Fighting for Phoebe

by Jennifer Ann

  Trying to make light of the situation, I draw up one corner of my mouth and run a finger across his tight abs. “Relax, I’m not asking for wedding vows. I just thought we could have a little bit of fun while you’re here.”

  Sighing, his hand rakes through his dark hair before he touches his forehead to mine. The intimate gesture catches me completely off-guard, ripping a surprised noise from my throat. His warm breaths falling down on my face make my nipples harden. I can feel him fighting against his resolve when he wraps his fingers around my arms.

  “You’re sexy as hell, Phoebe, and I’d like to do all kinds of things to that sweet body of yours. But I don’t make a habit of fucking beautiful women and leaving them a few hours later. I only agreed to come over because I wanted to make sure your ex wasn’t dumb enough to try something.”

  Hearing him say he wants to do things to my body sets me over the edge. The floodgates open, soaking my panties and making it impossible to breathe. “Habits are meant to be broken.” Pulling my bottom lip into my mouth, I reach for a belt loop on his jeans and pull him closer, aligning his rock-hard cock with my stomach. “I honestly don’t mind if you fuck me and leave me.”

  “You’re lying,” he says, moaning a moment later when I press my hips into him, tapping the head of his cock strained against the jean material. “I can tell you’re not the type to do that kind of shit. As badly as you need to be taken care of by a real man, that’s not a position I can fill.”

  “Why not?” I whine, hating how desperate I sound.

  “It’s complicated.”

  The intricacy of emotions behind his baby blues, accompanied by a deep crease of worry between his eyebrows, beckons to be understood. Whatever he seems to be running from has made him hardened, and that translates to a look that’s sexier than anything I’ve ever known.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” I decide. “For whatever reason you think you can’t do this with me, it doesn’t matter in the long run.” Brushing my lips over his Adam’s apple and up his stubbled neck to his jaw, I groan with a surge of desire. He smells amazing—like some exotic cologne blended with total masculinity—and I’m dying to kiss him again. “You seem lonely, and I’m in desperate need to be touched by a man. Let’s just look at this as a chance to help each other out.”

  When I draw back, his eyes are closed. “I promised Kory I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says quietly, reluctance heavy in his tone.

  “You won’t. At least not intentionally. It’ll depend on what you’re hiding inside those jeans.” I grab his hard jaw in one hand, waiting until his beautiful eyes reopen. “I’m asking you to fuck me, Jace. No strings attached. What do you say we stop questioning it and spend the next several hours making each other feel good?”

  A deep noise vibrates in his throat. I literally feel his resolve break as he grabs a handful of hair on the back of my head and drags my lips back to meet his. This time, the kiss he delivers is far from sweet or tender. It’s raw and needy, almost wicked. His teeth scrape across my tongue and his fingers grip my ass hard enough to leave a memento for several days to come. Heat rushes through my limbs and face so hard and fast that it leaves me lightheaded. I grip his firm ass with both hands, bracing myself for the hottest moment of my life. Yes, yes, yes!

  Jace pushes me backwards, slamming my back against the wall. The scorching kiss intensifies as he reaches down for my arms and laces our fingers together before putting them high over my head on the wall. My breaths become raspy. My fingers itch to release the massive cock digging into my stomach. My heart does summersaults worthy of Olympic gold.

  His expert lips drive me insane with a blinding need to throw him down on the bed, but he won’t release my hands no matter how hard I wiggle them.

  “I wanna touch you,” I beg against his mouth.

  Finally his hands slide down my arms, slowly, torturously. Chills erupt from my head down to my pulsating bud that feels as if it will explode at any moment. As his hands grip my waist, my greedy fingers start for his shirt buttons, popping one off in the process. Yanking the shirt down his shoulders, I leave it wrapped around his biceps and let my excited hands explore the hard peaks and valleys of his impressive chest.

