by Lydia Rowan
Huge mistake.
She’d remembered what he looked like, had, despite her repeated mental admonitions, replayed his image more than enough, but that picture in her mind couldn’t convey the raw masculinity and pure sex appeal that pervaded his aura. His eyes were as alight with playfulness as she remembered, but her imagination must have dulled them because here, face-to-face, they damn near sparkled. She looked down, and her gaze snagged on full lips curved in a mischievous smile, then caught sight of his broad shoulders, muscular, but not bulky, a place she definitely wouldn’t mind resting her head after a long day, or as she straddled his waist…
Whoa.
She tried to refocus herself. There was way too much going on in her life. Not to mention, this guy was a stranger, one who was at least a little mixed up in Ian’s godforsaken activities. Not a person she could even consider thinking about in that way.
She looked into his eyes again, him clearly having no doubt what she’d just been thinking. She gave him her best scowl, but he just laughed, which sent her blood pressure on the rise. A relief really, when she pondered it. Pissed off would keep her focused, keep her mind off those teasing eyes, his lips, his shoulders…Shit!
Well, that didn’t seem to be working, so another approach was in order.
“Did Ian send you here?”
“Ian? Is that the shifty dude I saw you with the other night?”
She nodded.
“Huh,” he said. “A word of advice. You seem like a nice girl. That guy’s trouble, and you can do better. I’d stay away if I were you.”
“He’s my brother,” she said, rolling her eyes.
And then she belatedly wondered why she’d felt the need to clarify her relationship with Ian. And then she wondered no more, deciding the answer would probably not be something she liked.
He raised a brow at the revelation and nodded. “Oh, I’m aware. But the advice still stands. Brother or no, he’s bad news.”
Shayla narrowed her eyes, wondering how he’d known that she and Ian were related, wondering who else knew about her.
Damn it, Ian!
Disappointed that Ian wasn’t there for her to throttle, she again looked to Demon.
“And you’re not bad news?” she asked.
He shrugged, the move as easy and casual as he always seemed to be. “I’m not the worst.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” she heard herself say.
“Oh, I think you do believe me. And I think you very much don’t like that,” he said, voice playful but eyes serious.
As much as she loathed to admit it, he was right, and that upset—and embarrassed—her, so much so that she looked away. When she returned her gaze to him, she ignored their previous exchange and went back to his earlier statement.
“My brother and I are none of your business,” she snapped. “And I haven’t been a ‘girl’ in a long time. And really, we’re none of your business anyway.”
He smiled, and she realized that she’d repeated herself.
“Sure. Whatever,” he said, still beaming. “Just a friendly word of advice.”
Before she could speak, the waitress came over with her shake and fries, though her encounter with this man, the nervous anticipation and just plain nervousness he sparked, had more than taken her appetite.
“Wow. My favorites,” he said with the enthusiasm of a child as he grabbed a fry and dipped it into the shake. Just as she had planned to, but she brushed that thought aside.
“God, you are rude. You sit uninvited, offer unsolicited and unwelcome advice, and then you help yourself to my meal. What is it you wanted again?” she said, hating the little hint of a pout that had sneaked into her voice.
“Just wanted to say hello to a familiar face. You looked like you needed company.”
“Well I didn’t, and I don’t.”
She was in full-on pout now, chided herself for it, but she couldn’t seem to stop. And then he smiled yet again, and her petulance swerved close to rage, which was no doubt stamped on her face.
“And don’t smile at me!”
Which only made him smile even brighter.
“Whatever. I’m outta here. I gotta go…feed my cat. Enjoy the fries, asshole,” she said as she walked out, his laugh following behind her.
Chapter Four
Am I really this crazy? I don’t remember being this crazy.
But that was the only explanation Shayla could come up with for why, the next week, she was pulling into the parking lot, prepared to go play doctor at what was, for all intents and purposes, an illegal underground fight with a little gambling—she believed the federal government called it racketeering—mixed in for flavor.
After she parked, Ian met her at the door, and he was smart enough not to look happy to see her. Instead, he wore a solemn, apologetic face, as if to convey that he was sorry things had to be this way.
Jesus.
Times like these she wished she’d had a sister.
Still solemn, he led her on a brief tour, pointing out the dressing rooms and the “clinic” as he called it, a tucked-away corner with a couple of stretchers, a sink, and drab lighting that made it clear that whoever organized these shindigs didn’t find medical care a top priority.
“Damn, Ian. If someone does get hurt, I wouldn’t be able to see well enough to fix them in here anyway.”
“You won’t be doing surgery, Shay. In fact, you probably won’t be doing anything at all. You’re just an insurance policy.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He smiled. “Come on. You can sit back here or walk around out front if you’d like. Just stay where I can find you if need be.”
“I’ll stay here, then. I’ve had enough of the ‘entertainment.’ How long do these things last, anyway?”
“A couple, three, four hours, maybe.”
“I have to work tomorrow! I can’t sit here all night.”
“Shay, it’s fine. Everything’s under control,” Ian said softly.
