by Dee Tenorio
What he really should have done was gone back home. It would have saved him the unwelcome sight of Belinda draped on Kyle’s body like some sort of previously undiscovered moss. His belly had nothing on the constriction of his heart.
Close up, Belinda’s outfit was even worse than he thought. The jagged edges of the Catholic schoolgirl skirt gave the red plaid a stronger sense of sinfulness. Inverted suspenders snaked between her legs like some kind of handle set. The ripped edge of her black tank top snagged a corner of a palm-sized bandage on her stomach, the only thing amusing in the little vignette. That and her knee-high patent leather boots with spikes running up the front. How she thought her outfit was complete without a skull and crossbones somewhere on her person, he didn’t know. But her head on Kyle’s shoulder while she curled her fingers possessively around his coat lapels definitely wasn’t dragging any smiles out of him.
Kyle was doing some kind of stumbling, verbal backpedaling while Jessica called him names. Lucas knew the exact second Belinda realized he was there. Her dark eyes met his and she did the one thing that would cost him all the control he had left.
She hugged Kyle even tighter.
The next thing he knew, his hand felt like hell and Kyle was splayed out on the ground.
“You jackass!” Belinda cried, swinging her arm in an unfortunately familiar way.
For some reason, no matter how often he saw it coming, he never had the ability to duck the flat of her hand against his ear. She’d perfected cuffing while raising her wild siblings, but he still should have been able to duck it by now. Since he already had a splitting headache, the flash of white behind his eyes and the loud popping noise of his eardrum screaming its violation just short of knocked him over.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Belinda kept yelling while Lucas tried to hear over the ringing sounding through his head. She was helpful in that aspect by being so goddamn loud. “What are you hitting him for? Kyle didn’t do anything to you.”
“Sure looked like it to me,” he mumbled. At least, he hoped he mumbled. The imbalance to his hearing disoriented him.
“Yeah, how?” Leave it to her to need specifics. She was there, wasn’t she?
“You two were wrapped around each other—”
“So? What business is it of yours?”
How dumb did she think he was? He looked up at her, covering his ear in the hopes it would stop jangling. “He knows about us, Belle.”
“The way you’ve been acting, everyone and their grandmother knows about us! At least now I finally know why there’s an us to be pissed off about. I can’t believe I let you do this to me. Again!”
The blow to his ear must have popped something in his brain. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your Lancelot complex. You think you have to save me from falling apart because Kyle chose someone else? I’m not a little girl anymore, Lucas. Believe me, I’m well versed in not being chosen. I can handle it.”
“Are you still drunk?” he asked, trying to make sense of her, but his confusion just seemed to make her angrier.
She jabbed his shoulder, looking like an enraged kitten picking a fight. “I know what this is all about. The presents. Your stupid dog. The dares. You’re going back on your plan to be done with me because you think I can’t handle being rejected.”
How could he not appreciate how beautiful she was when she wanted to kill him? But if he didn’t watch it, she was going to shove the spikes on her boots somewhere unpleasant.
“What’s going on between you and me is not about Kyle.” Maybe because of him, but it wasn’t about him.
“Sure, that’s what you always say. I’m just a dog toy for the two of you. You only want me because I wanted him.” The accusation stung. She couldn’t really believe that. He knew she didn’t.
“You’re the one with the belly candy.” He pointed to her massive Band-Aid, knowing exactly what was under it and so damn glad to be able to point it out whenever he wanted.
“You dared me,” she accused, adding a rare combination of swear names afterward.
Ignoring the pain in his ear, he crossed his arms and smiled when it was the last thing he wanted to do. Talk about convenient. For her. She didn’t remember. He couldn’t buy a break, could he? “You sure?”
She paled. “I wouldn’t do this to myself on my own.”
“Oh, but you did. When we hit the parlor. You passed out before we ever got to your next dare. So, I won, fair and square. I was thinking something in September, when it cools down a little, if that’s good for you.”
“What are you babbling about now?” Not that she seemed to care. She was looking inward, wildly searching her memory if her distant but rapidly moving eyes were any indication.
