Sledgehammer (Hard To Love Book 2)

by P. Dangelico

  If he only knew how dangerously close to the truth that is. Lifting my black wayfarers, I get a good look at the man inflicting the pain. White shirt, super stud sunglasses, worn jeans and some kind of bullshit limited edition sneakers. I shamelessly inspect each and every article of clothing he’s wearing, and as I do, I can feel my face twisting into a smirk.

  “What?”

  “It’s like a cry for help every time you get dressed.”

  “You can’t keep your eyes off me. Man up and admit it.”

  “I’ll admit you’re annoying. That’s what I’ll admit. And stop being so cheerful. That’s annoying, too.”

  “I didn’t even shower this morning. The pheromones I’m giving off are especially powerful.”

  “Lovely. Is that what that smell is? I thought you forgot a salami and provolone sandwich in the back seat.”

  “You can’t help yourself. I get it. I’m irresistible to women and you’re––” He looks me over with a provocative smirk. “––definitely a woman.”

  “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

  “It’s simple math,” the sexy bastard continues without a pause.

  If I thought for a minute there was any real arrogance behind those words it might have earned him a smack down. The thing is, I get the distinct impression that he truly doesn’t know the magnitude of his appeal. My gaze swings out the window as I wrestle with a smile that won’t stay down.

  “Here’s some simple math for you––two minus one equals this.” I flip him the bird.

  A deep chuckle draws my attention back to him. He’s smiling again, the genuine kind, the kind that makes me want to simultaneously pick out baby names and insert a gun in my mouth.

  Pulling off the road, onto a deserted parking lot, he parks the car. “Oh my God, it’s finally happened. I’ve driven you to murder and you’re too lazy to transport my body.”

  “Get out of the car.”

  “I am not going to walk into the woods and make this any easier for you.” I open the door and get out. Hands on hips, toe of my black sneakers tapping, I wait as he walks over to my side. When he reaches me he stands awfully close. Close enough that if he bends down, his mouth would be directly…

  He pries my hand open and places something in my palm. I stare, and stare, and stare. Car keys. Then I look up and stare at him some more. One side of his mouth hooks up. I don’t know why, but he looks a little unsure and a lot serious.

  “I’m going to teach you how to drive.”

  My stomach sinks, the smirk melting off my face. My pride keeps telling me he’s too good to be true. That I couldn’t possibly have gotten this lucky.

  I should’ve known better than to listen to my pride where my heart is concerned.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon driving around the empty parking lot, a stupid smile permanently tattooed on my face while Mr. Perfect pretended to sleep through it all. Ethan left the next day, taking a piece of me with him.

  Fancy: What are you wearing?

  Me: Nothing.

  Fancy: …

  Fancy: …

  Fancy: Really?

  Me: He he he.

  Funsize: Grady is moving. He’s going to live with his father.

  How to handle this? I’m probably the last person she should be seeking advice on Love from. That’s why I type and delete four different responses. And in the end, go with the only one that is true.

  Me: I’m sorry kiddo.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t this. I check the address on my cell phone one more time. Yep, I’m definitely in the right place. When Cassandra said sex shop, I thought––sex shop. I didn’t expect it to look like a Madison Ave boutique. The lingerie in the store window is stunning, a little more racy than Agent Provocateur, though not by far. I’m almost intimidated to walk in.

  Inside, I am immediately met by the soft, seductive sound of Astrud Gilberto. The lavender walls, the deep purple shantung silk accents scream sophistication. As I walk further into the store, I can’t resist running my fingers over the silk of the teddies, the Chantilly lace of the garters, the butter soft leather of the…what in the precious fuck is this thing?

  “Can I help you with something?” a deep, smooth voice inquires. Glancing past a display case of baffling sex instruments, I spot the owner of the voice. Dressed to the nines in a Narciso Rodriguez dress that slays on her tall, lithe frame, Cassandra arches a well groomed brow.

  “I sure hope so,” I answer with a smile.

  “Took you long enough,” she says, her open arms ready to wrap around me.

  “I’ve been busy trying to stay out of trouble.” Walking into her embrace, I hug her back.

  “By trouble I hope you mean that delicious lawyer you had bail me out.”

  “He is delicious, isn’t he?” I grumble sourly.

  “Cinder, that’s some prime beefcake you’ve got yourself there. What I wouldn’t do to wrap my lips around––”

  “Whoa.” I hold up a hand, putting the brakes on whatever she was about to say next. Looking around, I say aloud what I’ve been thinking since I walked in. “This shop is beautiful. How can you afford this?”

  She smiles knowingly. “Hmm, old boyfriend.”

  “The one you moved to New York for?”

  “Yeah. He left it to me in his will.”

  Oh, poop. I stepped in it now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he’d passed.”

  “That’s alright. It’s been years.” She looks me up and down. “Come on, you look like you could use a drink. Tammy,” she shouts over her shoulder, “You’re closing.”

  Happy hour is underway by the time we reach the Gansevoort Hotel in the meat packing district. The bar is jammed full of hipsters and suits. I recognize one or two from One Maple.

  “Are you, or are you not fucking him?”

  Two suits sitting at the next table turn to stare at us. Cringing. I’m cringing. “Don’t say it like that.”

  “How would you like me to say it? With an accent?”

  That elicits an unwilling smile out of me. “That’s not the point anyway.”

  “I beg to differ. That’s always the point.”

  “I’m moving. If I start something with him, then what?”

  “Oh…” Her dark eyes perform a thorough examination of my face. Elegantly, she crosses her long slender arms, after which I get another raised eyebrow. “You’re in love with him.”

  “I’m not in love with him.” My eyes dart to the skull themed art on the wall.

  “You’re in love with him,” she repeats, disappointment in her tone.

  “I may have developed an affection for him. Small, tiny little thing.”

  “That was stupid.”

  “I know,” I say morosely. I’m cringing again. She keeps echoing back all my concerns.

  “Don’t sleep with him.”

  “What??” My eyes full of surprise cut back to her. Needless to say, this is not what I was expecting.

  “You won’t move if you sleep with him.”

  My heart sinks. Feels like she just hit a nerve. “You think?” I say, and suck down my vodka gimlet.

  “Cinder, face the facts, you’re a romantic. And from one recovering romantic to another I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you sleep with him, you’ll eventually give him everything else as well––in other words, you’ll give up your career.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anticipation is a two sided blade. The butterflies, the giddy rush, all good things. The waiting? Mmnot so much. I’ve been wavering between elation every time the phone rings and bone deep loneliness when it doesn’t since he left. In other words, I miss him something terrible.

  It’s your typical Saturday night at One Maple. The bar jammed three rows deep, the customers demanding, the money rolling in. Until I spot an obscenely handsome man walk in. Then it’s no longer typical because Ethan has never come to visit me at work before. Just being in the same room with him makes m
e feel better.

  I take good measure of the man. Navy suit, impeccable white shirt, no tie. Then again he could make a dishrag look sexy. His almond shaped eyes roam until he finds me, his lips mirroring mine curve up. Walking through the room, he catches the attention of every pair of female and some male eyes in the general vicinity. Reaching the bar, he pushes his way past the crowd to the front, never breaking eye contact.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” I say, openly beaming.

  His smile fades, his expression suddenly grave––the happy vibe we were sharing a minute ago nowhere to be found.

  “Hey? What’s wrong?”

  “I missed you.”

  My stomach bottoms out and my throat closes up. It was a direct shot to the heart. “I missed you, too.” The words tumble out of my mouth without any thought to the consequences. Something is happening. The question is, what?

  “Abby! Can we get some drinks here?” someone shouts over the ruckus of the crowd.

  Ethan’s face darkens, adopting an expression I’ve never seen on him before. His narrow eyed death glare turns in the direction of the screamer.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, though it doesn’t look like he’s heard me; his attention still glued to my two favorite customers. I make my way over to them wearing a fake grin.

  “Howdy, fellas,” I cheerfully chirp as I wipe down the bar. “What’s going down? I mean––besides you two on each other?”

  The dark flush running up jerk number one’s neck tells me he finally gets it. The daggers his eyes are throwing tell me he won’t be going away quietly. Whatever. Nothing I can’t handle. “What can I get you?”

  “Two Macallans,” jerk number one answers. I turn to grab a set of clean glasses and hear him as clear as a bell say, “I’d like to bend that bitch over the bar and teach her a lesson.”

  My gaze flickers to Ethan. He couldn’t possibly have heard. Except that his expression goes suspiciously flat. Nasty insults from narcissistic egomaniacs are nothing new to me, barely warranting my attention, thus I resume my work without a second thought. Mistake. That was a mistake. Not a moment later, I hear shouting and screaming erupt behind me. I judged wrong apparently.

  I whip around to see Ethan on top of jerk number one, pounding away at his face. Kevin, one of the bartenders, is a step ahead of me, jumping over the bar before I can get there. Dave, a member of the security staff, pushes his way through the halo of people surrounding the assault in progress. He grabs Ethan under the pits and lifts him off jerk number one, who bloodied and bruised, still manages to scramble to his feet. Kevin grabs him before he can lunge at Ethan.

