by Stacy Gail
His breath halted.
His body tautened.
A wildfire fever blazed through his veins.
Then she did it again, and all at once that shy caress became his world.
He delved deeper, a low sound humming in the back of his throat to let her know that what she was doing was his idea of perfect. He drank deeply from her mouth, blindly trying to get his fill even as he knew deep down that such a thing wasn’t possible. This kiss—her kiss—was the kind that no man could ever get enough of.
With that truth ringing through him, he wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. An almost imperceptible gasp escaped her before she pulled back just far enough to break away, and it was like being cut off from air and light. For a full second he refused to release her, because letting her go was a crime against nature. Then he came back to his senses when she squirmed, and when he relaxed his arm she stepped away… but not so far away that she put herself out of reach.
Promising. Very promising.
“Compelling argument,” she said as if there hadn’t been a break in their conversation, and it made him grin. Oh, yeah. She was such a fighter. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Though I still don’t see why you had a problem with me talking to Max.”
His grin did a quick fade. “He has one or two things in his past that make me nervous. I don’t like the idea of potentially violent men around you if I’m not there too.”
As he spoke, her hand crept up to touch her lower lip, and it was the sexiest damn thing he’d ever seen. “Technically speaking, you’re a violent man. I saw how efficiently you handled those two idiots who crashed into me. You definitely fit the description.”
He grimaced before he turned the scarred side of his face away from her. No need to remind her that he looked just as violent as he was. “You got a point?”
“My point is that I’m perfectly safe with you.”
That brought his face back around to her, so quickly his neck popped. “Damn straight you’re safe with me. You always will be.”
“So maybe Max is like you—a man capable of violence, but careful to keep it in check, and he’d never dream of unleashing it on people who are weaker than him.”
Steele stared at her while something warm and crazy-good shifted inside him. Essie trusted him. She didn’t use those exact words, but that was what she was saying. She trusted him. More than that, she had absolute faith in who he was. Not just the visible, scarred man she could see on the outside, but she believed in the man he was on the inside.
He’d almost forgotten how good that felt.
“Maybe.” Watching her face intently, he held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation, and that irrational warmth inside deepened as he turned them back toward her place. “But I still want to be around if and when you and Maximo Kulagin are in the same room together, Essie. Let me know when you’re going to be at House Of Payne, and I’ll arrange to be there as well.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“For my peace of mind, it is.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll give you my number, and you can call or text me day or night. Okay?”
“Okay.” She scrunched up her nose as she said it, clearly not happy with the restrictions he was imposing on her.
But as they walked back to her building, she didn’t pull her hand away from his.
Chapter Nine
He kissed me.
Essie’s foot eased off the sewing machine’s pedal before she sewed her finger into the nearly completed mandala jacket. Ugh. This was ridiculous. For days she’d been distracted by that totally random, heart-thumping thought—he kissed me. It was a freaking wonder she hadn’t landed her ass in the ER by now. Sewing through her finger, setting the apartment on fire while cooking, walking into the path of an oncoming car…thanks to her brain replaying how perfectly Steele’s tongue had danced with hers, nothing was impossible.
Who knew that being driven crazy by a kiss could be an actual thing?
Maybe it was because she suffered from a general lack of kissing in her life. Before she’d been attacked, she’d dated like any normal, outgoing sixteen year old girl, and kissing had been a squeal-worthy, gossip-about-it event. Post-attack, years had gone by before she voluntarily showed her reconstructed face in public.
Needless to say, dating hadn’t been high on her list of priorities.
Intensive therapy had gotten her through that dark time. The mantra of being in control of her fear-responses—and not letting the fear-responses control her—had become as ingrained as breathing.
That mantra was great in theory, but living it in the real world had been hit or miss. She’d tried dating a few times, but it never felt right. She’d never felt right. Eventually she began to face the inevitable—she was destined to spend her life alone, locked in a self-imposed prison that she didn’t know how to escape.
Except…
When Steele had kissed her, she hadn’t once thought of not wanting him touching her, and she sure as hell hadn’t panicked when he’d gotten right up in her personal space. Not even a little. The only thing that had shot through her was a head-spinning excitement. Not fear. Not dread. Not revulsion. Instead, a fierce breathlessness had gripped her until it made her heart do a crazy elevator drop-and-rise. She hadn’t wanted him to know how wildly she was reacting to what was probably just an ordinary kiss to him, so she’d pushed away before she fainted like a total dork at his feet.
Only afterward did she realize that for the first time, being held by a man felt absolutely right.
Progress.
For now, she’d be happy with that and focus on wrapping up the line of women’s activewear she’d designed using variations of Max’s melted mandala—a feat that wasn’t too shabby for a week’s worth of work. Next week she would try to get the men’s activewear line done, including laser-engraved sweats and a top and bottom in a slim-fitted, highly expensive micro-elastic polyester mesh that would carry a design she’d been inspired to work with from one of Payne’s tattoos she’d seen in the gallery. An electric blue design would run like thin circuitry along the arms and outer seam of the leg. At each terminal where the circuitry connected, she’d have it run into the House Of Payne logo, a theme for all her work. It was her favorite design so far, and for the right body type she knew it would be the kind of outfit that would make a man feel like a superhero.
