Raw Deal

by Cherrie Lynn

  Savannah waved a hand. “Honestly, I don’t think there will ever be any need for them to know . . . unless you tell them.” And hell, at this point, who was she to judge if Rowan wanted them to know? “Besides, I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I realize it’s a dead end. I do.”

  “Then . . . why? You say you don’t know, but maybe you ought to figure it out. Maybe you at least should look him up. I have. You might not like what you find.”

  Mike had hinted as much himself, and the thought started a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of Savannah’s stomach. Why would she want to see him through the lens of the press, or his detractors, or the people who outright hated him? None of those people knew him. Hell, she didn’t know him, but the person she was slowly becoming acquainted with didn’t seem to deserve the hand he’d been dealt.

  It only made her look forward to seeing him all the more, even knowing there was a Pandora’s box of horrific things in his past. As far as she was concerned, it could remain closed.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Savannah told her gently. “But I don’t think the way he’s being treated is fair, Ro, and I had as much reason to hate him as anyone, don’t you think? Tommy was my brother. He was your husband, I get it, but I grew up with him. We played in the sandbox together. He taught me to climb trees and ride a bike, to swim, and to swing a bat when other kids made fun of me for not knowing what I was doing. I don’t say this to minimize what you’re feeling, only to assure you that if there were any part of me that blames Mike for taking him from us, I would have nothing to do with him, Rowan. Nothing. I hope you believe that.”

  “Maybe you should watch the last few seconds of that fight. I know you looked away.” For the first time today, true bitterness crept into Rowan’s voice.

  Savannah threw her hands up. “Why? Why would I want to see that?”

  “Tommy was done. He was on the mat. The ref called it. Mike hit him again.” It was spoken as if Savannah were an uncomprehending four-year-old.

  “You don’t know if that was the blow that did it, and even if it was, was he already midswing? Could he have stopped? If the ref had called it half a second earlier, would Tommy be alive today? If that’s the case, then why don’t you blame the ref?”

  Rowan considered that in silence for a moment. “I don’t want to fight about this, Savannah.”

  “I’m not trying to fight with you. I just want to understand.”

  “I do too. That’s all I want. I want to understand why things turned out this way, because I honestly don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Savannah put an arm around Rowan, who was on the brink of a meltdown, and cast an uneasy glance at the back of their poor driver’s head. This was the exact reaction she had been dreading, she realized. Not so much Rowan’s anger, but her utter devastation. It was always an automatic derail of whatever they were discussing. “I’m sorry. I know, I know. I don’t have any answers for that, hon. I wish I did.”

  The rest of the ride was spent in silence while Rowan tried to stifle quiet tears and Savannah felt helpless to do anything that might make things better. Canceling on Mike and never seeing him or mentioning him again was probably the only thing that would. But she waited until they were back at the hotel and safe in Rowan’s room before she said, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Rowan looked up from setting her shopping bags on the bed, eyes pink-lined and watery. “Huh?”

  “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll respect your wishes.” At that moment, she absolutely meant it.

  Rowan, her bottom lip quivering, looked down at her assortment of bags and shrugged while Savannah held her breath. “Well,” she said at last, her gaze flickering up to meet Savannah’s, “I guess it would be a shame to let that dress go to waste.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Savannah opened her door at eight o’clock sharp that evening, Mike had a flashback to the old cartoons of his youth when the animated characters saw a pretty girl: eyes bulging out of their heads, tongues wagging, bells going off. She was drop-dead gorgeous, her tall, slim figure encased in pink while her black hair spiraled over her shoulders in glorious ringlets, and the only thought that would pulse through his head for a good five seconds was Legs, legs, legs.

  It took every ounce of restraint he had not to shove her back in the room, push her down on the bed, and get those legs around him again.

  “Hi,” she said brightly, snapping him out of his fantasies for the moment. He was sure there would be many more fantasies to come. But he managed to force his lust-frozen features into a smile.

  “You’re beautiful,” was all that would come out.

  He could practically watch the pleasure bloom in her cheeks; he loved that about her. “Thank you. Not so bad yourself,” she said, and yeah, it hadn’t escaped him that she’d been checking him out too. He liked her hungry gaze all over him; it felt fucking good. He’d opted for all black himself: slacks, shirt, shoes. “Where are we going?” She stepped out and let her door close behind her.

  “Do you like seafood?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I figured, being a New Orleans gal and all.” He winked at her and offered his arm for her to take. She took it, seeming delighted, which delighted him in turn. Anything to see that gorgeous smile. “There’s Spindletop at the Hyatt. I thought you might like it. It slowly revolves and has a fantastic view of the city. Sound good?”

  “Sounds incredible.”

  This time, they didn’t bump into any of his fans; it was a smooth getaway to his truck waiting outside. He held the door open for her, helping her climb inside while trying not to stare too hard at the ample smooth, silky leg she flashed on the journey. Gentleman, motherfucker, be a gentleman. Damn, it was hard sometimes.

  “Did you buy that dress today?” he asked after boosting himself in on the driver’s side.

