Wrong decision, buddy. He’d flaunted his head-strong independence in the wrong place. Especially when it came to her protective sister.
“Sure thing.” Kim scribbled on the notepad. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Pamela focused farther down the footpath, unwilling to stare into his deep blue eyes. It didn’t make sense that she could loathe and lust for a man, all at the same time. She wished one emotion would hurry up and claim victory because this seesaw was exhausting.
“We’re not good, are we?” He leaned back in his chair. “Even though you said so last night.”
“Last night we were good because I never thought I’d see you again.”
His mouth tilted as if she’d paid him a compliment. Sharp eyes turned gentle. Harsh lips became inviting. “What if I decided I’m not finished with you yet?”
She laughed, a cold, bitter laugh she hoped sounded convincing. It wasn’t the first time he’d said ‘yet’ and had it sound like a sexual promise. Both instances had been equally confusing. “Then I’d take pleasure in letting you down gently. Just like you did to me last night.”
“I see you like to hold a grudge.”
“Only as much as most women.”
He gave a breath of a chuckle, the sound lacking humor. She waited, hoping to see a believable smile pulling at that lush mouth.
Nothing came.
Nothing but her sister who slid a take-away coffee in front of him with a slight curtsy. “Here you go, Bryan. Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” He focused on the container as Kim walked away, his hand snaking up to rub over his beard. “She knows my name?”
“She knows a lot of things.” There were no skeletons left hidden to her family. No rock left unturned. Pamela rarely had anything to be ashamed of, and even when she did, telling her sister seemed like a form of penance.
“So, it’s likely she spat in my coffee.”
“No, it’s not likely.” She spoke with solemn sincerity, allowing him the time to relax and reach for his take-away cup before she added, “It’s a certainty. There is no way in hell that coffee doesn’t contain some sort of retribution.”
His smile turned to a grin. When laughter hit her ears, she sat back and stared. Carefree Bryan was remarkable. A picture of charming severity. The playfulness in his eyes swept away his hostility, those flawless white teeth no longer vicious.
He placed the cup down as his happiness dissipated and the man she knew returned, this time less harsh.
“Are you ready to tell me why you’re here?”
He raised his gaze to her, those blue eyes lingering on her lips longer than necessary. “After we left last night, some of the Vault members announced their annoyance at how I spoke to you. In fact, a lot of the women are up in arms, demanding a public apology.”
“Public apology?” She glanced around, hoping he had no intention of making a scene in front of her café.
“Don’t worry, I already told my business partners I’ve done the necessary groveling. I don’t plan on doing it again.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m hoping it’s because you realize we’ve already resolved the situation and dragging it out would be bullshit.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
“Did you get the email I sent about the class I’m running next Thursday night? A guys’ tutorial on the female—”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“Then, you’ll also know I plan on having a demonstration assistant.”
She remembered. Her imagination had run wild with the thought of watching the instructional performance. “And?”
“And Janeane, the woman who was supposed to play the role, is one of the people demanding an apology. I need someone to take her place.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. Not with women scrambling to climb on your junk.”
He nodded, as if pondering his immense self-worth. “Finding a willing woman wouldn’t be too hard. I’m more concerned with finding the right one. That’s why I’m here.”
She laughed. He had to be joking. There was no way in hell a man could have balls big enough to ask that of her after the way he’d treated her. “You want me to be your assistant?”
“Yes.” The answer came strong and sure. No doubt. No guilt.
Another laugh escaped. “Are you kidding?”
The tight set of his jaw implied he wasn’t.
“Is this some sort of game? You thought I was interested in you, so you shot me down in flames, and now that you realize I have no intention in joining your drama-llama lifestyle you decide you want my help?” She pushed back in her chair, ready and oh, so willing to bail.
“I came here because you’re the perfect fit for this demonstration—”
“Out of all the women at the Vault, I’m the perfect fit?”
“There’s no one else.” His nostrils flared and he stilled, taking precious moments before he said, “What happened last night has ensured nobody else will help me. Not without the public apology I refuse to give.”
“Oh.” She batted her lashes, the picture of sweet innocence. “I get it now. You need me,” she enunciated the words, letting them dance over her tongue. “Isn’t this a delicious curve ball?”
“I don’t need you, Ella. I can cancel the class. It’s no skin off my nose. But working together would benefit us both.”
“No.” She pushed back in her chair, preparing to stand. “It wouldn’t benefit me at all.”
“Are you sure about that?” His tone dropped, having a torturous effect on her belly. “You came to the Vault in search of something. And you know I can give it to you.”
“You could,” she corrected. “Back when you hadn’t grated every one of my nerves. For me, mental stimulation is ten times more effective than physical. There’s no way you could get me to cross the line now I have a clearer picture of who you are.”
“Don’t assume to know me.” He held her captive with his fierce stare. “We’ve spent little more than an hour together.”
An hour that packed the punch of a three-year obsession.
“Look…” She sighed. “Maybe if last night hadn’t happened, I’d consider it. But I didn’t exaggerate what I told you in the parking lot.”
