“I was riddled with guilt, and…and I was…I was out of it. I was fighting off a panic attack throughout the day.”
She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Ah-ha! So you admit it finally. God, you couldn’t even tell me about it. I had to hear it from Abby. Do you know how humiliating that was? But it wasn’t as painful as knowing you didn’t feel safe enough to tell me. I don’t even understand why. I wouldn’t judge you. I was pushing you to find help—”
“I couldn’t look weak,” he shouted. Rising to his feet, he paced the small living room, yanking at strands of his hair. His lungs felt like a belt had been tightened around them. He stopped, his back to her. Closing his eyes, he breathed in slowly and confessed, “Happy? Now you know. I can’t appear weak. Not to anyone. Most of all, not to you. Eight years ago, you looked up to me. I can’t have you look at me any differently, especially since we met while I was incarcerated like a fucking asswipe of a criminal. Your sympathy makes it worse, not better. You look at me with pity, and I can’t fuckin’ stand it.” He clenched his teeth and seethed out, “No one looks at me with pity.” Whipping around, he turned to face her. “Lust, I want. Love, I need. But pity? No, I won’t have it.”
Ava’s mouth parted in shock. His erratic heaving breaths were the only sounds in the silence that hung between them. She swallowed and opened her mouth to speak—
The doorbell rang.
Christ fuck, right in the middle of a discussion. His gaze cut to her. Jabbing his index finger toward the entrance, he swore. “I’m going to be waiting right outside that door every day when you get home.”
Grasping her elbows in a hug, she moved to the door. With a hand twisting the doorknob, she retorted, “Be my guest, but we’re not getting back together.”
On the other side of the entrance stood Whistle. Good, dependable Whistle. Puck put on his cold-ass boots. By the time he was done, Ava had thrust his jacket in his face. He shrugged it on and stepped into her space. Her eyes dilated. His head swam in her fragrance, but he restrained himself from hauling her against him like he wanted to. There’d be time for that later.
Tipping his head down, he gave her a smug grin and vowed, “We’ll see who wins this fight. If it’s a prizefight you want, then we’ve just finished round one. Eleven more to go.”
He turned on his heel and joined Whistle.
“Puck,” came his name behind him. Refusing to turn around, he paused and held his breath. “Don’t forget your bags.”
Biting back a retort, he marched out and closed the door behind him. He’d be damned before he took his stuff out of her house.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Puck’s broad frame, bent over his bike in the cold, greeted her every evening as she strode up the walkway to her house. Every evening, she passed him without acknowledging his presence and slammed the front door. After checking a few times, she’d eventually swing the door open and walk back inside. He’d amble into the house, pull off his gloves and leave them on a little side table by the door, shrug off his jacket, and hang it up in her closet. Then he’d join her for dinner.
He’d attempt to start a conversation, but she wasn’t having it. She may be too softhearted to leave him in the miserable cold, but she wasn’t about to go belly-up and take the chance of him gutting her again. Or wheedling his way into her heart like he did at Duchess County.
Over the following days, they settled into a strange routine. He’d talk, she’d listen. He’d ask questions about her day, her job, her clients, and she’d refuse to answer, so he would continue with the one-sided conversation until their meal was over.
Puck could be an obstinate mule, and so could she, but she couldn’t deny that it somewhat mollified her bruised pride to see him at her doorstep every evening. After dinner, she’d hand him his jacket. He’d put it on, drop a kiss on her forehead that had her gritting her teeth, and saunter out the door. If they were fighting it out in a boxing match, like he’d labeled it the night of the snowstorm, then they’d passed the twelve rounds without a clear winner.
About two weeks into their standoff, Derick stopped by Ava’s office on his coffee break. A week or so after the collapse of her relationship with Puck, he’d reinstated his old habit of visiting her during his breaks a few times a week.
Derick popped his head inside her office and asked, “You up for company?”
Ava glanced up from her computer and nodded for him to come in as she put finishing touches on her report. After saving the document, she gratefully reached for the Styrofoam coffee cup he held out for her.
