by Cari Quinn
“Why?”
His eyebrows snapped down. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
“A valid one.” She lifted her chin. Pride, dammit. She knew her building was a shitbox, but she didn’t need him judging her about it. And being back in Los Angeles had her all jangly. Her shoulder throbbed from sleeping weird on the plane and he still overwhelmed her sometimes.
What were they to one another?
Did she even want to put a name to it?
He crowded her into the wall. Rose’s voice came in clearer as Betty White started telling one of her stories about St. Olaf. “You’re mine.”
“I’m no one’s.”
He propped his forearm over her head and stared down at her. Only Mal could make her feel small. And most of the time she loved that. Right now, she just wanted to punch him and she wasn’t even entirely sure why.
Emotions swirled up and filled her chest. Lust, hate, fear—more? Dear God. It was so much easier to be numb.
She shut her eyes against the heaviness brimming in his gaze. So many things unsaid. She was okay with that most of the time. All right, sometimes. But right now? She needed some reassurance.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“Richelle Crandall, don’t be a fucking pussy.”
Her eyes snapped open. “Fuck you.”
He lowered his forehead to hers, his lips a few inches away. “You’re mine. For as long as you’ll have me, you’re mine. You have to know that.”
She hooked her good arm around his shoulders and lifted her mouth to his. The kiss was hard. There was no softness here in this dingy hallway. His mouth was possessive and unflinchingly honest even in a kiss. No sweet, soft tastes from this man. No placating, no cajoling.
He took.
And she gave.
She never realized just how much she’d wanted to give. It didn’t make sense that it would be this rough, unromantic, snapping junkyard dog of a man whom she would have feelings for—and yet here she was.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist and dragged her into his body until they lined up from thigh to belly to chest. She winced a little as he jostled her shoulder, but it didn’t matter.
The pain felt good.
It meant she was alive. It meant she was healing. It was so much better than the numbness that had followed her out of the hospital.
Finally, he tore his mouth away from hers. His chest was heaving as if he’d played a ten-minute drum solo. His heart thundered through his skin and echoed into hers. “Can we finish this inside? I can’t fuck you with bickering old ladies as my soundtrack.”
She laughed.
The ridiculousness of everything about today hit her and she thunked her head against his chest until tears filled her eyes. What they were for this time, she wasn’t even certain. Just being home meant so much. “Yes. Let’s go inside.”
He stepped back. “Which one?”
“Down two more.”
He nodded and slid his hand down to link their fingers. She couldn’t even roll her eyes when he dragged her down the hall. Not much anyway.
“Key.”
She sighed and dug it out of her bag. Instead of handing it to him, she nudged him aside. He peered up and down the hall, his brow furrowed again. “What?”
“Not a damn camera anywhere. Not at the front of the building, across the street, or in here.” He shook his head.
“Yeah, no kidding. The only reason my door has a decent lock is because I put it on there.”
He peered over her shoulder. “I could pick that with a freaking pin.”
“Shut up.” She jiggled the key and twisted the knob, thankful that he couldn’t see her face. Even doing this much had her wincing. Inside the door, she reached for the lamp that was usually within reach. She frowned. That was weird. She opened the door wider to let some light in and noticed the floor lamp was now on the other side of the door.
Which didn’t make sense at all. She’d never purposely place it so she had to go behind the door to turn it on. Maybe she’d forgotten to move it back after vacuuming before she left for the last leg of the tour. Didn’t seem right, but then again, things had been a bit of a blur since their show a couple of weeks ago.
Man, weeks. It didn’t seem possible.
It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet just yesterday.
Mal dropped their bags just inside the door and kicked it shut. He crossed to the fridge in her small kitchenette.
“You won’t find much in there.”
“So I see.” He reached in and snagged two bottles of water, cracking the seal before he handed one to her.
“Thanks.” She took a sip and looked around. Things felt…different. Was it because she was different? A lot had happened in the handful of weeks she’d been away from this place. It had always been sparse. Well, except for her guitar trunk.
She frowned and moved to the large unit.
“You keep your gear here? There’s no security.”
“Yes, I know. I think we covered that. But then again, no one would think to come to the third floor to find nearly a dozen guitars.” Except that someone had touched the unit, she was almost sure.
She smoothed her hand over the lock and tapped in the three-digit combination. All the guitars were in there, but…
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, it’s something. Either that or you’re tensing up for a whole different reason.”
She sighed. She really didn’t want to hear him bitching about her place one more time, but she knew her shit. And she didn’t mix her Strats with her acoustics. She had a freaking system.
“What is it?”
“Someone’s been in my stuff.” She set the bottle down on her coffee table.
“Stolen? Are you surprised?”
“No. Everything’s here, just wrong.” She pulled out her teal and neon pink guitar she’d bought on her last shopping trip with Jules. Her eyes burned at the memory of her friend’s laugh as they had each picked out the wildest color in the staid little store in Arizona. Jules had a bass in lime green and purple. God, they’d played them all night while the bus had been in for repairs.
