Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5)

by Adrienne Giordano

  And Gage knew the power of that. Had thrived on it for years.

  “He terrified me,” Micki said. “I knew Jonah didn’t hurt that girl, but he had the video and the DNA. He told me to look up a couple of rape cases. He gave me actual names. So I ran home and researched them. They were cases where guys had been convicted on less evidence.” She turned to Jonah, gripped his arm. “I was afraid for you. Then, after being in Vegas awhile, I found out there’s no statute of limitations on rape in North Carolina. If Phil decided to, he could make a case today and you’d go to prison. Back then, I panicked. I saw a way out for you. For both of us really, because I knew what went on in that bedroom and I didn’t report it. I was afraid we’d both go to jail. Just for knowing about it. That’s what he told me.”

  “My God,” Miss Joan said. “That bastard.”

  Micki ignored her mother and kept her eyes on Jonah. “I went to Vegas. To keep our secret.”

  Jonah had stopped his pacing, but his body still moved. Swaying from side to side, then back and forth. Constant motion. He folded his arms, then dropped them again.

  He didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

  Even Reid was speechless.

  And that was saying something.

  Finally, Jonah walked to the door, his steps quick and stomping and…pissy. He paused and looked out the window while Micki shifted in her chair to face her brother.

  “Jonah—”

  His hand flew up. “Just…stop. Let me think.”

  “Calm down,” Reid said. “Everyone take a second here.”

  Gage nodded. They needed to eliminate the emotion. “He’s right. Let’s break this down and figure out how to get rid of this so-called evidence. We know Jonah didn’t do anything wrong. This girl. The victim? Who is she?”

  Jonah shook his head. “Tessa. Jesus Christ.”

  “Jonah!” Miss Joan said.

  “I’m sorry, Mom, but this is…” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what this is. All these years, Micki has been in Vegas and we could have taken care of it.”

  “Look, guys. I’m an outsider here.”

  “You’re not an outsider,” Reid snapped. “Shut up with that and say what you’re thinking.”

  Gage met his eye. “Thank you, but I’m not family. My perspective is different. I don’t have the connection you do. Jonah, I’d suggest getting a lawyer. You didn’t do anything wrong, but if Flynn showed up here, he’s not playing. He’s got an ace in his pocket.”

  Micki grunted. “He probably bribed a judge.”

  “Oh, my God,” Miss Joan said, her strangled voice barely above a whisper.

  Gage touched her arm. This woman had treated him as her own. The least he could do was give her some damned hope that her son wouldn’t spend the next twenty years in prison. “It’ll be okay. Jonah is innocent and he has the resources to hire attorneys. A good lawyer makes this go away. No fuss, no muss.”

  “All that time.” Miss Joan shook her head. “My girl was gone all that time.”

  Jonah looked back at his mother, his face a cross between tight anger and pinched torture. “Because of me.”

  “No,” Micki said. “Not because of you. Because I was too terrified to stand up to Phil. This is on me. I just can’t do it anymore. I want my life back.”

  Hours later, Gage sat at the piano in his living room—Miss Joan’s living room actually. He was just the renter. Still, the place felt homey and warm and…comfortable. Like Miss Joan. In this house, there was no pressure. Here, he didn’t worry about all the things he should be doing for everyone else.

  His sole purpose now revolved around tinkering with piano keys until he worked out the song in his head.

  His mother had given piano lessons for years and had forced enough of them on him that he’d learned to read music and could actually put a song together. Memories of her yelling at him from the kitchen about wrong notes filled his mind and he couldn’t help smiling.

  Life had been simpler back then. Before he’d grown into his feet and became the problem solver. The mediator between his sisters, the one who dealt with bullies at school and flat tires and bum tractor engines.

  As much as he wanted to blame his father for putting the pressure on him, he couldn’t.

  Like Micki, he understood the power of the mind. That tricky bastard could make one believe anything.

  The doorbell rang and he glanced up. Spotted Micki standing in front of the glass plane.

  God help him.

  She’d been tearing at his thoughts since he left Tupelo Hill and that crazy family meeting. Hell, since she showed up two days ago. Considering the horny male he was, being alone with her in his house—in the house she grew up in—wouldn’t evolve into anything honorable.

  Except, there she stood, peering through the glass, and he couldn’t leave her there. Not after what she’d been through today. Something brought her to his door and he might as well find out what.

  He wanted this girl. Friendship with Reid be damned.

  He met her gaze as he walked and something sparked in her hazel eyes. The rest of her features remained neutral. No smile, no tilt of her head, no expression at all.

  Micki, Micki, Micki.

  Without a doubt, she’d always keep him guessing.

  He swung the door open and a blast of forty-five-degree air sent the hairs on his arms to full attention.

  “Hi,” she said, her eyes raking over his T-shirt, gym shorts and bare feet.

  He stepped back and waved her in. “Hi, yourself. Get out of the cold.”

  Obviously once again unprepared for the weather, she wore a black jean jacket, a plaid scarf, black leggings, and a white gauzy shirt. The edge of the scarf hung across her chest landing—you guessed it—right above her tits and extremely protruding nipples.

  When exactly had he gotten laid last?