She scoffed. “Don’t fucking try to manage me.”
“I’m telling Nana on you, potty mouth,” he said teasingly.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled in spite of herself.
“Whatever,” she waved a hand at him, “just hurry up.”
“All right. I’ll come check on you later.”
Ian scurried away.
Shayla sat on one of the folding chairs and waited. She fiddled with her phone, but barely had a signal, so that was out. Then she briefly considered napping, having long ago learned to steal sleep when she could, but another quick glance around the room nixed that idea. She was unwilling to risk someone, or God forbid, something like a rat—she shivered—sneaking up on her. And so she sat, literally twiddling her thumbs.
She made it all of five minutes before she gave up. She wasn’t a prisoner, not yet anyway, so she sure as hell wasn’t going to sit in this little hole like one. And maybe she’d see a little eye candy, one specific piece in particular. The thought was ridiculous, she knew. Even if she disregarded that rage-inducing incident at the Diner, he was entirely unsuitable. At best, the man’s attendance at the fights revealed that he had extremely unseemly hobbies; at worst, it revealed that he was a part of this world, one of the people who contributed to the suffering she saw every day, the pain, sadness, and desolation that she tried to fight against in her small way. The thought curdled in her stomach and pushed away that spark of excitement she didn’t want to acknowledge. The man was trouble; it was plain to see, and she didn’t need or want him, or anyone like him, in her life.
Still, the thought of the thrill that seeing him would bring couldn’t be squelched. And besides, she remained bored, so she stood and walked toward the noise of the crowd. Standing on the edge of the dressing area, she scanned the room, slightly, but only slightly, less surprised by the euphoria that reigned. Then, as if guided by magnetic force, her gaze found him. He stood several inches taller than his companions, but beyond his height and physical presence,
and the warm, friendly smile that covered his face as he spoke, that unnameable but equally undeniable pull that drew her to him confirmed his identity.
Her gaze lingered, the knowledge that he was trouble fading in the face of his warm appeal, and after a moment, he tilted his head in her direction, the smile on his face dropping, but not in anger or upset. No, after a flash of recognition, his gaze turned molten, an intense, exposed expression of desire clear for anyone who cared to see.
She quirked an eyebrow and licked her suddenly dry lips. Then he flashed a wicked smile and made his way toward her. Shayla stayed rooted to her spot, anxious, annoyed, and more excited than she dared acknowledge at the prospect of speaking to him. In what felt like the blink of an eye, he stood in front of her, a smile turning his lips and his eyes still carrying their wanton invitation.
“I was hoping to se—”
His words were cut off by the roar of the crowd.
••••
The woman, Dr. Shayla Rodgers, looked at the ring, all of those subtle traces of the interest that had shone in her eyes now gone. She was on alert, ready to jump in. Demon looked toward the ring just as another vicious blow was delivered.
Shayla seemed poised to step toward the ring, but he stilled her with a hand to her shoulder.
“Wait, you can’t go up there.”
“But he’s hurt…”
“Just wait a second, okay?” he said.
She pursed her lips, appearing ready to rebel, but she waited. A moment later, a security guard pulled the loser out of the ring, and Shayla relaxed an increment.
“I’m sorry. I have to go. I need to check him out.”
In a rush, she was headed toward the dressing room. Demon debated whether or not to follow, but he ultimately stayed put. She was in the zone, so he’d let her work, and besides, if the guy really was hurt, Demon didn’t want to interfere with his treatment. So he waited for her, and after fifteen minutes, he went into the back and found the losing fighter, ribs now wrapped in an ACE bandage.
“Where’s the doc?”
The guy shrugged, looking dejected, and Demon went off to search.
He found her outside the warehouse.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone, Shayla,” he said.
She looked at him, gaze wary, but she didn’t seem startled. “How’d you know my name?”
He shrugged. “It seemed worth knowing, so I found out.”
That got him a slight smile.
“Huh,” she huffed noncommittally, seeming to dismiss the topic. “And why shouldn’t I be out here alone? Can’t imagine there’s anything worse out here than what’s in there, except maybe you,” she said, her voice weary.
He couldn’t argue the point and instead stood next to her, waiting in silence.
After a moment, she said, “Shouldn’t you be off doing whatever it is people do at these things?” Her tone was sharp, her stance defensive and unwelcoming, but the fact that she stayed in place suggested that she wasn’t as opposed to him or his company as her harsh words might indicate.
“Not at all. That shit is old news; you’re far more interesting.”
She snorted. “Interesting? No. More like misguided, foolish, and totally fucking crazy. What the hell am I doing here?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” He echoed her question, unable to resist the desire to appease his curiosity.
“Excellent question,” she said and looked up at him, giving what he suspected was the first genuine smile she’d had this day. “I wish I had an answer.” She shrugged. “But enough about me. You seem pretty popular.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth, the sight an encouraging departure from the coldness that had pervaded only moments ago.
He suddenly felt a bit sheepish, pictures of the many, many woman he’d seen at similar events flashing through his mind.
“Oh, so you’ve asked around about me too, eh?”
