her hair a canopy over their faces. He took a long strand and traced her lips with it. "I like it both ways. How about you?"

  "You're trying to manipulate me."

  "Of course I am. And wouldn't you be just a tad disappointed if I didn't care enough to try to sway your mind to our mutual advantage?"

  Andrea frowned as she considered his question. Her frown deepened with the silent acknowledgment that his blatant scheming gave her a thrill of feminine power. And yet he held the greater power, because deep inside she was still a small girl who prayed every night that someone, somewhere, would want her, funny teeth and all.

  She'd tried so hard to be the best at whatever she did, to prove she was worthy of being wanted. It made her a little sick to think of how desperate she'd been to please, her need for affection blinding her to an old man's fumbling touches. Her words against his in front of a judge who turned out to be his golfing partner. Good-bye, Ivy League. Hello, community college, thanks to the state grant and job cleaning tables in the school cafeteria.

  She'd learned the hard way to protect herself from being a victim of others' self-serving interests. She couldn't forget that Neil's interests, though sincere and caring, were self-serving too. He wanted her, but not for the reasons she craved: a relationship worth building on, a home like one she'd never had that was full of shared joys and sorrows, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against an unkind world.

  At least Neil had been honest. He deserved as much from her.

  "If you really want to put yourself in my position. Neil, then try to understand where I come from. It does something to a person to live on handouts most of her life—"

  "I did it," he said, resentment and empathy in his voice.

  "Then maybe you can understand why I'm driven to make it on my own. There's nothing like poverty to fuel ambition."

  "And nothing like ambition can guarantee poverty of a different sort. Best be careful what you ask for, 'cause you just might get it. Believe me, the having's usually not near as good as the imagining. You don't ever stop paying those dues."

  "Then why do you have such a problem with me paying mine? I know better than to think it's your altruistic nature making you so concerned about my well-being. There are plenty of willing women out there. So why me? Is it the challenge of pursuing the unattainable? That's ambitious, you know."

  He twined her hair about his finger and gave a quick, hard tug that brought her mouth down to a whisper from his.

  "So you think you've got me all figured out."

  "Don't I?"

  "You're applying to me some lesson you learned from somebody else. Who was he?"

  "Let's just say he was a good teacher, and I always learned fast."

  "Then learn from this—you're right, there's not an altruistic bone in my body. But you're wrong about most everything else. I want more from you than some piddly-ass chase so I can preen once I've had my way and sent you on yours."

  "Then what do you really want from me?"

  "I'm not sure yet. I want you in bed, but not until you invite me there. Why, I don't know either, because it's a first for me. You've got something I need. Besides that, you're driving me so crazy, I'm offering you an even crazier deal. Let me set you up. Two keys, and you keep both until you decide to share."

  "But you already said the having's not half as good as the imagining. Aren't you afraid of being disappointed?"

  "I'm hoping I will be. And hoping I won't. I've never met a woman like you. A woman I wish I could take home to Mama and then make it with in the backseat of a car."

  "I have a confession to make," she said, wondering why she was freely giving him more leverage than he already had. "You see, Neil, for some reason the men I've known have never wanted to take me home. They just wanted to make it with me in the backseat of a car. Or at some out-of-the-way place, away from a wife I heard about from someone else in time to cancel the next date."

  "Jerks," he muttered, then added angrily, "you're not that kind of gal. If I had a mama, I'd take you to meet her. And then put the move on. Heavy-duty."

  For a full minute she said nothing, too elated to question if this was no more than a line, a means to get what he wanted.

  A line. A byline. Then she realized her need to know him had nothing to do with a story, and everything to do with her heart. Why couldn't anyone trace his mother? He'd probably paid plenty to see to that, but why? He'd been quoted as crediting her for his love of music, but more than that he wouldn't say. Would he tell her, Andrea, share with her what he refused to all others?

  "Has your mother passed away?" she asked gently.

  "Dead," he bit out. "Died young and left me behind with a father who said music was only for sissies, and he couldn't stomach sissies. Just tramps to screw while the bedroom door's open, and fellow welders to bet the week's paycheck against in a cock fight."

  And she'd thought herself deprived. How she hurt for the boy, and for the man who'd learned too well to protect himself. Suddenly, she saw him as needing all the same things she did. Things that neither of them had ever had.

  Could it be they might find them with each other?

  "I'm sorry, Neil," she said compassionately. "I'm so sorry."

  Why was he too quiet? And why did she feel him shiver before he rolled himself back on top of her and sit right on her hips?

  "Don't you dare pity me," he said in a gritty, unsteady voice. His rough fingers yanked open the mother-of-pearl snaps of her shirt. "Pity yourself, chere, for being the object of my current desire. I've never wanted a woman as bad as you, and I always get what I want."