She wasn’t interested. She couldn’t be.
He raised a brow. “Not even about the livestock?”
She snorted over his unexpected humor. “Okay, so maybe I exaggerated about the livestock. But that’s all. You’re not my type and I’m definitely not looking for complications.” She’d had enough to last a lifetime. “Enjoy your coffee. I need to get back to work.”
She pushed from her seat and stepped away, only to be stopped by a large hand clasping her wrist, the fingers delicate in their hold.
He glanced up at her. “I don’t need to be your type to get you off.”
He was right. So damn right her uterus squeezed, begging her to concede. Every part of her reacted to him in an unforgiving way. Her skin buzzed. Her heart fluttered. The nerves he’d grated to stubs were waving wildly with energetic excitement.
“Yeah, you do.” She knew her sexual limits, even if her body wasn’t predictable at the moment.
“So, your rapid pulse is from what?” He tilted his head. “And the goose bumps?” He trailed his thumb along the inside of her wrist. Teasing. Tormenting. “You may not like me. But you’re still attracted to me.”
He released his hold and stood. All male. All muscle. “What happened the night in the locker room is a drip in the ocean to what I have planned for the class.”
A drip?
She kept her chin high, even though her breasts ached. All she could do was shake her head, no longer able to voice a rejection.
“I’ve proven you wrong once before. Give me the chance to do it again.”
“While under the scrutiny of a crowd at the club? No, thanks.” She walked for the café d
oors, even though her libido remained begging at his feet. Her interest was temporary. A sleep-deprived delusion. There was no doubt he’d be unsuccessful a second time around.
Okay, maybe there was a little doubt.
A teeny, tiny bit.
Not enough to justify further humiliation, though.
“What if we had a test run?”
His question pulled her up short. She turned, finding him clutching the backrest of his metal chair.
“A test run?”
“I can open the Vault tonight. For the two of us. That way we can see who’s right or wrong.”
“I know my body.” At least she had, until Bryan had scorched her with his touch.
“I remember you thinking the same thing in the locker room.”
She scoffed, wishing she had a smart quip to shove in his face. Unfortunately, they both knew he was right. He’d tweaked parts of her she’d thought died years ago.
“You like to keep throwing that in my face, don’t you?”
“If it helps me get what I want.” He shrugged. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”
Her chest squeezed with the close proximity to defeat. “I’m not going to the club. If you want to do this, we do it my way.” The response felt like surrender. Tantalizing, erotic surrender.
“I’m listening.”
She approached, taking one cautious step after another. The ball rested in her court; all she needed to do was determine what she wanted to gain.
His discomfort.
The tiniest taste of retribution.
“You need to meet me at my apartment.” Where he’d be surrounded by her things and would no doubt feel uncomfortable in a scary, relationship-type setting. If they were going to do this, he needed to hate every single minute of it.
He didn’t flinch. “Your place, it is. Would you also like to dictate the time?”
“Seven.” The power trip was invigorating. “I’ll get a piece of paper to write down the address.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have all your details at the club.”
So, that was how he’d found her.
He released the back of the chair and straightened to his full domineering height. “I’ll see you tonight, Ella, and I’ll bring dinner.”
Dinner? Like a date?
He pulled a wallet from his back pocket and retrieved a ten-dollar bill. “For the coffee.”
“I don’t want your money.” She didn’t even want his conversation. All she was willing to gain from her time with him was orgasms.
“Thanks.” He encroached, putting her on edge. His aftershave danced around her, the slightest scent of sexuality teasing her senses. “I guess I’ll pay you back tonight.”
She wouldn’t shudder. She refused. “We’ll see.”
“Yeah.” His eyes danced, devilish, predatory, and so damn cocky. “We will.”
Chapter Nine
Bryan reached her doorstep five minutes early, bottle of wine under one arm, bags of Chinese take-out in the other. He’d made the right assumption about her wealth. She lived in an expensive suburb, her complex surrounded by manicured gardens and an impressive security system.
It got him thinking about where she got the money. It was either Daddy’s or the dead husband’s. You didn’t get digs like this on a barista’s paycheck.
He knocked on her door with a gentle knuckle, knowing she’d already be waiting after having to buzz him into the building.
Seconds later, the door opened and Ella stood before him, one hand clutching the handle as she rocked a loose grey shirt and a pair of cotton, sporty short-shorts.
“You found the place easy enough?”
“No problem at all.”
He hadn’t expected this—her no-fucks-given attire, the lack of seduction. She dressed simple. Carefree. There was no hint of her trying to impress him, and funnily enough, she had anyway. He couldn’t even smell perfume. Only the faint hint of citrus soap mingling with the Asian spices wafting from their dinner.
“Something wrong?” She frowned, her questioning eyes reading him.
“I’m surprised, that’s all. I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived.”
