by Tracy Wolff
“Are you kidding me?” she demands. “You try to give me a two hundred thousand dollar car and you think I’m not going to bring it back?”
“You should have called first!” I grab her arm and start tugging her through the garage toward my office.
But she digs her heels in, ripping her arm out of my grasp and refusing to budge one inch inside the main office. “So you could tell me not to come? I don’t think so. Now are you going to tell me who that guy was, or what?”
“I wasn’t planning on telling you, no. Not everything that goes on in my life is your business.”
“Not everything, no. But that was very definitely my business!”
“Oh, yeah? How do you figure?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe the fact that you’re freaking out and screaming at me in the middle of your garage?”
“I’m not screaming at you!”
She laughs. She actually laughs. “Go on telling yourself that, Nic. Maybe you’ll actually convince yourself. But you’re not going to convince me.” Then she turns around and walks away from me. Walks away. In my own garage.
I watch, incredulously, as she stops in front of Heath and smiles sweetly at him. She speaks quietly enough that I can’t hear her, but I can tell from the slightly panicked look Heath sends me that she’s definitely up to no good. The thought makes me laugh even as it infuriates me.
“I’m trying to protect you,” I say as I cross the garage to her. “What part of that is so hard for you to understand?”
“The part where you think I want your protection. I’m a big girl, Nic. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Yeah, well, not against guys like that.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Damn it, Jordan! He’s a dirty cop! And not just any dirty cop—he’s the one who forced me into stealing your damn car.”
“There,” she says in the most patronizing tone imaginable. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, what did the big, bad, dirty cop want this time?”
I stare at her, dumbfounded, as I wonder if it’s possible for the top of my head to actually blow off. Behind me, I can hear my crew murmuring to themselves and I’m pretty sure Heath is taking bets as to who’s going to come out on top—Jordan or me.
“To kill me,” I tell her abruptly. “And now that you’ve waltzed in here one day after I delivered your car to him, I’m pretty sure he wants to kill you, too.”
Chapter 13
Jordan
Nic’s words ring through the garage, ring through my head. I know he expects them to send me running, and if I’m honest, they do have panic crawling through my stomach. But it’s fairly obvious that he’s freaking out enough for the both of us, so I keep my alarm to myself. Instead I lift a brow at him and ask, “So what are you going to do about it?”
“What am I—” Nic stumbles over the words, then breaks off mid-sentence to stare at me with wide eyes and an open mouth.
I’d almost feel bad for the guy if he hadn’t made me take a bite of that habanero brioche earlier. And if he hadn’t given me a two hundred and twenty-seven thousand dollar car like some guys give a girl flowers.
“Well, I don’t want to die and I’m assuming you don’t, either. And since you aren’t interested in anything I have to say, I figure you must have a plan, right?”
Behind him, the guy with the shaggy brown hair—Sean, I think his name is—bursts out laughing. I watch, bewildered, as he holds out his hand and Payton slaps money into it.
“Are you trying to make me insane?” Nic demands, pulling my attention back to him as he shoves his hands through his dreads in obvious frustration.
“You gave me a quarter of a million dollar car. Why don’t you figure it out?”
“Some women would just say thank you.”
“Some women need a man to take care of them. I’m not one of those women.” I take his hand, drop the keys in the middle of his palm, and curl his fingers around them. Then, figuring I’ve pressed my luck as far as it’s going to go, I decide retreat is the better part of valor and make a beeline for the front office. I’m pretty sure Benji will protect me.
Except I never make it to the office door—at least not under my own power. I’m a few steps away when Nic grabs me from behind and throws me over his shoulder as the entire garage erupts in raucous shouts. I’m too stunned to do anything but lay there as he storms through the door, down the hall, and into a no-frills, no-nonsense room I can only assume is his office.
His friends’ laughter echoes down the hall after us. Now if only I could figure out which one of us they’re laughing at. Either way, it’s not lost on me that twenty-four hours have changed everything between us. Yesterday I would have lost it completely if he’d manhandled me like this. Today, despite the specter of imminent death that is apparently hanging over us, I can’t help but be a little amused. It’s not every day I get a guy so riled up he reverts back to caveman behavior.
Not that I’m going to let him know that.
“Are you serious?” I demand as he dumps me onto the oversized black sofa that takes up nearly one whole wall of the room. “I tell you I don’t need you to take care of me and your response is to carry me around like a sack of potatoes?”
“It was that or fuck you up against the nearest wall,” he tells me, green eyes blazing with a promise that sets my every nerve ending alight. “But since I’m not sure we’re there yet—”
“We’re not,” I interrupt, forcing a certainty into my voice that I’m far from feeling. But it’s hard to be certain about anything when I’m around Nic. How can I be when my heart beats in a weird rhythm and every other second my brain seems to misfire? Honestly, at this point I’m not sure if I’m attracted to Nic or if I’m allergic to him.