  Breaking free of his lips to get a proper look at the sculpted body I just knew he was hiding, I practically purr like a lioness with my discovery. Hairless and ripped, his torso is enough to put every post-workout selfie on Instagram to shame. Below rosy, flat disks for nipples already hardened with desire, he’s sporting a perfect 8-pack that leads to a sharp V-cut like an arrow. And the rippled flag inked along one arm, an intricate design involving a skull and crossbones on the other are enough to turn this tattoo enthusiast’s insides to jelly. Paired with the fact that he’s permanently branded his body with his patriotism and I’m a goner. God Bless America.

  Though he’s far from flawless with a puckered wound on one shoulder that looks to be from a gunshot and a narrow scar running up his left side, the fact that he’s still ready to stand up to guys like Decker after apparently having been shot at some point in his life makes him absolutely ideal in my eyes.

  “Goddamn,” I gasp among sharp breaths, running my fingertips along the countless ridges, “you’re like a masterpiece painting come to life.”

  I doubt he heard me the way he moves in for my bare shoulder, sensually biting and kissing my skin on his way to a breast. It only takes a shrug to release my T-shirt from my other shoulder and let it fall down my arms, giving him free rein to unhook my cheetah-print bra. I drop my head against the wall and arch my back as his lips latch onto the pebbled nipple. I’m ready to come the moment he sucks it into his mouth, toying with it for a moment before releasing it with a pop of his teeth.

  “Your tits are fucking perfect,” he growls, starting for the other one.

  “You must need glasses,” I pant, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair in one hand. “But you’re hands-down the hottest man who’s ever sucked on them.”

  When he rises upright, I crush my lips back over his, swirling my tongue through his mouth with an intensity that makes my head spin. A trace of rum and the sweet pop he was drinking remains on his tongue, but there’s more to his essence that I doubt I could ever get enough of. Still kissing me, he reaches down for my ass and hoists me up, groaning when I wrap my legs tight around his waist.

  My heart slams against my ribs in anticipation of the giant bulge pressed into my thigh, knowing it’ll be epic. Based on his kissing abilities alone, it seems safe to assume this is a night I could never forget, although I haven’t a clue why I’d want to do such an asinine thing.

  Just as he’s pushing on my bedroom door, about to make my wildest fantasies become a reality, there’s a loud bang outside the living room window, followed by another. Jace tears his mouth away, jerking his head toward the noise. The way he’s suddenly on edge reminds me of a guard dog poised to kill.

  “What the hell was that?” he asks.

  “It’s probably a stray cat pushing over the garbage again,” I insist, reaching down to release the button on his jeans. “Those little shit nuggets multiply around here like Gremlins in water.”

  Eyebrows drawn down, he abruptly sets me back down on my feet. “Do you have any weapons?”

  My shoulders rise and fall with a great sigh rattling deep inside my chest. So much for getting it on. Has someone put a curse on me, preventing me from having a good time? It’s truly beginning to feel that way.

  “There’s a baseball bat in the corner by the front door.”

  “Stay here,” he orders, pulling his shirt back over his shoulders.

  “Sure thing,” I mutter to myself, sad to see his beautiful ass moving toward the exit rather than toward my bedroom. The minute he’s slipped back out into the warm night, I fly into my bedroom and add my comforter to the pile in the closet. Pulling the curtain over the mess, I head back into the living room, praying to the gods of rock that nothing else gets in my way of experiencing the best night of my li
fe with the mysterious man outside.

  4

  Jace

  Everything’s quiet by the time I make it down Phoebe’s back steps with the aluminum bat tightly clenched in both hands, ready to swing. It’s too fucking quiet. There isn’t a single cricket or noise of any kind to be heard over my slow breaths.

  It’s no darker than it was when we pulled up a little bit ago, but the shadows all around me seem to be alive as I steal across the driveway, careful not to make a sound. Her mom’s house is dark as well as all the neighbors’, except for their different styles of yard lights casting a glow over small patches of their grass. The houses are what you’d expect in a poor town this size—old and dilapidated beyond needing repairs. A bulldozer would be the only sensible fix. Their tiny backyards aren’t much better since most are filled with junk and there’s hardly a whole yard of healthy grass between the half dozen I can see from where I stand. What a shithole.