“You thought you’d get lingerie and scented candles?” She nailed it with a smile. A cute, light-hearted lift of sweet lips. “Let me remind you, you’re not the stud you think you are. I get that you’re the king of orgasms in the Vault. But out here, in the real world, you’re kind of a dick.”
“So you keep telling me.” He held up the bags containing their dinner. “You going to let me in before this gets cold?”
“Oh, sorry.” She stepped back, sweeping her hand to the apartment behind her as if he were royalty. “I guess I was expecting you to pound your chest and demand entry.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
Her apartment was pristine. Nothing out of place. Pillows lined her brown leather sofa. Magazines were neatly stacked on the coffee table. The carpet had fresh vacuum marks, the furniture was polished. She had her shit together, at least better than he did.
“Where do you want to eat?”
“Dinner table.”
He continued ahead to the open dining and kitchen area, placing the food and wine on the large wooden setting.
Ella busied herself riffling through cupboards and drawers, then came to stand beside him with plates and cutlery. “Do you think you ordered enough?” Her sarcasm was rich as she helped him place the containers in the middle of the table.
Truth was, he hadn’t known what she’d like. He didn’t even know if she enjoyed Chinese food, so he’d ordered a variety to satisfy every palate. “You can’t order Chinese without leaving enough for leftovers. They’re the best part.”
She nodded, buying his bullshit. “What would you like to drink? I don’t have beer, but I have some of Lucas’s scotch and bourbon hidden in the kitchen somewhere.”
“I’m happy to share the wine with you.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Sure.”
“Something wrong?” he mocked, taking on the same tone she’d used earlier.
“Yeah. You’re being nice.”
“How?”
“The wine. The mass of Chinese food. What gives?”
She was right. This moment escaped his typical normality, but he wasn’t willing to admit how badly he needed her to smooth things over at the Vault.
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing nice about it. I’m starving, and I need as much alcohol to get through this as you do.”
“And there he is, the Brute I’ve come to know and despise.” She slid into her seat across the table, dragging a plate and cutlery in front of her. “But you know what? I think you’re making excuses, because deep down you think I’m super-dooper awesome.” She waggled her perfectly manicured brows.
He couldn’t tell if her pretty smile was annoying, or way too endearing. Either way, it had an effect on his chest he wasn’t used to. And he was surprised her laugh didn’t make him want to shudder. “You’re not too bad.”
She chuckled and dished food onto her plate while he poured the wine. They didn’t talk for long moments. Strangely enough, they didn’t need to. He had no desire to fill the silence. And going by the pleased look on her face, she had no problem with the absence of conversation, either.
While they ate, he took the time to read her. Finding out tiny snippets of her character with the visual sweep. She chewed slowly. Unrushed bites with dazed contemplation. She didn’t gulp at her wine as if consumed with nervousness. She didn’t fidget or fiddle. Despite having a low tolerance to his attitude, she seemed to feel comfortable with him.
“Have you lived here long?” He had a sudden urge to learn more. To dig deeper.
“About a year.”
“And you’ve been a widow for how long?”
Her fork slipped, missing food and splashing sauce onto the table. She stared at the dark brown droplet now marring the wood and frowned. “Long enough.”
&nb
sp; The vibrancy of her eyes turned bleak. Her smile faded, and in its place, sorrow grew. She cleared her throat and ran a lazy finger over the dribble, bringing the liquid to her lips to lick away the mess. For a second, he became mesmerized by her far-off contemplation. She was emotionally bare, her pain almost tangible.
He shouldn’t push, and not merely due to manners. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression and make her think he gave a shit. But he needed answers, for no other reason than to understand who this woman was.
“How long were you married?”
She reached for her wine, dragging out the seconds as she took a long gulp. “Eleven months.”
“You must’ve been young.” He was fishing for answers because he hadn’t had time to re-read the finer details of her file when he snooped for her café address.
She barked out a laugh. “How old do you think I am?”
Good question. Tricky question.
He scrutinized her—the young eyes, the ruby lips. She didn’t have a wrinkle in sight, yet she grasped her sexuality like a woman far older than her appearance suggested.
“Late twenties?”
Her mouth quirked and he had the sudden urge to kiss her. There was no romance about it. He wasn’t interested in a chaste kiss. What he pictured was something harsh and unforgiving. Something dirty to wash away the tainted widow.
“You just earned yourself a gold star.” She placed her fork on her plate and inched them both toward the middle of the table.
“I’m right?”
“No. But I’ll take it as a compliment.” She pushed to her feet. “Do you want seconds, or should I put the containers in the fridge?”
“I’m good.” Too good.
He enjoyed knowing they were closer in age than he’d previously assumed. But again, the added information only increased the need for more. He wanted to know everything. Was she still hung up on the love of a dead man? How had she found his sex club? And how did she plan to sate her sexuality if she didn’t return to the Vault?
He shoved the last piece of honey chicken into his mouth as she stacked containers back into the bag. Her loose top gaped at the front, the fucking brilliant view of her bra-covered tits staring him right in the face.
The Vault Box Set Page 41