by K. A. Tucker
“Doors?” Plural?
He still hasn’t turned around. “Yeah. Your front door and the bathroom door. If he’s going to boot someone out, I’ll make sure it’s me.”
And then he’s gone.
Dammit! That guy is the dictionary definition of a contradiction. He skates between nice guy and bad boy so fluidly, I never seem to catch the transition. It would be easier if he was a pigheaded player, but here he is, breaking down doors to save me from snakes. I, on the other hand, go from bitch to sexual attacker and back to bitch in three heart beats and he just flashes those damn dimples. I guess I’m not much better in terms of a contradiction.
When I finally emerge from my room fifteen minutes later, our apartment has been invaded. Livie’s in the kitchen, standing next to a sexy disheveled Storm with a crying five year old in her arms. Clearly my screams yanked Storm out of a dead sleep because she's wearing nothing but a tank and thong.
A police officer is interviewing a short balding man with the perpetrator coiled around his wrist. I shiver. Lenny, I presume. Trent’s right. Now that I see the thing, it’s not nearly as big as I first thought. Still, I fold my arms across my chest protectively, feeling its beady little eyes sizing me up.
Tanner hovers beside the busted front door, scratching the back of his head as if confused by the splinters of wood. I have to admit, I’m more than a little impressed. Trent’s a big guy, but I wouldn’t bet money that he could break through not one, but two doors to save me. That little bit of knowledge makes the guilt over kicking him out of my room churn faster.
Trent stands quietly beside him, his hands in his back pockets as he looks down at the mess. His shirt is half undone where I tore the buttons, drenched and clinging to a sculpted chest. Even with present company, that sight makes my mouth dry up.
Storm’s the first to run to me after handing Mia off to Livie. She throws her arms around my neck. I still flinch, but not as bad as I did the first time she did it. “Are you okay?” If my leaving her in the car last night bothers her, I can’t tell.
Over her shoulder, I watch the officer and the little bald man’s eyes bug out, riveted to Storm’s ass. The officer, at least, has the decency to flush and avert his attention to a worn spot on the linoleum. The bald man, on the other hand, doesn’t; his grin widening. “I’ll be better after I go punch that guy in the nose,” I say loudly enough for him to hear me. He looks away, caught red-handed.
“That’s Pervie Pete,” she whispers, cringing as she stretches the back of her shirt down to cover her bare backside. It’s futile. The shirt’s too short and her thong is too revealing. “I’ll be right back.” She scurries out.
Tanner looks up from the splintered mess. “Oh, hey, Kerry.”
Kerry? My brow arches severely. “Hey … Larry! How’s it going?”
Livie tries to muffle her snort with her hand. At first Tanner looks confused, but then a toothy grin stretches across his face. “Kacey,” he corrects himself. “Sorry … Kacey.”
The police officer patiently scratches down notes on a pad as we replay the entire incident while taking frequent breaks to stare at Storm now that she’s dressed. At the end, he gives Mia a sheriff badge sticker which makes her grin from ear to ear. Pervie Pete apologizes profusely and takes Lenny back to his cage, swearing to a stern Tanner that he’ll double check to make sure the cage is secured well. The officer asks me if I want to press charges against Trent and I glare at him like he’s grown an arm out of his ass.
When the officer leaves—not before giving Storm a long, appreciative smile—Tanner and Trent are still staring at the two broken doors. “I understand that this was an emergency, but … er … I need to get this fixed and Perv-” Tanner clears his voice, “Peter will take a while to come up with the money. I doubt these gals have insurance …” Tanner reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. “I’ve got, um, a hundred bucks I can throw in.”
My jaw drops. What? I’m expecting a tirade and eviction notice and here Tanner is, offering to pay for our door? Livie, Storm, and I share a look of shock. Before I can get a word in though, Trent’s handing Tanner a fistful of money from his wallet. “Here. This should cover it.” Tanner takes it with a nod, and then exits without another word, leaving us all speechless.
Trent walks over to Livie and thrusts out a hand. “Hi, I’m Trent. We haven’t met formally.”
