Chapter 8
eight
My mother used to tell me that I was a homing device for trouble. That I drew it to me magnetically. Every bad kid wanted to be my friend. Every crazy idea sprang to me like I’d invented being stupid. Every girl in high school determined to use a guy to make her boyfriend jealous found me. I’d lived my life differently since Rachel’s death. No hare-brained plans, no reckless partying, no worrying about birth control after the fact. Zero attachments, almost no possessions, lots of workouts to run off my frustrations. But no trouble.
Plus, never allowing any sort of tenderness to seep into my heart.
Until now. Until Olivia.
Three times now I’d been in her presence and all three times she had drawn feelings out of me I didn’t want to exist. I wanted to deny it, but when she got woozy from seeing my bullet wound, all I could think was that she was the cutest, sweetest thing ever and I wanted to help her.
What the actual fuck?
If this wasn’t borrowing trouble, I didn’t know what was.
Because after a brief pause, where I stared down at her and wondered what was happening to me, and why I desperately craved a shot of whiskey to calm my nerves, she went up on tiptoes and kissed me.
I hadn’t thought she would. I kept asking, because I’m a dick like that. I was teasing, poking, being a prick. Making myself more comfortable by making her uncomfortable. But she knew my trick and she turned it right around on me because she rose to the challenge and pressed her lips onto mine. A soft kiss, delicate and questing, and she dug her fingernails into my left bicep.
She pulled back far too quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was so squeamish, but I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before.”
“My other one was worse,” I assured her. “This is nothing.”
“Your idea of nothing and my idea of nothing don’t mesh.” She glanced down at my arm again.
It didn’t even hurt that much anymore. Throbbing, but not off the charts. “I don’t have any rubbing alcohol. I’ll just pour some whiskey on it.” I had a bottle above the fridge. “Let me get this shirt off.”
“I’ll help you.”
Even better then. I could stand there and let her strip me, no problem. She had the cutest little button nose, and when she concentrated, she scrunched it up. Right now she looked like she was afraid of what she might find when she took off my jacket. “There is no blood anywhere else, I promise.”
“I know.” She glanced up at me under long, dark lashes that were at odds with her blond hair. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Olivia didn’t have a deep tan like most women I knew. Her time was spent in the classroom and she had soft, fair skin, and full raspberry lips. Her big brown eyes expressed more than I think she knew and now I could tell what she was remembering. The night before.
I’d never been one to give much thought to the oddity of having sex with a total stranger. Of peeling off layers down to bare skin, bodies joining in random, sticky passion. I didn’t look at those women afterward and think it was strange or feel uneasy. Yet I did with Olivia. Something intimate had happened between us, fueled by the circumstances and now I didn’t know what to do with it. I looked at her and it felt like I should know her, because I knew her body, knew how to read her expressions, but I didn’t actually know her. At all.
“What are you worried about?”
Her fingers stroked over my chest, beneath my shirt, a soft, feathery touch. She wasn’t looking at me, but at my skin. She traced my tattoo. “This. I’m worried about this.”
“My tattoo?” I knew that wasn’t what she meant but I wanted her to say it.
She shook her head. “I’m worried about seeing you without a shirt on. I don’t want to go there again. I can’t go there.”
That was disappointing, but not surprising. “I’m not asking you to.”
Her palms spread out over my skin. Even a simple touch like that from her was arousing to me. She was just so damn sexy and she didn’t even know it.
“Don’t you want me?” she asked.
That was fucking ironic. “Of course I do. But I would never ask you for something you can’t give.” I was an asshole, but not that big of one. Besides, if I pushed her and she gave in and we had amazing sex, which we would, she would want more.
I had nothing more to give.
She peeled my shirt down over my shoulders and took first my uninjured arm, and then the jacked up one, out of the sleeves. She bundled up the ruined shirt up and stepped back. “The rest of you looks intact.”
Her gaze dropped to my cock. I wasn’t even sure she knew she did that. But I was sporting a semi-erection. All I needed was a little encouragement and I would have her up against my kitchen counter, taking her sweet wet pussy. When she glanced up at me she must have seen my desire because her eyes widened and she licked her lips.
“Where is that whiskey?” she asked, her voice husky, confused.
She was warring with herself just as much as I was.
I turned and reached for the bottle over the fridge. I didn’t trust myself to speak or to look at her. I wanted to touch her with every fiber of my being. I wanted to show her that the night before wasn’t an anomaly, that we had some serious goddamned chemistry and we should explore that. But we shouldn’t and we couldn’t, so I pulled down my Jack Daniels, took a huge swallow and handed her the bottle, tossing the cap on the counter. “Just pour it on my arm.”