  Chapter 7

  Neil had one hell of a surprise. For such a little bit of a woman, she had an amazing amount of strength. His head was still spinning and he was still blinking when he found himself lying on his back, with her standing above him and her foot wedged between his legs.

  "How'd you do that?" Neil demanded uneasily. He could hear the sound of her catching breaths while she rebuttoned her shirt.

  "Jujitsu." She sniffled and that disturbed him more than the threat created by her foot. "Four semesters, Slick."

  "Are you crying?"

  "No."

  "Good. I hate it when a woman cries."

  "In that case, yes. Yes, I'm crying. And it's your fault. Proud of yourself?"

  "Hell, no! I've been nicer to you than I ever thought about being to anyone else. Certainly nicer than you've been to me so far. Here I offer to put you up in style, no strings attached, and what do I get for that? A heel in my crotch. Now, just what the hell are you cryin' for?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked. Lay it on me
. And while you're at it, I'd appreciate you putting your foot elsewhere. I prefer to suck toes minus the leather. Please keep that in mind for future reference."

  "How cocky can you get?" she managed between sobs.

  "If you put on any more pressure with that foot, there's not gonna be one worth crowing about." He heard a small hiccup and an even smaller chuckle before she spun around and ran to the door. It banged shut just as he got to his feet.

  "Andrea! Andrea, get yourself back here." He threw open the door and stared at the empty hallway. Hearing the rapid clicking of her heels over hardwood floor, he followed. "We've got some business to settle, and—ah hell, just don't expect me to grovel and ask your understanding for something I don't understand myself."

  By the time he was outside the bar, all he could see was a jostling crowd swallowing up a flash of red hair in the distance. With a curse he locked up and took off after her, never more thankful that he stood taller than most. He quickened his pace, dodging the stream of partiers.

  Andrea ducked past a sleazy barker and into a novelty shop. Neil was winded by the time he saw her crouched down in front of a souvenir display. He picked up a T-shirt off the rack near her hiding place and dangled it in front of her face.

  "Sure you wouldn't rather have one of these? My treat."

  "'Shuck Me, Suck Me, Eat Me Raw'?" she said in those snooty clipped accents of hers, apparently unimpressed with his peace offering. The garment showed a crawdad and tips on how to eat it.

  "I like 'em better cooked myself." He dropped the T-shirt into her lap, meaning for her to have it whether she wanted it or not. "Tell you what, Lou's got a shrimp and crawdad boil planned next Sunday. I've got a sub sitting in onstage, so why not take off the day and come with me? I'll teach you how to eat a crawdad. Be nice, and I'll even feed you a few. Not only that, I won't dock your wage. I'm willing to pay you to keep me company."

  "No thank you for the invitation and no thank you for the shirt." She flung it up at him, and he caught it in the face.

  When he glowered down at her, she stood and fixed her gaze on an array of porcelain dolls. After studying them too intently, she carefully took one from its stand. Dressed as a court jester in purple velvet and gold satin, the delicate Harlequin figure coaxed a wistful smile from her. Neil fought the urge to snatch the doll away and demand she smile for him instead. Good God, what had this woman done to him? Actually reducing him to a jealous fit over a doll, when Christine's betrayal had only summoned his self-disgust for having married her.

  "Go away, Neil," Andrea said evenly. "I can see myself home. We're through talking for the night."

  "Apparently, you can see yourself home. But we're not through talking by a long shot. What's eating you?"

  "You, that's what, and—"

  "You folks need any help?" the shop clerk asked. "We close in five minutes."

  "How much for the doll?" Andrea's polite tone, the one she used with everyone but him, made him madder—and he was already chewing nails.

  "Sixty dollars. But I'll make it fifty for you."

  "Will that price still be good next week?"

  The man looked from her to the doll she gently stroked. "I'll give you two weeks, how's that?"

  As Neil watched her reluctantly replace it on the shelf, he felt his anger cool. The urge to buy every dumb doll in the place for her was strong, but she'd already thrown one present back in his face. He didn't care to get pelted by a slew of flying porcelain.

  Andrea expressed her thanks to the clerk, then brushed past Neil. He tossed the spurned T-shirt to the man and muttered, "Hang on to that doll. I'll be back for it tomorrow."

  She didn't get far before he gripped her arm and spun her around to face him. Her cat-green eyes all but hissed up at him where they stood in the middle of the blocked-off street.

  "I've got my beef, and you've got yours," he stated bluntly. "Only you know what mine is, and I'm still waiting to hear yours. Spit it out."

  If there was anything she wanted to spit out, it was him. Spit him out of her system and fulfill her original mission.

  "I reached out to you, Neil, offered my understanding. But you're afraid to let anyone get too close, aren't you? It threatens you. So what do you do? You reduce everything to money and power plays. You're a control monster, that's what you are. Well, you don't control me, buster. No ones does."

