Chapter Four
T hank God her phone rang in that moment, because she was having serious issues keeping her hand from ripping his balls from his body.
Ignoring the way his jaw clinched and his eyes narrowed, obviously displeased at the interruption— well, fuck him —Liz pulled her cell from her purse draped over the rolling supplies case handle. She did not see the way his arm muscles bulged when he crossed them over his chest. Nope. Her body did not get tingly at the sight of his forearm tattoos, snaking up over his elbows and disappearing under his tight as hell t-shirt. Nuh uh. She did not remember what it felt like to be wrapped up in those arms, held close, held down…just… held . But she would freely admit to remembering how it felt when those arms let her go.
She mentally shook herself, looked down at the phone, and smiled when she saw the name on the screen.
“Hey, baby.” Beside her, Trouble stiffened. She ignored that, too.
“Mama,” her daughter’s squeaky, excited voice came through the phone, and Liz’s grin grew wider. “Dolly said that Mona said that the spa by the Chinese place closed.”
Shit. Dolly was one caregiver at the all-day childcare center where Liz dropped her daughter off every weekday. The center was more than just a daycare; they transported the kids to their respective schools in the morning, picked them up in the afternoons, then made sure they were fed a snack and worked on their homework before the parents came to get them after work. It cost an ass load of money every month, but it was worth every penny. She trusted Dolly and Marian, the owners, and the assistant teachers that worked closely with the kids. Liz knew that every person who worked there had been fully vetted, right down to their fingerprints.
It made her mom’s heart happy that her daughter had some place safe but also fun for her to go to every day after school.
“Did she say why?” Liz asked, knowing that Dolly was the epitome of a “big ears, bigger mouth” gossiper.
“Pipes exploded and water got everywhere !”
Hell.
Well, that would do it. Ugh. She felt bad for the small business, but she also felt shitty because her daughter had been looking forward to getting her nails painted by a professional. Liz tried, but she’d never been into all the girly stuff like painting her nails. The few times she’d attempted it for her daughter, it had looked like the girl had just dipped her fingertips in a paint bucket.
But the spa was closed because of flooding.
That was where she’d planned to take her baby girl that night for her first mani-pedi. Dammit. She could check out another spa, but doubtless all the time slots for that night were already full. It had taken her a week to get the appointment for tonight. It was too late to get into a reputable place that wouldn’t give her or her daughter a skin infection.
Yes. She was that anal about her daughter’s health and safety. As a doctor, she’d seen too many bad things happen to people just going about their day. As a mother, she was careful about the myriad ways her child could get sick, and she protected her from it. As was her right and duty. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with an infection from poorly maintained nail clippers.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you tonight, okay?”
“Okay, Mama. Can we do pizza and donuts and…and— Hotel Transylvania ?”
Liz couldn’t help it, she chuckled. Her daughter’s enthusiasm never failed to put a smile on her face, even though the thought of watching that movie again for the fifteenth time made her head hurt. The things moms did for their children. She inwardly sighed.
“Yeah, baby, we can do whatever you want.” Her daughter would watch the movie, and she would read her latest smut selection on her phone while pretending to laugh in all the appropriate places in the movie. Win-win. They would both get their vampire fix—her daughter from her silly kid’s movie, and her from her filthy Suzanne Wright book.
There was the sound of a small, excited voice muffled in the background of the call. “Okay, Mama. I got to go; Sammy wants to do the swings.”
“Alright, baby, I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Mama, I love you!”
“I love you.” Still smiling, she ended the call and bent to slip the phone back into her purse. The heat at her back made her tense.
“Who the fuck was that?” Trouble barked, making her flinch.
Shit, she’d completely forgotten Trouble was still in the room. And she’d been talking to her daughter, too. That could have been bad. Obviously, he had heard nothing through the phone, so he couldn’t tell she’d been talking to a little girl.
And why did he need to know, anyway? Immediately, her hackles were up.
Keep it professional. Keep it impersonal. She couldn’t show him any emotion, or he’d ride that shit into the sunset, slicing open old wounds along the way.
“Why is that any of your business? Once again, you’ve stepped over the clear lines from professional to personal. I am here to do my job, and your job is to let me do it.” There. She’d kept her voice flat, despite the driving need to growl at him.
His lip curled as he dropped his arms, planting his massive hands on his narrow hips. “Personal? Really, Skizzy? You and I have only ever been personal .”
Oh, hell no! He did not use that name, the name he’d given her when they’d first gotten together. Why the hell would he do that? What was the game he was playing? They weren’t anything. They had never been anything—not to him. So why was he determined to drag up old shit?
She tilted her head, taking in the man before her, her gaze drifting over his features as though she were taking in every curve, every angle, every whisker, and coming up dissatisfied.