“This is a little barbaric.” She looked nervous but she took the bottle from me and sucked in a deep breath. Then she just poured it over my wound.
A little warning would have been nice. Fuck . I closed my eyes for a second as the fiery burn splashed all over me, seeping into the messy wound and sending my whole arm plunging into agony. I gritted my teeth and let the wave crest and recede. “What the fuck happened to ‘on the count of three?’” I asked.
“Oh, was I supposed to do that? Sorry.” She bit her lip. “Let me get a washcloth and clean up this blood.”
“In the bathroom.” I leaned against the counter and let her go fetch the towel. I needed a minute to pick my balls back up off the floor and recover. I took another sip of the whiskey. She could drive us to her house.
Olivia came back and I wasn’t so down and out I couldn’t appreciate the way she moved in a pair of jeans. She had slim hips and that firm little ass filled her jeans perfectly. Her T-shirt wasn’t as tight as I would have preferred, but she had big tits so they were clearly outlined. It was an inexpensive, simple and casual look that made her seem less rich and privileged than she had lounging in a five hundred dollar robe.
She was fussing with a handful of crap. “Your supplies are seriously lacking. I only found one gauze bandage but no medical tape.”
“I have duct tape.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows. “You want me to duct tape a bandage to your arm?”
I shrugged. “Why not?” It didn’t seem that big of a deal to me.
“Let me just clean it up and then we’ll go to the store. My treat as thanks for saving my life.”
I wasn’t going to say it… but then I did. “I could think of better–
She threw her hand up and glared at me. “No. Stop. Don’t be a creep. I’m over it, Wester. Seriously. Your douchebag charm isn’t going to work on me.”
That made me grin. “You like my douchebag charm and you know it.” She did. She found me frustrating, but she was attracted to me just as much as I was to her.
“I like you when you’re being normal, not acting like a hired escort.”
I snorted. “No one has ever accused me of that before. I don’t think I’d make much money if I were.” But even as I said it, I knew there was some element of truth to that. I had made myself an armor of douchebag pick up lines that I hid behind.
Olivia snorted. “I don’t know the going rate or what women are looking for.”
“What are you looking for?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re doing it again.”
I was. Damn it. It was habit. I defaulted to flirt every time. I took another sip, letting the whiskey make it’s way down my throat. “So what do we do about it?”
Her eyes shuttered. “We’re going to go to the store and get bandages. Then drive to my apartment. Then I’m never going to see you again.”
I hadn’t expected her to just say it out loud. I was disappointed, no doubt. The counter was digging in to my back, but I refused to give up my casual stance. I kept my ankles crossed and watched her. She had a damp towel in her hand but made no move to use it on my arm. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
But her lip trembled.
“What if I see you at Ricardo’s? Are you going to pretend that we’ve never met? That I’ve never tasted you with my tongue?” I was pushing it, I knew it. But I wanted an acknowledgment by her that she was affected by me. It was selfish and rude, but I wanted it. I wanted her. And if I couldn’t have her, I at least wanted to know that she felt the same way.
Olivia didn’t back down. She didn’t roll over the way I wanted her to. “I’ll never see you at Ricardo’s because you know you’ve been fired. Plus, I’m never going back there. But even if by some chance I bumped in to you, yes, I pretend that we’ve never met. That you’ve never been inside me, on camera, in a locked room.” Her chin came up. “Because it was nothing. It meant nothing.”
That pissed me off. “Oh, yeah? Then why did you come if it was nothing?” Maybe I was tired of being nothing. That was the world I’d set up for myself because I was couldn’t stomach the idea of losing anyone else like Rachel, but I was craving more. A connection. I had felt that with her and I had been willing to get the hell over my fear. It made me angry that she wouldn’t admit that there had been something stirring between us.
“Fuck you,” she whispered. “Stop trying to humiliate me.”
That shamed me. “Olivia.” I pushed off the counter. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m sorry.” I strode toward her. “I just don’t want to let you go. Do you get that?”
She looked away, exasperated. “You can fuck anyone, Wester. Anyone.” She looked back, those dark eyes piercing me. “Go to South Beach and show off your gunshot wound. You’ll have women falling all over you in their cheetah heels.”
There was truth to what she said. That was my world. College was hers. I was the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, the Miami equivalent of the townie, and I was proud of that. My mother had worked hard for what she had and now I did the same thing. My father had disappeared when I was a baby and I had almost committed myself to a life of crime before going straight. I partied, I fucked, and I cared about no one. Nothing. Just myself and my mother. So no matter what I felt for Olivia, we weren’t a good fit.
