Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  My mouth dried out and my entire body flushed. But it wasn’t from embarrassment.

  This man and his touch and the intimate way he looked at me, did things to my resolve. Things that hadn’t been done in a long time.

  “You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Your knees are bleeding.”

  I shook my head, coming back to my senses. “Oh.”

  “I can help with that.”

  Our gazes had locked, the heat from his licking its way over my body, erasing my embarrassment and building a fire within me. “What?”

  “I can help with the bleeding,” he repeated. His hands squeezed my thighs for the briefest moment before he stood up and took a step back. “I have a kit in my office.”

  “A bleeding kit?”

  His lips twitched again. And it was absolutely devastating this close. “A first aid kit.”

  That made more sense. “I’m sure I’m fine. I’ll just, er, walk it off.” I tried to take a step and wobbled. “Owie,” I whimpered like a total weenie.

  “How about you let me help you. It’s what I’m good at.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and took my arm in his other hand, helping me hobble across the parking lot toward his storefront.

  “You’re good at helping people?” I asked, letting the sarcasm and disbelief seep into my tone. I wasn’t trying to torture him, but to be honest, I was so far out of my comfort zone, that I didn’t know how to talk to him without being defensively sarcastic. I just needed for this embarrassing moment to end.

  This was by far the worst he’d seen me to date.

  “Helping you specifically,” he clarified. “It’s becoming my super power.”

  I shot him a side look. “Is that so?”

  “You should start hiring me to spot you from now on. I’ll just follow you around all day, waiting for you to get yourself into trouble.”

  I nearly choked on my spit, totally embarrassed all over again. “What would that solve?”

  “Then I’d already be there, and you wouldn’t have to call me.”

  He held open the door to his store and I limped inside, the air conditioning instantly cooling my skin and forcing goosebumps to appear. “But why can’t you save me before I get into trouble? That seems like something I would actually pay for.”

  “Good point,” he laughed. “I’ll spot you and save you before you need saving. I’m going to be really busy.”

  He walked me through the open space of his store, dodging expensive bike displays and power bar stands and a circular rack of spandex. I tried to memorize every detail. He’d managed this cool vibe that I didn’t expect in a sports equipment store. But somehow it was all raw and urban while also smart and intuitive. Vann’s shop was completely badass. It immediately made me want to take home a bike for myself.

  Which was totally insane because I could barely manage spin class.

  Clearly, he knew what he was doing in the store.

  “You know, I managed just fine before you came along. Somehow I lasted all twenty-seven years of my life without needing someone to save me.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, but I’d survived, hadn’t I?

  He shot me a look, but it was ruined by his wide smile. “It’s no fun to save yourself though. It honestly sounds exhausting.”

  He was joking. But he was right.

  It was exhausting to save myself. And worse when I failed. There were a lot of moments in my past that I didn’t regret. They weren’t the brightest spots in my journey, but they had helped shape me into the person I was today.

  But the big thing. The one that made all other moments small in comparison, was crippling in heaviness. It wore me down to my bones. It pushed me into bed and made me want to stay there forever. And then it followed me in my dreams and woke me up at the earliest promise of daylight.

  My hands shook and my knees knocked whenever I thought about it and all I wanted to do was pull into myself and forget that it happened. Forget that I had needed someone to save me that night and had no one. Forget that this was the person I was now, distrusting, scared, vulnerable.

  There was the Dillon before the event.

  And there was the Dillon after.

  What I hated most, was that the people I knew preferred the Dillon after. She was more responsible. She kept a steady job. She had goals and aspirations and the beginning stages of a marketing plan.

  They didn’t know how much I’d given up to be this person. They didn’t know the price I paid to realize the need for a new Dillon.

  Vann noticed the shift in my mood. His eyebrows drew down in concern. “Hey, where did you go?”

  I closed my eyes at the sensation of his fingers brushing hair back from my cheek and tucking it behind my ear. “I was thinking.”

  “About what?”

  I opened my eyes and held his gaze. “Thank you for saving me today,” I whispered to him. “Thank you for all the times you’ve saved me. You’re right. It’s exhausting when I try to do it on my own.”

  Instead of saying something cocky, like I expected, he smiled gently and leaned in close. “Always, Dillon. I’ll always save you.”

  My damsel in distress heart fluttered with new, fresh promise while my mind spun in every direction. Could I trust him? Did he mean that? How could he? He had only recently gotten to know me.

  Turning away, he cleared off his desk and coaxed me into sitting on top of it. I glanced around at the tidy space, enjoying the personal touches that seemed so Vann.

  Behind his desk was a giant picture of the front half of a bike, driving through a puddle of water. The painting made it seem that water and mud were being splashed everywhere. And since the front tire was the focal point, it took me a second to notice the smaller image of the cyclist in the background, leaning over the handlebars, sporting an intense, wholly focused look on his face.

  “That looks like you,” I told him while he dug around for his first aid kit.

  “Molly did that for me,” he said, still distracted in his pursuit of antiseptic wipes. “When she and Ezra first started hooking up, I managed to guilt her into it.”