At least until I think about this morning on the beach and the orgasm he gave me with little more than a brush of his lips and a twist of his hips…
My breath hitches in my throat at the memory. Nic must hear it because his gaze arrows in on me, all predatory interest and sensual attention. My whole body turns to goo at the look in his eyes and for a moment—just a moment—I don’t know if I want to run or if I want to stay. At the moment, both options seem equally perilous.
But then the moment passes and Nic is crossing the room, reaching into a small mini-fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He holds it up to me, eyebrows raised questioningly, and I nod. Seconds later it comes flying through the air at me.
I catch it, then untwist the top and take a long sip. With everything that’s happened in the last few minutes, I feel like I need it.
“That was smart,” Nic says after a minute. “What you did with the whole ‘my car’s making a funny noise’ thing. I don’t know if Anderson bought it, but if nothing else it put a small sliver of doubt in his mind about who you are.”
“You think he really knows who I am? If what you think is right, then he wanted the car. Why should he care who bought it—and who lost it when he decided to have it stolen?”
“Anderson’s a lot of things, but he isn’t sloppy. He definitely knew who had bought the car—and he probably didn’t care, at least not until you showed up here.” Nic grimaces. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Why are you sorry?” He looks so guilty that I do my best to reassure him. “It’s not your fault I had the bright idea of coming over here before calling first. I knew things were messed up before I ever got in that car.”
“You say car like it’s a bad thing. I’ll have you know you’re turning your nose up at one of the finest machines ever made.”
“I wasn’t turning my nose up at it!” I tell him, frustrated. “Of course I know how incredible it is—I looked it up online. And I drove it over here. It’s amazing. It’s also obscene to even contemplate taking it from you. My car cost me twelve thousand dollars at auction. Your car costs almost twenty times that.”
“It’s also incredibly safe. You get what you pay
for, you know.”
I roll my eyes at that. “How safe could it possibly be? It goes from zero to sixty in four seconds.”
“Three point five,” he corrects me.
“Excuse me. Three point five.” I can’t help mimicking his nearly reverent tone.
He catches the sarcasm, grins slightly. “There’s a pretty big a difference between three point five and four seconds, you know.”
“When you’re a drag-racing god, I’m sure there is. But for the rest of us mere mortals, not so much.”
“Calling me a god is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
I snort. “False modesty is so unbecoming on you.”
“Who says it’s false?” He reaches for my hand and I let him catch hold of it. Let him pull me to my feet so that our bodies are only a few inches apart. He’s big, so big that next to him I feel a little bit like a china doll. Tiny, fragile, breakable. But he’s proven over and over again that though he has no problem manhandling me, he won’t actually hurt me.
Won’t break me.
It matters more than I thought it would. Even though I don’t know where this thing between us is going to end up—or even if it’s going anywhere—it matters to me that he’s never thought to use all those muscles, all that strength and size and power, against me. Even when I was doing my best to beat the hell out of him.
The knowledge makes me feel secure, maybe even a little cocky, so I keep teasing him. “Don’t even. I’ve seen you race.”
“That little quarter mile on Saturday?” He shakes his head. “That’s barely anything.”
“Maybe not, but I saw the way you handled my car yesterday. The way you handled the Mercedes today.” The need to touch him is suddenly overwhelming, and I run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his massive biceps. “You drive like no one I’ve ever seen.”
His head is bowed, his face tilted down to me and I can see perfectly the smoky green of his gaze. His eyes fascinate me, how they’re always a different color depending on where he is and what mood he’s in. I like all the different shades—the electric bottle green, the dark forest, the verdant jade. But this smoky gray-green, so rich with want and concern and even a little wariness, might be my favorite yet.
I reach a hand up to touch, run gentle fingers over the eyelids he’s closed so I can do just that. His eyelashes are insane and I brush against them a few times, too, before sliding my fingers across his high cheekbones, his strong jaw, his lush, full lips. I pause for a second at his dimple—that damn dimple that looks so out of place and yet fits so perfectly on his fallen angel face. That damn dimple that I swear might be the death of me yet.
I know we have things to discuss, know he wasn’t joking when he said that Anderson is planning on killing him and now, maybe me as well. The thought terrifies me—I’ve fought too hard and too long for the life I have now to just give it up because some dirty cop feels threatened by my existence. And I’ll think about it later, help Nic figure out what to do…later. Because right now all I want is for him to put his arms around me and his lips on mine. All I want is for him to make me feel, just for a moment, how he made me feel on that beach this morning.
He must feel the same way—or maybe I’m just communicating my desires very, very well—because Nic slides a finger under my chin. Tilts my face up until it’s lined up perfectly with his. And then he kisses me and it’s more real, more powerful, more perfect than any of the kisses that came before it.
It’s also over way too soon, Nic barely licking inside my mouth before pulling away. Backing away.
I could stop him. A clutch of my hands on his shirt, a shift of my body against his, a well-placed moan or whimper and we’d be right back where we were this morning—with me in Nic’s lap, straddling him, as he licks his way over my breasts and makes me come. Only this time, I’ll make sure to reciprocate.