Whatever rage Livie had running through her veins has extinguished, leaving her blushing and as awkward as a tittering twelve year old. She shakes his hand quickly before recoiling as if she might get pregnant with the touch, her eyes avoiding anything to do with his half-open shirt and that gorgeous toned body underneath. I grin inwardly. My chaste Livie.
Trent introduces himself to Storm next. She blushes sweetly and an unwarranted stab of jealousy pricks me. When he moves on to Mia hiding behind Storm’s legs, I catch Storm’s exaggerated wink of approval. I roll my eyes.
“And you must be Princess Mia? I’ve heard about you.”
Her lips pucker and she leans out just a bit further from Storm’s cover. “You have?”
He nods. “Well, I heard about a Princess Mia who likes ice cream. That must be you, right?”
She nods slowly and whispers, “Did you hear that, Mommy? People know I’m a princess!”
Everyone laughs. Everyone but me. I’m too busy fighting this internal battle inside that tells me I must resist this charm. It’s all an act. He’s no good for me.
Actually, that’s not it at all, I hate to admit.
The problem is that I know he’s too good for me.
Trent stands up to face me. “You going to be okay?”
Always so concerned about me. I nod, my arms folding over my chest as I look down at my robe, fidgeting awkwardly under that scrutinizing gaze of his, remembering the feel of his body pressed against mine. And that he pulled me from the shower, buck naked and cowering.
All kinds of humiliation roils through me now.
I’m not sure if my discomfort registers with Trent, but he takes a few steps back, his hand pushing back through his hair. “Well, I’ll see you guys around.” He winks at me. “Need to wash off all this soap. I hope my shower isn’t as eventful.”
“Yeah …” I mumble, feeling stupid, following his body move, quickly plotting how I can plant something in his shower so I have an excuse to bust down his door and jump in to save him. Not a snake. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of snakes. Maybe a gator. Yeah, there’re lots of those in Florida. Just a quick trip to the Everglades, I’ll find one, trap it, bring it back—
“Kacey?”
I snap back to the present with Storm’s voice, her brow arched as she looks at me, smirking. I’ve obviously missed a question. “What?”
“I’m sure Trent would love to have dinner with us as a thank you.” I see the gleam in her eye. She’s playing match maker.
I don’t like it.
Trent doesn’t want this mess.
“Do whatever you want. I’ll be at the gym,” I answer and my tone is an arctic breeze, freezing any mirth in the room. I spin on my heels and stalk back into my room before anyone can get a word in edgewise.
And I hate myself.
***
The Breaking Point is quieter than usual for late-afternoon, but I’m okay with that. I’m still reeling from today’s snake excitement. And Trent. I need my nice, quiet routine. I quickly stretch and get ready to start my rounds on the bag.
“Hey, Red!” Ben’s voice booms from behind.
Dammit. I turn to catch him just as his attention shifts up from my ass. “Ben.”
He strides around and grabs my bag for me. “You need a spotter?”
“I guess I’m getting one either way, aren’t I?” I grumble. But then his sly smirk makes me laugh for some reason, releasing the tension in my body. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
He shrugs. “I’m sure you can teach me.” Then he flashes that grin again, as he adds, “I prefer being in
control but for you I can …”
Ben’s jabbering away with layers of innuendos and I stop listening. Just to teach him a lesson, I surprise him with a roundhouse kick. He grunts as the bag slams into his hip. “Consider that your first lesson. Shut up. Don’t talk to me while I’m working out.”
For the next fifteen minutes, I pound away at the bag with jabs and kicks and Ben does a half-decent job of shifting with the impact. If he talks, I don’t hear him. I’m zoned in on the sequence that propels me forward, hammering again and again, releasing all that anger with each hit.
Three idiots getting drunk one night.
Three murderers taking my life from me.
One. Two. Three.
Finally spent, I lean forward and support myself against my knees with my hands to catch my breath.