Taking a seat across from her, he propped his foot over his knee and fiddled with the shoelaces of his government-issued boots. There was a shift in the air around them. Uh-oh. By the furtive looks coming her way and the nervous energy whirring off him, he was going to ask her out again. She’d only recently ended things with Puck, and they were nowhere resolved to her satisfaction. Despite her best attempts, her entire soul was focused on the son of a bitch. Even if they weren’t in this stalemate, she would’ve prudently taken time to get over Puck before agreeing to a date. And at this point, with Puck at her door every evening, she couldn’t imagine another man touching her.
“So…I was wondering if you wanna go out tonight? It’s TGIF and all that.” He trailed off as his gaze shot to hers and then scattered nervously.
“Oh, Derick, that’s so sweet of you to ask me,” she exclaimed, “but, I’m kind of in the middle of ending a relationship. I’m totally flattered, but it’s not the right time for me. Can I get a rain check?” she asked cheerfully. The chances of Puck letting her go, with the way he was coming around, were slim to none, but her head was spinning. She had no idea what she was doing.
Derick’s gaze drilled into her. “You’re still with that ex-con?”
His tone was cold, edged with disgust.
Ava’s eyebrows shot up. “Ahh…yeah. You know about that?” Crap, crap, crap. My job… He’d never hinted at anything before.
“Yes, I know,” he seethed, his lips twisting in revulsion. “A fucking ex-inmate. Christ, Ava, you could do better than that.”
“H-his case was dropped,” she stammered out. Oh, God, how much does he know?
“I saw you around town with him,” he said, giving her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Ava’s head snapped back. What? That didn’t make sense. It was cold and wintery outside, and they rarely ventured out of the house. It was too cold for more than a short ride, and outside of the few times they’d gone out with Kat or to a party at the clubhouse, they’d stayed home. Anxiety slithered up her spine, raising the hairs on her nape. He was lying. She saw it in the way his eyes flitted from side to side.
“Really? Where?” she asked casually.
He rubbed his mouth. “Where what?” Hmm, he’s deflecting. Pretending he didn’t understand.
“Where did you see us?” she said in a firmer tone.
His nostrils flared. “Around,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember exactly where.”
Ava froze. Not only was he lying, but there was an inexplicable edginess to his body language. His movements were jerky as he flicked at his shoelaces and repositioned his foot over his knee. Questions raced around her head, but one in particular circled back repeatedly. He’d been watching her. Stalking her. It explained the odd feeling she’d had at times that she was being watched. She thought Puck put a prospect on her because he was a biker and bikers sometimes had to protect their women. Instead, it was Derick. The instant the thought pierced her consciousness, she shivered in revulsion. I’m right.
Carefully, as if in the presence of a wild predator, Ava pronounced, “Well, it’s over between us.”
His eyes flew to hers. “It is?”
“Yes, we’re in the final throes of a bad breakup, but I need time. It’s been a hard few weeks, and after I cut it off with him, I’ll need time to recuperate and heal. You do understand that, don’t you, Derick?” she asked in a cajoling, sugary tone.
“I guess…” he replied. “I can help you get over him.” He looked at her hopefully.
Good God, this man’s delusional.
“I wouldn’t want to use you as a rebound. You know how that is,” she said with a flick of her fingers.
“Not really,” he groused.
“As a social worker, I’m going to get through this the right way. There are stages of grief one normally goes through with the end of any relationship. Why don’t you give me a few weeks? Then we’ll go on a nice date together?” she suggested, holding her breath. Her skin crawled because if he’d been sneaking around and stalking her, then, he could be dangerous. He might be struggling with mental illness. Her heart stuttered. Derick could be the culprit of the destruction at the bar.
Everything fell into place in her mind. It was never the Renegades. It made more sense that this unhinged CO, who was essentially a trained law enforcement officer, had perpetuated the destruction, not a group of middle-aged dads who rode expensive bikes.
Holding her breath, she reiterated, “What do you think, Derick? Can you do that for me?”
