Play Hard

by V. K. Sykes

  Sloane touched her hair. “If it makes you feel any better, this is new for me too. I don’t usually spend the night.” He headed into the bathroom.

  Better? Try terrified. Did he want something more from her? No, why would he. She was a baker with a bum leg and enough baggage to fill his fancy limo. They’d agreed on terms. He’d just spent the night because it had gotten late. Or maybe he was pushing his own boundaries a little bit. Okay, that worked for her.

  With nervous hands, she quickly made her bed, though a part of her wanted to climb back into it and…no. If she was going to stay strong, she had to nip those thoughts in the bud.

  Sloane strode out of the bathroom and tugged her into a kiss. She tasted her brand of toothpaste and the richer, darker flavor of Sloane. He pulled back and smiled. “Morning. I used your toothbrush. Change it if you’re squeamish.”

  The kiss sparked a rush of desire, scrambled her wits, and made her forget her anxieties. How did he do that so easily? Don’t answer that! Focus on practical things. “Uh, I’ll drive you home.”

  He got out his phone and began texting. “You need to get to work. It’ll be faster if I ride with you to the bakery. Ethan can pick me up there.”

  That would work better for her. “Okay.”

  “I’m driving.”

  Like hell he was. “It’s my car. I’m driving.” Gathering up their coffees, she handed him his.

  He leaned closer. “Do you want my hands busy driving or on you while you’re driving? Your choice.”

  She huffed and led them down her hallway, through her tiny laundry room to the garage. “Do you even know the concept of playing fair?”

  He held out his hand for the keys. “I play to win, baker girl. Every damn time.”

  Kat gave him the keys and wondered if she was giving him too much. Too much of herself. She had to remember this as an arrangement, a proposition.

  Once they were on the road, she said, “I let you drive, you have to answer some questions.” She wanted to know more about him. They always talked about her.

  He glanced over at her. “That was not in the negotiations.”

  “Read the fine print next time.”

  “Cheater.”

  She laughed. “Since you met my family, tell me about yours.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel. “Nothing to tell. Father was a hit-and-run sperm donor. Mom was around sometimes. Other times I was in foster homes.”

  Kat gripped the black travel mug she had resting between her thighs. “Foster homes? I’m sorry.” That had to be rough. Her family might be screwed up, but they’d been there when she’d needed them. Did Sloane have anyone to be there for him? “Is your mom still alive?”

  Guiding her small SUV through the streets in the quiet early morning, he kept his eyes on the road. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” She was making him uncomfortable, yet she wanted to know more, understand him better. Okay, she had to know that he had someone to take care of him if he needed it. “Are you close now?”

  “No.” He twisted his head, pinning her with a glare. “Let it go, Kat.”

  Fine. She shifted from his mom to other family. “Any siblings?”

  He flattened his mouth.

  The silence thickened until it almost hurt her. Relenting, she said, “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” It wasn’t. Yeah, he’d met her family last night, but she’d taken him there. She’d opened that can of worms, not Sloane. That didn’t give her a free pass to interrogate him.

  “I don’t like to talk about growing up.”

  “Okay.” Kat didn’t miss the fact that he hadn’t answered her question about siblings. No idea what it meant though. They were in this for convenience and sex, not sharing personal and painful things. It wasn’t her place to worry about him not having anyone to help him if he needed it. “So what happens now? You call me when you want me to go somewhere with you?” If he still wanted to. Once she asked about his family, he’d gotten cold and distant, provoking her insecurity.

  His shoulders eased slightly. “Do you have a cocktail dress? If not, get one. There’s a wine tasting, appetizers and then dinner at a winery in Temecula Saturday of next week. It’s business. I’ll have my assistant give you the particulars on the event.” He pulled into her bakery parking lot.

  Kat went cold. “I don’t wear cocktail dresses.”

  He parked and faced her. “That’s just bullshit. You’ve got great legs. Get the damn dress.” Shoving open his door, he got out.

