Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  Listening to him, I hear his resentment. I see it. Bitterness seethes from every pore. I still can’t understand why. The man has everything. Looks. Wealth. Fame. Personality…Um, okay, not that. But everything else.

  I think over our interaction of the last few minutes. While he didn’t quite apologize a bit ago, he did change the subject. He has shown me kindnesses, but then kicks that right in the ass by insulting me or arguing with me.

  Maybe, Jaeger is onto something. Maybe, just maybe, I have touched something in him. Maybe, while he lets me stay, I can show him how valuable he is.

  “I’m not playing a game, Kiln. I swear to you.”

  Hints of vulnerability creeps into his eyes. Then, he moves away from me, taking his scent and body heat.

  “If you were, you sure in the fuck wouldn’t tell me.”

  Balling my fists, I draw in a deep breath and grit my teeth. Focus, Raine. Don’t curse his stupid ass out. I follow him to the kitchen. “You’re a man of the world,” I reason, surprising myself at how calm I am. “You should know when a woman is using you.”

  He snatches tin foil off the dish of mashed potatoes, drags a finger through the food, then cleans the mess on his hand with his tongue.

  “I hope you washed your hands after you pissed,” I say sweetly. I’m so proud of myself for not calling him a name. “Otherwise, you’ve just created a new dish. Dick and potatoes.”

  For a moment, he stares at me before he bursts into laughter. “My God, you’re a sassy little bitch.” He uncovers the pan with the meatloaf, bends down, and sniffs. “It smells okay,” he admits, then raises his gaze to me. Laughter twinkles in his eyes. “And, yes, every time I’ve held my cock today, I’ve washed my hands.”

  I clap. “Yay, for me.”

  He looks down but I know he isn’t really seeing the meatloaf. “You are using me,” he concludes. “You’re staying here for money.”

  “I wanted to leave,” I remind him. “You refused to give me the money. This is the deal you made with me.”

  “Part of it involved fucking. At least, then, we’d use each other. Right now, you have me feeling like the biggest asshole alive.”

  “You’re that without my help.”

  He closes his eyes, his extra-long lashes fanning his cheeks. His lips move. I’m sure he’s cursing me. When he looks at me again, he’s glowering.

  “Enough with your fucking jokes.”

  “Who’s joking?” I throw back at him. “You’re not happy unless you’re arguing. You create strife when there’s none. You’re insulting as fuck. You’re challenging. You aren’t happy with what you have. And you should have some world record for holding the longest pity-party ever. Put that all together and you’ve got an asshole.”

  He scratches his head then places his hands under his chin and turns in a circle. “Why do you want to get to know me? If this is your way to get under my skin, it isn’t fucking working.”

  Oh, I think it is. Just as he’s burrowing under mine. Kiln would deny the former and not believe the latter, so I keep my mouth shut. “Can we eat? I’m hungry.”

  “I’m not eating meatloaf. Cook something else.”

  Fuck patience. “Oh, yes you are. Or you’re cooking another meal yourself, you fucking snob. I can’t believe you, douche pipe.” I point a shaking finger in the direction of the food I cooked. “It might not be much to you, but to me, meatloaf, potatoes, and carrots are fit for a king.”

  “To you, it would be.”

  I flip him off. This motherfucker would try the pope’s patience.

  “I don’t feel like cooking anything,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Therefore, the job falls to you. Get in this fucking kitchen and earn your keep.”

  “Really, Kiln? Really?” I shout, livid. “To earn anything, I have to get money, idiot. I’ve been promised money, but have yet to see a dime. Pay me a fucking grand and I’ll cook whatever in hell you want me to.” It’s on him if it tastes like shit. I know how to cook “blue-collar” meals, not rich asshole ones.

  He yanks his billfold from his pocket and rips out a stack of bills, his eyes never leaving my face. Tossing the money down, he gives me an ugly look. “You want it, crawl on your knees to get it.”

  He swipes the bills off the counter.

  The ball’s in my court. It’s up to me to either do what he’s sneered at me, or to kill him, or to just walk the hell away to show my displeasure. The last is a dramatic gesture. And, it doesn’t allow me to speak.