Her fingers shook as she slotted it back into her trunk where it belonged—with her Gibsons.
“Maybe Nick brought your stuff back.”
“Maybe.” She couldn’t imagine he’d have the time to do that. Then again, Nick was almost as insane about his equipment as she was. It didn’t stop the uneasy feeling settling in her chest.
Mal came up behind her and settled his big hand on her hip. “Come back to my place with me.” He turned her gently. “I can’t imagine your little one-bedroom has a big enough bed for me.”
“I do have a queen-sized bed.”
“Do I look like I fit in a queen-sized bed?”
“You fit in a full just a few days ago.”
“Not well.”
“We did all right.”
His jaw flexed. “We did.” His thumb made little circles along the little bit of skin showing between her T-shirt and jeans. He pushed the material up, the calluses on his fingertips abrading her skin. He groaned when he got to the lace of her bra. She’d been wearing layers for the cold in New York, and hadn’t bothered with one of her push-up bras. Instead she’d gone for one of the simple bralettes that weren’t created for women with boobs like hers. But it was comfortable.
He cupped her breast before tugging the material up farther to tweak her nipples.
Her head fell back as he used two knuckle joints to pinch the rapidly tightening tips. He lowered his mouth to her neck. “Then maybe you should show me this bed of yours.”
The groan rumbled out of her throat. One second it was with pleasure, the next was full of tension. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled back. “Fuck. I didn’t—” He huffed out a breath as he pulled the lace back down over her breast. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
“I just need some ibuprofen.” Ju
st the bare minimum to get her by after the long flight and her brewing tension headache. “I want to pick up right from where your hand was.” She caught his fingers and brought them back to her chest. His huge hand looked like a damn paw compared to the lightweight red shirt she was wearing.
His eyes searched hers before he nodded once. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” She went up on her toes and brushed a kiss over his stubbled jaw. “So very sure.” She turned away to head to the bathroom when he caught her hand. His eyes were serious and so very dark. “I wouldn’t even take ibuprofen if I wasn’t aching so badly. And it’s the only thing you’ll find in my medicine cabinet.” She lifted her chin. “Do you want to check?”
“No.” He dragged his thumb over her lower lip. “No, I trust you.”
She nodded. “Good.” She didn’t realize just how much she needed him to say that until he did. She blinked away the sudden sting of tears and rushed down the hall to her little bathroom. She went right for the medicine cabinet and the small bottle she kept. She didn’t really trust herself to take anything, but she also knew there were some nights that at least Advil would keep her from going completely insane.
She let herself into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. When she flicked the light on, she winced at the dark circles under her eyes. “God, girl. You look like you’ve been on a bender without the fun.” She leaned over the sink and ran hot water to wash the grit off her face, then icy cold to push the fatigue to the back of her mind.
As she patted her skin dry, she cursed the unforgiving overhead light. Hard to believe Mal would be all into her right now when she looked like hammered shit. She opened the medicine cabinet and snagged the white bottle she was used to seeing. She had the smallest bottle available. Travel size. Not like she could do any damage with Advil, but she didn’t like relying on anything at all.
But right beside it was an amber bottle.
A prescription bottle.
The plastic bottle in her hand rattled into the sink as her fingers shook.
Why was it there?
She didn’t have any bottles from the hospital. And even if she did, they would have been in New York. Not here. Not here in her home. She would never.
There was no name on the bottle, but she recognized the pills. Every fucking addict recognized those.
Percs. The holy grail of hospital meds. She’d known people who literally had been stabbed for them.
Hydrocodone. Percocet. Fucking flying high on those fuckers had been one of her very favorite highs. Everything felt floaty and perfect. Nothing ever hurt.
God, just an hour of no pain was so tempting. Even half a pill and she’d feel so much better.
No.
She curled her fingers into her palms and dropped her arms to her sides.
No.
No, there was no half pill.
There was no almost. No hour of bliss.
No one would know.
She slammed her eyes shut.
Elle reached out blindly and everything on that shelf scattered across the floor. She fisted her hand around the bottle and stumbled out of the room. She hit her shoulder on the way out and swore.
“Ricki?”
“Take this. Take this, please.” There were spots in front of her eyes where Mal should have been, but she recognized his voice. He’d help her. He’d make it right before she did something stupid.
“What?” He was just a mountain of shoulders and shadow in the small hallway outside her bathroom. She thrust the bottle into his belly and his hand covered hers.
“Not mine. Not supposed to be there. Not mine. I swear it. I didn’t—I just. You. Please.” She was babbling and none of the words made sense. But he’d know. She knew he’d know.
“Fuck.” His voice was cold and raw. His fingers curled around the back of her neck and he forced her to look up at him. “Ricki. You did good.”
“I swear, I didn’t take one. I don’t know why it was in there.” Her eyes filled. “I swear, I don’t.”