Yet that didn’t stop me from saying, “I don’t want them. I want you.”
Her nostrils flared. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you can’t always get what you want?”
I shook my head and reached for her, resting my hands on her shoulders. “No. My mother always told me I could have anything I wanted.”
“She was wrong.” Olivia glanced at my arm. “You’re still bleeding.”
“I don’t care.” I bent down and kissed her earlobe, teasing my tongue into the opening.
She shivered. “Give me one reason, Wester. One reason why I should stay.”
With anyone else, I would have taken her hand and put it on my cock and said, “This.” With anyone else, it would have worked.
But not Olivia. I had the sense to know that. To stop my usual bullshit Don Juan routine and be something as close to honest as a man who had been lying to himself for years could be. I murmured in her ear, “Harry Potter. Because I’ve never discussed Harry Potter with a woman before.”
Wester was an accomplished flirt and panty dropper, and I knew that. I knew it, I kept fighting against, and yet I still kept finding myself wavering. Over and over, I tried to shove him away, and then he said something that made my vagina tingle and my heart open up like a fucking flower. I hated it. I loved it. He could have said anything else and I could have resisted, but damn it, he had to bring Harry Potter into it? That wasn’t cool.
“Being with you isn’t smart. And I’m smart.” I wanted to step away from him, but he smelled like sweat and potential sex and I was having a hard time prying myself away from that.
Then without warning he stepped back, taking the wet cloth I was clutching like a lifeline. “Then be smart. I’ll take you home now.”
Oh, damn. He was good. So good, he was bad. I dropped my hands and debated my next move. It was out of my mouth before I even realized I was going to say it. “I’m smart all the time. Today I just want to feel alive.”
There it was. I knew I should stick to my resolve and never see him again. But I could do that after he made me feel good. Being kidnapped had punched a hole into my stable world and I needed an anchor. He was it. For now. For right now. Tomorrow I could move forward and pretend none of this had ever happened.
His pale eyes took on an intensity I recognized. Lust. “I can definitely make you feel alive.”
I nodded. “I know.”
Wester took another large sip from the whiskey bottle then offered it to me. I shook my head. Then I immediately changed my mind and reached for it. The liquor burned even though I only took a small sip. “Thanks.”
“My apartment is lacking in furniture, but it is clean,” Wester said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
That he felt the need to explain his home to me was touching. It made him, the tough guy, more vulnerable. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“What has you worried then? I can see it on your face. It’s etched into your forehead.”
“I’m not usually impulsive and I’m not one to do whatever with just anyone.” I was loyal. That’s who I was. I didn’t do casual. I rarely chose to be involved with anyone. “I’m not worried so much as I feel like I don’t want to be alone. It’s never bothered me before, but after last night...after feeling so scared, I don’t want to go home and pretend that I’m okay.”
He held the bottle out to me again and I took it, gliding my hands over the smooth glass like a worry stone without bothering to sip any of the whiskey. Without a shirt, his chest and abs were on full display, those hard muscles taunting me, inviting me. Was there anything sexier than a man in dress pants with no shirt? He wore a watch below that gash, a bit of fresh blood trickling down his skin. I was flustered, but I knew what I wanted. I wanted him to hold me, to comfort me with his body. To make what had happened between us feel like a more natural memory.
“It’s okay to not be okay,” he said, closing the distance between us. “And you don’t have to be alone.”
Then Wester surprised me by pulling me into a hug. He kissed my temple, softly, like a boyfriend would, and even with the whiskey bottle between us, I could feel his warm chest. His bare arms surrounded me and I indulged myself and sank into his embrace. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply. Tears rose behind my lids, which pissed me off. Why was I suddenly tearing up every other minute? I sniffled a little, trying to get my emotions under control. “I never cry,” I whispered. “Ever.”
“You can if you want.” His fingers brushed over the back of my t-shirt, soothing. “Crying women don’t scare me.”
“Does anything scare you?”
For a brief pause he stiffened, then he said, “Losing people. That’s what scares me.”
That seemed like the most honest thing he’d ever said to me. I opened my eyes and glanced up at him, raising my lips for a kiss. “Take me away. Make me forget.”
Wester’s expression was fierce, his eyes glassy. He knew he had revealed something about himself to me and I didn’t think he had meant to. Now we were both exposed, vulnerable, and there was only one way he would react to that. I waited, lips poised to receive his kiss and he didn’t hesitate. His mouth covered mine hungrily and he plunged his tongue inside, sweeping over mine. After a hot kiss, he actually bit my bottom lip, like he had passion and energy and emotion he couldn’t contain.