  Her chest tightened at the mere thought of wearing a dress. Gathering her purse and shifting her coffee, she reached for the door.

  It opened before she touched it. Sloane crowded in. “Swing your legs out.”

  “I know how to get out of a car.” She turned, then noticed Sloane’s dark gray limo sliding into the parking lot. It came to a stop on the other side near the street and idled, waiting.

  Sloane’s hands wrapped around her waist, and he effortlessly lifted her to the ground. She sucked in a breath.

  He slammed the door, handed her the keys and said, “You’re going to buy a cocktail dress and wear it.”

  Oh yeah, she’d get on that right after she set her hair on fire. “What are you so pissed off about?”

  He ground his jaw. “I usually don’t get pissed. But damn it, you do something to me.”

  Maybe she wasn’t the only one a little off balance. “I’m wearing pants or a long gown. And I don’t wear high heels.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Did I ask you to wear heels?”

  “You haven’t asked me to do anything. You’re issuing orders.”

  Sloane stepped back and visibly relaxed his shoulders. “You’re right. Fuck.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Okay, the high heels I get. But I would very much like you to wear a cocktail dress to the winery. Will you think about it?”

  She leaned against the car. Felt the cool metal at her back, while the travel mug was warm in her hand. “I don’t know if I can do it. Would it be so bad if I wore pants?”

  He placed a hand on the roof and looked down at her. “No. What’s bad is that you think you have something to hide. They‘re your scars, Kat. You earned them the hard way. Why are you hiding them?”

  His encouraging words didn’t drown out the memories or the humiliation they brought her. The little girl who burst into tears when she saw Kat’s scars and the hostess of the pool party asking Kat to cover them up or leave. Or the time she and David tried to have sex, but he hadn’t been able to keep his erection and blamed her disability.

  But those were excuses, weren’t they? Covering for the truth she hated to think about much less share. She blurted out, “I was wearing a short skirt the night we were attacked. I don’t ever want to feel that exposed and vulnerable again.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Any other emotional scars you want to pick at while you refuse to tell me about basic things like about your family?” Oh, good, her bitch was back on duty.

  Sloane dropped his head, his shoulders flexing. Nearly a minute passed before he lifted his gaze. “The tat is my scar. The S is for Sara, my sister. She died.” He glanced at his arm. “I won’t forget. Ever.”

  Numb shock hit her first. Then his words sank in and pain for him wrenched her heart. Her eyes burned. Now she understood why he didn’t want to talk about his family—it just hurt too much. But he’d shared with her, because she’d shared her scar with him. Laying her hand on his chest, she felt the slow and brutal beat of his heart. “I’m sorry.”

  He covered her hand with his, holding it tight against him. “I can’t—”

  She shook her head. “I’m not asking you to say anything more.” Sara was his, the sister he’d lost. That was all he could share with her. And it was enough.

  Maybe even too much.

  Time for both of them to get some distance. She had to get to work, get inside to her safe place, where she could think. Because if she stood here much longer, she was going to slide into dangerous emotional terri
tory with him. In spite of his hand covering hers, Kat knew he didn’t want that.

  Neither of them did. That’s why they had an agreement.

  To Sloane, she answered, “I’ll think about the dress.”

  He released her hand. “Fair enough,” he began, when his phone rang. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen. Then he leaned down and kissed her. “Go to work, baker girl.” He stepped back, put the phone to his ear and answered with, “Michaels here.”

  Kat walked away, sifting through her keys to find the one to her bakery door while juggling her coffee. She passed by the waiting limo but barely paid attention, instead feeling Sloane’s eyes on her even as he continued his phone conversation. The sun was rising, casting long shadows. The parking lot was on the side of the bakery, with the front of the building facing the street. She had a back entrance, but the front one was safer when it wasn’t full light yet.

  A streetlight illuminated the front window of the bakery. Kat stopped, taking it in. Sugar Dancer Bakery blazed across the glass in shimmering colors. The beginning S and ending Y curved into the silhouette of a dancer. Every time she saw it, Kat felt that punch of joy.

