by Tara Wyatt
“That’s why I’m here, princess. To keep you safe.” He eased his foot off the gas slightly, keeping his speed consistent with the traffic around him.
Alexa pried her fingers away from the seat belt and hugged herself, turning toward him and biting her lower lip in a way that had blood flowing south of his waist, despite the tense situation they were in. “I like it when you call me that.”
He shrugged. “Well, I figured that, if we’re dating, I’d probably have a nickname for you.” Now wasn’t the time to tell her that he’d spent the past year thinking of her as a princess. Not in a spoiled, untouchable way, but as someone who deserved the best of everyone around her. Kindness and protection and everything good in life.
“Oh, right. Good call.” Her face fell slightly for a second, and then she managed a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He didn’t have time to dig into what her reaction meant, and he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, needing to focus completely on their surroundings. He glanced in the rearview mirror again, keeping tabs on the black sedan, which had gained a car-length on them, still following.
He scanned the traffic around them, on the lookout for anything suspicious, wondering if they had more company than just the one vehicle. The traffic on West Olympic wasn’t heavy, despite the fact that they were hitting the tail end of rush hour. Low-lying stucco buildings faced the street, the cracked sidewalks devoid of pedestrians. Scruffy palms and overgrown cedars lined the road, dotting the gated yards of the few residences on the street. Now that he knew they were dealing with the Golden Brotherhood, he needed every protective instinct on constant high alert. Using the SUV’s Bluetooth system, he called Sean.
“Owens.”
“I’m with Alexa, headed to the gym. We’ve picked up a tail. Black Toyota Camry, newish. Blacked-out windows, so no idea how many inside. Plate is six-Foxtrot-Romeo-November-one-six-four.”
“Got it. I’ll send Priestley out after you to keep tabs, and I’ll call it in to Morales, let her know what’s up. What’s your POA?”
“Plan of action is to proceed as normal, like I haven’t noticed the tail. Still heading to the gym. ETA is under ten minutes, give or take five for traffic.”
“Check in when you get there. Morales will run the plate. Maybe that’ll tell us more about who’s following you.”
“Right,” Zack said, nodding. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it was the Brotherhood who was following them. The real question was why. Did they know what Alexa knew? That she’d hired security?
“Stick to your plan, keep eyes on Alexa, and Colt’s backing you up. He’ll loop back to the gym and keep an eye on things once the tail’s taken care of.”
Zack disconnected the call, his knuckles protesting at the iron grip he kept wrapped around the steering wheel. “Does your father ever have you followed? Keep tabs on you?” he asked.
Alexa frowned. “Not that I’ve noticed, but I haven’t exactly been looking for that kind of thing.”
Zack’s jaw tightened, tension shooting down his neck and straining his muscles. “Can you think of anyone else who might follow you? A fan? A stalker? Paparazzi?”
She looked lost as she shook her head again, her blond waves fluttering against her face. “No. I don’t think so. But my father’s not happy that I moved out, and he knows about the break-in. He’s…protective isn’t the right word at all, but he’s…he’s territorial. It’s not impossible that he’d have me followed just to keep an eye on me. It doesn’t necessarily mean that he knows anything.”
Zack glanced at her. “It also doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know. We have to treat this as a threat. For me to keep you safe, I need to prepare for the worst case scenario.”
“Yeah, well, Dad figuring out that I know the truth and that I’m helping the LAPD investigate him is pretty much as worst case scenario as it gets.”
Zack nodded, her words hanging between them. She was risking a lot. Not just her relationship with her family, but potentially her own safety. He couldn’t even imagine the complicated shit she was struggling with. He pursed his lips, mulling over the question he wanted to ask. He licked his lips and then opened his mouth, unable to contain his curiosity. “You mentioned in Morales’s office that your father had hurt you. What happened?”
She took a deep breath, and as she released it, it looked as though she were deflating, collapsing in on herself like a balloon he’d just pierced with a needle. “Is that your gym?” She pointed at the big black-and-yellow Take Down sign as he turned onto West Pico. Changing the subject. Interesting. And doing nothing to satisfy his curiosity.
He debated for a second whether to press her on it, but as he swung the SUV into the Take Down parking lot, he decided to let it go. For now. But he wanted to know—badly—just what she’d meant by that comment. Mainly because he needed to know just how badly to hurt Jonathan Fairfax when he got his hands on him. No way was he going to let someone get away with hurting his girl.
Only she wasn’t really his girl. A detail—a fact—he was having a hard time holding on to.
He pulled the SUV into a space and threw it into park, then cut the ignition and came around to Alexa’s door. He pulled it open and helped her down, his eyes skimming the parking lot and the street beyond as Alexa’s body slid against his.
“Oh,” she said, the tiniest sound, as her breasts flattened against his chest. The black Camry turned the corner and headed toward them, not pulling into the parking lot, but slowing as it neared. Zack’s blood surged through his veins, and something hot and protective gripped him. He caged Alexa against the SUV, his palms flat against the vehicle, blocking her from view and shielding her from anything that might be coming their way.
