It didn’t help either that impatience was making his muscles tense. He kept staring at that goddamned door. And he knew the others had noticed because he saw the glances that flowed between Gideon, Zoe, and Zee.
Hell. They were only worried, he knew that, but what the fuck did they expect? That he’d come back and everything would be the same as it had been? That nothing would have changed in all the time he’d been away? That he would still be the same guy?
The anger he tried to keep locked down simmered inside him, mixing with the impatience, making him feel restless, like he wanted to go do something violently physical.
You will. Tonight. With Rachel.
Yeah, fuck yeah. There would be a reckoning tonight. And Jesus Christ, he couldn’t wait. He was going to make her want him. He was going to make her burn....
Unless of course, she pulled her avoidance crap and didn’t turn up.
That would be a pity. He’d meant what he’d said when he’d told her he’d kick her the hell out of his building. He always kept his word about shit like that. And he wouldn’t regret it, not even a shred.
He’d been lying in the bed she’d made for him for the past eight years; now it was her turn to try it out.
Tamara turned her head and whispered something in Zee’s ear, making him laugh. Levi found the sound vaguely shocking. Laughter was another thing he hadn’t heard much of lately.
But then he stopped thinking about that, because at that moment the door of the garage opened, and Rachel stepped inside.
He went completely still, staring at her, his brain momentarily short-circuiting, all the breath leaving his body.
She was wearing some kind of loose, flowy black top that was utterly see-through, with nothing underneath but a black lace bra. A black leather miniskirt wrapped around her hips, and her long legs were bare. On her feet were a pair of platform sandals with an intricate network of silver straps that coiled around her calves like vines.
The blue was gone from her hair. Now her hair fell over her shoulders, black and glossy, just the way he remembered it, like a pool of ink spilled fresh from the bottle. Her eyes were very dark, ringed with black eyeliner, her lids dusted with some kind of sparkly silver shadow. Her mouth was painted a deep, dark red and promised all kinds of sin.
She met his gaze head-on, her chin slightly lifted, and he felt the impact of it like a punch right to his solar plexus.
Finally, finally, she was here. And she was so fucking beautiful.
He could feel himself getting hard, his body kicking into high gear, scenarios about what exactly he was going to do to her running through his head. Because he knew what this was; he could see it in her eyes. Her outfit and the calm expression on her face said it all.
She was going to accept his ultimatum.
Not that you gave her a choice.
Something uncomfortable shifted inside him, a lighted match to the petrol of his anger. No, that was fucking bullshit. He’d given her a choice—it wasn’t a good one, no, but, hell, that was life, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to accept it.
That studio means something to her.
She’d been born an artist, always drawing or doodling, and he’d always thought she was going to go to art school or something. At least, that’s what they’d discussed when they talked about their plans for the future. He’d encouraged her to aim high, because she had the talent and she had it in spades.
But clearly the art college thing hadn’t happened, and instead she had a tattoo business. A business that given the cool, eclectic look of her studio, she’d obviously put a lot of work and time into.
A business she clearly wasn’t going to give up easily.
If the past hadn’t happened the way the way it had, he would have been proud of her. But it had, and it wasn’t pride he felt. Right now, all that mattered to him was the leverage that studio was going to give him.
Leverage to get her to do what he wanted.
As if she’d read his thoughts, Rachel looked away from him, coming over to where the others were sitting by the workbenches, smiling as they greeted her.
Levi watched her as she moved, unable to take his gaze off her. The fabric of her gauzy top shifted with her movements, and, beneath it, he could see the tattoos marked into her skin, the material covering them like a veil that revealed tantalizing glimpses.
Roses and vines and thorns. The roses were a reminder of beauty amid death, she’d told him years ago, when he’d watched her draw them in her notebooks. There were a lot of them on her arm now, and the one drooping across her shoulder, casting petals across her chest, dying . . .
Levi lifted his gaze from the tattoo to her face, studying the fine lines of her: determined jaw, slightly turned-up nose, the straight, black slashes of her brows. A strong, beautiful face, but so very guarded.
What did that dying rose mean? Why had she put it there? Because it did mean something. Rachel had always been very particular about her tattoos.
The anger inside him shifted and coiled like a restless beast. So many changes, so much that was different. He’d told her he didn’t want an explanation from her about why she’d ignored him for so long, but actually, maybe he did.
Maybe he wanted to know everything. Every single fucking thing.
Draining his beer, he put the bottle down on the floor before shoving his chair back, the legs making harsh scraping noises on the concrete as he stood up.
Everyone turned toward the sound, staring at him.
He ignored them, staring at Rachel, the tension in the garage abruptly skyrocketing. He ignored that too. “Upstairs.” He kept his voice curt, lifting his chin in the direction of the metal stairs that led to the office.
A hard, echoing silence fell.
“Levi,” Zee said, his silver eyes narrowing. “What the fuck, man?”
Levi gave his friend a cold glance. This had nothing to do with Zee. It had nothing to do with any of them. This was between Rachel and himself.
“It’s okay, Zee.” Rachel said unexpectedly, her tone calm. “Levi and I need to have a chat.”