  Mine. She had worked hard, and now she had her own bakery.

  It was time to get her ovens fired up. Turning back to the door, she slipped in the key.

  A hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

  Kat jumped, dropping the travel mug. Her heart shot into her throat. She whirled around and looked at the man standing there.

  David.

  What was he doing here? It didn’t make sense. The skin around his eyes sagged. Had he slept at all last night? What was wrong with him? Anxiety tightened her chest.

  He shifted his hand to her arm. “We’re going to talk, Katie. No interruptions this time. Open the door.”

  Her fingers started a numb tingling, and the edges of her vision began to gray. Her hand slid off the keys that hung from the lock.

  Drawing in a breath, she told herself to stay calm and in control. “No. Let go of me, David. Now.”

  His lip curled with contempt. “Stop being childish. We need to talk about your flashbacks. There are things you don’t understand.” He squeezed her arm. “But you have to tell me exactly what you remember.”

  This wasn’t right. Suddenly showing up and demanding information after leaving her alone for years. “I said no.” Her voice was stronger, and a tiny kernel of pride warmed her. “If you have something to tell me, get your hand off me, back up and then I’ll listen.”

  He yanked her closer to him. “Get inside. I have no intention of standing out here so your tank of a boyfriend can play hero. Now open the door.”

  When a man doesn’t get his hands off you after you tell him to let go, consider him a threat.

  Sloane’s words echoed in her head and she reacted. She bent her elbow below where David held her. Then she windmilled her arm, breaking the hold and knocking his hand off her.

  It worked. Just as Sloane had showed her. Flush with her success, she looked up just as David lunged, grabbing her shoulders.

  His pupils were contracted, his breathing rapid. Splotches of color mottled his face. “You have to leave this alone. I’ve been trying to protect you. Keep your mouth shut and accept that we were mugged that night.”

  Kat jerked back. Her sense of meager control vanished. Fear exploded in her veins. “Get away from me!” It came out hoarse, and deep in the shadows of her mind, a memory shimmered—a baseball bat swinging toward her.

  God, stop!

  Consequence, Dr. Burke.

  Gray fog ate at her vision, until she could only see through a tunnel. Sludge was rising in her chest, cutting off her air. Buzzing roared in her ears.

  David’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him.

  Fight! Break his hold!

  Desperately, she honed in on that tiny voice. Made herself breathe, pushing back the thickening panic. Her hands were numb, but she had to try. Bending her elbows, she shoved her hands up between his hands on her shoulders and pushed out to break his hold.

  David heaved her back against the door. Dropping his grip to just above her elbows, he pinned her arms so she couldn’t fight him, sending her tumbling down into a vortex of panic.

  No! She would not let this happen. Sloane had told her fighting was as much mental as physical. Think. Her arms were pinned, so she’d use her legs. Knee strike.

  Balancing on her good leg, she kicked out, aiming for his knee. But she hit his shin. A shock of pain radiated up her leg. Twisting to escape him, she croaked out, “Let go!” Anger goaded her and she kicked out again.

  He pulled her forward and smacked her against the wall. “Stop it!” He tightened his fingers around her arms. “You’re not hearing what I’m—”

  A roar, low and vicious, cut him off. Before Kat could assimilate that, David was torn from her, lifted and thrown.

  She cringed at the sound of him hitting the pavement and crying out.

  Sloane’s back filled her vision. He had on the same shirt from last night, only now the seams of the fabric strained at his shoulders as he flexed and shifted.

  “You attacked me!” David yelled at Sloane. “I’m calling the police!”

  Gulping air, Kat leaned around Sloane’s massive form to see David climb to his feet and wipe blood off a scrape on his arm. Right then, she desperately wished she’d hit him. Wished she’d slammed her fist into his nose and made him bleed. He was whining that Sloane hurt him, when he’d been shaking her like a rag dog, terrifying her. What the hell had happened to him? Before the mugging he’d never slammed her against a wall.

