Playing Dirty

by Lauren Hawkeye

  Her refusal to open up stung, he couldn’t lie. She’d agreed to no more condoms, trusting him with her body, but she wouldn’t share what had happened that had brought that reserve to the woman he’d known.

  He could only hope she’d open up in time.

  “What made you decide to come back to Boston?” Clearly she wanted to change the subject. Fine. He wouldn’t push...for now. “You’ve told me some. But I’d like to hear more.”

  Walking on his knees to the next frame, he got out his measuring shape to double-check that it was the size he wanted.

  “I wanted to come home.” Satisfied with the measurements, he reached out a hand for the bottle of water she still held. Taking it back, he drained it in two swallows.

  “When I went to Los Angeles, I was consumed with the idea of what my life should be. My hotels were doing so well, why shouldn’t I live in the land of excess? Why shouldn’t I spend my time with famous, pretty people?” Tossing the empty bottle aside, he leveled her with a look. “I suspect a shrink might discover that I was trying to build myself up into what I wanted to be because a certain woman with tattoos and a nipple ring had made me take a good hard look at who I really was, which sure as shit wasn’t that.”

  She blushed, something he hadn’t seen her do before. “I never meant to make you feel like crap.”

  “Sure you did.” He grinned. “And I needed it. I might never have wound up back here if it wasn’t for that, so don’t feel bad. In fact, thank you.”

  She pressed her lips together but said nothing.

  “Anyway. When I lost everything, I realized that I didn’t even like California. Too hot. Too many people.” He shrugged. “When Peyton and I broke up, there was nothing keeping me there anymore. I wanted to come home.”

  “If she ditched you because you lost your money, she never really loved you.” Beth’s words were both brutal and true. He barked out a laugh. He didn’t need to even probe at his feelings for his former fiancée, because he already knew that he no longer had any.

  “She did love me, in just the same way that I loved her.” A primitive part of him beat its chest when he watched Beth’s eyes narrow. “As friends. She didn’t dump me because I’d lost my fortune. Not really. She had plenty of cash of her own. It was that she’d wanted the man she thought I was, not the one who emerged after the dust settled. She wanted someone to go to Hollywood parties with her, to stand by her side as an equal. And she equated money with that equality.”

  He shrugged. “It was never meant to be.”

  Beth was silent for a moment, apparently digesting that info. Then she scowled, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that the expression made her look cute. “She still better pray I never meet her. I can’t guarantee there won’t be a tire iron in my bag.”

  Surprised laughter exploded out of him; he couldn’t help it. Jesus, but she was fantastic. Reaching for her, he tugged her across the short expanse of worn carpet that separated them and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

  “What was that for?” She batted at him, but she was grinning.

  “Your little violent streak makes me hot.” He waggled his eyebrows lewdly. “Next time you go after someone with a tire iron, please let me watch. Please.”

  She tried to hold back her smile, but the corners of her lips quirked upward. “Yeah, yeah.” Settling back into his arms, she sighed.

  He held his breath.

  “I guess this kind of reminds me of when I stopped touring.” She sucked in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “You know, getting label attention, getting a record deal for my weird, quirky piano music? That was a one-in-a-million shot. I was so fucking lucky. There were thousands—probably hundreds of thousands—of people who would have done literally anything to be in my place.

  “I enjoyed it at first. The attention, the chance to share my music. The money—I was finally able to treat my sisters, Mamesie to a taste of the life that they deserved.”

  “But?” He was dying to hear the but.

  She smiled wanly. “But touring really took its toll. The shows, the press—it was too much. I’m an introvert, you know.”

  He coughed. She glared.

  “You don’t have to be shy to be an introvert. I’m not shy, obviously, but being around so many people all the time—it drained me. So when I got sick, at first...at first I was relieved.” Casting a sidelong look at him through her lashes, she was clearly waiting for him to judge her. It wasn’t going to happen.

  “Of course, then shit blew up in my face. I was forced to quit touring. All the money I’d made...well, it was needed for something else.” He watched the shadows move across her face, the shutters coming down. She was glossing over what he most wanted to know—what had happened when she was sick—but he had no right to demand that information. Not yet. “But the truth is, that life that I had? Turned out it wasn’t really what I wanted after all.”

  Shifting in his arms, she rose to her knees. Dipping her head to press a kiss to his lips, she smiled up at him with a hint of the shyness that she professed not to have. “So what I’m trying to say is, I get it.”

  He was a goner.

  This woman had been through so much, and yet she was so strong. But even as he thought about that, the shadows of guilt that never quite left him grew darker, clinging to his skin.

  She’d glossed over it, but he got the impression that her health still wasn’t exactly what it could be.

  He was rough with her. Jesus, not two hours ago he’d used her so thoroughly that he’d left the lightest shadows of bruises on her hips. He could see them now, soft violet against her ivory skin.

  She wanted it that way. He wanted it that way. But in that moment, hot panic clawed at his throat.

  A real man wouldn’t bruise his woman. He wouldn’t fuck her on top of a washing machine and forget to use a condom.