  “Yes,” she said a little shyly, smoothing her hands over the fabric covering her thighs. “I hoped you would like it.”

  “I love it. Did you have fun?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said a little too brightly. “It got a little weird at the end. I told Rowan I was going out with you tonight.”

  Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Is she okay with it?”

  “Well . . . she’s okay. I wouldn’t say she’s happy about it. But it feels good to not keep it from her.” She rubbed her palms together for a second. “I didn’t say anything about going with you last night, of course.”

  He gave her a grin. “Understandable.” Wow. The last thing he’d expected was for her to confess any of this to her family, but it spoke to her character that she wouldn’t keep things from them. Reaching over, he found her fingers on the seat and linked his own through them. “I’m glad you told her.”

  “Me too. It was a weight off.”

  “The last thing I would want is to cause problems between you and your family,” he told her, feeling the weight she had described settling on his own shoulders at the thought. They had all been through so much; he couldn’t stomach the thought of driving a wedge between them when they needed each other.

  “I know that, Michael. And actually . . . I left it in her hands. I told her to say the word and I wouldn’t go tonight. It hurt, but I did it, and I meant it. She didn’t say the word, though. I was so glad.”

  Giving her fingers a squeeze, he navigated through traffic and thought about how glad he was too. And what it must have cost her to make that offer, if she really wanted to see where this thing might go.

  He damn sure did.

  “You’re a wonderful person,” he told her.

  Even in the dim light from his dashboard, he could see the troubled line between her delicate eyebrows as she looked at him. “I can’t help thinking,” she said, “if I were really so wonderful, I wouldn’t have needed to ask her.”

  A stoplight caught them, and he was glad for it. Putting the truck in park, he turned to face her fully, holding her hand with both
of his. “Savannah. What do you want? Not Rowan, not your family, not even me. This weekend, this night, is for you. So you tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, whatever it is, whatever it takes.”

  She wet her lips, her eyes searching his face, a sparkle there that he hoped wasn’t the beginning of tears. Even if it was, he deserved them, and he would face them, and wipe them away and do his damnedest to prevent their reappearance.

  “I want to be with you,” she said, voice small and trembling.

  “Then be with me.”

  “Okay.” She smiled and a horn blast sounded behind them, but he didn’t give a fuck; he leaned in to brush his lips reassuringly across hers before straightening and continuing on.

  Yeah, so much for not caring if he drove a wedge into their family. Sending her home tomorrow and never bothering her again would be the best for all involved—she could work on repairing whatever damage they’d done, and he could figure out what the hell his next move was in life. Yet when she was sitting beside him, so soft and lovely and perfect, her fingers through his, he couldn’t imagine doing that. What the fuck did you do when the “right thing” felt so completely wrong?

  The view of the city through the glass walls of the revolving restaurant was breathtaking, the skyline silhouetted against the orange stain of twilight as it faded to deep blue and finally to black, the lights twinkling like stars. Savannah’s mouth fell open when Mike requested a bottle of Cristal, but she promptly closed it again so as not to seem utterly uncool. She’d never been on such an expensive date before.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered at him after the server left them.

  “It’s a special occasion,” he said, holding her stare and reaching across the table to put his hand over hers. She liked the way hers nearly disappeared under his gently protective grasp.

  “What?”

  “Our first date.”

  “Oh,” she laughed, thinking about last night, and how they’d seemed to put the cart before the horse on that one. And he looked so damn fine right now, cheekbones shadowed from a skipped shave, eyes a dark denim blue in this golden ambient lighting. His black shirt was perfectly fitted and loose at the collar, practically inviting her hands to snake around behind his neck. She could see only the barest edge of the ink at his throat, and a couple of lines peeking from underneath the shirt cuffs at his wrists. Right now, no one would ever look at him and imagine his chosen profession was beating the hell out of other people, grappling and striking his opponents into submission.

  “What are you thinking about? You’re off somewhere,” he said, the sound of his voice curling warmly in her chest. She smiled and wished she had that sip of champagne now.

  “How things work out.”

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” He leaned back as the bottle arrived, watching as the waiter poured. She liked watching him. What drew his eye, what held his attention. What was he thinking? He looked off through the windows, and she took that much needed sip of her champagne, closing her eyes as it warmed through her, as golden as the bottle in which it came. Perfect.

  “That is a gorgeous view,” she said, following his gaze out the window. “What’s the blue Ferris wheel?”

  “The Diving Bell Ferris Wheel at the Aquarium.”

  “I haven’t been on one of those since I was a kid.”

  His eyes shifted back to her, a smile crinkling the corners. “It’s a nice view, yeah. But I prefer this one.” Happiness welled in her chest. “Look, though, I wanted to show you: See over there? That’s where I live. Three down from the top on the corner; you can even see my light on.” Savannah leaned forward to follow his pointing arm and found the building she thought he was indicating.

  “Oh, wow, downtown. You must have a great view too.”

  “It’s all right.”

  She turned back to him, hoping she wasn’t being too forward when she asked, “Will you take me there?”