  Crap. Not a break to be had with this Steele bunch.

  She stepped across his threshold, bringing the scent of fresh air and powder with her, and he reminded himself to keep his mitts to himself.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

  “No prob. You need a heavier jacket, though.”

  “I realized that on the ride over.”

  “You rode here?”

  “I stole Jonah’s bike again.”

  Gage laughed. “I hope you at least told him this time.”

  “I did. I texted him after I left. Otherwise, they’d all argue over who was driving me because God forbid I should ride a bike five miles.”

  “They’re trying to keep you safe.”

  “I know. But I’ve been alone a long time. Sometimes it feels like…smothering.”

  “I get that,” he said. “Believe me.” He grabbed a pile of clean clothes off the couch and set them on the chair in the corner. “Wasn’t expecting company. Have a seat.”

  She took in the room, probably recognizing her mother’s furniture. “You’re actually pretty clean for a guy.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “Is it weird living here?”

  “Not at all. I was just thinking how homey it is. Your mom has that way about her. Whatever she touches.”

  “My father doesn’t want to sell the house. Kind of crazy since he lives at the cabin now.” She shrugged. “I never could figure those two out.”

  “Maybe you’re not meant to. Besides, I hit pay dirt with renting the place.”

  She gestured at the piano. “I heard you playing that old beast. That would make my mom happy. Evie started taking lessons, but I think she quit.”

  “She dabbles,” Gage said.

  When he’d first moved in, he and Evie had talked about the piano and how it needed to be tuned. Which he’d arranged his first week here.

  The corner of Micki’s mouth lifted. “You know more about my family than I do.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “What song were you working on?”

  This was a question he shouldn’t answer. If
he were smart, which he used to be, he’d make something up. Grab some random title from the sky. Chances were she hadn’t recognized his piss-poor version of a song she proclaimed to love.

  Barely three feet from her, he met her gaze, found himself getting sucked into the green flecks and mystery behind them and he knew, as sure as shit, he couldn’t fight himself on this one. End of story.

  “'Bring It On Home,’” he said.

  Her eyebrows hitched up. A millimeter. Maybe half a millimeter, but he caught it. Micki, Micki, Micki. Such a puzzle.

  “Play it for me,” she said.

  “It’s not ready for an audience.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She moved to the piano, her gaze still on his. She slid the scarf from her throat, her long fingers curling into it as it glided over the silky skin of her neck.

  “Please,” she said. “I love that song.”

  “I know. That’s what scares the hell out of me.”

  It didn’t stop him from reclaiming his spot on the piano bench, testing the keys while his mind tripped and whirled and formulated an escape plan he didn’t necessarily want.

  She stood next to the piano, resting both elbows on it, and the neckline of her blouse dipped, giving him a view of a pale bra and cleavage. Micki wasn’t stacked. Not by a long shot, but everything about her worked. Small breasts, long, lean legs, narrow hips.

  Twiggy, Reid had called her. The name fit and Gage imagined her in his bed, under him, on top, wherever. Didn’t matter as long as her legs were locked around him.

  “So.” He ran his fingers over the keys and the cascading sound filled the room. “Why did you ride Jonah’s bike into town? Aside from needing space.”

  “I wanted to thank you.”

  “You could have called.”

  “I could have. Should I go?”

  He stopped playing. “Not if I can help it.”

  Her face flushed and—yeah—another first from the stoic Micki. The girl was loosening up. Good for her.

  “I couldn’t have handled that meeting alone,” she said.

  “Yeah, you could.” She needed to get it through that stubborn head of hers. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. What you’ve been living with for ten years? Not a lot of people would do that.”

  “Most would have the nerve to get away. Don’t you think?”

  “Some maybe, but Phil groomed you, Micki. You were young and scared and he knew exactly how to bend you to his will. That makes him a predator.”

  “I swear you’re straight out of a romance novel.”

  That made him laugh. “Nah. I’m trained to understand human nature.”

  “Oh, then I don't want to know what you think of me.”

  “Sure you do. Because I think you're exceptional. All you needed today was support. I came in handy since I was the unemotional one in the room.”

  She moved around the side of the piano, stood beside the bench, her body close enough that he breathed in her powdery scent. Whatever that was, he’d buy her a gallon of it.

  He turned sideways, straddling the bench, his growing erection not shy about letting her know what he wanted.

  Particularly when she eased onto the bench in front of him, their knees touching, eyes locked. She ran her hands over his face, and the mental war, every logical argument, vanished.

  “Is this wise?” he asked.

  What kind of idiot asked that question when he knew the answer?

  “I doubt it,” she said. “But there are perks to being the family screwup. No one expects anything from me. And I’ve been living according to everyone else’s rules a long time. Now I want what I want.”

  He hooked his hands under her thighs, brought them on top of his and slid an arm around her, boosting her up to straddle him. “You’re not a screwup.”

  His erection pressed into her and she tipped her head back, let out a low moan, and he was gone. Gone, gone, gone.

  “I want to feel good,” she said. “Being around you makes me feel good. Especially when you tell me I'm exceptional.” He nibbled the delicate skin on her neck. “And when you do that.”