She shook her head. “I have eyes, man. You were practically working the presidential rope line in there.”
It was his turn to shrug noncommittally. “I know people.”
“Oh, so vague,” she said rubbing her hands together with exuberant glee. “I smell a story. Wanna share?”
“No story, really. I’ve been around a while, get out here and there.” For some reason, he felt the need to downplay his level of connection with the fights. He wasn’t ashamed, and in the grand scheme of things, he was not remotely important, but somehow, being in the company of such a decent person who was so clearly disturbed by what she’d seen made him want to disavow any tie at all.
“Don’t try to downplay it, Demon,” she said sternly, her brow quirked.
Apparently she was psychic too.
“Okay. Well, I used to help with certain… promotional aspects of the fights. I don’t anymore, but people know me. I’m not ashamed of that.”
“Surprising. You seem to be honest at least.” She assessed him with a detached gaze for a few moments. “There’s something to be said for that.”
Then her mood shifted and her eyes went bright. “And what’s with the name, dude?”
“My name is awesome,” he said, eager to change the subject and finding he rather enjoyed the more teasing side of Shayla.
She laughed, totally unrestrained. “Awesome. That’s one word. Not that I can talk. I mean, ridiculous nickname and”—she looked him up and down—“terrible tie aside, you, unlike me, aren’t violating an oath and possibly committing a felony just by being here.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with my tie?” He let the felony comment slide for the moment.
“Since you asked, the color is all wrong for your complexion, and that pattern is abysmal. You should go simple, elegant. Your look is strong enough; you don’t need embellishment.”
“I’m perfect as I am, you say?” he said, his tone flirtatious.
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d said, and she blushed, looking like a much-younger woman for a moment before she masked her expression.
“That is a strictly professional opinion,” she said, keeping her face straight, but the laughter was still clear in her eyes. “I’ll have you know that my sage fashion advice has cemented relationships.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “One of my best friends swears I’m the reason she’s married.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, one of my best friends said the same thing about the tie.”
They both laughed, the last bit of tension in her frame fleeing. As their laughter trailed into silence, they stood facing each other, and he felt the continuing thawing in her, enjoying the spark between them, that burgeoning potential of something new. Then the moment shifted, and in a flash, the playful teasing deepened, and he was aware of the thrum of arousal beginning to stir in his groin and spike between them.
She felt it, too. He could see it in the rapid pulse that beat in her neck, in the way that she opened her stance, seeming to lean into him unconsciously, in the way she moistened her lips, pink tongue darting out, tempting him to chase it.
And he did.
Without pausing for a second thought, he moved closer to her, the heat from her smaller, softer frame drawing him. This was as close as he’d been to her before, and he was struck by how small she seemed. She projected such a strong, ferocious presence that he’d never noticed how short she was, her head only reaching the middle of his chest. She also had a delicate frame, but she was stacked with thick curves, especially her hips and thighs and luscious backside, which was a rounded perfection that made his palms tingle with the desire to grip it, run his hands over the undoubtedly silky skin, watch the flesh bounce as he took her from behind.
And there was something beyond desire. He felt…protective, wanted to hold her close and guard her, keep her away from all of the danger in the world. Starting with the creep that had brought her here. Something to consider, but for now, her tasty-looking lips, shiny with a thin layer of gloss, called.
&
nbsp; He leaned even closer, hovered his lips over hers, feeling a rush of pride when she released a frustrated breath and leaned up, not making contact but leaving no doubt of her desire for it. He closed the minuscule distance, sealed his lips to hers, exploring, tasting, and teasing, the places where her smooth jaw brushed his stubbled face, setting off amazing sparks of sensation.
And she returned his ardor, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him to her until their bodies touched, her smallish breasts, with their prominent nipples stabbing at his chest, smashed against him, the gentle slope of her stomach resting against his erection. He responded in kind, pressing her closer still, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and palming the full globes of her ass, the flesh a tantalizing mix of soft and firm that made him want to strip her pants off her so that he could see as he felt. But instead, he placed a thigh between hers, forcing her to straddle his leg and open to him, the warmth radiating from her pussy making him want to explore.
Her hands roamed his back and chest, her breath, what she could find through the kiss, now harsh little pants. He needed to touch her, feel her skin beneath his hands, mold her—
“Shay? You out here?”
The voice was like a cannon and instantly, Demon was on the defensive, pulling Shayla closer and looking around for the source of the noise. The glance revealed her companion—Demon recognized him by sight but had been too distracted by the doctor to dig too deep into the guy’s background beyond learning his name, and that he had little regard for his sister—standing in the still-open doorway, haloed by the harsh neon lights of the warehouse.
“Who are you with?” he said sharply, and when he stepped out of the doorway, the softer light of the alley revealed his disapproving expression.
“Um…um,” Shayla stammered a moment and then recovered. “Do you—Do you need me?”
Ian didn’t respond, gaze bouncing from Demon to Shayla and back. Demon set his face in a grim line, not attempting to hide or shrink away from Ian and not responding to Shayla’s attempt to put space between them.