Keep looking, Belle… You’ll remember. How excited and proud you were of it. Right up until you passed out…
“The wedding.” Would that jog her whisky-addled brain?
Her eyes stilled, locked on him with shock and fire. Nope, no jogging from that. At least, not the part he wanted jogged. Now she was going to hit him again. He could already see it, and he had a feeling the boxed ear was going to be a love bite, comparatively.
“We are not getting married, Lucas. Ever.” How she managed to speak with no blood in her face and her whole person trembling with rage was something he’d leave to science to figure out.
“So, October then?”
He almost felt bad for her. She looked lost. Probably confused as to whether she should hate him or kick him. “You’re impossible!”
“You think Kyle isn’t?” He pointed to the pile of man on the ground, just sitting up, no doubt trying to figure out where he was. Hopefully who he was. Jessica was crouched next to him, seemed to be telling him something. Or maybe just telling him where to go. Kyle blinked at them, his eyes just this side of focused.
“Normally,” Lucas added, uncomfortable with the guilt nipping at him with every throb of his hand.
“I was trying to help him with his girlfriend over there until you came over here like some wild rampaging caveman and ruined it.”
“I am not his girlfriend,” Jessica corrected, making them both turn to look at her. Her pale cheeks were full of color and her eyes flashed with irritation.
Great, more guilt. Lucas kissed away any chance of getting out of the contract now.
“I don’t know what kind of freak show is going on here.” Jessica included all of them in a roving look of disgust. “But I’ve had enough. I’m going.”
“Jessica, wait!” Kyle tried getting up, but he spent too much time wobbling to catch up to her.
“I’m not dating him!” Belinda suddenly yelled, catching Jessica mid-escape. Kyle, too. And just about everyone within a fifty-foot radius. Unfortunately, there were more people in that distance than Lucas wanted to count. “He wouldn’t want me, even if I were. The only woman he wants to be with is you.”
Belinda briefly met Lucas’s gaze, hurt welling in the depths of her eyes before she looked away. Damn it, why did she think Kyle’s stupidity made her any less valuable? Why did she never see what she was worth?
Lucas’s fists curled tight, but forming them didn’t give him any sense of power. If anything, he hadn’t felt more powerless in his life.
“I’m not what he’s looking for,” Jessica finally said softly. She looked at Kyle briefly, then calmly walked out of the park, back straight, gait even, as untouched as falling snow. One thing was sure—the woman was far too classy for the likes of them. Her utter lack of regret at walking away would probably have stung if it were something Lucas would have to deal with. For once, his brother bore the brunt of cold rejection.
Belinda turned her back on Lucas as well, reminding him there was always enough rejection to go around. She put her hand on Kyle’s shoulder to comfort. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I really thought I was helping.”
Kyle rubbed his jaw, watching Lucas with definite suspicion. “Yeah, well, next time you want to
help, hon…”
Lucas frowned at the sarcasm of his tone.
“You might want to actually think before you act for once in your life.”
She gasped, snatching her hand away as if he burned her. And he had, the dumb bastard.
“Belinda—” As usual, Kyle remembered too late that she had feelings. Lucas took a step toward them, ready to pummel his brother all over again.
“Don’t worry about it,” Belinda bit out, her voice wavering painfully. She spared Lucas a fleeting glance. “In fact, I don’t want either of you to worry about me. Ever again.”
Lucas put a hand out to her, but she slapped it away.
“Especially you,” she added, reading his actions if not his mind. If it weren’t for her pride or the fact that his brother was right there to see it crumble, Lucas would have ignored her and hauled her into his arms anyway. Someday, she’d learn there was nothing wrong with crying on his shoulder. Someday, he vowed, she’d see she didn’t have to be the strong one, the one everyone turned to. She’d realize she’d been turning to him all along.
Today, though, he had to let her turn away.
Damn her and these games they had to play.
He never should have brought up marriage. Blaming the hangover didn’t help, either. He knew she’d react this way no matter when he mentioned it, knew it would push her into chew-off-the-paw mode. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. Now she was out of reach again.