  “Get your fucking money, Raine. You asked for it. Get it,” he taunts. “After all, what have I gotten from this situation? Your fucking smack. Your goddamn no sex rule. And a fucked-up meal. Meanwhile, you’ve gotten off the street. You’re wearing expensive clothes. And you’re laughing at me because I’m giving you money for absolutely nothing.”

  “First off,” I fume, bending down to unzip the back of the sandal, “I wouldn’t talk smack, if you didn’t.” I throw the first shoe at his head. He ducks. “Second, if I’m going to be your mistress—which I’m seriously doubting now—I want to know you. Your dick would turn my pussy against me, and I’d never have a clear thought.” I lob the second shoe at his chest. My aim is dead-on and it hits him in the middle. He winces. Point for me. “Third, you took me off the street. I thought out of kindness, but I see it’s because you’re a crazy, split-personality fucker, and frankly, I’m tired of your bullshit.” I struggle to unzip the dress. “Fourth, you’re giving me money for something. Working on my ever-loving fucking nerves. For that, I’m due about a million dollars.” I finally mange to pull the zipper down and snatch the dress over my head.

  His eyes widen. I’m too furious to give a fuck. I ball up the silk-lined lacy dress and throw it at him. It lands on top of the meatloaf.

  “As for the money,” I spit out, wiggling out of the panties, balling them up, too, and pitching them at him. They land on his big, stupid head. “We worked out a deal. You’re giving me my fucking money like we both have sense. I’m not crawling for your fucking money or anyone else’s.” The straps of the bra slide down my arms, and I zing it in his direction. He catches it. “You fucking chauvinistic, pathetic, little moron-man. You don’t have a small dick, so I know it isn’t cock envy that has you so sadly lacking any self-worth. It has to be that small brain of yours.”

  “You’re naked.”

  “So. Fucking. What?”

  He moves around the counter and barrels in my direction. I scramble back and grab a decorative bowl from a nearby table.

  I lift my weapon. “Come closer and I’m crowning you.”

  “You’re naked, Raine.”

  “I’m well-aware of my state, since I took the clothes off, and threw them.”

  He sniffs the bra and panties.

  I frown at him. “You’re a weirdo.”

  “Put the bowl down. Sloane would fucking kill me if I’m responsible for something that his wife bought, getting broken.”

  “Far be it from me to put your life on the line,” I say sarcastically.

  A beat passes while we continue to hold our positions—his hand extended to me with the underwear, the expensive bowl over my head. He backs down first by dropping his hand to his side.

  “I want to fuck you.”

  “Aww, so sorry. Not.” I lower the bowl. “I want to fuck you, too. It’s just not happening. Keep up your bullshit and it won’t ever happen again.”

  My stomach growls.

  “You’re hungry?”

  I throw him a violent look.

  He looks beyond the counter, then back at me. “I’ve had a long, hard day.”

  “I didn’t make you have a long, hard day, Kiln, so don’t take it out on me.”

  “You’re right,” he says on a sigh.

  “Now who’s playing who?” I bite out, folding my arms.

  He looks to the floor. “I’m not playing you, Raine. You are right. That’s why I respect you so much.”

  “Please. Saying you respect me
won’t cut it. You have to show me. You sure don’t do it by throwing money at me and telling me to crawl for it. Who does that?”

  “I’ve had girls do it before,” he admits.

  “So? They were doing it in the same spirit you were throwing it. To enjoy each other and the evening.”

  “Women will do anything I ask them to do.”

  “Good for them, but I’m Raine, not ‘women’,” I say, using air quotations.

  My stomach growls again.

  “Fuck. You’re giving me no choice but to eat fucking meatloaf, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not. You have a lot of choices. None of them involve me, however, cooking another meal for you.”

  “Without payment.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re so hard to break.”

  “Are you trying to?”

  He nods.

  “Not happening, so you should save yourself time and heartache and give up your quest.”

  “Then you are playing me for a fool.”