  Backing away, he kissed her, let the softness of her lips drive him further and closer to the insanity of sex with Reid's sister.

  She ground herself into him and, holy shit, if she kept that up, they’d have problems.

  He grabbed her cheeks, cradled her face in his rough hands. Another reminder that he had no right to her.

  “Honey,” he said, “if you don’t knock that off, I won’t last too long.”

  “In that case, maybe you should ditch your shorts.”

  Gage smiled at her, a quick flashing grin that made something inside her go warm. This man. So hot.

  And so not her type.

  But she couldn’t think about that now. He wanted to be with her. At least temporarily. Whether it was all part of his hero complex—the big bad Special Forces guy helping the screwup or something more, she wouldn’t think about. Analyzing the whys of it all wouldn’t help her.

  All she knew was that Gage Barber, somehow, seemed to know what she needed. Always.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. The lifeline in turbulent waters.

  What am I doing?

  This world. The sanctuary. The normal. It wasn’t hers. After all the things she’d done, she didn’t deserve it.

  No.

  Not thinking about it.

  Tonight, for once, she’d forget about Phil and secrets and denial. Tonight she’d allow herself freedom.

  She squeezed her eyes closed and tightened her grip on him. Just hang on. If she could hold on to Gage, Mr. All-American-apple-pie-farm-boy, she’d be okay.

  Gage patted the upper part of her butt. “Hey. You okay?”

  When he made a move to back away, she held on, gripping so tight she might snap his neck.

  God, she couldn’t let him see this. This desperation and weakness. Not when all she wanted was to fall into bed—with him—and start her life over.

  His hand wandered higher on her back. “You’ll be all right.”

  He knew. A burst of air exploded in her chest, and all that pent-up stress and anger and…emotion…sucked her under, stealing her breath. Dammit. How did her life get to be such a fucking mess?

  She gripped harder, fighting the urge to run. To disappear and leave Phil and Vegas and the whole cluster behind. Just hang on. “He’ll never let me go. He won’t. And I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t know what he does. And I help him! What kind of person does that?”

  He brought his hands up, latching on to her wrists, tugging at her, then tugging harder when she stayed locked on. “Honey, if you don’t let me look at you, I’ll make you do it.”

  “I don’t want you to look at me.”

  “Well, too bad, because I love looking at you. I look at you constantly. And I like what I see. Very much. I don’t know what this is between us. And I know you’re all twisted up. I get that. Believe me. Everyone expects us to be a certain way. Sometimes we need help. So, dump it on me. I’ll help you.”

  He knew her. For a man she’d just met, he knew exactly what she needed.

  Gage ran his thumbs over her cheeks and she got lost in those crystal blue eyes.

  What he wanted for his future, she didn’t know, but he was a picket fence guy. He’d need a blonde, curvy wife, a herd of kids, and a minivan.

  Total opposite of her.

  “Micki,” he said, “stop.”

  “What?”

  “Thinking. Whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

  He’d nailed that one. “I’ve been alone for ten years. All I do is think.”

  “You’re not alone anymore.”

  Then he kissed her. His lips so soft on hers, part of her cement shell broke free. She leaned in, the two of them barely touching, but the connection so electric she needed to be closer. And closer.

  “You’re amazing,” she said.

  “Nah. I’m ju
st a guy who has a thing for a screwy Steele girl.”

  Gage, somehow, made her laugh. Maybe she wasn't a dead loss after all. “I’m ready to start over. I feel safe here. In this house. With you. It’s…” She cradled his face in her hands and pressed. “It’s home. Finally. I’m home. Thank you.”

  She didn’t want his response. Not now. Not when this spell was so potent and beautiful. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck again, angling into his body and kissing him with every little desperate piece of herself she had.

  Total slut kiss.

  And she liked it.

  Tongues battled, lips slammed and—oh—it was so good.

  He scooped her up. Bam. Lifted her right off the bench. Strong man.

  But she knew that already.

  “That,” she said, “was totally hot.”

  He snorted and with her lips still on his, she giggled and the moment was so light, so ridiculously silly, that she took it all in, locking it away so she’d remember. Always.

  Happiness.

  For that alone, she’d adore him forever.

  “You know, it’s too bad the piano is an upright.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Always wanted to have sex on a piano. I might have to upgrade to a baby grand. “

  “I’ll help you pay for it.”

  He stopped walking. Right in the middle of the living room and pressed her against the wall.

  “Jesus, that got me going. I have a picture of you bare-assed naked, spread across that thing. Waiting for me.”

  Oh, the thought. “I’d love that,” she said.

  He kissed her again, grinding his erection against her, and she combusted. Everything inside imploding. Balanced against the wall, she nudged him away and lifted her shirt over her head. His hands moved over her bare skin, the heat intense and perfect as he locked his gaze on her.

  Then he went to work on her bra, sliding the straps off and maneuvering her so he could unclip it. And she wouldn’t think about how effortlessly he’d done that. About his experience with this sort of thing. Unlike her.

  None of it mattered now.

  “Put me down,” she said.

  He set her down and dragged his mouth over her shoulder and his hands, those rough-skinned palms over her nipples, and the friction blew her mind.