  "And that doesn't make you a control monster too? Like recognizes like. Two peas in a pod, if you ask me."

  "I'm not asking you," she said defensively. "But I am telling you something. If you ever try to manhandle me like that again, you'll be singing soprano permanently. Got it?"

  "You mean you don't like it too frisky in the boudoir?"

  "See? You're doing it again! No wonder your wife said all those horrible things about you." Her voice faltered as his eyes squinted meanly and his face turned ominously dark. Still, she plunged on, "A smart man knows that the quickest way to a woman's bed is through her heart and mind. Please keep that fact in mind for future reference," she added, imitating his drawl.

  He muttered something that sounded like "the Vow" before he looked away. Then, as if drawn back against his will, he looked her full in the face and tightened his grip.

  "I know the facts just fine, thank you, ma'am. Now I've got a few for you. It just so happens my ex-wife taught me to stay out of a woman's head and never get near her heart, 'cause a man could lose himself in there. And once he does, he's left wide open for a she-cat attack—not to mention her taking a swipe out of his bankroll."

  Andrea didn't want to soften inside, but she did. She wanted to wrap herself around him and beg him to let her undo the damage another woman had done. Instead, she stared mutely into his now-cold eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, she touched his cheek and felt him jerk. As she stroked, he subtly relaxed.

  "I shouldn't have said that about your ex-wife. That was a low blow and totally inexcusable. For her to have hurt you so deeply... well, you must have loved her very much."

  "No love lost between strangers, chere. Kids make stupid mistakes, and Christine was one of my bigger ones. Much as I like to put all the blame on her, I can't. She dangled the bait, and I swallowed it. Found out too late that lust and love are two different animals. At least, I hope so. Never been in love, so I can't say fo' sho'." He shook his head and laughed that grainy sandpaper sound that stirred her on some primal level. "Listen to me. You'd think travelin' the world would've taught me some proper diction. I try real hard, but my roots won't let loose."

  She felt as if he'd let her in, through a secret passage that led to a vulnerable part of him she never would have guessed existed. Before he could shut the door, she seized the opportunity.

  "I like how you talk. I guess you could say I feel about it the same way you feel about my teeth. I can't change them, and I've always hated them because they weren't perfect. But after you kissed me, I didn't mind my spaces at all. I wish you felt that way about your speech. It's special. Like you."

  "Hmmm. Never thought about it in them there terms." He smiled crookedly. Then, as if in a hurry to say what he wouldn't if he paused, he added quickly, "Christine hated how I talked. Said to keep my mouth on my sax so I wouldn't embarrass her by opening it. Course, I only talked louder and cruder then, just to make her mad. We were married six years, but it seemed like sixty. Hell had nothin' on her. Or me."

  Andrea had never met Christine, but she nevertheless despised her. Not only for putting Neil down, but for sharing six years of his life.

  "Will you tell me about her?" Andrea hesitated. She wasn't a quitter or a coward. Neither had she been much of a gambler before taking the train to New Orleans. But what did she have to lose by going double or nothing? "And about your mother?"

  Neil looked her over as he appeared to weigh his answer. "If you really want to know, you'll have to catch me in a weaker moment. Could make for some interesting pillow talk, I suppose. That is, should I be foolish enough to get inside that pr
etty head of yours. Oh yes, and you did mention something else about a heart. Best I give some thought as to whether getting you into bed's worth all that."

  His deft fingertips slid up her spine and lifted her hair to expose the dampness of her neck to a muggy breeze.

  Andrea traced the two-day stubble of beard shadowing his jaw. "If you're feeling dangerous, why not sneak a peek into my mind right now? Tell me what I'm thinking, and you just might make it to first base after a string of strikeouts."

  His lips pursed into a pout, then formed a sly smile.

  "Why, Andrea, I do believe you've reconsidered my invitation to Lou's party. What-say I pick you up around one on Sunday? Dress with a hot, laid-back afternoon in mind, and leave the table manners behind. Maybe we'll even do body shots and end the night with a kick."

  "Body shots?" The way he'd said it promised a lethal sensuality.

  "Don't tell me you haven't traded a few."

  "I don't think so. Guns aren't involved, are they?"

  "Not unless you count a bang." He laughed then, an indulgent, satisfied laugh. "Did I make it to first base or strike out again?"

  "You could make it to second by not insulting me with another offer to pay me for being where I want to be."

  "You mean Lou's party."

  "Lou's party. Work. Wherever. I just want to be with you."

  He regarded her for a full minute, his gaze somber. But then he quirked a brow. "So tell me, chere, does this mean I still have a snowball's chance in hell to score a home run?"

  "You have to pass third base before you get there. You could up your chances by walking me home."

  "But no frisky business, right?"

  Her only answer was a smile.

  They walked in companionable silence, his arm protectively about her shoulders. Hers moved from his lean waist to scratch his broad back as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.