“Why did you come to the medical room? Did you need something?”
From the darkening of his features and the tension in his body, she knew he didn’t appreciate that she hadn’t risen to the bait.
He opened his mouth to—she had no idea what—but the appearance of her at the door stopped him.
Her eyes slid to Liz, the shit-colored depths burning with hatred and menace, before they shifted to Trouble where they stayed as her expression turned sultry. The smirk on her lips was telling. The woman was about to say or do something to piss Liz off.
“Ooo, Trouble, baby, you still haven’t gotten that bottle of Advil? I need it after you pounded the fuck out of me last night…and this morning. I ache all over, baby…but I need you again.” If it were possible, Amelia’s smirk grew, encompassing the whole of her expression. Her face was one big “fuck you”, and Liz didn’t give a shit.
She couldn’t. She was over Trouble. She was over the drama. She just wanted to finish with the supplies and get her daughter. They had a pizza and cartoon movie date.
Sighing, she flicked her gaze to Trouble who was staring at her, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t even turned to acknowledge Amelia, who hadn’t noticed Trouble’s lack of attention. She was too busy giving Liz the stank eye.
Keeping looking at me like that, precious….
God, the temptation to say “fuck it” to her oath as a doctor and punch Amelia was strong. When Liz’s parents were alive, she’d never known a moment of violence; she’d been loved, cherished, and championed by a father who fought every battle for her. Once she lost her parents and was plunged into a life of “kill or be killed” “fight or go down bloody” she’d learned just how scrappy she was. She wasn’t a professional fighter like Tessa or a badass like Skathi by any means, but she could pull hair, bloody a lip, break a nose, and bruise a windpipe like a goddamn Tasmanian devil. And seeing Amelia and dealing with her shit never failed to stir that ferocious, whirling demon.
But she fought it. Because she was a professional, doing her job, and she refused to let someone like Amelia ruin her reputation.
Liz fought the urge to let her annoyance show on her face, because he was still looking at her, his eyes penetrating deep. What? Didn’t he like his trashy women to blurt out shit about their sexual escapades to their ex…whatevers? That couldn’t be new for him, especially since he kept sticking his dick in Amelia, who was even slutty and crass for a club whore.
Speaking of….
Amelia, wearing only a t-shirt, slunk into the room from the doorway, draping herself over Trouble’s shoulder, her lack of bra and panties obvious as she made no move to pull the rising t-shirt down over her exposed ass and pussy.
Disgusted—as a woman and as a doctor—Liz couldn’t hold her tongue.
“Amelia, I realize you have little respect for me, but, out of respect for the men who come into this room expecting a level of cleanliness, and sterile, sanitary conditions, I ask that you wear appropriate clothing in here at all times.” Amelia glared, her face turning red. But Liz wasn’t done. “The last thing these men need is to catch chlamydia from the exam table.”
Liz, so focused on Amelia’s face as the other woman prepared to blow her top—not that she was wearing much of one—she wasn’t prepared for the bark of laughter that exploded from Trouble’s chest.
Amelia immediately turned disbelieving eyes on Trouble, who was attempting to smother his laughter and hide his grin behind his fist.
Growling, Amelia turned back to glare at Liz, but Liz met the woman’s glare with a cold, indifferent look. She would not be intimidated by someone who couldn’t even put on a pair of panties before traipsing around in public.
“You—you bitch!” Amelia snarled, taking a step forward, her hand raised, no doubt to slap Liz.
Right before the cat could scratch her, Trouble grabbed hold of Amelia’s hand.
“Stop, woman,” Trouble barked, making Amelia jerk as if hit. Apparently, she wasn’t used to that tone from him.
Finally, turning to look at Amelia, he leaned in and spoke, his voice low and commanding, “Don’t hit the doc.” Amelia pouted, her Botoxed lips looking comical rather than sexy.
Straightening, feeling a sliver of relief that at least Trouble respected her enough to keep the bitches in line around her, she almost smiled. But that sliver was set on fire in the next moment.
“You hit her and mess her up, she’ll get pissy, and she won’t be much use to us.” Trouble spoke those words…looking directly at her. Every syllable, like a punch in the gut. His expression was cold, his eyes back to their icy green. There he was. The true Erik Skaarsen.
She should have known Trouble didn’t give a shit about her. He never had. Never would. What more did she need to see, hear, feel, absorb into her soul before she remembered he was nothing but his namesake? Trouble. Pain. Humiliation.
Hating the burn behind her eyes, she was glad her mask of indifference hadn’t slipped, though it was wobbling on the edge.