He dipped his head and grazed his nose against her cheek, tracking the Camry in the side-view mirror of the SUV. “They’re driving by right now. Colt’s going to follow them, and we’re going to go inside. He’ll circle back and keep an eye on the gym. How you doing?”
She inhaled deeply, pressing her breasts against his chest again, and it took every ounce of control he had not to press his hips into her. But he couldn’t let himself get caught up in their charade. It was far too risky. Far too dangerous.
“I’m okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes for a second and, with his nose pressed to her temple, inhaled the coconut scent of her shampoo, but he held himself in check. God, a dangerously large part of him wanted to say, “Fuck pretending” and find out just how good it would feel to kiss her.
When she spoke again, her voice was firmer. “I’m okay.” Her eyes flashed up to his. “Thanks.”
He swallowed and nodded, glancing back at the side-view mirror. The Camry had passed, and he knew he should step back. But damn, it felt good being so close to her. “They’re gone. For now.”
She patted his chest, letting her hand linger against his pec. “That was a good move. I think…” She swallowed before continuing, her fingers circling over his pec and driving him insane. His fucking traitor of a brain imagined those fingers wrapped around his cock, which swelled in response. “I think Sean’s plan was a good idea.”
“The plan to pretend.” He held her eyes as he spoke, and her pupils dilated as she stared up at him, the black eating up nearly all of that stormy silvery blue.
“Yeah. Pretend.”
For several seconds they stood completely still, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Her eyes moved to his mouth, down his body, back to his mouth, and, finally, back to his eyes. He didn’t move, letting her gaze wander over him. Last night, when he’d nearly kissed her, he’d been surprised that she’d wanted it as much as he had. Maybe this wasn’t entirely pretend for her either. The thought sent need and something hot and possessive rippling through him.
But even if she wanted him, she was holding back. He’d seen it in her eyes last night and again just now when he’d asked her about how her father had hurt her. He had fighting and a less-than-stellar
dating track record as his reasons for holding back, not to mention that she was a client. What were hers? Did it matter? She wasn’t his, and he needed to keep reminding himself of that.
“I feel safe with you,” she said, still circling her fingers over his chest.
He pried one of his hands away from the SUV and laid it over hers, holding her fingers over his heart, which thumped against her touch. “You should. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Alexa.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Including pretend to be my boyfriend, which has got to be above and beyond the call of duty.”
He eased back slightly, the intensity between them fading out, just a little. “Yeah. It’s such a hardship pretending to date a beautiful, sweet, smart woman like you.” He winked and turned to grab his gear bag to stop himself from hauling her against him and showing her what a hardship it was.
Chapter 12
For the past forty-five minutes, Alexa had stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze from Zack’s gorgeously muscular and shirtless body. Although she’d seen him fight before, she was now riveted by the mass of tattooed skin and athletic muscle moving in a violent clash less than ten feet away from her. Zack and his sparring partner moved fluidly around each other, their feet never stopping, gloved fists darting out with impressive speed. Several other spectators circled around the octagonal cage to watch, murmured conversation blending with the music throbbing through the gym’s speakers. Zack kicked at his opponent, sending him stumbling back into the chain-link fencing lining the octagon. The cage rattled as the man pushed off it and launched himself at Zack, sweeping his feet out from under him with a low kick. On his way down, Zack managed to get his legs around his opponent’s torso, and he tumbled him to the ground. Lightning fast, Zack climbed on top of his sparring partner, practically mounting him, and Alexa’s stomach quivered. His muscles, slick with sweat, strained and flexed as he struggled against his opponent, and she traced all those gorgeous lines on his arms, on his back, on his thighs, with her eyes. The tips of her fingers tingled, and she licked her lips, heat flushing through her. What would it feel like to be underneath all that muscle, to be surrounded and pinned down by all that strength?
The fighters were back on their feet, and she drank in the sight of Zack, his hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving. Something pushed up right into the center of her chest, lodging there, a hot, heavy, frustrated weight that made her want to pace and fidget and scream. Back in the parking lot, she’d wanted so badly to kiss him. To pull him against her and chase away the fear and the worry and the guilt, to obliterate them with the feel of his mouth on hers. She’d never wanted to kiss a man like that. Wanted his mouth for purely selfish, greedy reasons. Wanted it for her own pleasure, and not necessarily his. Wanted him for herself, not because someone had told her to. Not because it would help her career somehow.
Reciting it like a prayer, she went through the litany of reasons she couldn’t allow herself to go there with Zack. The fact that he’d dated her friend, whom he’d chosen first. Her past, which was complicated, to say the least. The upheaval she’d gone through over the past couple of days. The dangerous investigation she’d signed up for.
What if, somehow, her father knew she was helping the police? She shivered as a chill worked its way down her spine at the sobering thought. Tomorrow they’d have dinner with her family, and she’d find a way to plant those bugs throughout the house. She’d studied them, memorizing the weight and feel of them, reciting over and over again Morales’s instructions about where to place them and how to activate them. Hopefully, once the bugs were in place, she could step back and let Morales, the LAPD, and the FBI take over.