She ran out of the park unsteadily, and for now, he was willing to let her go.
But only for now.
She should have known better than to think he’d actually do what she told him to do. Not two hours after that scene in the park, Lucas was back at her door, leading Sparky on his leash and wearing something that looked like an apology on his face. It couldn’t be, though. Lucas didn’t do apologies. His attempts were usually worse than his original crimes.
Wearily, Belinda dragged herself off her bed and opened the door. She might hate him. She might even love him. But she was not stupid. He’d stand on her porch for a week solid until she heard him out. She parked herself on the threshold, resolved not to let Lucas inside her loft no matter what he said. She would give him the inch of answering his knock, but this time, the man would not take a mile.
Lucas coughed into his hand. “I’m no Lancelot.”
No shit.
“I’m a jerk. I don’t know how to say the right thing. I screw up a lot with you. All the time, actually.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to say something she didn’t know.
“But wanting you has never had anything to do with Kyle,” he added quietly. “All I’ve ever wanted, for as long as I can remember, is to be with you. You might not like it, but you’ve always known it.”
A good person would have acknowledged his honesty with some honesty of her own. But she was as good as she was decent so she said nothing.
His sigh was heavy. “If you really wanted me out of your life, Belle, you’d stop opening your door to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Lucas?”
Sometimes, when he smiled this way, she could almost picture him with boyish charm. “I thought we’d give that dare of yours another shot.”
If only she didn’t remember him as the grimmest boy on earth.
“Did you now?” she asked, ignoring the steady lick of Sparky’s tongue on her leg while he pushed his big round head against the door she held firmly to her side. No males getting in this house today, dog.
“You were right.” Lucas almost managed to look comfortable with that sentence. With this entire—dare she think it?—apologetic conversation. He leaned his broad shoulder against the opposite threshold, his smile growing warm and distracting. “It wasn’t fair to consider your passing out cold to mean you quit willingly. If I want to win, I should win fairly.”
Not distracting enough. “You consider a bet for my hand in marriage to be fair?”
“I said I should win fairly,” he qualified with a raised forefinger. “I never said the game itself was fair.”
Of course not. If it were, she’d know for sure the Body Snatchers had attacked. She inched the door closer to her side. “Am I supposed to fall all over myself with happy because you’re letting me have another dare to get out of this?”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“I bet you wouldn’t.” She’d stomp on his feet if she didn’t know it would give him an opportunity to get inside the apartment, no doubt her bed shortly after. “Goodbye, Lucas.”
Faster than she would have imagined, his hand reached out. Not for her hand. Not for her chin. No, he grabbed the twin suspenders holding her skirt in place, letting the thick elastic rub gently where she didn’t want him rubbing at all. Back and forth with every twist of his wrist, nudging her clit teasingly, warming the folds of her sex that should know better than to grow slick for him but were doing it anyway. White heat jolted through her at his sudden tug and her gasp turned to a delicious shudder as her lashes fell in an instant.
“How long do you think we can keep going the way we are?” he asked with the dark, sensuously serious voice she knew so well. All the while, his hand rolled back and forth. “We hurt each other over and over because the game we play never ends. Can you keep taking it, Belle? Because I can’t.” He leaned against her. She could feel him breathing her in. “I want a life with you.”
The last thing she could give him.
“Play with me, Belle.” His mischievous tone made her smile. “You know you want to.”
No, she didn’t. “Lucas—”
“Don’t you want to know what your dare is?” he asked, his voice like heated honey against her cheek. He tugged again, the effect heightening her need like an unexpected spank. If he pulled just a little harder…
“Is it to stand here and let you feel me up?” she asked, the tiniest bit of a sigh slipping out. She could do that dare easily enough.
His intimate chuckle, smoky slow, took her back to the night he’d spent tangled in her sheets. “You’d never get off that easy.”
She looked up at him, rolling her hips toward him in an invitation she wasn’t sure she wanted to make. “Keep that up and I might.”