“Jeez, Kace.” I look up to see astonishment on Ben’s face. “I’ve never seen someone so completely dialed during rounds. You were like Ivan Drago. He’s this Russian who—”
I cut him off, reciting the line from Rocky IV with a mock Russian accent. “If he dies, he dies.” Another of my dad’s favs.
Ben’s head is bobbing, his brows arched with surprise. “You know that one.”
“Who doesn’t?” I can’t help but chuckle again. Soon we’re both laughing and I’m thinking Ben isn’t such a pompous ass after all.
That’s when a tall form walks past us and drops a sledge hammer down on my shields.
Trent.
My laughter dies, all traces of ease vanishing. Grabbing my water bottle, I try to hide my reaction from Ben by drawing a long swig, all the while watching Trent as he drops his stuff to the ground beside a speed bag and tugs his sweatshirt over his head by the back collar.
What the fuck is he doing here? In my gym? This is my … Holy … A dribble of water runs down my chin and I wipe it away with my forearm, trying hard not to gape at the defined body that has emerged, covered only by a white tank. He keeps his back to me without a glance in my direction and begins punching the speed bag with precision that surprises me. As if he’s well-trained. I watch for a moment, mesmerized and a little disappointed that he hasn’t acknowledged me, even though I don’t deserve his attention.
Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here.
I doubt that.
Black ink curls peek out from the edges of his tank. Whatever the tattoo is, it spans the width of his upper back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. I’d love to peel that shirt off and study his ink while he’s stretched out on my bed.
“I think I’ve seen that guy at Penny’s,” Ben notes. So he’s caught me staring at Trent. Great.
“You got something for him?” I tease coolly.
“No, but I hear someone does.” I can’t miss the suggestive tone in his voice.
Bloody Storm. “He’s my neighbor. That’s it.”
“You sure?”
“Yup. I don’t have a thing for anyone. Including you.” I take a swing at my bag.
He smirks secretly. “Aren’t you gonna go over and say ‘hi’ to your neighbor then?”
I answer with roundhouse kick. Ben finally takes the hint, diving in to secure the bag. He doesn’t mention Trent again.
I do my best to complete a second round but my head’s not in it anymore and it’s all because of that smexy guy on the other side of the room, pounding away on the punching bag. As much as I try not to look, I find myself glancing over frequently.
This last time, I catch Trent wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt, pulled up to reveal a perfect eight-pack. I suck in a breath, temporarily paralyzed, my heart rate shoots through the roof, staring …
Something sharp snaps across my ass. “Ow!” I scream and spin around to find Ben with his towel and a devilish grin.
“Did you just snap my ass with your towel?” I growl.
My anger doesn’t seem to faze him. My punch to his ribs does. He doubles over in pain, moaning. “Hope it was worth it, asshole.” I stoop down to grab my things. When I stand, I meet Trent’s gaze head on. His face is blank but his eyes … Even from this distance, I see a world of determination, hurt, and anger in them.
He knew I was here. He knew all along.
After a long stare, Trent turns his back to me and starts pounding on the bag again and suddenly I feel like I’m the bag, that someone is pummeling me with guilt. And pain. I’m actually hurting over Trent.
I’ve had enough.
I storm out to the women’s locker room without another word to Ben. For half an hour I sit on the wooden bench in that room—a tiny, dark dungeon with two shower stalls and little room to maneuver—and I fight to bury all these unwanted emotions clawing their way up the well. Why does he have to be out there? Why this gym? Is he stalking me? In reality, I know that this is the only specialized gym on this side of Miami so if he’s a trained fighter, it makes sense that he ends up here. Still …
I’m used to having things in control. I fight to stay numb. That’s how I get through each day and it’s worked well for me. Until now. Now Trent has edged into my life and I can’t focus. My body is going haywire, I’m battling this internal urge to push him away and hold him close, I’m thinking about him far too often. Even the thought of him now kindles desire inside me that I haven’t felt since my last random encounter more than two years ago. Only now it’s a million times more acute, more needy. I rock forward and back, my forehead in my hands. I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t want this …
I hear a soft knock on the door. Hope gushes like water through a busted dam and I realize it’s because I want it to be Trent. I can’t help myself. I want it. I want him. Please be …
A contrite-looking Ben stands on the other side of the door, bowling me over with disappointment. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. I probably hit you harder than I should have but you were off in Lala Land.”