“I guess,” he muttered, like a petulant child who’d been refused a treat.
A breath of relief whooshed out of her. “Wow, thanks for your understanding and patience, Derick,” she lied, holding back the sarcasm that was eager to escape.
“I’ve waited this long, I guess it don’t hurt to wait a little longer,” he grumbled.
Her eyebrows shot up again, but she quickly hid her expression and pasted on a fake smile. Through it, she fibbed, “Great, it’s a date. Well, I better get back to work.”
With a grunt, he got up. A slight sheen of sweat dotted her skin as she impatiently waited for him to get out of her office. Grabbing the cup, she gulped down the lukewarm coffee as she watched him leave her.
Tonight, she wasn’t leaving Puck out in the cold. They were going to have a talk.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They’d gone from living together, sleeping together, and fucking through the night to sharing a single meal in silence or with him rambling on like an idiot. Puck didn’t have any reason to complain after his massive fuckup, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier. The first time they’d gotten together, it had happened organically. Then he’d fucked it up. The second time, he’d pushed, got what he wanted, and fucked it up again. Third time around, they were doing it her way. Of course, her way sucked ass ’cause there was no sex involved. No touching. No kissing or licking or… Christ. There was nothing. Regardless, he powered through it and made sure his ass was parked outside her house by the time she drove up.
Tonight was different, though. Instead of strolling past him and slamming the door closed, she paused in front of him and said in a serious tone, “We need to talk.” Continuing to her front steps, she unlocked the door and left it open for him. Swinging off his bike, he followed her inside. He shrugged off his jacket and then got comfortable on her comfy sofa. He had no idea what she wanted. No idea whatsoever. For the first time in a long time, he wrangled to get his nerves under control. Ava could be ready to tell him to go fuck himself for good, so it was a shock when the first thing out of her mouth was about Officer Dipshit.
“You have access to channels I don’t have, and I need you to investigate Derick Cotman. I think he’s the one who destroyed the Squad Bar. Like I initially told you, it wasn’t the Renegades at fault.”
He knew that pussy motherfucker wasn’t to be trusted. He’d felt it in his gut the instant he laid eyes on that piss-ass fuck. His enmity had only increased when he caught the bastard salivating after Ava.
“Tell me what you know,” he demanded gruffly.
“Recently, he started hanging out in my office during his coffee break again. He’d stopped for a while. Come to think of it, it was when we were together.”
“We’re still together,” he drawled.
Ava rolled her eyes and pursed her lips but didn’t otherwise contradict him. “Anyway, today he admitted to stalking me. To following me around. He knew we were dating, which was the first big tip-off. But what really disturbed me was how angry he seemed about it. While I was talking to him, it suddenly hit me that he was the one. He did it. I’m certain of it, Puck,” she finished resolutely. “Have you found out who trashed the bar?”
“Nope. It definitely wasn’t the Renegades. They’ve gone out of their way to stay on our good side and help us. They also had a party the night of the attack, with dozens of people in their clubhouse. Not that it’s a solid alibi, but Kingdom had a meeting with the president of the mother chapter, the president of the Poughkeepsie chapter, and your father. He walked out of there convinced they had no intention of stirring up trouble. We haven’t had any leads up till now. That fucker rubbed me the wrong way from day one. I’m a man who trusts my gut, and my gut told me he was bad news.”
“I thought it was because he flirted with me,” she sassed.
“That sure as hell didn’t help,” he retorted. “It was more, though. Something’s off about him.” He rose to his feet and walked to the exposed window. Staring into the night, he mused, “The bastard’s been following you around, huh?” He slowly unhooked the cord from the little hook against the casing of the window and lowered the blinds.
“Yes, at times I sensed someone was watching me. You know that prickly sensation you get on the back of your neck? I assumed it was you, that you’d posted a prospect to watch over me. It never occurred to me it could be a stranger.”
Puck dropped the cord and turned to her. “You didn’t have a problem with the idea of me having someone watch you?”