  Once I’ve decided there’s no one else around, my eyes drift to my bike as I head back for the stairway. I nearly toss the bat through the air when seeing both of my tires are completely flat, down to the rim.

  Son of a bitch! Phoebe’s ex is definitely behind this.

  “You got my attention,” I announce in a calm voice, guessing that spineless coward is watching from somewhere nearby. “Make no mistake, this won’t end well for you.”

  Although it’s a major setback, hopefully I can find someone to fix the tires while I’m gathering information on Bugsy’s family. But how can I do that and insure Phoebe’s safe at the same time? Her ex is clearly sending a message, and it makes me worry what else he’s capable of doing to Phoebe to get his point across.

  Taking two steps at a time, I scale the rickety stairs back up to Phoebe’s apartment. Once inside, I twist the deadbolt and turn to face the beautiful girl staring wide-eyed back at me. Her cheeks are red and her hair’s a mess from where my hands took control as I kissed her. And Jesus Christ, the woman knows how to kiss. The way her tongue and lips moved as she ground her hips against my dick, there was no way I could’ve lasted much longer.

  I could think of a million and one things I wanted to do to her hot little body, and every single one involved getting her naked first. My cock nearly sprung a hole in my jeans with the idea.

  But I was grateful for the distraction, because I should be thinking with my head and not my dick. Getting her messed up in my business could land us both in prison.

  “Who were you talking to out there?” she asks. “Everything all right?”

  I toss the bat in the corner, satisfied when it makes a loud clang against the tile floor. I’d love to fuck something up about now. And I’d picture that asshole’s ugly mug while doing it. “Your ex felt it necessary to leave me a message. He made sure I wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.”

  Before her eyes flicker to the door, I can see a spark of excitement pass through them. She doesn’t want me to go. There’s no doubt I would’ve gone through with my plans to strip her naked and screw her brains out until the sun came up if we hadn’t been interrupted. Now that I’ve had a chance to step back, and remember why I came here in the first place, I realize that would’ve been a serious mistake. It was bad enough that I had agreed to come here, knowing we’d be alone when I felt an overwhelming attraction from the start. Could this be any more of a clusterfuck?

  “We should call the cops,” she suggests, as if hearing my question.

  My gut solidifies into a ball of lead. There’s no way in hell I’ll let her call anyone at this point, but I also don’t want to let on that I’m a fugitive. At least not yet. Trusting my name and where I’m from with her friend was enough of a risk for the night. And although I know it’s not possible to start anything meaningful with Phoebe, my stubborn, prideful side doesn’t want her to be afraid of me.

  “You really think his dad’s going to do anything about it?” I ask, hoping to find a creative way out.

  “I know he won’t, but the city police might. It’d create an ugly fight between the two departments, but I think we need to at least try. You don’t know Decker like I do. He’s not afraid to hurt people. This could end badly. For both of us.”

  Taking two steps closer, I shake my head. “I’m not afraid to hurt anyone either, if that’s what it takes to protect you.”

  Her eyes lower with my threat. Rather than appearing afraid by the darkness in my voice, she seems even more turned on when she saunters toward me, dragging a fingernail along my skin from my pecs down past my bellybutton. I grit my teeth with the gratifying burn her touch leaves in its wake.

  Phoebe’s nothing like other girls I’ve been with in a way that goes beyond physical appearances. She’s bold as hell, unafraid to say what's on her mind. I have no doubt she could’ve fought her ex off eventually if I hadn’t been there, even if the idea of her having to fight him makes me want to bust something. And she possesses an inner strength that’s enviable, even to a guy like me. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she was able to take whatever shit I throw at her, including my sordid past and the complicated details of why I’m on the run.