Zee frowned, looking from Rachel to Levi and back again.
Levi said nothing. He wasn’t going to justify himself, not to anyone. Yeah, he was probably coming across as a major tool, but he didn’t give a fuck. He was a different man now, and the sooner they accepted that, the better.
Gideon, leaning against the workbench, was looking at him too, his gaze unreadable. Beside him was Zoe, sitting on the bench with her legs dangling. Her expression, unlike Gideon’s was an open book, worry gleaming in her golden eyes.
They’re all afraid for Rachel. Because you’re being an asshole.
Levi shrugged the thought away, making for the metal stairs without another word. They could think what they liked. He wasn’t going to hurt Rachel; he only wanted what they could have had if things hadn’t all gone to shit. If she’d been the friend she was supposed to have been, and not the woman who’d left him to rot in the dark.
He climbed the stairs, feeling the silence behind them press against his back like a giant hand. He didn’t turn around, stopping at the top where the door to the office was and pushing it open. Only then did he turn, holding the door open for Rachel as she came up behind him.
She didn’t look at him as she stepped past him into the office.
It was a little space, with a rundown couch shoved up against the wall and a large battered wooden desk opposite. An office chair was pushed into the desk, a surprisingly sleek and expensive-looking computer sitting on the desktop. Nearby was a bank of metal shelves full of filing boxes, folders, and other office supplies.
Above the computer monitor was a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue pic of some blond chick he didn’t recognize. Next to it, almost like a companion picture, was photo of a dark-haired guy wearing nothing but low-slung jeans, carrying a tire and smoldering at the camera. Given that Gideon probably wouldn’t have put the guy picture up, that was no doubt Zoe trying to prove
a point.
Eight years ago he would have smiled. Now, he ignored the pictures, staring at Rachel as she walked over to the couch, coming to a stop, then turning around.
Levi shut the door after them, then locked it.
Her gaze flickered at the sound of the lock, but all she said was, “You don’t want to maybe wait until after the party?”
“No.”
She eyed him. “Too impatient for your answer?”
He folded his arms, leaned back against the door. “You don’t need to tell me. I know you’re going to say yes.”
Temper glowed briefly in her eyes, then it was gone. “Of course I’m going to say yes. Not that you gave me much choice about it.”
“I gave you a choice. You didn’t have to agree.”
“Like I was going to say ‘Sure, kick me out. Ruin the business I’ve spent the past five years building. What do I care?’ ”
An uncomfortable sensation inside him shifted because there was a note in her voice he didn’t like. It ran beneath the anger, a raw kind of tone that sounded like . . . hurt. Which did nothing for his temper.
“You could get a new building,” he said carelessly. “It’s not a big deal.”
A muscle flicked at the side of her jaw. “I can’t get a new building. I can’t afford it.”
“Why not? I would have thought after a few years, you’d be doing well enough to afford rent at least.”
Her mouth had gone flat. “Times are tough. If you hadn’t noticed.”
“Hadn’t noticed?” He dropped his arms, pushed himself away from the door, prowling closer to her. She stiffened, but held her ground. “’Course I fucking noticed. Or is it all about you, Rachel? Since everything always is.”
Her throat moved. This time it was her turn to fold her arms, a defensive posture, one designed to keep him at a distance.
Fuck that. He’d been kept at a distance for too long, and the time for it was past. He didn’t want closed, defensive Rachel, the armored front she showed the rest of the world. He wanted to pull apart that front, destroy the barriers and walls she’d put up over the years, smash them into pieces, and leave her with no defenses at all. He wanted her lost and vulnerable and needing him the way she once had. The way he’d needed her.
Levi came to a stop right in front of her, staring down into her dark eyes. The shadow on her lids glittered, and, beneath the thick fan of her lashes, her gaze seemed to flicker, as if she couldn’t hold the pressure of his gaze for long.
The heat of her body was so close, and he could smell her, that vanilla sweet scent that had always made him want to lick her skin to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. Well, now he could. Now he could do everything—everything—he’d ever fucking wanted.
At the base of her throat, her pulse beat fast, as if she knew what he wanted and was afraid.
She never used to be afraid of you.
The uncomfortable sensation twisted again. Conscience, regret, or longing. One of the stupid soft emotions he’d gotten rid of while in jail, the emotions that made him weak. Emotions he couldn’t afford. Whichever one it was, he ignored it.
She lifted her chin, challenging him in spite of her fear. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Sorry. The emptiest of all empty words.
He bared his teeth in a smile that had nothing to do with amusement. “What for? For running away and not making that statement? For leaving me in a cell for years without even a visit? Or even a fucking letter?”
That challenging, direct look didn’t waver. “For all of it.”
He almost laughed. “You think all I want is a fucking apology? That a ‘sorry’ will make it all better?”
“No.” Her jaw had gone tight. “I just wanted you to know that I was, that I still am.”
His anger snarled, wanting out. He forced it down, keeping it leashed. “Save it. It’s not an apology I want, Sunny.”
A brief, bright flicker of hurt flashed in her eyes at the sound of his old pet name for her. But then it was gone, all her barriers back up, her gaze guarded. “Okay, well, so tell me whatever the fuck it is you do want. If it’s sex, fine. Let’s just do it, and then we can both put this behind us and move on.”