Need to get out of here. But she was a fucking goddamn professional, so she wouldn’t be chased out of her own clinic! She didn’t give a shit if the compound belonged to the MC; Odin had given her jurisdiction over the medical room, and she would hold on to that power with all she had, because this was her port in the storm in a place where she couldn’t stop the heartache from stabbing at her every time she crossed through the gates.
Taking a step back from the couple, she returned to what she was supposed to be doing: resupplying the medical closet and getting the hell out of there.
Behind her, Amelia and Trouble’s voices carried on a conversation in low tones she couldn’t hear. Not that she gave a shit what they were talking about.
Focusing on her task and making herself ignore the people behind her, she finished quickly. Closing and latching the rolling case, she moved to close the closet door, but a hand reached out and held it open. A hand she knew by heart. She’d traced over those veins, each crease in his knuckles, she recognized each freckle…because those hands had held her heart once upon a time.
Stiffening, she turned her head over her shoulder and met Trouble’s gaze. The ice was gone. In its place was…regret?
Yeah, right.
The man regretted nothing.
Without a word, Trouble reached around her, his massive, hard chest pressing against her stiff back, as he grabbed a bottle of Advil from the clearly labelled pain meds shelf. Moving with grace a man his size shouldn’t have, he closed the closet door, and pulled his arm back. But he didn’t move back. He remained where he was, pressed against her body. His heat invading her flesh, searing her blood, scorching her nerves.
She couldn’t move, not without brushing more of her already pulled taut body against his.
“Please, take a step back,” she commanded, her voice just on this side of sass. She couldn’t let him know that his closeness was getting to her. If she let her sass fly, it was a red flag that she was feeling something, and usually that feeling was fiery anger. Also, she was well known for her sarcasm and cynicism. One became jaded and cynical when betrayed. She knew better than anyone. She’d been betrayed by the foster system long before she’d been betrayed by Trouble. However…the betrayal from the man she’d loved more than anything stung so much worse. But to show any of that to Trouble was a bad idea.
“I will in a minute,” he replied, much too fucking close to her ear. She couldn’t stop the shudder that vibrated through her. And from the way he tensed, then relaxed into her, he felt it, too.
Dammit!
“I don’t have a minute, Trouble, I have somewhere to be.” Like with their daughter. A daughter he didn’t know about and, hopefully, never would. She’d been careful about keeping her professional life and personal life separate, especially with the Savage Raiders MC. No one in the club or affiliated with the club knew she had a kid, and she wanted to keep it that way. It wasn’t any of their business. To them, she was their doctor. To her, they were just her patients. That was all it could be between them, because they’d shown her years ago that she was just as expendable as a used condom.
Trouble growled, the rumbling making her nerve endings zing. Good God, her nipples got hard! Fuck! She was wearing a silk blouse and an unpadded lace bra! Of all the times to get aroused, this was not it. This was not the man she should get aroused for.
Even though he ruined you for all other men?
Shit.
“I heard about your plans,” he rasped. “Hot date?”
She blinked, confused for a minute before she remembered he’d overheard her side of the conversation with her daughter.
“Yes. Hot date. Not that it’s any of your business,” she huffed, tucking locks of flyaway hair back into the once tight chignon she’d started the day with. Her hair was one of her best features—silky-smooth, thick, with a bit of a wave when loose. It was a pain in the ass to keep contained, though.
Annoyed and at the end of her patience, she pushed back against him with her shoulders, keeping her fat ass from moving back to hit his groin. He would never know that pleasure from her again.
Finally taking a step back, he crossed his arms and pinned her with a look that said their conversation was just getting started.
Nope.
Grabbing the handle on her rolling case, she tried to skirt around him to get to the door. He stopped her with a hand on her wrist.
“Don’t act like everything about you isn’t my business,” he growled, the sound moving through her from neck to toes. She shuddered once again. “And when you’re on that hot date with your boyfriend, remember who always made you feel good. Who always made you catch fire in his bed. Who’s cock you always begged for.”
Whatever arousal his nearness had sparked was immediately doused by his words.
Twisting her wrist from his grasp, she met his gaze with hers, pouring her hatred and anger into her eyes. Just this once, she would let him see what he’d made her.
“You made me feel good ?” she sneered. “Funny, I only remember how you made me feel like I was nothing to you. Like a piece of shit you stepped in, then scraped off once the stink got too much. I remember everything , Trouble. And what I remember is that you didn’t give a fuck about me. I remember you were a lying, cheating, piece of shit who was too much of a goddamn coward to tell me to my face that I was nothing more than a piece of ass. You didn’t give a fuck then, so, please, continue not giving a fuck, because I will never let you make me feel good ever again.”
With that, she hurried from the room, leaving a silent and fuming Trouble in her wake.