  “Uh, what the fuck is wrong with you? How would me bowing to your wishes show that I’m not making an ass out of you? That’s the shittiest logic I’ve ever heard.”

  “To me, we’re engaged in a war.”

  “Because you’re impossible, grouchy, and douche-y.”

  “Would you put some fucking clothes on? My dick is so hard right now, it might burst my zipper.”

  Oh my God! I want to see it and feel it. Just mentioning his dick has me wet. However, I slip the panties and bra back on. The dress is stained with brown gravy, rendering it unwearable.

  Kiln sits at the counter, watching my every move. I’m starving, so I fix myself a plate of my homecooked meal, put it in the microwave, then sit beside him and dig in. I concentrate on my food, trying to tune out the presence of the man next to me. Traces of cologne reach my nostrils and his heat surrounds me. It’s so hard to pretend my senses aren’t alive and filled with memories of the hot sex we had.

  “If I give you my shirt, would you put it on?” he asks quietly, as if he hadn’t thrown a major fucking tantrum twenty minutes ago.

  “Sure.” I shovel potatoes in my mouth.

  He stands and takes off his wrinkled dress shirt. Averting my eyes so I won’t stare at his body, I pause my eating to shrug into the shirt. His scent and warmth stick to the soft material. Chills run along my body and my need for him grows. I want him so, so bad. His dick strains against his pants and my womb tightens.

  I have never, ever truly desired a man. I’ve never seen a healthy relationship, so I don’t know if I’m right to ignore how much I want him, just to take special memories with me, when I leave.

  We both return to our seats. The man manages to make trousers and a white T-shirt sexy. Out of the corner of my eye, I drool over his muscles. We don’t speak, though I wonder what’s going through his mind. I want to break through the ice he has around his soul and witness the softer part of him again.

  Halfway through my meal, he says, “Fuck,” gets to his feet and stomps to the stove. He goes through the production of finger-tasting the potatoes again and sniffing the meatloaf, before relenting and getting a plate from the cabinet. He piles on a heap of potatoes slathered with gravy, two slices of meatloaf, and a lot of carrots. After warming it, he reseats himself next to me and begins to eat.

  Several minutes tick by. “Is it good?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he grunts.

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time creeps by. He continues to eat in silence.

  “Stop being so mean,” I say. “Admit you were wrong about my food.”

  “Nothing to admit. I never said it wouldn’t be good. I told you I didn’t want to eat it.”

  I finish my food. That was the best meal I’ve had in a very long time. I could’ve enjoyed it more if we weren’t at each other’s throats. It’s my fault as much as his, so I search for a way to rectify the situation and call a truce. “Is this the way it will be between us? Arguing and stuff?”

  “And stuff?”

  “We fuss a lot.”

  “You need to learn to back down and control your temper.”

  I bite my lip. He can’t help himself. Either I get used to it or deck him, and be done with it. “We can go back and forth with that one, so I won’t say anything. Let’s forget about that. Why don’t we each tell the other a secret?”

  His jaw is so taut, he might crack it. “Would that make you happy?”

  I don’t admit my skepticism whether my happiness matters to him. That would start another round of bickering, so I answer with a simple, “Yes.”

  “You first,” he orders.

  Of course. I think hard, searching for a good one. “I’ve never been in love,” I say softly.

  A range of emotions cross his face. Anger. Sadness. Hurt. None of what I see has anything to do with me. He’s talked about his ex-wife before, so I know he’s thinking of her. Seeing her betrayal. Remembering his pain.

  “Your turn.” I can’t heal him, if he doesn’t try to help himself. “What’s your secret?”

  He studies me, long and hard, as if he’s trying to measure my worthiness. Something is on his mind, eating away at him, and he needs to unburden himself.

  I lay my hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

  He hesitates. Sighs.

  “Remember the terms of the bet we made?” he asks finally. “If you asked me how I thought you looked?”

  This isn’t what he wanted to say. But I’m not pressing him. He’s sending me strange signals. Part of him seems beaten and a little broken. Another part seems bitter and resentful. Montana would sometimes act like this when he had secrets to share.

  “Well, so you remember the bet?” he asks.

