Micah

by Jo Raven

  I wait, trying not to tense up again. I do my best to unclench my hands. All I want is to forget, and his story brings back all sorts of nightmares. Damn, not sure I wanna sleep tonight.

  “So, there I was, trying to keep Shane from going off the edge,” Seth muttered. “Wasn’t holding up so well myself, either. It was raining, and the cars would splash us passing by. Shane hadn’t eaten in days. He even refused water. I think he’d given up. And then she appears.” Seth looks up at me, a half-smile on his face. “She really saw us, man. Looked right at us and came to squat in the puddles to ask how we were doing. You should have seen Shane’s face. It was like he woke up for the first time in days. She went and bought us warm food and a blanket, and then she passed at least every other day to check on us until Zane took us in.”

  Their story matches my own in many ways. Okay, so that’s why this is important to Seth. We sit in silence for a while.

  Then he says, “I’ll just keep an eye out for her. See if anyone has been bothering her.”

  “She saved my life,” I blurt, not even really knowing why I’m telling him this. “But she doesn’t remember me.”

  His brows shoot up. “For real?”

  “What do you think?” I shake my head. “But it’s more than that.”

  “You want her.”

  “Damn right I do.”

  “She’s hot,” he agrees, and my hands curl into fists again.

  “Hands off her, Seth, do you hear me? Shane, too.”

  “I heard you the first time.” He rolls his eyes at me and gets up. “She’s yours. I get it.”

  “She’s not mine,” I whisper. Not yet, anyway.

  And seeing how the truth may turn her off, maybe not ever.

  Chapter Six

  Evangeline

  Leaving the cafe, I hurry to the bus stop as fast as I can. The rain has stopped, but evening’s falling, and I keep seeing Blake in every shadow and dark place. I make it home and barricade myself in my room, then lie on my bed and try to sort out my thoughts. My heart races a thousand miles an hour.

  Blake wouldn’t know Seth. Would he? He wouldn’t hurt him. Jesus, I really hope not. Maybe it’s time to go to the police. Denounce him.

  Yeah, and for what? Saying he will harm random homeless people if I talk to them? He hasn’t done anything—not yet.

  Warn Seth? But what can Seth do? He’s only in danger if I’m seen talking to him. As is any person I’ve helped in the past.

  Crap. Micah... I left him at the cafe without any real explanation. Is he pissed with me, I wonder... And I left my walking stick. No way can I go back in there now, not if Seth is still there, not if Blake is watching...

  This is crazy. Blake managed to scare me for real. This is stupid. He won’t hurt anyone. He’d go to jail, and his family would never live it down.

  But what if he does hurt them? There had been something wild in his eyes.

  I could ask for a restraining order. But not coming near me doesn’t mean he can’t go near anyone I talk to afterward and beat the shit out of them.

  It’s as if a rat is gnawing at my stomach. I never knew fear could feel so tangible. As I stand at my bedroom window, looking out¸ I wonder if lying low would be enough for Blake to forget about me and give up. They say that about bullies—that when you stop struggling, they lose interest.

  God, I hope so. I want to take back control of my life. I want to do stuff, to experience things, to really live.

  Micah. His hot kiss, his strong body, his gentle voice... I should have told him what’s going on, but my first thought was to get away fast, before Blake saw. Now I wish I’d stayed just a moment longer to ask for his phone number.

  Too late. At least I know he works at the tattoo shop, Damage Control. He must have my walking stick, too. A good excuse for me to drop in.

  Not that I really need the stick, as my flight from the cafe has proven. Yes, my knee aches dully, but I can do without.

  Heat rushes up my neck, and a shiver of pleasure goes through me at the memory of his touch. Truth is, any excuse would do if it allows me to see Micah again.

  ***

  I’m standing outside Damage Control, passers-by jostling me in their hurry to get to their jobs or the shops or their families... A cold wind is blowing.

  Rocking back on my heels, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I study the tattoo designs pasted on the inside of the glass. Octopuses, aliens, flowers, abstract symbols.