The unexpected sharp sting had me catching my breath, nipples hardening instantly. I ran my free hand eagerly over his hard chest, squeezing his pectoral, gripping his flank so that I could press my thighs closer to his. Our kiss got wild, angry, desperate. A rough collision of eager lips and grasping tongues. Wet. Demanding. When he briefly pulled back, he bent down and tugged my T-shirt lower so he could suck the swell of my breast.
“Yes,” I murmured, head dipping back. “That feels good.” I shifted my leg again, wanting closer, but the whiskey bottle was still between us.
He gripped the head of the bottle, his mouth nuzzling my neck. “Let go of the whiskey. I’ve got it.”
So I did. He took the bottle, raised his head, and flung it at his sink. I jumped when it shattered in a spray of glass and amber liquid. “What the hell?—?”
But he didn’t miss a beat. He wrapped his arm around me, hauled me up against him, and ground my body against his. His erection pressed into my thigh and I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything. A feverish heat had settled into my skin, and I was aching deep in my core. Wester yanked my tank top down so far the neckline settled under my breasts. He gave the same treatment to my bra so that my nipples popped out. When he covered one and sucked hard, I groaned.
Like the whiskey, I felt the burn all the way down to my toes.
“I wish you were in a robe,” he murmured against my skin.
I gave a breathless laugh. “Me, too.”
He popped the button on my jeans and slid the zipper down. I had never been so grateful in my life for the decision to wear loose-fitting boyfriend jeans. He barely had to tug and they dropped to my ankles. I stepped out, frantic to be skin on skin. Wester undid his pants, but they still clung loosely to his hips. His arm wrapped around my backside and he hauled me up off the ground.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said urgently.
I did as I was told and he walked me backward while kissing me, until my back slammed against the kitchen wall. It knocked the wind out of me briefly and I held onto him tighter. “Take me,” I murmured. “Please.” That was a first. I couldn’t remember ever asking for a guy to make me his, but Wester drove me crazy. He barely touched me and he did insane things to my inhibitions. He shattered them. He made me open, aroused, free.
Reaching down, I found his cock and stroked it. Wester gave a moan.
“There’s a condom in my pocket,” he said, nipping at my lip again. “Grab it for me.”
I shifted down and slid my hand into his pocket. I found the foil packet and pulled it out. “Here,” I said, trying to give it to him.
But he shook his head, and set me on the floor. “No. You put it on.”
Hello. That seemed… intimate. Like a thing for couples to do. Not him and me and our weird what the hell were we relationship. But I wasn’t going to argue or think or waste any time doing anything other than making sure he could be inside me immediately. I tore the packet open with my teeth and he growled low in the back of his throat.
“You’re so fucking hot.”
My hands were trembling and I wasn’t sure why, but I concentrated on him, unrolling the condom down onto his firm thickness. Then I gave him a squeeze. My mouth was thick with saliva and desire. I looked up at him. He was watching me with those pale eyes.
“You want that?” he asked, in a low, sensual voice. “You want my cock?”
With crazy anticipation. I nodded. “Yes.”
“Come here.” He lifted me by the waist further up onto the wall, then teased at my folds, sliding over my clit.
Without stopping to take off my panties, he pushed them to the side and settled me over on his erection. It was a slow glorious slide down onto his length until he was fully embedded inside me.
“Oh, damn,” I murmured, my eyes rolling back in my head. The wall was hard but I barely noticed, feeling only the hot joining of him with me.
“Olivia,” he said, his teeth gritted. “You feel so good.” He put his forehead on mine, resting for a minute.
His cock was actually throbbing inside me, and I ached from wanting more. I tried to move my hips but there was no way to raise myself up. I was already on my tiptoes. “Wester.”
He didn’t tease. He didn’t ask again what I wanted. He just started thrusting into me without warning or hesitation. He wasn’t gentle but he wasn’t out of control either. The terms and rhythm were his, and I had the air pushed out of me in a pant with every stroke. His eyes narrowed, his hand on the wall above my head to brace himself. The apartment felt still, quiet, the only sounds us, loud, harsh, in the small room. The slap of skin, the slick give of my body, the staccato pants of our breath, and the rushing of the blood through my veins humming in my ears.
My hair was in my eyes, but I made no move to shift it out of the way. All I could concentrate on was the crescendo building deep inside me. The beautiful agony of each push, the heightening pleasure, ready to break.
Then I shattered. I broke like glass all over him, a strangled cry flying past my lips.
The corner of Wester’s mouth turned up in a smile.
He looked arrogant as hell and I didn’t even care. He’d earned that smile.