  “How’s that?”

  He met my eyes briefly, a guilty look in his. “She paints whatever Vera wants and then she started painting for Ezra. I was like, it’s my turn, woman.” He tipped his chin toward the incredibly vibrant and gorgeous masterpiece. “She painted that. And then made me swear I wouldn’t hang it in the store proper. Because she’s crazy.” He said that, but the affection he held for her was obvious in his tone.

  “You and Molly are close?”

  After finally gathering the supplies he wanted, he knelt in front of me and brandished some alcohol and cotton swabs. “We are. We used to be closer before your brother came into the picture. But she’s still like a sister to me. Always will be. We grew up together.” He blew out a breath and it breezed over the scrapes on my knees. “I mean, it’s always been Vera and Molly. I have barely any memories without those two together.” He looked up at me, a strange expression crossing his face. “Except for when Vera was with Derrek, I guess.”

  I frowned at the name I recognized easily by now. Having been friends with Vera for two years, I knew her story pretty well, including how her mom had died and how her dad had fought a serious battle with cancer. Derrek was the asshole that had abused her for years. She’d finally broken up with him and escaped, eventually finding Killian. And now Derrek was ancient history. Thank the Lord.

  Vann pulled the thoughts from my head and said, “You know all that though. Since you’re friends with her.”

  I nodded, trying not to flinch as his hands moved over my knees and he started administering first aid on my vaguely gruesome injuries. “I mean, I know Vera’s story. I don’t know yours.”

  Our gazes met again, crashing into each other from where he knelt in front of me. I sucked in a sharp breath at the thoughtful look that pulled his lips into a frown and drew his eyebrows together.

&n
bsp; “It’s mostly the same,” he said, shrugging.

  “You had an abusive boyfriend too?” I gasped. “Was his name also Derrek?”

  The thoughtful look disappeared, replaced with that smile I was slowly becoming obsessed with. “Don’t joke around, Dillon. That was a hard time in my life.”

  I dug my foot into his side. “Now who’s making a joke?”

  He laughed, the low rumble filling the room and making my heart flutter. “If we’re not making jokes, then I have to be honest. There was no abusive boyfriend. Or even non-abusive boyfriend. I’ve been into girls my whole life. Still am, actually.”

  It was my turn to laugh. Leaning forward, I whispered, “You don’t have to prove to me that you’re straight. We slept together, remember?”

  One of those dark eyebrows jumped. “I remember. Do you remember?”

  “I’m working on it,” I admitted.

  His gaze darkened, heated, warmed in a way that had me squirming on his desk. His focus dropped back to my knees. “Be still,” he ordered. After a few silent moments, he asked, “So what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What was foster care like?”

  His words were so excessively gentle, I couldn’t help the melted chocolate feeling in my chest. But it wasn’t my story. “I wasn’t raised in foster care. Ezra and I are half-siblings. Same dad. Different moms.”

  He looked up again, an adorably perplexed look pulling out the wrinkles in his eyes. “Oh.”

  I smiled, easing the tension. “I got the better end of the stick. Ezra’s story is much more tragic than mine.” The confusion on his face deepened. “I’m kidding. It’s a joke between us. He’s better at being a grown up because he had a harder childhood. He always tells me he’d rather be him than poor, spoiled me.”

  “You lived with your dad growing up?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. My mom and dad were married, but not always together. It didn’t make sense to me as a kid. And to be honest, I still haven’t put all the pieces together.”

  “How so?”

  I blushed like usual. Remembering my dad typically brought out my worst emotions. “He was a serial cheater. Like, in the worst way. But he liked being married. Or rather, once he married my mom, he decided he was never going to get married again. Like that was it for him. He wasn’t going to mess with that again. And he never wanted a divorce. So, my parents stayed together. Even though sometimes they weren’t together. Does that make sense?”

  “Did he take care of her when they weren’t together?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it much. There were times when I was at her house and she was so poor. Like barely able to keep the lights on. But then I would find out that he’d managed to get her fired from her last job so she would want to come back to his house. Or he would stop paying child support, so she’d be forced to call him. He was crazy abusive like that.”

  Vann sat back on his heels. “Was he trying to work it out with her?”

  A laugh bubbled out of me and I hated how bitter it sounded. “No. That was the thing, he was never willing to change. He just wanted her to put up with him.” I swallowed around a lump of unwanted emotions. “By the time he got sick, my mom was exhausted from his games. She moved back in and took care of him until he died. It worked out for her though because he left her some money.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to banish the cold memories of my dead dad. “She actually ended up marrying one of his business partners a few years back. Tony is the nicest guy ever and totally adores her. They’re really happy. They’re spending the summer in Paris.”

  He smiled and it felt like he was happy for my mom, even though he’d never met her before. “Are you two close?”

  “Me and my mom? Yeah, super. She’s my favorite human.”

  He laughed at me and stood up, holding out his palms. “Hands.”

  I blinked at his. “Yes, they are. Very good, Vann. Now, where’s your nose…?”

  He rolled his eyes, but he laughed too. Because I was hilarious. “No, I want your hands. They’re bleeding. I’m going to finish cleaning you up.”

  I did as he asked, holding out my hands for him. His touch was so tender and careful and commanding and he was always this dichotomy of soft and hard. Gentle and rough. Sweet and salty. It was driving me crazy. And messing with my more rational thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice low and hoarse.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He was surprisingly good at this, I realized. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Do you do this for all the women that biff it in front of your store?”

  His grin was wicked. “Technically, you’re the only woman that’s face-planted in my parking lot, that I’ve noticed.” I dug my toe into his kidneys again and loved watching him squirm. “Hey!”

  “A gentleman should always tell a lady that women fall all the time. That you spend half your day fixing bloody knees and scraped palms.”

  He looked up at me and shook his head. “How about I tell you I deal with my fair share of injuries, but usually on our Taco Tuesday bike rides. Everyone gets drunk and then wipes out and I’m usually the only one in the right mind to deal with them.”

  I was strangely moved by how sweet that was. “Doctor Delane, medicine cyclist.”

  He snorted a laugh at my corny joke. “Yeah, something like that. Also, my dad was sick for a long time and I learned some tricks while he was in care.”

  The amusement died on my lips, my heart squeezing for him. My heart ached as I remembered he lost his mom too. “It sucks to watch someone you care about suffer.”

  Our gazes crashed together once more and I suddenly realized how close he was, standing between my legs, cradling my palm in his. “It truly does.”

  “He’s better though, yeah? Your dad, I mean?”

  His head bob was cautious. “Remission for now. He still has to get scans.”

  “Still, that’s good news.”

  “Did you care for your dad?” At my look, he quickly added, “I wasn’t sure… By the way you’ve talked about him, I didn’t know what kind of relationship you guys had.”

  Oh. Me neither. To Vann, I admitted, “Complicated, strained. Stilted. But he was my dad. I still loved him. No matter how much of an asshole he was.” There was a heavy pause while Vann ingested that information. The mood felt too heavy now. Too serious. “Plus, he left me a crazy inheritance. You have to love someone that makes you rich, right?”

  His surprised laughter made me smile. I watched twenty expressions flicker over his face as he decided how to feel about my candid response.

  “I’m just kidding,” I told him quickly. Lest he think of me as a gold-digging, ungrateful biotch. “The money was kind of awful after everything.”

  “Is that what prompted you to go to culinary school? And work so hard?”

  I wished I could say yes. This would be the right opportunity to paint a new picture of my past. Nobody really knew that story—except for Ezra and he would never share any details. Not even to Molly. Even if he had no qualms with general headlines at brunch.

  “Actually no. Inheriting that kind of money turned me into a spoiled brat. I didn’t know how to handle losing my dad. Or even how to uncomplicate how I loved and hated a person that was dead. I kind of went off the deep end. I made all kinds of awful decisions and mistakes and totally messed up my life. And then… after that, I went to culinary school.” He’d stilled. Totally froze. He was looking at me so intensely I thought I would burst into flames. “I had to live for something,” I told him in a strangled voice. “I needed a purpose. And I found it cooking.”

  There was more silence as he let my words, my confession, my truth, settle into the air between us. I hadn’t told anyone that much in a long time. And hearing it out loud I realized what a small portion of the story I’d given up. But still, for me, it was a lot.

  Too much.

  He leaned closer, dropping his voice. We were
so close I felt his breath on my lips and the warmth of his skin. “I think you’re amazing,” he whispered, raw honesty making his voice rough. “No matter how you got here, you have so much to be proud of. You’re not a spoiled brat anymore. You’re strong and resilient. You’re… breathtaking.”

  I wasn’t totally sure who moved first or why that was the moment that ignited the fire between us . But as soon as he’d stopped talking, maybe even before, my lips were on his and my freshly bandaged hands were wrapped around his neck.

  His mouth moved over mine with a voracious hunger, a man desperate and greedy for something he’d been deprived of.

  God, he felt so good. So intensely right.

  Our bodies mashed together as he kissed and kissed and kissed me. Our tongues tangled and our lips moved in a sexy rhythm, finding the perfect cadence of teeth and tongue and desire.

  His hands landed on my hips tugging me more fully against him. We were lined up just perfectly. His waist to the apex of my thighs. I groaned at the sensation of him there, at the stark contrast of his masculine to my feminine.

  I tightened my grip around his neck as he deepened the kiss. There was nothing tentative about his touch. Nothing nervous or timid. Memories of the night we slept together swam in my head with more clarity.

  It wasn’t so much the exact detail I remembered, but his body over mine, his hands on my skin, the delicious way he tasted.

  His hand moved up my rib cage and over my breast. His thumb brushed over my nipple and I shivered. He did it a second time, adding pressure and I broke the kiss as I gasped for breath.

  He trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat and over my collarbone. I arched my back, pushing my breast into his hand, needing more of that wicked magic.

  He laughed against the curve of my neck and tightened his hold on my nipple.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” I panted, barely coherent. Barely stopping myself from ripping off my clothes and letting him take me on his desk.