  Stop procrastinating, Ev. It’s been days. Just get inside.

  I push the door open. A different guy is standing behind the tall desk this time. My first impression is that of a lion—wide-spaced eyes and a golden mane brushing broad shoulders.

  “Hi,” he says, flashing me a smile. “Here for a tattoo?”

  “No, I...” I reflexively back away and glance around, hoping Micah will materialize from behind a booth. But no such luck, and again all eyes turn on me. “I’m just looking for someone.”

  “Hey, Rafe, she’s looking for Micah,” a guy with blue hair calls from the opening of a booth. He winks at me. “He knows her.”

  “Micah isn’t here today,” Rafe the lion-man says. “Want to leave a message for him?”

  “Is he okay? Is he sick?” And now I sound like his mother. Crap.

  Rafe cocks his head to the side, his eyes crinkling. “He didn’t say.”

  Why am I still concerned? I only just saw him yesterday, and he looked fine. But there’s something about Micah—his color, his face, his face—that feels familiar and troubles me.

  “Can you give me his phone number, then?” I ask. “He has something of mine.”

  The blue-haired guy comes out of his booth and winks at me. The cerulean hue of his T-shirt matches his head. “I wonder what that might be.”

  Someone I can’t see whistles from the back of the shop.

  “None of your business,” I say, my teeth clenching, and turn to go. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Wait,” the blond guy says. “Ocean says Micah knows you.”

  I stop and give him a level look. “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’s sick? Did he seem sick to you?” He blinks his amber eyes at me, a crease forming between his brows, and I realize he’s concerned, too.

  Why would he be concerned that Micah is sick?

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I just want to see him. And he does have something of mine.”

  He nods quickly. “I’ll give you his address. But you’d better not leave dead animals on his doorstep or harass him, are we clear?”

  I open my mouth and close it. He’s kidding me, right? But not a muscle moves in his face, so I can’t tell. Who is this guy?

  He writes a few words on a piece of paper and holds it out for me without another word.

  “Thanks.” I take it and glance at the address.

  “It’s really close,” Ocean says.

  A quick look goes between the two of them, one I can’t decipher. It doesn’t matter what they think, if they think I sleep with Micah or whatever—though the thought of sleeping with Micah makes my skin prickle and my heart pound with excitement. A pulse starts between my legs and heat spreads inside me.

  Clutching the paper with his address in my hand, I hurry out as fast as my feet can take me.

  ***

  Ocean was right. Micah’s address isn’t far from the tattoo shop, just a few streets down, and then I’m standing in front of his building, wondering if I’ve gone nuts. Who says Micah wants to see me?

  The walking stick, I remind myself. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll just ask for it, take it and be on my way.

  Simple. Easy. My pulse shouldn’t be so loud in my ears.

  It’s only concern, I tell myself. This Rafe guy was worried, too, so I’m not alone in this, which only serves to double my anxiety.

  Which is ridiculous. And I should stop.

  Taking a deep breath, I ring the bell. And wait for a while. No sound comes from be
hind the door. I shift from foot to foot and cast a glance over my shoulder at the dark landing. Two more doors loom in the dimness. One of them is missing a number.

  Quiet.

  I ring the bell again, and when nothing happens, I check the piece of paper. I’m at the right place. Maybe Rafe made a mistake? Or maybe Micah is not in.

  Just when I’m about to turn and go, I think I hear footsteps and push the paper into the pocket of my jacket. I lick my lips, my nervousness returning.

  The lock creaks and the door slides open. “Yeah?” a hoarse male voice says, and I catch a glimpse of a suspicious blue eye through the opening.

  “Micah? It’s me, Ev.” Oh God, this sounds so lame. I shift my weight again, my leg twinging. “I, um. I forgot my walking stick at the cafe...” I feel ridiculous addressing his eye and not even seeing his whole face. “I was hoping maybe you noticed and got it for me.”

  “Ev?” His voice cracks. He turns away and coughs, and the worry gently gnawing at my insides morphs into a voracious monster.