  If he told her the thoughts clouding his mind, she’d call him a coward and accuse him of hiding who he really was.

  She’d be right.

  Holding on to that, he pulled himself from the mire of his own mind. He and Beth did these things because that was what got them off—got them both off.

  He was not his father. He knew his father was into some kinky shit, though he’d always tried to ignore it, but it was the way the older man treated the woman in his life that had left a lasting impression on Ford. It didn’t matter if they were wives, girlfriends, mistresses or strippers he’d brought home from his club. In his head, they were there to please him, and the second they didn’t, they were gone. No regard for what they wanted or how they felt.

  Ford supposed he was lucky he wasn’t more fucked-up.

  Damn it, he wasn’t Bruce. He could be the man he really was—it didn’t mean that he didn’t treat women well, or care about what they wanted.

  Hell, the reason he was able to even think that way was because he wanted to make one specific woman happy.

  “I could fall in love with you.” Maybe it was endorphins from the sex, maybe it was the vanilla and engine grease scent wafting from Beth’s soft hair. He usually had more of a filter, considered big steps like telling someone something like that.

  It was true, and he wanted her to know.

  In his arms, she froze. He waited, holding his breath, suddenly feeling like he was in the back seat of a limo at prom, pants around his ankles, hoping that Jennifer St. Morrisette would actually let him lose his virginity to her.

  Except worse. The waiting now was worse.

  Slowly, Beth sat up. Turning to face him, he noted the sudden rush of rose into her cheeks, the widening of those sapphire-blue eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “EXCUSE ME, MISS. Where can I put my keys? I have an appointment for an oil change.”

  Beth froze at the sound of Ford’s voice. She’d know it
anywhere. Slowly, she turned around, eyeing the Turbo that he’d edged up the driveway.

  “You don’t have an appointment. Chevy Lattner has an appointment.” As soon as she spoke, she heard it. Closing her eyes, she pressed a hand to her temple. “Ford, Chevy. Got it. Very clever.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to be sneaky if you weren’t avoiding me.” Holding up a white plastic bag, he leaned a hip against his car. Her pulse quickened. “I brought dinner.”

  Why the hell did he have to look so damn good? Especially when she felt like crap? Yeah, she’d been avoiding him. She missed him like hell, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

  He’d all but told her that he loved her. That was...bad.

  “Ford, maybe we can have dinner next week.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t have time right now. If you don’t actually have an appointment, then I could use that time to get ahead on the rest of my work.”

  “Oh, I have an appointment. An oil change takes what, an hour? So I’ve booked an hour of time at Marchande Motors. If I don’t get that hour, I’ll be forced to leave a very nasty review on Yelp.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. He took advantage of her momentary softening to stride forward, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. “Come on. You’d be eating dinner anyway, right? Eat it with me.”

  She pinched her lips together, unconvinced.

  “I brought taco salad from Mamacita’s.” He smiled hopefully, and she couldn’t help but melt just the tiniest bit.

  Damn fool. What did he have to go and fall in love with her for, anyway?

  Setting the bag of takeout on the workbench, he placed his index finger under her chin, tilting her face up for a look. She tried to jerk away—in her state of mind, it made her feel too exposed—but he just followed.

  “You don’t look good,” he stated bluntly, making her scowl. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Always with the sweet talk.” Her words were dry. Jerking away from him, she tugged off her coveralls. She knew he wouldn’t go away until she agreed to eat with him.

  Tucking a finger into the strap of the tank top that she wore beneath them, he drew her to him. Her breath came more quickly at the proximity, her body scenting its mate.

  “If you don’t understand by now that I think you’re the sexiest woman alive, I’ll fuck you right here, right now to get my point across.” His words were mild, but she felt a spark light in her belly at the threat. She wanted that. Fuck, yes, she did.

  If he got inside her, she’d lose all perspective.

  “I meant that you look pale. You’ve lost weight.” She squawked with indignation when he ran his hands down her sides, brushing past her breasts to frame her waist. He scowled into her face. “And I could use those circles under your eyes as a landing pad for my spaceship. What the hell, Beth? Is this all because I told you I was falling in love with you?”

  “No.” Partly. His declaration had sent her into a blind panic. Not because she didn’t want it, but because she did.

  It made sense in her head, but she knew that as soon as she tried to explain, he’d refuse to accept it. And that didn’t work for her.

  “Then what gives?” Casting a sharp glance around the garage, she saw him take note of the pile of invoices, the parts stacked on the floor. The man wasn’t an idiot, and she watched him connect the dots. “You’re working yourself into the ground so that you can contribute to that balloon payment.”

  “We’re all pulling double time to make that bill.” Jerking out of the circle of his arms, she bent to pick up her coveralls. When she stood, she noted that he was staring at her ass. Normally noticing that would set her on fire.

  Now? The set of his lips told her that he’d noticed that her little spandex shorts had gotten a little baggy.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick.” He blanched as soon as he spoke, and she exhaled a breath of pure fire. He held up a hand to placate her, asking her to hold on.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” His eyes narrowed. “Whether you had to watch yourself or not, I’d be on your ass about this. You’re working too hard. You’re not sleeping, obviously not eating. That’s enough to run anyone down.”