Now, if only she could convince her brother that Steele was the one who needed to model this part of her collection…
Wow, she really was coming out of her cocoon.
The quick double-knock on her door that heralded Carla’s presence stopped Essie from slipping into a pleasant daydream that involved Steele and various states of undress. Habit had her checking through the peephole just to confirm her friend’s presence before she pulled the door open wide.
“Congratulate me,” Essie announced by way of greeting the other woman. “I finally finished that damned mandala piece. Let’s party.”
Carla clapped her hands together and beamed. “Perfect answer to my question.”
“What was the question?”
“We want to go bowling, so I wanted to know if you were free.”
“Bowling?” She glanced past Carla as if expecting to see Patrick in full bowling regalia, including a ball in one hand and a beer in the other. “Do you need me to babysit?”
“We, as in we, girlie. All of us, including you. We’ll bring the kids to annoy everyone, and you can call up your yummy hired-gun commando dude and we’ll make a night of it.”
“Steele isn’t mine, I don’t think he has a gun, and I have no idea if he even knows how to bowl.”
“Trust me, he has a gun, and I’m sure he knows how to use it.”
“We are still talking about firearms, right?”
“I’m sure you are, but I’ve definitely moved on.”
“Next you’ll tell me I need to polish his
weapon.”
“Just make sure you put the safety on before it blows.”
Essie paused, then stomped her foot. “Shit, you win. I can’t think of any more sexy gun puns.”
“We need to work on that imagination of yours, Es. We didn’t even get to long barrels or how to properly cock it.”
Good grief. “Anyway, I don’t even know if Steele knows how to bowl.”
“What’s to know when it comes to bowling? You just toss a heavy ball down an alley and knock shit everywhere. Oh, by the way, where’s your phone?”
“Charging by the sofa. Why?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as her friend moved to where she had her phone plugged into one of the three sockets in the entire place. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past her friend to do something crazy like call Steele and ask him out on a date for her.
Carla made a sound of disgust. “Mine’s not working right. Is it okay if I borrow yours?”
“Oh.” Oops. So she was a crappy friend for thinking the worst of her. “Sure, no probs. Passcode is 1147.”
“Thanks, hon. You’re the best.” Carla’s thumbs got to work.
“I think I’d go bonkers if I didn’t have a working phone,” she went on, moving back to the sewing machine to clear up the work detritus. “I use mine for just about everything, except maybe talking, ironically enough. Do you know what’s wrong with yours?”
“Mm-hm.” Carla was chewing on her lower lip as she looked at the screen and typed up a storm. “It was missing something.”
“Ugh, let me guess. Yet another software update that takes forever to download, and ultimately screws everything up?”
“Nope.”
Essie frowned. “Then what was it missing?”
“Steele’s phone number.”
Horrified, Essie sprang forward. “Don’t—”
“Too late. It’s done. As your best friend and personal life coach, I had to,” she went on, holding the phone out of harm’s way while Essie flailed in her haste to get it back. “You weren’t going to contact him yourself, despite the fact that it was your turn.”
“My turn?” It was difficult to not scream the words out at her so-called friend, and she still wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to slug her. “And, what the hell? You’re my life coach now?”
“A huge chunk of your dating education was neglected so it’s up to me, your voluntary life coach, to look out for you when things go off-track. I don’t expect you to thank me, at least not right now, but I also don’t expect you to murder me, so calm down before you burst a blood vessel.”
“I don’t need a life coach, and homicide is always acceptable when it’s justified. Give me my phone.”
“It was your turn, Essie,” she said again, and this time there was something oddly pleading in her eyes as she refused to give the phone back. “You told me the guy knows more about you than you do, and that he was the one who helped you out when you wanted to walk away from the fashion contest. He made those jerks pay for it when they crashed into you. He’s been here twice now, once to give you a gift, once to give you a kiss. He’s frigging courting you, and you’re not giving him shit to go on. It’s your turn to throw him a bone so that he feels like his efforts are appreciated.” Then Carla seemed to backtrack. “Wait. They are appreciated, aren’t they?”
“Of course they’re appreciated, he’s all I can think about.” Then she groaned when she realized Carla was right. She hadn’t done a damn thing to show Steele how she felt. Or, to be more accurate, how he made her feel. He’d even given her his private number, and she hadn’t used it once despite wanting to pick up the phone and bug him about fifty times a day. That just seemed like a surefire way to win the Creepy Stalker award. “Okay, life coach. Coach me. Men and women take turns in… whatever it is that Steele and I are doing?”
“Absolutely. If you think you were happy when he showed up here, just think how happy he’s going to be when he gets your text—something he’s probably been waiting for since he dropped his digits on you.”
“To be clear, Steele gave me his number so I could tell him if and when I was going to have another meeting with Max so he could be present for it.”
Carla rolled her eyes. “Geez, what a lame excuse. Men need them, God knows why, but that doesn’t mean we women have to fall for them. What he actually wanted when he gave you his number was for you to take your turn. Which you just did.”
Her stomach did its damnedest to eat itself. “You don’t know that. Maybe he really did give me his number just because he has security concerns about Max.”
“No way.”
“And he hasn’t answered the text you sent. He should have answered by now, right? Unless you put him in an awkward position and he doesn’t know what to say.” She swallowed hard, trying not to panic. “What did you text, anyway?”
Carla’s chin inched up. That show of defiance didn’t do Essie’s nerves any good. “If Steele doesn’t answer, then he has no balls. Therefore he’s obviously not the guy for you. You deserve someone who’d run across the world just to have the chance to make you smile, so if he’s not answering he’s not good enough for you.”
Oh, dear God. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything bad.”
Essie snapped out her hand, palm up. “Give me the phone.”
The text chime sounded unusually loud in the sudden silence of the apartment.
Oh.
Shit.
Before Carla could piss her off any more, Essie snatched the phone away from her and looked at the screen. Her heart paused in its faithful beating as she stared at what Carla had texted under her name.
“Help! My crazy neighbor and her family have kidnapped me and are going to be holding me at Lights Out Billiards and Bowling around seven. Do you know of a strong, danger-loving dude who could come to my rescue?”
She would kill Carla.
Except…
I’m just the man for the job. Might be a little late, but I’ll be there. I wear a size 14 shoe, btw. You play pool?
She stared at the text and for a few seconds and wondered what the hell a swimming pool had to do with anything. Then, when she remembered Lights Out had both bowling and billiards, she face-palmed hard enough to hurt.
Geez. No wonder Carla had stepped in. She was hopeless.
“Oh, my God, what?” It was probably mean, but Essie was gratified to hear the anxiety threading through Carla’s tone. “Is it that bad? What’d he say? I swear I’ll kill him if he was an asshole.”
“He, um… takes a size fourteen bowling shoe.”
“What?” She stared, while her eyes widened until they were roughly the size of coasters. “He’s… a fourteen?”
“That’s what he says.”
“Wow.”
“I’ll second that.”
“So…okay, I’m just going to say this,” Carla said with a care that touched Essie, despite being pissed at her. “You know what they say about men with big feet, right, Es?”
“Yep.” And it wasn’t even all that surprising. He was one hell of a big guy. But far from feeling freaked or intimidated or a hundred other negative things, she began to smile as she let her thumbs move over the screen. “Still think this was a good idea?”
“About ninety percent, yeah. Are you answering? What are you saying?”
“Hold on.” She half-turned away so she could concentrate on the screen.
“Never played before but always wanted to learn. Are you the man for that as well?”
She didn’t have to wait long for the response.
U know it. Can’t wait. C U tonight.
She couldn’t help but answer. “Thanks for saving me.”
She watched a smiley face show up before she put Carla out of her misery and handed her the phone. As she did, her parting words kept circling around her head.
Thanks for saving me.
In a way, Steele was saving her. She’d been alone for so long she’d begun to lose hope of finding
someone who might be interested in being with her. She wasn’t exactly the easiest person to deal with. The baggage she had overwhelmed her from time to time, so finding a man strong enough to help her carry that crap seemed like an impossible dream. There were tons of women who weren’t as jacked up as she was, and God knew a fine male specimen such as Steele could have his pick of them.
But when he’d kissed her, Steele gave her every indication that he was choosing her. For how long didn’t matter. For now the sense of being stuck in her safe but solitary cocoon was fading, and the life that had always stretched before her like a highway going nowhere suddenly seemed to have a tantalizing off-ramp appearing on the horizon.
Or, maybe she was just losing her mind.
Chapter Ten
Crashing bowling pins, happy chatter and catchy dance tunes from the last decade hit Essie’s ears. It all filtered through a web of highly strung nerves until it became nothing but a droning mishmash of white noise.
Would Steele show up?
Blank-eyed, Essie sat in a hard plastic chair the color of Pepto-Bismol and stared down at her lap. Her legs felt weird and exposed in a pair of denim shorts, and the sleeveless lavender eyelet top Carla insisted she wear felt a little too form-fitting for comfort. She’d even foregone the usual scarf to cover the scars at her neck. As self-conscious as she was about her scars, she was still too much of a Fashionista to not make a fashion faux pas like that.
That still didn’t stop her from feeling as vulnerable as a turtle without its shell.
“First round’s on me.” Patrick appeared at their table with a bunch of longnecks in his hands, looking like a beer commercial with his big grin and loud Hawaiian shirt. “I also got a huge order of ultimate nachos, Buffalo wings and chili cheese fries. Did you know they have bacon-cheese tater tots up there? We should try that later if we get hungry.”
“It’s like you forgot we already had dinner.” Carla paused in getting Charlotte set up with a Disney movie on a tablet just long enough to roll her eyes. “You ate less than an hour ago.”