  “Are you all right?” My voice goes high-pitched, and I wince. Calm down, Ev. “That cold still hasn’t cleared up?”

  “What?” He pulls the door open and leans against it, bracing one arm on the frame. One bare, muscled arm. Attached to his muscular bare chest. “Oh, the cold, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Fine. “Why did you stay home if you’re fine?”

  He blinks at me, a slow sweep of long lashes against high cheekbones, and I have a moment of oh-crap-I’ve-gone-too-far panic.

  But he doesn’t slam the door in my face as I think he might. “Rough night,” he mutters. “Ocean said he’d cover for me at work, so I stayed home to sleep.”

  Straightforward. Honest. A rough night. I want to ask what made it rough, but I think I’ve already overstepped the boundaries of our... friendship? Acquaintance?

  I drop my gaze from his face, and that’s a mistake. My mind blanks a little as I realize he’s shirtless and barefoot, lounging in front of me in only a pair of gray low-hung, draw-string pants. My gaze slides back up his long legs to his narrow hipbones and a spectacular set of abs, complete with sexy divots forming a V line.

  My mouth is honest-to-god watering. I tear my gaze off those lickable abs only for it to be caught by his defined pecs and then his amused sky-blue eyes.

  “Is there anything I can do for ya?” he drawls lazily, and I swear my panties get wet at the raspy sound.

  Well, wetter.

  Which is kind of alarming. No guy has ever had such an effect on me before. Certainly not Blake. God, absolutely not.

  The thought sobers me, and I realize Micah’s still waiting for my answer. “No, I... I passed by the tattoo shop, looking for you,” I say. “Rafe gave me your address.”

  “He did?” He lifts a golden brow and his mouth quirks in a lopsided grin. “Then you’d better come in.”

  Come in? Not sure that’s safe, not with the way my treacherous body is reacting to him, but when he draws back, I take a step forward as if a thread stretches between us, pulling me to him.

  I walk into his apartment, into a small living room with a faded blue sofa, a checkered armchair and a low black table with glass stains. A box of tissues is carelessly tossed on it, together with a half-eaten bag of Cheetos. Curtains cover the windows, the only light a lamp in a corner.

  “Want something to drink?” he asks and yawns, then turns and stretches his arms over his head until his spine pops.

  Again my mind blanks. Whoa. His back is broad, muscled and inked. A patterned black-and-white snake, a stylized viper, flows up his spine to his neck, the triangular head resting between his shoulder blades.

  He turns slightly, his eyes half-closed. He doesn’t look amused anymore. There’s a hot intensity to his gaze that stops my breath. I back away, past the coffee table and the sofa, inching toward the door—and hit the wall with a gasp. My bad knee threatens to go out, and I hiss in pain.

  Micah reaches me in two strides and puts his hands on my waist, steadying me. Automatically I grip his arms, digging my fingertips into thick muscle, and breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Ev.” His deep voice goes through me like the sound of a gong, vibrating all the way to my toes. It’s then I realize I’m pressed against his naked chest, along his tall body, feeling his hardness, thick and long, through the thin fabric of his draw-string pants. “Ev, look at me.”

  Against my better judgment, I glance up and fall into the blue of his eyes. God, I just can’t catch my breath around him.

  Then he lifts a hand and touches my face, trailing his fingers over my brows, my cheekbones, my nose, stopping on my mouth. He’s breathing heavily now, too, and the bulge in his pants presses insistently against my belly.

  It feels good. I want to touch him, feel him. I want to hear him moan with pleasure.

  Oh God, I’m going mad.

  His eyes have gone dark with arousal, two of his fingers lingering on my lips. So I open my mouth and take them both in, sucking on them. He tastes salty and sweet. I like it, and I lap at his skin with my tongue.

  A groan rises up his chest and his eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, Ev...” His erection is like steel, poking into my stomach. His hand slips from my waist down to my hip, pulling me closer.

  I draw back a little, letting his fingers slip from my mouth. He swipes them down my throat and then unzips my jacket all the way.