  “Of course. We just talked about it a few minutes ago. The terms were one-sided. You never told me what I’d get if I won.”

  He gives me a sexy grin. “A cock suck for me,” he murmurs. “A pussy lick for you, if you’re the winner.”

  The words shoot straight to my center and nipples, and I squirm. My clit pulses against my panties. A flush heats my body. His voice is low and hot, and his eyes are dark. I force myself to remember the wager. His provocative words wiped everything away.

  “Is it a bet?” he demands, holding out his hand, his look all-knowing.

  The evening is almost over, so I see no harm in agreeing. Clearing my throat, I place my hand into his and we shake. Once I reclaim my hand, I turn on the stool, lean against it’s back and throw open my legs. “Get to licking, because I’m not losing.”

  He grins at me. “Not so fast. I want to know another secret.”

  This is so easy. Closing my legs, I spin back toward the counter. “I’ve never had my pussy eaten.”

  He snaps his head in my direction. That’s caught his attention, his animal instinct. His breath hitches and his eyes smolder.

  “I really want you to now,” I breathe. “I’m almost coming just imagining it.”

  He brings his lips closer to mind. “Think about it, sweetheart,” he whispers. “The glide of my warm tongue over your hot, little clit, lapping at your juices, spearing into your pussy hole.”

  Throwing my head back, I groan. He skims his lips across my neck and fingers my nipple.

  “Fuck the bet, Raine,” he says, his voice like silk. “I’ll go down on you here and now, if you suck my cock.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and draw in a deep breath. When he tugs one of my nipples into his mouth through the bra silk, I cry out. But I force myself to stand firm. For myself and for him. If I give in, he’ll throw it in my face. Gloat that I can’t resist him. Then, he’d say I only used him to have my cunt licked.

  As long as he’s on the hunt, I’ll keep him interested. The minute the game ends, his excitement toward me will desert him.

  “No,” I gasp out, pushing at his head even as I thrust my nipple deeper into his mouth. Shit! I wrench away and hop to my feet, stumbling back. “No, goddamnit! No! You’re not seducing me. A bet i
s one thing. We’re on even ground. This is different. This can be used to add fuel to your vicious fire.”

  His lips thin but his nod surprises me. “Fine, Raine. If that’s the way you want it.”

  “That’s the way it has to be.”

  “I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.” He brushes past me and heads for the hallway that leads to the entrance.

  He’s going to another woman. Well, fuck him. I shouldn’t be hurt that he went from trying to seduce me to deciding to search for another woman to relieve him. I am, though. It’s cutting through me.

  “Ask me to stay.”

  I start at the sound of his annoyed voice.

  “No.”

  “You want me to stay in tonight. Or take you with me.”

  I hadn’t thought of that option. “We’re adults, Kiln. I shouldn’t have to ask you anything. If you believe I don’t want you going out, then that’s what matters. It’s up to you to do something about it.”

  “Do you want me to stay in, take you with me, or go fuck another woman? Does it matter to you?”

  Yes. With the admission, I decide to revise my ‘no-sex’ terms. “I’m not sleeping with you for seven days. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven. If you can’t wait and have to fuck that bad, go.”

  My feelings are raw, and I’m exhausted. I really don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to argue all the time, but I’m afraid if I don’t stand up to Kiln, he’ll walk all over me. Still, I want to help him. No matter his reasons, he helped me. Somewhere inside of him is a good man, one who protects and gives pleasure.

  I couldn’t save Montana, but, maybe, Kiln is redeemable. Maybe, I have what he needs.

  Tears slip down my cheeks. Tears. My wet cheeks mortify me and piss me off. They aren’t all for Montana. They’re for Kiln, too. Nor do I want to spend the next few weeks in a battle zone. I want peace.

  “Don’t cry,” he says, frowning. “You’re acting like a whiny pussy.”

  “Fuck you. Fuck off. Go to hell.” I give him the finger and swipe at my tears. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Why the tears?”

  I shrug. The tears keep coming. “Fuck if I know. Possibly because I’ve jumped from a pig’s fire and into a dickhole’s frying pan.”