  It didn’t seem to faze him a bit. “Of course. I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

  Expectation, as warm and euphoric as the champagne, slid fluidly through her blood, lighting up the places on her body where she still felt his possession. Between her legs, the tips of her breasts. Hell, everywhere—he’d owned every single inch of her that he’d touched. Knowing she could have another night of that ecstasy seemed to soothe every worry she carried in her heart. One more night. Yes.

  It also made the champagne taste even better, the view sparkle even more. Her paella was wonderful: lobster, mussels, and shrimp adding up to a decadent experience that had her thinking maybe there was something to the aphrodisiacal effects of seafood. She had always loved good seafood, but it had never necessarily made her want to fuck so much as she did right now.

  Of course, that might have mostly to do with the gorgeous man sitting across from her. He drank little but seemed to enjoy watching her partake in glass after glass.

  “So. A massage therapist, huh? How did that come about?” he asked finally, and she almost melted at the way his eyes followed her fork all the way to her mouth. She gave him a little show, enveloping it slowly with her lips, taking her time pulling it out and swallowing before answering him.

  “It just did. I mean, hell, I love getting massages. I love how much better I feel afterward. I considered medicine for a while, and my parents loved that, but I decided that wasn’t for me. Helping people in some holistic way always appealed to me, though, so I went into massage therapy.” She shrugged. “I still got to learn anatomy and the muscular system and was still able to help people. Win-win, and without seven years of school.”

  “And how did your parents feel about that?”

  “Badly, at first,” she said as if this should be a given, and he chuckled. “But then my mom hurt her back and I got her on my table. She was like, ‘What is that you’re using?’ and I said, ‘Those are my hands, Mom.’ She’s been on board with it ever since. Practically advertises me to all her and Dad’s friends and business associates. I’ve been there four years now and have a really good clientele built up.”

  Mike had laughed at the story about her mother. “That’s great. Good for you.”

  “It has its moments. Do you have any idea what dating is like when guys find out you’re a massage therapist?” It occurred to her that she was verging on drunken rambling, but that sober part of her brain held no sway here.

  “I can’t say I do, and I can’t say I even want to imagine.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Allow me to apologize on behalf of my gender, then.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head. “Most of them don’t deserve it. Honestly. And thank you for not calling me a masseuse. You are a good man.” She lifted her glass to him and then drained it while he grinned. And maybe it was the champagne, but a silly idea fizzed in her heart, and she couldn’t resist asking him, “You said you’ll take me wherever I want . . . so will you take me on that Ferris wheel, Mike?” It just looked too pretty out there, and too blue—she had to see it up close, had to see the view from the top of it with him at her side.

  If she expected him to huff up in macho indignation, he didn’t. “I somehow had the feeling that was coming,” he laughed.

  As they left, she leaned heavily on him so as not to wobble unsteadily on the low heels Rowan had insisted she buy. Heels weren’t Savannah’s thing; at five-ten, she felt gigantic enough most days. But the dress, Rowan had said, demanded heels.

  The elevator they stepped into was glass, affording the same spectacular city view as that in the restaurant. Just the two of them. As soon as the door swept shut, Savannah found herself pushed against the glass wall with Mike’s hands cupping her face and his mouth on hers, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding sinuously past her lips. Flavors mingling. Delicious. Dropping her clutch, she slid both arms around his neck the way she’d wanted all night as the elevator began its dizzying drop. God help her, she was falling with it, the only thing holding her steady his hard bod
y against hers as they plunged toward the ground with all the dazzling lights of downtown Houston whizzing past.

  “Been needing to do that all night,” he whispered in her ear, somehow adding to the vertigo assailing her from the champagne and the fall and the food and him.

  “Been needing you to,” she said, shivering. Floor after floor after floor whooshed past. His hands found her ass, pulling her hard to him so she could feel how hard he was. He tasted so good, spice and Cristal and a hint of sweetness from dessert; she could rip his shirt open across his broad chest and eat him alive right here, and if this elevator didn’t stop soon so they could get to his place, she was going to try it. She felt light-headed and weak, consumed, feeling every thrust of his tongue like it was a thrust into her aching pussy.

  “Michael,” she whimpered against him. He pulled back, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

  “What is it, darlin’?” God, the way he called her that . . .

  Scared. Confused. Want you so much. Never felt this way. A million responses to his concern swirled in her addled brain, but she couldn’t settle on one. And the elevator was slowing, having miraculously reached its destination without a single stop on the way down. Savannah shook her head, trying to clear it. “Nothing. I’m okay.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then knelt to retrieve the clutch she’d dropped to the floor. Thank God, because after that session, she would have walked out and forgotten it. “Are you sure?”

  Nodding, she took her purse and the arm he offered and let him steady her for the walk to his truck. The lobby of the Hyatt Regency was bustling with evening activity, couples on their way out or coming back in, and as Savannah noticed the surreptitious glances the women kept sending Mike at her side, a sense of pride bloomed in her chest. Mine, she thought. He could be mine. It doesn’t have to end tomorrow. We could see where this goes. Couldn’t we? Maybe?

  Far, far too soon to even think of that. It would be life changing. But so delicious to consider, to find someone who was such a total package that she was even willing to consider it.