  I don’t move. I want him to touch me. I don’t remember ever wanting anything so much since Christmas when I was little and wished for a ride on Santa’s sleigh.

  You know what? Scratch that. I want this more. My whole body arches when he pushes the jacket off my shoulders. My breasts feel heavy. My nipples are so hard they hurt—and I’m still fully dressed.

  Looks like Micah is thinking the same because he grabs the hem of my blouse and tugs. I lift my hands and let him pull it off. My hair-tie has come off in the process, and I shake my shoulder-length hair out.

  Micah throws my blouse to the floor, his gaze immediately dipping down to my breasts, snug in the cups of my white satin bra. He licks his lips and inhales sharply, his nose flaring.

  Then his mouth crashes on mine in a hot kiss. With one hand he grabs my wrist and pins it on the wall above my head, while the other returns to my breast, covering it, playing with my nipple.

  Heat leaks between my legs. His hard length is caught between us, but I can’t wait any longer. I need him. I raise my leg and wrap it around his tense, muscular thigh and lift myself on my tiptoes. Finally his hard-on presses against where I need him most, and oh God, I’m falling.

  I’m distantly aware of moaning loudly into his mouth as fireworks go off behind my eyes. I shake, caught between the wall and his body, between his mouth and his hardness. The orgasm catches me by surprise. I didn’t realize I was so close to the edge.

  He pulls back slightly and grins against my mouth. Then he lets go of my wrist and wraps his arms around me. He nuzzles my ear. “That was beautiful,” he whispers.

  I pant against his neck, inhaling his light scent of musk and ink. I lower my leg and lean against the wall, my arms loosely draped around his hips. My body is still humming with pleasure, my muscles heavy and loose. I’m not sure I can stay upright if he releases me.

  As if sensing that, he stays like that for a while, holding me close. “Okay?” he breathes and I shiver.

  He’s still rock-hard where he presses into me. The shape of his cock is so perfectly outlined through his pants that I think he may be going commando underneath. My breath catches at the thought.

  I slide my hands to his back, then lower, cupping his round, muscled ass cheeks and giving them a light squeeze.

  A gasp escapes him, and his erection jumps between us. “Ev...”

  God, the way he speaks my name is like sex. It makes me reckless. After all, I just came from rubbing against him, pressed to the wall.

  I push his pants down. After a few seconds of shocked stillness, he takes over, shoving
them down his legs and stepping out of them. He stands completely naked in front of me, and he’s gorgeous. Perfect. Built like a statue.

  His cock juts up, flushed and wet, and my mouth waters. I’ve never gone down on anyone without a condom, but I want to taste him so much it’s like a craving. Maybe it’s his scent, so delicious.

  When I start going down to my knees, though, he grips my under the arms and stops me. “Your leg,” he whispers, his breathing ragged.

  “But I want to,” I whisper back and he grins.

  “Sofa,” he says and tugs me along.

  We fall on the sofa together. I think he’ll sit back and let me do what I want, but it seems he has other ideas. He pushes me to lie down and leans over me, strands of blond hair falling into his eyes. They’ve turned a midnight blue, dark and hypnotizing.

  “I’ve dreamed of this,” he says quietly, “for so long.”

  And when I open my mouth to ask what he means—we’ve only recently met—he tugs down my pants and panties. He glances at my scarred leg and knee—a quick, interested look—and then reaches up and pushes off the straps of my bra, freeing my breasts.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters, his voice hushed. “Fuck, Ev. You’re so goddamn sexy.”

  I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like that. Before I can process the way his heated gaze glides over me, he leans in and closes his mouth over one nipple.

  Oh God. Lightning hits my core, and I arch off the sofa. It doesn’t seem possible that I want more, but I do. I make an incoherent noise in the back of my throat and grab his shoulders, pulling him to me. I need to kiss him more.

  “I want to taste you,” I murmur against his lips, but he shakes his head. He lowers himself, planting his hands on either side of my head, and his hardness slides on my stomach, hot like fire.