She didn’t know what would happen once the bugs were in place. She didn’t want to think about it, because when she did she almost drowned under the confusing eddy of guilt and anger and sadness that pulled at her. Guilt over what she was doing, anger at everything her father had done, sadness that so much of her life, of what she knew, had been a lie. She’d broken herself for him, to make him happy and keep the peace, to live up to the expectations he’d held. She wasn’t sure if helping the authorities take him down would help her feel whole again, or just break her even further.
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding it together, somehow. She glanced around the gym, and for a second she felt as though she were floating. Everything took on a surreal yet harsh quality. The fluorescent lights were too bright, the music and conversation around her too loud, the scent of sweat and rubber and leather too strong. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath, fighting back the panic threatening to take hold. Another breath. Another. Her skittering heart slowed, and she opened her eyes.
Zack had locked his sparring partner’s arm between his legs at what looked like an excruciating angle, and the other man tapped his free hand rapidly against the mat. Zack released him immediately and hopped to his feet, catching her gaze and sending her a smile and a wink. Something settled over her, a peaceful sense of security, and the lingering panic subsided.
She didn’t have words for how grateful she was to have him on her side. He made her feel safe and protected in a way she never had before. And yet she hoped this situation was over as soon as possible because, although they’d barely begun, she wasn’t sure how much more pretending she—her heart, her brain, her long-dormant libido—could take. She was trying to keep it together, but every time he touched her, she felt as if she could come undone. She’d never responded to a man’s touch that way before, and it unnerved her.
A trainer yanked open the padded door to the octagon and stepped in. Zack and the other man listened as he gave them feedback. Then they followed him out and toward a long row of punching bags on the other side of the room. She followed, obeying Zack’s instruction to stay close. As if she could’ve done anything else.
Zack worked the bag, connecting with a series of punches and elbows, correcting his form when his coach gave him pointers. She watched, completely fascinated by the way his muscles moved beneath his skin. Fascinated by all that controlled strength, all that deadly accuracy. His fight was fast approaching, and her stomach clenched hotly at the thought of watching him again.
She lost track of time as she watched him, her only marker the fact that it was now completely dark outside. Around her the gym was slowly but steadily emptying, but Zack was still practicing what looked like various grappling holds with his coach. Finally, his coach patted him on the back, dismissing him and ending the training session. But instead of heading toward the locker room, Zack turned and made a beeline for her.
“I talked to Jenks, and he said we can stay for a while,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of his coach.
“Why do you want to stay? Are you worried about leaving because of what happened earlier?”
“No. I want to teach you some basic self-defense because of what happened earlier.”
“You…Oh. Um…I’ve never, you know…” She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not exactly Ronda Rousey.”
He smiled, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “It’s okay, princess. I don’t expect you to be a ninja.” Something in his expression darkened, and he stepped closer. “But I need to do everything to keep you safe, and that includes giving you the skills to defend yourself. Self-defense isn’t about beating up someone else. It’s about getting away from your attacker as effectively as possible so you can get someplace safe. I’d also like to teach you how to throw a basic punch and kick so that you can do the most damage without hurting yourself should the need arise. Plus it might help relieve a little stress. Might feel good to move.” She barely concealed the shiver that raced through her at the idea of relieving stress and feeling good and moving with Zack. Her mind was taking that comment in a completely different way than he’d intended.
She swallowed, her mouth a little dry. “I don’t like violence.”
He took a step closer, and suddenly his ha
nds, still wrapped in black fabric, were on her shoulders. Even through all the fabric separating them, she could feel the heat, the weight of his touch. “And I don’t like the idea of you getting hurt because I failed to teach you how to look after yourself.”
The truth of his words settled over her, and she nodded. “Okay. Teach me what to do.”
He led her to a quiet corner of the gym with a punching bag and several mats set up on the floor. He faced her with his arms crossed. “The most important thing to remember is hard to soft. That means using the hardest parts of your body,” he said, reaching out toward her, “your elbows, your knuckles, your knees, even your head.” He gently tapped each part of her body as he named it, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to put a shirt on or not. It’d be a shame to cover up all that glorious skin and muscle, but it was also immensely distracting. She tore her eyes away from his abs and forced herself to pay attention.
“You want to use these parts against the softest, most vulnerable parts of your attacker,” he continued. “You’re not Ronda Rousey, but if you jab someone in the eye with your fingers, it’ll hurt regardless of how much bigger than you they are. So use the hardest parts to go for the eyes, the nose, the throat, and, of course, the groin.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
He smiled, the skin around his deep-brown eyes crinkling. “I’m going to show you a few moves that exploit these weak areas. Now say someone is coming at you like this…”
He spent the next hour showing her how to break various holds and how to exploit those soft areas. What to do if someone grabbed her arm, her leg, her torso, from various angles. She’d been hesitant starting out, but she’d improved as the lesson went on, gaining confidence and speed. His touch had been distracting at first, but as she’d focused on the lesson, she’d gotten used to the feel of his hands on her.
Her panties were soaked, and her entire body was throbbing, that throb only getting hotter and heavier with each touch, making her want more.