Ava gave a small one-shouldered shrug. “Clubs have enemies. Abby told me about the man who attacked her to take revenge on Loki.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. Plucking at her slacks, she finished in a soft tone, “I don’t doubt you’d do anything to protect my physical person from harm. I doubt you in other ways.”
“But it proves you trust me to safeguard you,” he contended.
“In some ways. Not in other ways.”
He came to her and dropped to his knees. “What do I have to do to prove how much I love you? I’m here every fucking night, enduring your silent treatment so I can be close to you. Angel, you’ve got to know I’ve learned my lesson.”
She kept her eyes cast down. Bringing a finger under her chin, he slowly raised it until her eyes were level with his. “What do I have to do to prove you’re my priority? No matter what. I swear to you, I’ll never hold out on you again, never avoid talking to you about something, or put you second.”
Finally, her eyes locked in on his. Thank fuck. He fell into her wide yellow-and-green splintered eyes. They roved over his face, dipped down to the V where the top buttons of his Henley were undone. Her gaze skated from one shoulder to the other, and then cascaded down his entire chest. On his end, he stared at the silky waves of her burnished hair, her pert nose, and plush lips. He planted his hands on either side of her hips.
“Please,” he begged softly. He’d never pleaded in his life, but here he was, down on his fucking knees, begging this woman to give him one last chance. He was ready to do it every damn night if it’d break through her resistance.
“How can I trust it won’t happen again?”
Good question. Lucky for him, he had the answer. “We’ll do it your way this time.”
“My way?” Her lips twisted sardonically. “And what is my way?”
“See a therapist. Stop hiding and avoiding stuff that comes up. Talking. Communicating. See? I listen. I may not have followed, but I know what makes you tick, angel. What makes you feel safe. I should’ve given it to you from the beginning, but I’m a muleheaded bastard, and I don’t like to be vulnerable or admit weakness. You’re not just anyone; you’re the woman I fucking love, and I’m on my knees, willing to do whatever it takes for you to give me another chance.”
She tipped her head down, and her lips gently grazed his. Like gates of a dam swinging ope
n, his hands were all over her. Her hips, her waist, her tits. He opened his mouth, and by the grace of everything that was holy in this twisted, fucked world, she returned the gesture.
Moaning, he deepened the kiss, and her hands tugged at his shoulders and upper arms to pull him closer.
“What is it you need, Ava?” he coaxed. He heard the hunger, the desperation in his tone, and he didn’t give a fuck; he was dying to hear her admit to wanting him. For fuck’s sake, he needed to be needed by her.
“I want you. Now. I need you, Puck.”
Pulling deep from a hidden reserve of self-restraint, he paused his caresses to confirm, “You sure?”
“Yes,” she breathed against his lips. “But this time around, I’m not going to be meek and quiet anymore.”
“Angel, you’re a badass when you need to be, and you’re meek when you need to be.”
“No,” she said firmly. “My error was that I didn’t vocalize my needs, but I won’t make the same mistake twice. You must be taught to pay attention to me, and that lesson starts now,” she warned as she pulled him to sit beside her.
A rumble rose from his throat. Ava attempting to take over was sexy as all hell.
Standing, she raised her cable-knit sweater off and quickly divested herself of the rest of her clothing. Watching her strip, he palmed his hardening cock. She gestured for him to stand up, and once he was naked, she planted her palm on his chest and shoved him backward. Stumbling back a step, he landed on the couch, and she immediately straddled him with her firm, slim legs. They both moaned as her wet pussy settled on the underside of his shaft. Moving back and forth, she slathered his steel-hard cock with her juices. Her intoxicating vanilla scent filled his nostrils, leaving him dazed.
Taking his cock in hand, she slowly impaled herself. He let out a guttural sound at the tautness of her wet, hot sex, but she didn’t stop or give herself a moment to adjust to his size. It’d been more than two weeks, and her sheath felt so damn good wrapped around him. Breathing through his open mouth, his head dropped back.
Puck's Property: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Demon Squad MC Book 5) Page 21
