“This place is yours, right?” The deep rumble of Levi’s voice was almost a shock after the silence.
Steadying herself, she lifted her head and found his gaze on hers, the silver blue of one eye in stark contrast to the lightless dark of the other. And she had to force herself to hold his gaze, to act as if the intensity of it didn’t scare her. “Yes. Didn’t Gideon tell you?”
“He might have mentioned it. On one of his visits.”
She caught the implication, the slight emphasis on the words “his visits,” making the guilt shift inside her. She ignored it. “Answer the damn question, Levi. What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I can’t right now,” she said flatly. “I have a client coming in ten minutes.”
“Cancel it.”
“What? No. I’m not canceling it. Look, what about you come back later and we’ll figure out a time to—”
“No.” The word cut across hers like the blade of a guillotine coming down across a sheet of paper. Or someone’s neck.
She blinked. “What the hell do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean no, I’m not fucking coming back later. We’re having this conversation, Rachel, and we’re having it now.”
An unnamed fear curled in her heart, tangling with the shock of seeing him again and the guilt she’d buried so far down she had almost forgotten it was there. But she felt the guilt now. Oh yeah, she really felt it now.
It made her angry.
You always knew you’d have to face him one day. That you’d have to explain.
Well, sure. She owed him an explanation; that was true. But she couldn’t let him come in here and start ordering her around like he owned the place. Because he didn’t. This was her place. This was her studio. In here she had the power, not him.
“You can wait an hour, can’t you?” She threw her shoulders back, gripping the metal of the counter for strength. “I have a business to run, and coming in here demanding I cancel my appointments, just because you want to talk to me, is pretty douchey behavior, Levi.”
He tilted his head, studying her for a long minute. Then he came toward her slow and easy, like a hunter stalking prey, his boots making heavy sounds on the wooden floor. And she felt herself wanting to take a step back the way she had in the garage, run away before he caught her.
But no. She was not going to run. Not this time.
Rachel took a silent breath and waited, still holding on to the counter, proud of herself that she didn’t look away or flinch as he came closer and closer, until he stopped right in front of her and there was only the counter between them.
She’d forgotten how he towered over her. And now that he was much broader through the chest and shoulders, his presence felt like a mountain looming over her.
A mountain that would fall on her and crush her if she wasn’t careful.
“Cancel the appointment, Rachel,” he ordered, not taking his gaze from hers. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
A helpless tremble shook her, which was infuriating. God, she really had to get herself together. Showing weakness of any kind was a mistake, as she’d learned to her cost.
“You do that, and I’ll call the cops.” At least her voice sounded level, thank God. “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
An expression flickered through those fascinating eyes of his, and she thought it looked like satisfaction. “You can try. But it won’t be me they’ll be taking away.”
She frowned. “What?”
This time there was no mistaking it as one corner of his mouth turned up. Definitely satisfaction. “I can’t be trespassing on my own property,” he said slowly, as if to a child.
“What do you mean ‘your own property’? This building is owned—”
“By me.”
Shock held her rigid. That couldn’t be true. This building had been abandoned for years, and she’d been trying to track down the owners of it for a while now and hadn’t been able to find them. Anyway, how could he have bought it? He’d been in jail. Buildings cost money, and he didn’t have any.
“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “You don’t own this building.”
His eyes glittered. “Oh, but I do. In fact, I bought it a couple of years back.” His smile deepened, as white and savage as a tiger’s. “Which means that I’m not the one trespassing. You are.”
* * *
Rachel paled, and, in another life, if he hadn’t become the man he was and she had still been the girl he remembered, he might have felt sorry for her. But neither of those two things was true, and so he didn’t.
Instead he watched the color drain from her skin with almost clinical interest. He’d thought a lot about this moment too, when he finally told her that she and her precious studio were illegally trespassing in the building he owned, revealing at last the leverage he was going to use against her.
He’d imagined her face, imagined her going white just as she was doing now. Or maybe flushing with anger instead, her dark eyes glittering.
It didn’t matter though, what she felt. Her emotions were irrelevant.
He wanted what he wanted, and he was going to get it.
He was fucking owed.
“No.” Rachel started shaking her head. “No, that’s ridiculous. You can’t own my building. You just can’t.”
“I can, and I do.”
Her forehead creased. “But . . . you’ve been in jail.”
“So?”
“So?” she repeated. “How can you have bought it if you’ve been in jail?”
“I had contacts who bought it on my behalf.” He watched her, savagely pleased at the bewilderment that crossed her face. “What? You think I did nothing with my life all those years? That I just sat there with my thumb up my ass?”
“No . . . But I . . .” She stopped, her tank pulling tight as she took in another quick breath, long, silky black lashes veiling her gaze. “Okay, so I know you want to talk, and I’m good with that. But could we please do it at another, more appropriate time? Like when I haven’t got a full client list?”
Of course. Because it was all about her.
Levi put his palms down on the metal counter in front of him and leaned on it. She was looking down, refusing to meet his eyes, the little coward.