  She lifted her chin. No way was she going to admit that he was right. Rigidly, she pointed at the takeout bag. “You brought food, right? So let’s eat. Then I can get back to work.”

  “I don’t think so, babe.” He moved so fast that she didn’t see him coming. Like a linebacker, he tackled her, lifting her up and over his shoulder, hefting her like a sack of potatoes.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Her words were full of venom. “Put me the fuck down, Ford. Now.”

  In response, he cupped her ass in both hands. She gasped as he made a thorough examination. “Needs to be fattened back up. Don’t worry, I’d still hit it.”

  Outrage choked the words in her throat as he balanced her over his shoulder with one hand and snatched the takeout bag with the other. She slammed her fist against the broad muscles of his back as he carried her up the steps and through the door that led to the house.

  Mamesie and Jo were in the kitchen when Ford came storming through with her over his shoulder. Mamesie’s full lips parted with surprise, but Jo cocked her head, and Beth could see a smidgen of respect on her sister’s face. She narrowed her eyes, but before she could yell at her sister, Ford had carried her to the stairs.

  At the top, he paused, and she smirked. “I’m not telling you which one. Put me down.”

  She felt him shrug, which moved her body up and down. “Process of elimination, then.”

  Why was he being so stubborn?

  “Nope.” He opened and closed Jo’s door, then Meg’s. The third one he grunted, then hauled her in, shutting the door behind them. Bracing herself to be thrown on the bed, she was surprised when he instead slid her gently down in front of him, settling her on her bed softly.

  Drawing her knees up to her chest, she hugged them tightly and looked up at him with curious eyes. “How did you know this one was mine?”

  He snorted softly, settling himself beside her. He pointed at each object as he listed it. “Poster of dude playing the piano. Poster of chick playing the piano. Stack of those little booty shorts you love so much.”

  “I don’t think I’m the only one who loves them.” She sniffed, eyeing him from the corner of her eye. “And for your information, those posters are of Lang Lang and Martha Argerich. They’re arguably the best contemporary pianists of our time.”

  She watched as he studied the posters, then turned back to her with a sly grin. “I still like Coldplay.”

  “Coldplay has its merits.” When he undid the sack of takeout, she accepted the cardboard container that he handed her, even though the spicy scent made her stomach roll. “Chris Martin is no Lang Lang, but he’s talented.”

  Ford handed her a plastic fork, nudging her container open. “Your music wasn’t classical piano, though, right? Not the stuff you wrote.”

  “I thought you didn’t listen to my music.” She smirked. “Since it reminded you of what a bastard you’d been to me.”

  “That was then.” He shrugged simply, opening a foil wrapper that contained his burrito. “I’ve checked out your YouTube channel.”

  “You what?” She sat up straighter. It was insane that those simple words made her feel so exposed, since the entire point of a YouTube channel was to get her content out there for others to find. Still, the thought of Ford listening to something that she’d birthed from within herself...

  She wondered if he realized that the song she’d posted this week was about him.

  “You have almost a million subscribers to your channel.” Finished with his burrito, he removed a foil packet of tortilla chips and a plastic container of salsa. “Doesn’t that help with your finances some? You make money off views, right?”

 
She appreciated that he hadn’t tried to offer them money. She knew that what he had now was a drop in the bucket compared to his former fortune, but if he had enough that he was searching for a new investment, then he had at least six figures more in his bank account than she did in hers.

  But he wasn’t trying to give her charity. He wasn’t trying to take things over. He was treating her like she was capable. And she appreciated it more than he could possibly know.

  “Views are monetized, yes.” She poked at her salad. He glowered until she scooped a bite into her mouth. “Thing is, I don’t have the time to put up that much content. Just one song every month or two.”

  She chewed. She loved the taco salad from Mamacita’s, but it tasted like dust in her mouth. She’d lost weight because she just hadn’t been hungry much lately.

  “And of those million subscribers, only a small fraction actually watch the new video when it’s released.” She shrugged. “It works for me, but no, it doesn’t add much to the bank account.”

  He seemed to accept that, polishing off the chips and salsa while she struggled to eat half of her salad. When she’d eaten enough to suit him, he tugged the container from her hands, closed it and set it on her bedside table.

  “Shirt off.”

  She felt her face form the lines of what her sisters called her what the actual fuck look.

  He waited, and she shook her head.

  “I have to get back to work. I don’t have the time for this.” She crossed her arms over her chest when he tugged at the hem of her tank. “Plus I can’t say I’m in the mood after you told me I looked skinny and tired and hauled me through my own house.”

  “Beth.” He fixed her with that intense stare of his, his expression serious. “Take off your shirt.”

  Damn it.

  Part of the chemistry between them was rooted in the way they played with their power exchange. And even though she wasn’t feeling particularly sexual at the moment, she found herself doing what he asked, tossing the tank top aside.

  “Bra, too.” Not waiting for her this time, he reached behind her back and unhooked the plain purple cotton garment. Sliding it down her arms, he pulled it off.