So she was thinking a quick blow job, a quick screw on the desk, and he’d consider it good. That everything would be forgiven. That they could go back to the way it had been between them.
She was so fucking wrong. She’d forgotten what they’d been to each other. What she’d been to him. She’d forgotten everything.
Now it was time to make her remember.
He’d loved her once a long time ago. Loved her as a friend and more than that, far more than that. Yet he’d kept his distance to protect her, waiting until the day he’d have more to offer than the regular shitty life they already had.
He had more now, and the time for waiting was over.
It was time to forget all those stupid fucking dreams he’d once had. Time to make them a reality.
It was time to finally take what he wanted.
Chapter 5
Rachel’s heartbeat was so loud in her head it was amazing she could hear anything at all.
Levi was standing right in front of her and so damn close. All tall, broad, furious heat and tightly leashed power. One silver-blue eye glittered as his gaze burned into hers, while the other was full of darkness. But in both a deep, hot anger glowed, along with a kind of raw hunger that made all her insides draw tight.
He didn’t touch her, his arms hanging loose at his sides, and she was so agonizingly aware of him she couldn’t seem to catch a breath. Aware of the golden skin and hard muscle of his arms, striped by those incredible black tattoos. Of the stretch of black cotton over his powerful chest and flat stomach. Of the woody, smoky scent of his body, the unfamiliar one that made her want to turn her face into his neck and just inhale.
She’d been building herself up to this for the past hour, and she had thought she was fine with it. That she was ready to give him the quick fuck, or whatever it was he wanted from her. Get it over and done with.
But the reality of him so close, the aura of leashed rage burning off him, made everything . . . different. Rage poured off him in waves, the force of it like a hot wind straight out of a furnace, almost physical in its intensity.
Maybe apologizing had been wrong, but she’d suddenly felt that she needed to. She’d wanted him to know straight out that she knew she’d fucked up and she was taking responsibility for it.
It wasn’t going to fix anything. She knew that too.
But here she was, ready to give him what he wanted, make whatever payment he thought he was owed. Then she could go back to her business, and he could go back to . . . whatever it was he had planned now that he was out of prison.
Upstairs at his welcome-home party was not what she’d been expecting, but then, he’d always been an impatient kind of guy.
She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry mouth and ignore the deeply unsettled, nervous, scared feeling in her gut.
He was looking at her, as if he wanted to take her apart, eat her alive. And it made some deep, forgotten part of her quiver and wake up.
Which so didn’t make any sense. Evan had looked at her that way, and she’d hated it, loathed it. But the way Levi was looking at her . . . somehow it felt different, and she didn’t know why.
Bullshit. You know why. Because it’s Levi.
Yeah, and? She’d put the crush she’d once had on him—that stupid, innocent, teenage crush—behind her. He shouldn’t affect her in that way anymore.
But somehow he did. Somehow that intense, terrible gaze of his was making all kinds of emotions knot and tangle inside her. Fear. Nervousness. And beneath it all, bizarrely, a kind of excitement she didn’t want to name.
He was silent a long time, unmoving, and then, when he did finally move, raising one hand to her hair, she almost flinched, every nerve ending drawn tight with anticipation.
An expression she could
n’t decipher flickered over his handsome features, then was gone. His fingers touched one lock of her hair, pushing it behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her ear, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.
She shivered helplessly, that deep unease shifting inside her.
It’s just sex. Remember? Calm the hell down.
“What did you do to your hair?” he asked, his voice deep and rough.
She blinked. “What?”
Levi took one strand between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it like it was a fine piece of silk. “It was blue before.”
Why the hell was he asking her about her hair? She’d been expecting him to give her some kind of order, like get on her knees and suck him off or something.
“It was just a temporary color,” she said, her own voice gone thick.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you change it?” There was something ferocious in his eyes, something demanding. “Was it for me?”
She debated lying. Telling him it had nothing to do with him, but that wasn’t quite the truth. “You said you wanted me so . . . You have me.” The Rachel she’d once been, not the Rachel she was now.
Slowly, he wound the black strand around his finger, never taking his gaze from hers, a faint pressure against her scalp as he pulled it tight. God, he was so close, and he smelled so good. Why did she like that so much?
“Tell me what you’re expecting from this, Rachel.”
She let out a silent, shaky breath, trying to keep inside all those stupid, tangled feelings. “A night? A couple of nights? I mean, I’m assuming you’re going to want me to suck your cock now or something.”
The expression on his face was impenetrable, but she found herself looking at it all the same, studying his face as if it were some kind of oracle and could tell her the future.
He was so hot. Almost ridiculously handsome in many ways. She remembered from school how he’d used to get teased for his looks, how he’d get called “pretty boy” and all kinds of other, worse names. But now he’d grown into those looks and was even hotter, if that was possible. The ring in his eyebrow and the dilated pupil of one eye were imperfections that made his features harder, more masculine somehow. There was also a scar that projected out from his eye socket, a white line that curved up to his temple, making him look nearly piratical.
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