“I don’t give a fuck about your client list,” he said quietly and with finality. “You’re going to listen to what I have to say. So you’d better get comfortable, because this could take a while.”
As if on cue, the door to the studio opened and there was the sound of tentative footsteps coming closer.
Levi pushed himself away from the counter and turned to find some skinny little shit of a guy looking nervously around. Obviously the client Rachel had been talking about.
“Fuck off,” Levi ordered curtly.
“Hey,” Rachel protested from behind him. “You can’t talk to my—”
Levi turned and silenced her with a look, before turning back to the client again.
The man was staring at him wide-eyed, looking like he might wet himself.
“What did I say?” Levi said.
Not needing to be told twice, the man took off out the door without a word.
There was a sudden, dense silence.
Levi swung around, meeting Rachel’s furious gaze head on.
She’d gone pale with anger. “You asshole.” Her voice was low. “You fucking asshole.”
Like he gave a crap what she thought of him. For two years the fact that she never came to visit, that she never contacted him had haunted him, had eaten away at him. Then his father had died, and Levi had been beaten within an inch of his life for getting on the wrong side of one of the prison gangs, and after that, he’d stopped giving two fucks about anyone or anything.
Nothing except the icy rage that had made a home for itself inside his chest. And the justice he would claim for himself once he got out.
So she could get all angry with him for being rude to one of h
er clients; he didn’t care.
The only thing that mattered was getting the explanation he was owed.
“Sit down,” he ordered, inclining his head toward the velvet sofa opposite the metal shop counter.
She straightened, her hands curled into fists again, like she was going to take a punch at him, her expression full of cool defiance. “No.”
Stubborn little bitch. Well, two could play at that game. “Sit. The fuck. Down.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Or else I’ll come around that counter, pick you up, and sit you down there myself.”
Her mouth went flat, twin flames of anger burning in her eyes. Then with a short, sharp movement, she pulled open a drawer under the counter and took something out. A Colt nine millimeter. “Pull another stunt like you did at Gideon’s, and you might find yourself without some valuable part of your anatomy.” She wrapped her fingers around the weapon, holding it in her small hand. “Understand?”
The Levi of years ago would have been horrified at the thought that she’d need to defend herself like this from him.
The man he was now only lifted an eyebrow. “Sure you know how to use that?”
“I don’t know.” Her dark eyes promised retribution. “Want to find out?”
But he was tired of arguing with her. “Go sit down.”
She went this time without protest, holding the gun in her hand as she rounded the counter and went past him, sauntering as if she had all the time in the world, swinging her hips so his gaze was helplessly drawn to the bounce of her blue ponytail and the sway of her ass.
His dick liked that. His dick liked that a lot. Because it really hadn’t seen anything as good for far too fucking long. Unfortunately though, it was going to have to wait.
Before he’d been inside, he’d never had trouble getting laid. He knew the power of his own looks, knew the power of a smile too, and the combo had gotten him as much pussy as he could handle.
All except the one woman he couldn’t have. Her.
He’d never turned his attention on her, no matter how badly he’d wanted her. She’d been too young and her home life too fucked up for him to mess with her like that. So they’d stayed just friends.
But he’d always harbored dreams about how it would be if they weren’t living in Royal. If they could somehow make it out together. If he were as rich and powerful as the guys in suits downtown. He’d take her away then, take her away where life was better, where they could be happy.
Unfortunately, that plan had been ruined by eight years in jail.
Fortunately, in that time he had gotten together a better one.
Rachel sat down, leaning back against the couch cushions, the gun in her lap. Her hair gleamed deep blue against the red velvet, making her skin seem even paler, especially in contrast to her black fishnets and miniskirt.
Black and red and blue. Vivid, intense colors for a vivid, intense woman.
She looked up at him, her chin proud and stubborn, her eyes guarded. “Talk then. Say what you’ve got to say, and get the hell out of here.”
No prizes for guessing why she was so defensive. She knew what she’d done and that it had been wrong.
He took a few steps over to the couch, then stopped, folding his arms and staring down at her. “Two things. First, eight years and you never came to see me. Not once.”
The hard line of her mouth flattened even further. “Yeah, look, I’m—”
“Shut the fuck up. I haven’t finished.”
She fell silent, her gaze falling to the gun in her lap.
“I’m up here, coward.” How dare she not even look at him?
Slowly, her lashes lifted, and her gaze met his. And all he could see was that defensive rage. But he knew where that was coming from: she felt guilty. Which was good, because she should.
“Second, you never came to give that statement to the police after it happened. It might not have ended up making any difference to my sentence, but you still never came and gave it.”
He remembered that night vividly. Following Rachel down the alley at the back of Gino’s because he’d been worried about her, his heart sinking with every step. Then seeing the shady figure of a well-known dealer, the guy pulling at her clothing, and her pale, terrified face. Levi hadn’t thought; he’d only moved fast, jerking the asshole off her and punching him in the face. The guy had fallen and had hit his head on the pavement. There was the sickening crack of bone hitting concrete, and then all the blood . . .