He hauled her in and she cried out because of her shoulder, but she didn’t stop holding on to him. He pressed her face into his chest and shoulder. “All right, babe. Just a second. I’ll be back in a second, all right?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I’m just going to get rid of them for you, all right?”
“Yes. Yes, please. I can’t have them near me. Not yet.” Her mind swirled with panic. “Maybe not ever.”
“It’s all right.” He pushed her hair out of her face and set her away from him. “You did this. All on your own you said no. You’re strong and amazing. I’ll be right back.”
She closed her eyes. No, she wasn’t. She was none of those things. She heard the flush of the toilet and swayed. If she was, she would have been able to flush them herself.
Then he was there again. In front of her, holding her, kissing her.
She leaned into the kiss and took every bit of strength he had. She wasn’t proud—not right now. Right now, she’d take it all. Maybe then she’d shore it up and be okay for another day.
“Take me home,” she said against his mouth. “Your home. Not here. I can’t be here now. I don’t know what’s wrong here, but it’s wrong. And I can’t.”
He hushed her. “Thank fuck,” he muttered. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes, please.”
He grabbed both their bags again and hustled her out the door. She glanced over her shoulder one last time as he closed the door.
How the hell had those pills gotten there?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mal was tired of dealing with fucking Uber drivers. His girl was shivering next to him like it was minus forty instead of the balmy seventy-something it was. He ached to take her into his arms, but he was so fucking angry right now he was afraid he would hurt her.
For fuck’s sake, he’d already hurt her. He could tell by how she was holding herself.
But that pill bottle she’d shoved into his hand—he’d nearly popped a blood vessel. In fact, he’d actually seen blood-red in his vision. She’d been so afraid, so white with shock.
He never wanted to see her like that again.
Ever.
She slipped her hand over his tightly fisted fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I overreacted.”
“How else were you supposed to react? Christ,” he growled.
“Something felt off in my apartment, but I can’t explain why. Things in the wrong spot…” She trailed off with a shrug. “I guess Nick could have been there, but why would he move things?”
He unfurled his hand and laced their fingers before bringing their joined hands to his lips. Kissing them felt stupid. Romantic in a way he just wouldn’t ever be. He dragged his teeth over the fragile flesh of her wrist. And for the first time, he felt like he’d made the right move.
The stricken look faded from her face. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out to wet them. There. He wanted her like that. Not afraid. Not shocky and panicked. Wanting him, reacting to him—not that fucking room and those pills.
Fuck.
The anger tried to crawl back up his neck, but he knew she needed him to calm down. He didn’t know how to do that, but he was going to fucking try.
She tipped her head against his shoulder. “How could today be so wonderful and awful at the same time?”
He sighed. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his thumb along her hand.
They were quiet as the driver hit the highway and headed out to his place. He’d upgraded his apartment after the last leg of the tour. Tired of living like a Ramen-slurping college student, he’d finally found a loft that suited him.
Maybe he’d been working toward being worthy of her all along.
He honestly wondered if he would have ever gotten to the point where he would be ready for her if the accident and Randy hadn’t happened. He wasn’t good enough
for her—he never would be—but it didn’t stop him from wanting her. And Jesus, he was keeping her.
At least until she got wise to what a shitty idea it was to take him on.
When the driver pulled up to his building, she gave him a look. “You gave me crap about my apartment and we’re in the warehouse district?”
“Always bitching,” he muttered as he hustled her out of the car. One thing he did like about the driver apps was he didn’t have to make nice with anyone.
Ricki rolled her eyes as he slammed the door. “Dude, not even a thank you?”
“My thanks was in tip form.” He thumped his hand once on the trunk and the guy popped it so Mal could remove their bags. A minute later, the car was heading out and he was leading her into his building.
He scrubbed his palm along his thigh before swiping his key fob over the sensor beside the door. It beeped once and the locks snicked open. He held the door for her.
She peeked inside the door before she sailed over the threshold. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this.” A trio of club chairs lined the wall in front of the stairs.
Normally, he took the stairs. He was on the top floor. He didn’t want to listen to anyone above him or next to him, so he’d settled for the loft.
She gave him a look.
“What?”
“It’s so…not you.”
He slapped the button for the elevator. “How would you know?”
She tilted her head. “That’s true actually.” She stepped into the car when the doors opened. “Now I want to see just what makes Malachi Shawcross scream this is home.”
Maybe taking her to his place wasn’t a good idea. He hadn’t really let anyone into his space since he’d moved. It was the one bit of sanctuary he’d allowed himself. And now she was here. He pulled at his fingers until the joints popped.
If he was going to bring anyone here, it would be her. He just didn’t know how to make her see that without sounding like some sort of lame asshole.
When the door opened, he hustled her down the hall to his door.
“Are you the only one on this floor?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. Well, that’s surprising.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and up to his head. He needed to shave it down again. “The album is doing well. And the last tour blast gave us a nice cushion. Until…”