  “It’s mighty bold of you to make such declarations, considering you just met me,” she says in a voice thick with lust. Gazing into my eyes, her lips turn upward with a flirty smile. “I don’t know where the hell you came from, but I think maybe fate had a hand in you landing on my doorstep.”

  For the first time since I left California, the memory of the last time I saw Bugsy in Afghanistan resurfaces. We were all jacked up knowing our tour was about to end. He had just Skyped with his girlfriend and was on top of the world, giving me one of his shit-assed grins. He was a charming, handsome fucker who had arrived for bootcamp with a headful of white-blond hair that made him look like some hotshot movie star, but was a force to be reckoned with, earning him the nickname “Bugsy.” We became tight long before we knew we’d be assigned to the same unit.

  “Careful, Bugsy,” I told him that day. “You’re acting like a fool in love. Won’t be long after you get back she’ll have a baby in her belly and you’ll be forced to buy her a ring.”

  “Can’t stop fate, brother,” he answered with his grin growing. “If I’m meant to have a smokin’ hot wife and be a daddy, then I guess the world will have to deal with another handsome bastard like myself.”

  Growling, I jerk from Phoebe’s touch. “There’s no such thing as fate,” I snap. “I just happened to be there tonight when your ex attacked because I needed a break after riding all day. It was dumb luck. Don’t make this out to be something it’s not.”

  Phoebe blinks several times as she backs away. “Okay, then. On that note, I think I’ll call it a night,” she sings, spinning around. “I’ll grab you a blanket for the couch.”

  Way to make her feel like shit, dumbass. Phoebe may not be delicate, but she doesn’t need someone like me complicating what already seems to be a messed-up life.

  Pulling a handful of my hair by the roots, I call after her, “Hold up. I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep for awhile after everything that’s happened. Do you have any booze?”

  Turning to look over her shoulder, her eyes dance with mischief. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  Somehow my cock has managed to calm down by the time we’re sitting across from each other on the couch, finishing up the bottle of rum she found above her sink. By some miracle we’re able to keep our hands off each other. It’s in no way her fault, because every goddamn thing she does is sexy, especially when she’s sitting back and enjoying herself.

  I could watch her talk for hours about anything, the way her face becomes animated and her hands roll through the air to express her point. Or the way her toenails, painted a dark gray, dance against the edge of the end-table when she’s excited. And how she twists the ends of her blue tips through her fingers, twirling her hair the very way I have wanted to since I first walked into the bar. But most of all it’s the bright light fueling her big brown eyes t
hat draws me in. For the first time since I left California, I feel at home.

  With every drink she opens up a little more, telling me about her secret obsession with comic book heroes that stemmed from TV shows and movies, and her dream to one day attend Comic Con to meet Norman Reedus. I don’t tell her that I once lived twenty-some minutes from the convention, just as I don’t dare offer any other details of my past. It’s best if I don’t get personal. I’ve already formed a physical attachment to this woman. Creating an emotional bond would be dangerous in more ways that either one of us can afford.

  “Well, I think we’ve officially drank this place dry,” she slurs, looking down at the empty coffee cup nestled in the nook of her arm. “Guess it’s time for bed.”

  When she looks up her gaze is heavy, and I’m fairly certain it’s not from the booze. The electricity between us is so undeniably strong that it’s like having a third person in the room, making it impossible to pretend it doesn’t exist.

  A band of desire stretches tight across my chest as I look into her eyes, imagining what it would be like to bury myself balls deep inside her as she looks up at me like I’m some kind of fucking superhero in one of her comic books.

  “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” I grumble, shaking my head. “Trust me, Phoebe, I’m not the kind of guy you want. The shit I’m running from is dangerous.”

  Setting her cup on the table, she draws her knees up on the couch and begins to crawl toward me with a feral look that would kill a weaker man. When the overwhelming cloud of rum and whatever tart perfume she’s wearing surround me, I hold my breath and lock my hands at my sides, scared shitless that my resolve is about to break.