He smiled, the special sexy smile she doubted anyone else knew he possessed. Then he let go, the bastard.
“I dare you to go out with me, Belle,” he whispered, soft as a kiss. “On a real date.”
She scoffed, pushing at his chest, pretending she didn’t wish he were still manipulating those marionette strings. “A real date? What, like dinner and a movie?”
“Maybe. But you have to wear a dress.”
She didn’t own a dress and he knew it. God, she needed a cigarette. She wasn’t sure why she’d avoided having one, since he already thought she’d lost the bet. Pride, maybe. But if a situation ever called for stress relief, this was it. Lucas Lonnigan, chipping away at her reserves. He wasn’t a man who often gave in to loopholes, least of all ones that left him at a disadvantage. Their game was never meant to continue beyond last night, but here he was, offering her a second chance to lock him out of her life. She’d be stupid not to take it, right?
Then again, how could she be thinking of doing this? Playing games with Lucas was like playing Russian roulette with a bazooka. He cheated. She’d get hurt. Badly. It was stupid to consider.
But neither did she want to step back and close the door in his face.
It wouldn’t do her any good if she did, she knew. He was purposely tying her in knots. He wouldn’t let something as simple as a closed door stop him. It was why she’d answered his knock in the first place.
“If I do this and we keep this idiotic game going, how do I know you’re not going to dare me to sleep with you again?”
“Because I won’t need to.” And people thought he had no ego. “Six o’clock. Something that comes to your knees. I like your skirt, but I don’t want to share you with anyone tonight.” He leaned down to ki
ss her and God help her, she let him. She breathed in his scent and let his lips take the sting out of their earlier argument with a soft, gentle kiss. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”
Of course she was.
That was the problem.
Chapter Seven
To say he was stunned when she opened her door for him that night was an understatement. For reasons she wasn’t willing to think about, she’d gone to her sister and borrowed a dress fifteen minutes after Lucas left her doorstep. And asked for hair tips. Being by far the most intelligent of her sisters, Corrine had said nothing about the unbelievable request and only excused herself once to a make a low-whispered phone call to their mother, which Belinda pretended not to hear.
You could be that gracious when your date guru was able to tame your sharp hair into something resembling contemporary style. If Belinda took those moments while her sister was away to make her hands stop trembling, no one else knew it. She’d looked into her own dark eyes, devoid of the prerequisite goth-industrial shadows and saw the girl Lucas was trying so hard to unearth. And shuddered.
That image of herself shouldn’t have been there, but she wasn’t able to escape it. What the hell was she going to do if Lucas saw it? Saw that he was slipping beneath her guard somehow, reminding her who she’d been so long ago. She didn’t want to be that girl. She wanted to be the balls-to-the-wall woman she’d created out of sheer will. Why didn’t Lucas want that woman? Why did he have to see so far inside?
He wouldn’t for much longer, though. She’d win the bet and Lucas wouldn’t see her at all.
Which turned out to be a thought that had her sitting uncomfortably on the closed commode when her sister returned to finish the job.
“What’s wrong?” Corrine had asked when she came back in, following Belinda’s gaze to the mirror. She’d tilted her head to the side, checking the reflection for some kind of clue. It was there all right, not that Corrine would ever see it. Their two faces, so alike and so different, staring back at them. Corrine, her honey blonde hair tucked behind her ears, so put together, so seemingly content, and Belinda, framed in blackness that no amount of hairspray was going to remove. One wrong word, one ounce of truth uttered, and Belinda could have stripped that contentment away. She wasn’t dumb. She knew Corrine ached to pick up their mother’s quest to convert Belinda into a believer concerning their father’s sobriety and supposed change of heart. No one would ever guess that Corrine was the one deluding herself about Adam and a whole bunch of other things. Thinking she was happy to follow her husband around the world, their troupe of kids bringing up the rear. But Belinda could see it, in the eyes so like her own. Corrine had her doubts. She had dreams she’d set aside for her life. Just because no one talked about them anymore didn’t mean they didn’t hurt anymore.