  Sloane took a step toward David. “You do that, asshole. I saw you with your hands on Kat. So did my driver in the limo. You’ll go to jail.”

  “Me?” David’s face went lax with shock. “I’m trying to help her!”

  Sloane’s hands fisted at his sides, and his arms flexed and bulged. Even his forearms rippled. “You shook her. Slammed her against the wall. You’re lucky I don’t break your jaw for that.” Pausing for one beat, he added in a deadly soft tone, “Next time you fucking touch her, I will.”

  David stumbled back, grabbing on to a light pole. His eyes were wide, his gaze darting around as if help would appear. Kat viewed it all, sort of like she was watching a TV show. Something flickered in her mind, a picture of another scene. Another time. Someone grabbing her, holding her like David held the light pole…pain…

  Then it vanished and reality snapped back into place, leaving her sweating and dizzy. Her fingers tingled.

  Flashbacks of the attack six years ago. Usually they came in nightmares. But she couldn’t grab on to them, they always slipped away.

  Movement got her attention. David scurried away and disappeared. Sloane turned and started toward her. “Let me see your arms where he grabbed you, Kat. Are you hurt?”

  “No!” Desperate for control, she said, “Stay back.” Everything was closing in on her. The flashbacks, panic, her failure to fight off David, and a vicious ugly rage searing her gut. She hadn’t known just how much she’d come to hate David. Hated that when she’d been helpless, couldn’t remember what had happened the night of the attack, he’d not only lied to her, but to her family. This morning proved it—he was desperate for her not to remember.

  And Sloane loomed there, bigger than life, having rescued her again. If he touched her, she would cave in, lose control. Throw herself in his arms, searching for the strength she lacked.

  Just the thought of that nauseated her. She’d cease to be Kat, the woman she was fighting so hard to become, and go back to Katie, desperate for any shred of affection.

  Sloane stopped a few feet away and held his hands out to his side. “I won’t come any closer. Just tell me if you’re okay.”

  His kindness, his understanding, nearly shoved her over the edge. Hot tears threatened, and her throat felt thick. She could so easily dissolve into weakness, letting others care for her, make decisions…

 
She’d be nothing. Exactly what her family thought she was.

  She held on, straightening her spine. “You’re supposed to be teaching me to take care of myself. You don’t fight my battles. That’s not the deal.” She would come to rely on him, and when things ended between them, he’d walk away…

  And all the cracks in her would finally break wide open. Unable to handle it, she turned around then stopped beneath a flash of hot pain in her knee. Once the worst passed, she spotted her keys hanging in the lock. Quickly, she opened the door, limped inside, closed and locked it.

  Locked Sloane, David and the world out.

  Locked herself inside.

  Without looking back, she went to her kitchen, flipped on a light and sank down on her stool with her purse still hanging off her shoulder. Trembling, she laid her hands on her stainless-steel work table.

  In the comfort of her kitchen, her wild panic calmed and her spinning thoughts slowed. Her chest eased, and her vision returned.

  She had failed. She’d let David back her into a corner and then had a full-blown panic attack. Instead of using what Sloane was teaching her effectively, she fumbled the lessons, even using the wrong leg to kick him. Missing her mark.

  And worse, so much worse, when she heard Sloane’s infuriated voice and saw David ripped off her, she’d been relieved. Glad.

  She’d gotten into this plus-one with Sloane in the hopes of becoming stronger. Learning to take care of herself.

  Not to rely on a man. Any man. Ever.

  Her phone dinged a text message. Ignoring the persistent throb in her leg, she slipped her purse off her shoulder and pulled out her phone. The message was from Sloane.

  I need to know if you’re okay.

  She stared at that text for a few minutes. Finally she typed her answer of, I’m not hurt. Her leg didn’t count, that was just part of who she was now. She sent it and wondered where Sloane was. Had he left? Was he sitting out front?

  Her phone dinged again.

  Kat looked at the return text and blanched. Was this bargain a mistake? Was she really strong enough to handle being possessed by Sloane Michaels? She reread the message: