“No. I won’t.” She didn’t make much as an Ice Girl, but she could live off her salary and let the one hundred thousand dollars she’d won by becoming captain gain interest in the bank until she needed it to start her figure skating school. One good thing had come from the phone call, though. If Cort had Scott’s stamp of approval, she could accept his offer and not waste money on a cab. Or embarrass herself by telling the cabbie she could only pay him once she got home.
Yes, because that’s the priority. Not being embarrassed.
The cold from her wet clothes seeped into her bones. She trembled but kept her tone steady as she ended the call with Scott, promising she’d call him later to let him know that she’d gotten home okay. She hung up and went to put the phone in her purse. Then dropped back against her car when she remembered that her purse was gone. And this wasn’t her phone.
“He knew my name?” Cort asked, making no move to take his phone back. Such a little thing, but it made her a bit more comfortable with him.
Aside from the anger when he’d learned that she’d been robbed, he’d been pretty cool about everything. Not pushy, just there. She nodded slowly. “Yes. He said you can fix my car.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that he knows the only thing that needs to be fixed is new keys.”
“The locks have to be changed.” Cort rolled his shoulders. He gave her an unreadable look, then took a step back. “I can do that. Pay for the parts and we can both feel good about ourselves.” His cheek creased slightly as he smiled. “Did your . . . friend say it was okay for me to give you a lift?”
“He did. I don’t live far.” She shifted her feet, eyeing her bags. Technically, she could walk, but it was cold. Getting colder by the second. And there was no way she could manage the bags all the way. “I’d appreciate it.”
Cort nodded, then grabbed her bags before she could touch them. He stashed them in the trunk of his car—a classic something-or-another. Long, sleek, and black. She liked it. She bit her lip when he opened the passenger’s side door for her, anxiety squeezing deep in her guts. Whatever Scott said, Cort was a stranger. Getting in the car with him could lead to . . .
“Hey, Tiny, you don’t got nothin’ to worry about. My intentions are . . .” His lips slanted. “Decent. I won’t jump you, but I may ask you to come out for a drink with me if you don’t look like you’re gonna bolt.” He winked. “I’ll work up the courage on the drive.”
Oh, she liked him. Which was weird, because she didn’t “like” many men. And never those who would ask her out for a drink. She wrinkled her nose, slipping into the seat with her brow arched at him. “I hope you word it better when you do ask.”
“I got a block or two to work on it.”
“More like ten.” She felt a flush rise on her cheeks. This was good. She was talking to a man without freaking out. After being mugged, she was surprised she didn’t feel like going straight to the club to let Sir hold her. Remind her that she wasn’t weak. That bad things happened, but she’d be okay. She was okay.
“Plenty of time then.” Cort’s lips thinned as she shivered. He reached into the backseat and brought out a threadbare, plaid thermal blanket. His knuckles brushed the side of her neck as he tried to spread the blanket over her. He let it go the second she flinched. Straightened and backed away. “It’s clean. And it’ll keep you warm.”
“Thank you.” Akira spoke so quietly, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her. His brief touch had made her feel . . . she couldn’t explain it, but she wasn’t so cold anymore. She kept her eyes down and did up her seat belt, covering herself with the blanket as Cort closed the door. He went around the car to get in behind the wheel. She bit her lip and glanced over at him. “I’m glad you showed up when you did.”
“So am I.” The steering wheel creaked as Cort tightened his grip on it. “As much as I wish I could’ve gotten my hands on that guy, I’m glad he was already gone. That all he wanted was your purse.”
Akira shivered, not from the cold this time. “Yeah. It could have been worse.”
Much, much worse.
* * * *
The small woman hurried ahead of Cort, trembling as she opened the door to the apartment lobby. She hesitated by the buzzer, then tested the second glass door. It opened readily.
Real safe.
He carried the bags she’d tried to take from him up the stairs, hardly noticing their weight but wondering how she’d carried them as far as she had. One bag had either barbells or about five dozen apples in it. Another had twenty pounds of potatoes. A swing and she could have taken out the fucker who mugged her, but her arms had probably been sore. Either way, it didn’t matter. She hadn’t gotten hurt.
But how close she’d come pissed him off more than it should.
As they climbed up to the top floor, he took the opportunity to really look her over, if only from behind. Hell, he wasn’t blind. She was a looker. Five foot nothing, if that. Long hair he ached to bury his hands in, pure black fucking silk with a sheen of dark chocolate in the light. Her army green eyes had captured him from her first glance, but he couldn’t help but stare at her tiny butt, swaying a few steps above him, soaked blue jeans plastered to the nice, round cheeks. His baser urges and plain logic were at war. He’d never dated—or fucked—a woman as small as . . . damn, he didn’t even know her name.
And, hell, he didn’t want to fuck her anyway. He rarely hung around one place long enough to offer a woman more, so he knew how to get down to the basics, but this little sweetheart didn’t need that from him. She needed to know he was here just to help her out. End game. He hadn’t missed the fear in her eyes when he’d first approached her. That didn’t come from being mugged. That fear was bone-fucking-deep.
Smart chick though, getting the okay from a friend before accepting a ride. He wasn’t sure who she’d talked to—he knew a lot of people—but if the guy had given her the green light, he wasn’t one of the lowlifes Cort usually dealt with. Someone who would have told her to run just in case Cort decided she’d make good collateral.
Not that he’d ever used a woman to get a man to pay up. Yeah, he’d threatened to, but his reputation was usually enough to get a man to find the money he owed before Cort had to live up to it. He wasn’t proud of the things he’d done in his old job, but he’d never had to bury anyone.
Only one man that had ever crossed him had ended up in the ground.
Above him, the small woman, who he’d dubbed “Tiny,” twisted a doorknob, hesitating before pushing as though she wasn’t sure it was locked. The door swung open and she groaned, clearly not happy.
She shook her head, glancing back at him. “You’d think, growing up in New York, she’d know better.”
He grunted, following her inside. Apparently, she didn’t live alone. Two points for her, and minus about twenty for her roommate. What kind of New Yorker didn’t lock up?
“Sahara?” The woman strode ahead of him, letting out a sharp sound of distress at a Crash! She disappeared into a room down the hall. He dropped the bags and followed her.
“I’m fine, hon, just drank a bit too much.” In the room, sprawled out on the bed, a slender blonde shook her head, her cheeks wet with tears. A broken lamp lay on the floor by the bed. “I shouldn’t have gone to the club.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” His Tiny stroked the blond woman’s hair. “He was playing with someone else?”
“Of course! And he wouldn’t even look at me!” Blondie sobbed, curling into a ball and holding her stomach like it hurt. “I was . . . bad. Dominik spanked me, then held me, then told me to go home. I thought he’d tell me not to come back.”
The man spanked you? And you wanted to go back? Cort backed away from the door, sure the women didn’t want him hearing this. Still, he couldn’t help but bristle at the way Blondie talked like she’d deserved it. What the fuck did I walk in on?
Even from the kitchen, he could hear them clearly. Blondie wasn’t exactly soft-spoken. She exploded when Tiny asked if Dominik had
agreed to train her.
“No! I’m stuck with Shawn and Chicklet. And I don’t want to submit to them—there’s only one man I want—”
“How much did you drink, Sahara?”
“I don’t know. How much was left in the bottle of whiskey?”
“Aw, sweetie. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Tiny paused. “We have practice tomorrow.”
“I took some vitamins. Drank some Gatorade.” Blondie laughed. “With a sleeping pill.”
“You’re not supposed to drink with those.”
No kidding. Cort scowled as he lifted up a grocery bag. He spotted a tub of ice cream at the top—decided to put it away. Then went to work placing everything else from the bags.
“My ex said the same thing. He didn’t care that I slept just fine before him.” Blondie sobbed. “I’m so tired, babe. Why can’t anyone good want me?”
“They will.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. One day. You’re so lucky. I would do anything to have a man like Dominik.”
“He’s not mine, sweetie. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t go to the club. I’m not used to seeing him with the other girls yet.”
What an asshole. Cort pulverized a banana in his fist. What kind of jerk would make such a sweet chick deal with his other women? The situation was getting scary familiar. A life he’d gotten out of a long time ago, but one he’d grown up in. His mom had dealt with his asshole of a father’s floozies without a word of complaint. Cort had promised her as a little boy that he’d always love only her. When he’d grown up enough to know that wasn’t realistic, he’d amended his promise to her always holding a special place in his life. And if he ever got married, his woman would never doubt he was committed to her.
The girls’ chatter softened so he couldn’t hear them anymore. He cleaned his hands, finished putting everything away, then eyed the door, wondering if he should just go. Maybe leave Tiny a note with his number. Just in case . . . whatever.
He found a pen in a little magnetic holder on the fridge, along with a to-do list pad of paper. He’d just started jotting down his message when he heard a soft throat clearing behind him.
“Going somewhere?” Tiny stepped into the kitchen, fingering one of the empty bags he’d left on the countertop. Without meeting his eyes, she handed him his cell. “What about that drink?”
“Figured you’d want to take care of your girl.” Cort stuffed his phone in his pocket and waited for the sound of Blondie puking. He had a feeling Tiny would forget all about him if she did.
Which made it hard not to smile. Nothing he respected more than a loyal friend.
Tiny sighed, nodding slowly. “I won’t feel comfortable leaving her like this, but she’s sleeping. This will be an issue in the morning. Sorry you had to hear that.”
Shrugging, he replaced the pen. “Didn’t hear nothin’.”
“Liar.”
“’Kay, I’ll pretend like I didn’t.” He grinned when she laughed. Damn, that sound was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. He pressed back against the counter, resisting the sudden urge to go to her. To touch her. That wouldn’t go over well. But the drink invite . . . “So, if you’re not going out…?”
Her lips curved slightly. “Then you’re staying in? We have a fully-stocked liquor cabinet. And beer. What’s your poison?”
Tempting little woman? Fuck, he’d never wanted to smile at a chick this much unless she was stripping for him. Tiny needed to strip, but mostly because her jeans were soaked. He didn’t like that she’d gone to take care of her friend but hadn’t taken care of herself.
“A beer would be nice if you’ll have one with me.” One brow arched, he looked her over pointedly. “Once you’re out of those wet clothes.”
“Umm . . . yeah, I should get changed.” She chewed at her bottom lip in a way that made it very hard for him to stay put. Kissing was something he usually did so a woman didn’t feel used, but with Tiny, he just wanted one little taste of those soft lips.
Not that he’d be satisfied with one. He bit back a grin as she scurried down the hall and ducked into another room. Guess he’d get their beers.
Moments later, she joined him on the weird, patchwork sofa, wearing black jogging pants and a big, faded Hello Kitty sweatshirt, thanking him as he uncapped her beer for her. She turned the TV on, flipping the channel from a replay of a Dartmouth Cobras game. She went through a dozen channels, not showing any interest in the late night chick flicks or sitcoms. He liked her more already.
She stopped on figure skating. Better than “Serendipity”. Kinda. His lips quirked as he sat back, taking a swig of beer. Tiny looked like the type who’d be into this stuff. He might be able to get somewhere offering to take her to see a show, but pretending to like something to get in a chick’s pants wasn’t his style. Since what was on TV was damn boring, he turned all his attention to the much more appealing sight before him. Long lashes, big, almond-shaped eyes, pink shading her soft cheeks. She was biting her bottom lip again, glancing from him to the screen as though she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“So, you said you moved back here?” she asked as though she needed to break the silence. “Were you born in the area?”
“No. I was born in Detroit. Moved here when I was a teen.” He made a face and scratched the side of his neck. “Had this crazy idea that I wanted to be a fisherman.”
She blinked, shifting to sit sideways, facing him. “A fisherman? Really?”
“Yeah. Watched too much extreme fishing as a kid. The real thing wasn’t all that exciting.”
“But being out on the ocean, working with your hands . . .” She cocked her head, looking him over. “Yep, I can see you liking that. Maybe you should have joined the Marines instead?”
“Not really an option.” He wouldn’t lie to her about why, but it was a little soon to start bringing up the unsavory parts of his past. If they ever went on a real date, he’d make sure she knew the basics. Besides, he wanted to know more about her. Starting with her age—be weird to just come out and ask, though. So he tried to find a tactful way to find out if she was at least over eighteen. Likely, since she was living on her own, but he never assumed shit like that. “What about you? Got any plans for when you graduate?”
“Graduate? What, college?” She wrinkled her nose. “I never went. My mom homeschooled me since training took too much time for a regular schedule. I graduated at sixteen, then spent the next few years doing that.” She nodded toward the TV. “I was good—just not good enough. I think I could teach it, though. I plan to open my own school.”
“That’s cool,” he said, meaning it. She wasn’t all down on herself for not reaching her first dream. Instead, she’d found another one. Part of him wondered, even if she wasn’t too young for him, maybe she was too good for him. Not like he was shit under anyone’s shoe, but there was a purity to her he’d ruin if he got too close. But being around her felt too good for him to think of leaving just yet. “I don’t get the appeal of dancing around half-naked on a pair of blades, but I can tell it takes some skill. Tough competition out there. Sucks that you stopped fighting for gold, but helping someone else get there would be pretty awesome.”
“Exactly.” She pursed her lips, studied him for a moment, then patted his arm and pointed at the TV. “Have you ever really watched figure skating? I know it’s not all manly, but appreciating beauty doesn’t make you any less of a man.”
Damn. He wished he’d taken off his jacket. All his muscles had tensed the second she’d touched him, as though they could absorb the brief contact. He took a deep breath, set his beer on the table, then shrugged off his jacket. “You make me want to give it a chance.”
“Good.” She smiled with clear approval, leaning against the sofa, just a few inches away from him. “Look at the way he lifts her up, the way she extends her body as he spins, trusting him not to drop her because she knows his strength.”
He looked. Really looked for the first time. The passion in Tiny�
�s tone was infectious. As the couple on-screen danced, pulling off impressive leaps, spinning around in time to the classical music, he had to admit it wasn’t as lame as he’d thought. When the next couple came on and the music changed, he found himself actually enjoying the show.
“You see?” This time, Tiny touched his bare forearm. And left her hand there, her eyes on his face. Heat pulsed through his veins as his gaze met hers. Her cheeks were even pinker. She’d stopped breathing.
“I see.” He brought his hand up to her cheek. Moved in until his lips brushed hers. So fucking soft. He smiled at the quiet, nervous giggle she let out as he kissed her. Added a bit of pressure as her breath caught. He tasted her lips, eased past them with his tongue when they parted. Her hands flattened against his chest as she rose up on her knees. She kissed him hard, desperation in the way her fingers bunched up in his shirt.
Then made a frustrated sound in her throat when he gently wrapped his hands around her arms and eased her back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Tiny. Just slow down a little.” He kept her in place as she tried to flounce off him, tightening his grip just a bit. Then he curved his hand under her jaw. “Hope you don’t think I need a show of gratitude or anything. You’re cute, but I would’ve done the same for any lady who looked like she was in trouble.”
“This isn’t gratitude, it’s . . .” She groaned, pressing her eyes shut as she shook her head. “Please let me go.”
He released her, not sure what to make of the way she scooted back to the corner of the couch, arms wrapped around her knees. He’d seen chicks get emotional before—usually his cue to leave—but he didn’t like seeing her upset. What did he have to do to get her smiling again?
“Tiny, did I—?”
She frowned at him. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because you’re . . . tiny.” He grinned at her huff. “And you never told me your name.”
“It’s A—Ace.” She was blushing again. Cute little liar. But “Ace” suited her well enough.
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 2