I don’t answer, adrenaline racing through my limbs, my heart racing, frustration pounding. I look up into that face and see a sweet, genuine guy. One that’s become appealing in this very moment. Right or wrong, destructive or not, I grab hold of Ben’s shirt with two fists and haul him into the change room. He doesn’t resist, though by his sluggish movements he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. I shove him into the shower stall and snap the lock on the door behind me.
“Take your clothes off. Don’t touch my hands.”
“Um,” I can tell this isn’t what Ben expected. Hell, this isn’t what I expected. But I need to dislodge this Trent problem and mindless sex with someone else ought to do it.
When Ben doesn’t move, I seize his shirt and yank him down to my mouth. He finally gets a clue. His hands tug at the back of my tank as he pulls me against him, his tongue sliding into my mouth. His kiss is sweet, but it’s not like … no, stop it Kacey. You’re doing this to forget about Trent.
Just his name sets fireworks off inside my body.
“Kacey,” Ben moans, his hands travelling up to my shoulders and down, over my breasts, squeezing them as they pass. He breaks long enough to yank my tank top over my head before he covers my mouth with his again. It’s a confined space but he makes the most of it, lifting me onto the little bench against the wall so I’m towering over him. “I didn’t think you were in to me.”
“Stop talking,” I command as I shimmy my shorts and panties down. His hand is instantly on my inner thigh and sliding up. Up. Until it’s exactly where I want it to be.
I lean back and close my eyes.
And imagine Trent doing that.
Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees to following his hand with his mouth. “God, you're sweet,” he moans. I briefly imagine fitting him with a muzzle to stop him from talking. But then he’d be no use to me. And he really is of use to me right now. Right or wrong, it’s been so long since I allowed this or even wanted it. I lean back and relax, taking from Ben what I need.
It’s all working out well.
But then Ben has to go and ruin it.
He does exactly what I told him not to. He slides his hand into mine.
It’s instant shock, like I’ve been plunged into a bath of ice water after sitting in a hot tub for an hour. All pleasure disintegrates and I recoil from his mouth and his touch, shoving his face away from me.
“Dammit, Ben. Just go. Now.”
“What?” Confusion fills his face as he looks up at me, like I just admitted to a triple homicide while whisking a bowl of cake batter.
“You touched my hands. I told you not to. Leave.”
He still doesn’t move, an incredulous smirk touching his mouth. “Are you for real?”
I lean forward, unlatch the lock and shove Ben out of the stall with the most prominent hard on through his shorts I’ve seen in a while. With him out, I latch the door again and crumble to the ground, hugging my knees to my body.
That didn’t help after all.
In fact, that made things a thousand times worse.
Nausea churns inside me. How could I be so selfish? Ben’s going to hate me now. What’s more, now that that intense sex haze has worn off, I actually feel embarrassed for doing that to him. I’ve never felt guilty over my exploits. And … I gasp out loud. What if Trent hears about this? Ohmigod. My forehead drops against my knees.
I care. I care what Trent thinks. I care if it bothers him. I just … care. And no matter what I do, I’m not going to be able to shake that. Not with random sex, or being a bitch, or any of the other dozen cruel methods I use to try and push him away. Somehow he’s managed to slide a finger in under my titanium coat and touch me in a way that no one else has ever touched me.
Chapter Six
Bar well shots are two for one at Penny’s tonight so the place is hopping, keeping Storm and I on our toes all night to the point where my body wears a thin sheen of sweat. Cain has managed to find Nate’s twin—another dark gargantuan brute—to guard our bar like a grim-faced sentry, ready to toss grabby patrons to the curb in the blink of an eye. In fact, the place has almost as many bouncers as it does dancers, tonight. Including Ben. He hasn’t said two words to me since that afternoon at the gym, and that suits me fine. I’d prefer to hang my head in shame without the constant reminder.