But I can sense the worry in him, can feel the tension radiating from every part of his body. He’s worried and he’s going to be worried until he figures out how to keep his friends and me safe. Because that’s the kind of guy Nic Medina is.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask for the second time this afternoon. This time, though, I step back in an effort to break the sensual tension that flows between us like an electric current.
“There is no plan yet,” he tells me. “Except…”
“Except what?”
He takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly, like he’s preparing for a particularly difficult battle. The thought has my own shoulders tensing, has me anticipating the worst—whatever that may be.
“Just say it,” I tell him because I can’t stand the waiting any longer.
“Fine. I want you to stay with me for a few days, until we get this whole thing sorted out.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded, as the words register.
“I know you probably hate the idea, and I know you want to be in your own apartment—I don’t blame you. But Anderson’s a cop and once he has your name, he has everything about you. That’s how it works. He knows where you live, probably knows where you work by now. And if he’s gunning for you, it’s not safe for you to be alone in your apartment. Not when there are no witnesses around to stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wants to you.”
It’s a lot of words crammed into a very short time frame, the syllables tumbling over themselves in Nic’s rush to get the words out, so it takes me a few seconds to comprehend everything that he said. But the main gist of it hits me right away. He wants me to stay with him because he thinks it’s safer for me, but he thinks I’m going to refuse out of principle or something.
As if.
I may be independent, may have struggled for my independence for way too long. But I’m not stupid and making a statement by staying in my apartment is a really, really stupid way to die. And that’s the last thing I want, especially now.
“I think that’s a great idea,” I tell him, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to grin as my words register on him. Nic lights up like Times Square and I can feel the tension literally sliding off him. “And I really appreciate the offer.”
“It won’t be for long,” he assures me. “Just until I can get Anderson and the rest of the asshole cops he works with off the street.”
“You have a plan for that?” I ask, curious what—if anything—Jace managed to find after their frantic search of my car yesterday.
“Plan might be overstating it a bit at this point,” he says with a grin. “But I’ll have one soon enough.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t want me crashing at your place too long,” I tease.
He grabs my hand, brings it to his lips. “You can stay as long as you need to. There’s plenty of room. Besides—” He cuts himself off.
“Besides what?” I urge, determined to know what’s going through his head.
“Nothing. Just…I like the idea of you sleeping in my house.”
The words warm me, because the truth is, I like the idea of sleeping in his house, too. Which, frankly, is ridiculous considering how little time we’ve known each other. And more than a little scary, come to think of it. Which is why, “You say that now. But just wait until my panties are hanging in your bathtub. You’ll be dying to get rid of me.”
“I think you underestimate the allure of your panties.”
“Maybe you overestimate their allure.”
Nic cocks his head, lets his eyes roam from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and then back again. “No,” he says finally, just as the sexual tension between us reaches breaking point. “I’m pretty sure I’d do just about anything to get a chance at your panties.”
And then he walks out, leaving me staring after him, openmouthed and flushed with a need I’ve never, ever felt before.
Chapter 14
Nic
It’s after midnight when I pull into the driveway behind Jordan, who is still driving the orange Mercedes at my insistence. We’re farther out than her apartment and the last thing I
want her to do is feel trapped at my house. In my opinion the car is hers—I gave it to her. In her opinion, she’s borrowing it for a few days. Either way, she’s driving it for the moment and that’s enough for me. Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in seeing how this thing plays out…
Lena climbs out of my Hemi ’Cuda, then starts to pull a sleeping Benji out of the backseat. “Go on in,” I tell her, hurrying around to the passenger side of the car. “I’ll get him.”
I swear the kid has grown three inches in the last month—and he weighs almost as much as my sister does. Not that that’s exactly hard. Lena never used to be the delicate type, but a lot more than our address changed when I got shipped off to prison. The loss of my happy, vivacious sister is just one more change I’m still not accustomed to.
She shoots me a grateful smile as she steps away from the car. “I’ll show Jordan up to her room, then find her some pajamas to borrow. She looks exhausted.”
Lena’s right, she does look completely exhausted and I can’t help feeling responsible for that fact. Oh, Jordan put up a hell of a fight when she first got to the garage earlier¸ but as the night has worn on, she’s steadily lost more and more of her spark.
I hope it’s just because she didn’t get much sleep the last couple of nights, just that she’s physically worn out. But I can’t help thinking that it’s so much more than that. How can it not be when her whole life has been turned upside down in little more than twenty-four hours? And now she’s stuck living in my house indefinitely when, before yesterday, she didn’t even know I existed.
No matter what she says, no matter how well-adjusted she seems to be, that has to be rougher than she’s letting on.
It’s just one more concern to add to the rest that have been circling my head since this nightmare began—which, when I let myself think about them, pisses me off at Anderson, at the whole situation, all over again. But rage isn’t what I need right now, I remind myself as I pull Benji out of the backseat and cuddle him against my shoulder. Clarity is. And with me, clarity only comes when I’m calm and thinking as logically as possible.