Rachel said nothing, her dark gaze flickering as if she wanted to look away, but was forcing herself not to.
Good. Because he wasn’t going to make this any fucking easier for her.
“I went to jail for years,” he said, making his voice flat and cold. “All because I wanted to help you. Which makes it your turn now.”
Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. “What do you mean, it’s my ‘turn’ now? I wouldn’t have thought you’d want my help.”
“I don’t want your help. But you owe me, and so I’ve come to collect.”
Another flicker in her dark eyes. “Collect what?”
He didn’t smile this time, because there was nothing to smile about. This was as serious as it got. “You, Rachel. I’ve come to collect you.”
She frowned. “I don’t get it.”
Of course she wouldn’t get it. He’d never told her how he felt. He had guarded and protected her, made sure she never caught a glimpse of what he really wanted from her. Because he’d been her friend, and she’d needed a friend more than she needed anything else.
Well, now that friendship was dead and gone, and he could do whatever the fuck he liked.
“It’s very simple,” he said. “There’s a thing I want. A thing I want from you.”
Maybe she knew; maybe she sensed it, because she suddenly went very still. “What thing? If you want to know why I didn’t come, I didn’t because—”
“Don’t give me your fucking excuses.” He locked her gaze with his, leaving her in no doubt that he meant every word of what he was going to say next. “I know why you didn’t come, believe me. In fact, I’ve had nothing but time to think about what I’d done that would make you leave me to rot in that fucking jail cell. And you know what conclusion I came to?”
“No.” Her voice was hoarse, barely audible.
“I came to the conclusion that you didn’t give a shit.”
Her jaw went tight, and she blinked. But she stayed silent, lines of tension bracketing her lovely, sulky mouth.
“What? No protest? Well, I guess that’s just going to make what I say next pretty fucking easy.” He dropped his arms and stalked over to her, closing the remaining distance so he was standing right in front of her. Then he leaned forward and placed his hands on the back of the couch on either side of her head, so there was no chance of retreat, no chance of escape. Because the time had come for her to stop avoiding him once and for all.
“So don’t worry. You don’t have to give me your excuses,” he said softly. “The thing I want is you. In every way there is.”
She blinked. “You mean . . . ?”
“I mean, I’ve wanted you a long time, Rachel Hamilton. So now I’m going to have you.”
He could see the shock cross her face and bloom in the depths of her eyes, all her muscles stiffening. “I see.” Each word was so precise it could have been etched in glass. “And do I get a choice about this?”
He leaned in a little further so his mouth was near her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her, letting it go straight to his head like the kick of a good bourbon. “Of course you do. But if you say no, I’m throwing you and your goddamn studio out of this building and knocking it the fuck down.”
Chapter 3
Rachel stared straight ahead; all her muscles locked and stiff with shock.
It was like a pair of hands was squeezing her ribcage, compressing her lungs so that all the air rushed out of them and prevented her from taking another br
eath.
Her brain wouldn’t work. It kept stumbling over the phrase I’ve wanted you a long time, Rachel Hamilton, then picking itself up, only to stumble again over So now I’m going to have you.
He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. He couldn’t. Could he?
It was difficult to think with him leaning over her like that. In fact, it was next to impossible. Because not only did she have to contend with the shock of what he’d said, she also had to contend with the fact that he was pretty fucking close. And that she could feel the heat from his body for the second time that day, and it was pouring off him, hot as a goddamn furnace.
She could smell him too, an unfamiliar, woody, smoky scent that seemed to ignite something inside her. She didn’t remember him smelling like that before and it was . . . God, so good. Because under that smoky scent was a smell she did remember. Masculine and warm. The one that reminded her of friendship, easy smiles, and easier laughter. Levi.
She blinked. His muscular arms were on either side of her, the fascinating black rings of those tattoos banding them, and she had the almost uncontrollable urge to touch the tattoos, trace them. And then maybe to touch the soft cotton of his T-shirt, follow the ridges of his abs, see whether they felt as hard and as hot as they looked . . .
What the hell are you doing?
Good question. Because she sure as hell had no idea. She’d wanted him once before, but that had been before she’d really understood what it was that men and women did together. And then she’d found out, and then . . .
No. She wouldn’t think of that. Anyway, looking at him like that was the last thing she should be doing, especially considering the other thing he’d said. About kicking her out of her building.
His building now.
The thought was an electric shock, making a shudder go right through her and breaking the weird physical paralysis that was gripping her.
She turned her head, meeting his ferocious gaze head on.
No, she wasn’t going to talk about his threat to throw her out of this beautiful building and destroy the business she’d built with so much blood, sweat, and tears. Or about the fact that he’d wanted her for years, something she’d used to dream about when she’d been younger and far more innocent. Her mind simply shied away from that, and she just couldn’t deal with it.
Wrong for Me Page 3