  I grab Ethan’s arm with both hands and tug. “I got him,” I tell Dave. After a pointed look at me, which says get him under control, Dave releases Ethan and I drag him away, headed for the employee locker room.

  He follows willingly as I pull him inside the empty room and push him down onto a bench. Cut lip, shirt ripped and bloodied, hair mussed, he stares up at me with fathomless eyes, his breathing still rough.

  “Seriously?” I shout, staring at his bruised knuckles. “The hell is wrong with you?”

  I leave him to grab the first aid kit and when I return, find him still staring up at me with the same expression. One I can’t even begin to understand. And by the looks of it he isn’t about to explain.

  The cotton gauze doused with alcohol, I dab the cut on his lip. Gently. Tenderly. He hisses at the sting and my eyebrows crawl halfway up my forehead. “You start a barroom brawl and now you’re going to be a big baby over a little alcohol?”

  It happens in a blink. He stands, grabs my face in both hands, and slams his lips onto mine. Then he pushes me against the wall, and stooping, pins my hips in place with his.

  The first thing I feel is relief. So much damn relief I could cry. Like my head was underwater and I’m finally allowed to take a huge breath. The second thing I feel is him. I feel every hard inch of him.

  Thank you, God. Thank you for this man. Thank you. And the thank yous keep coming because you can never be too grateful.

  He devours me, kissing me as if time is running out. And in return, I grab the lapels of his now rumpled five thousand dollar suit and kiss him back––no holds barred.

  After few minutes of this savagery, his lips gentle. With my face cupped in his hands, he takes his time tasting me, relishing the moment, encouraging every sigh that rises up my throat. His tongue plays with mine. He nips and sucks on my bottom lip. I taste blood and alcohol and still we kiss and kiss and kiss with his body pressed against mine like he can’t get close enough. I wasn’t imagining it the first time. Nothing has ever felt so right.

  The door bursts open and we jump apart, startled as one of the bus boys walks in. Hands on hips and breathing heavily, Ethan drops his head, sucks in a deep breath, and when he raises his chin again, the look on his face is saying everything at once. Questions, answers, feelings––which neither of us voices out loud.

  “I’ll ask Kevin if I can leave early.”

  It’s already close to the end of my shift. Once Kevin tells me it’s okay to leave I meet Ethan in the back alley. As soon as I step out the door, he takes my hand. He has yet to say a word––and God knows I’m not about to say something and ruin the moment.

  Down the alleyway, he leads me to where Fredo waits for us. In the meantime, every scenario imaginable is running through my mind. Fredo gets out of the driver’s seat but Ethan reaches the door first, holding it open for me. I slide in with Ethan right behind me. Looking straight ahead, he stares out at nothing while my eyes fall on my hand, the one he has yet to relinquish.

  Once we get back to the townhouse, we make our way upstairs to the bedrooms on autopilot. Not one word is spoken, the tension growing with every step we take. Ethan looks completely lost to whatever is going on inside his skull. Maybe he’s regretting that life-altering kiss. The thought eats away at me.

  I can say with absolute certainty that I’ve never been kissed like that before, with an all-consuming need that couldn’t be denied if lives were at stake. And if you would’ve told me five months ago that I would have this kind of chemistry with this particular man I would’ve laughed in your face. Then again given my life, that’s par for the course.

  At our bedroom doors, he stops.

  “I have a suggestion.” He slowly turns to face me, his shoulders squaring, his eyes huge, boring into mine with super human intensity. I can sense the charge around him. His expression shifts, growing a little…predatory? Yep, predatory. He slowly steps closer with his hands raised in a sign that could be construed as surrender. Could be construed, I said. This man does not surrender.

  “Offer, if you will.” In a spell, I watch him stalk closer. “I propose that…we have sex.”

  I’m a deer caught in headlights, frozen and ready to bolt––onto his erection, the massive one pushing against his slacks. My eyes drop. I’ve done a great job of ignoring it until this very minute. Now, I can no longer ignore it.

  For the love of erections, I’m human. And sexually frustrated, a very important part of this equation.

  “With each other?” I mumble, way too excited for my own good.

  He nods at this. “For the sake of our mental health. You don’t have anyone. I don’t have anyone, haven’t for a long time––too goddamn long by the looks of my behavior lately. We should have it together.”

  I stare back blankly. On the outside I’m a mummy. Where as on the inside…heck, on the inside, I’m shooting guns off and singing Yankee Doodle Dandy at the top of my lungs. I’m doing cartwheels and kissing my biceps.

  I slow nod in agreement, a ready and willing accomplice to this ridiculous plan that has disaster written all over it. “For medicinal purposes,” I suggest.

  He takes a couple more steps, his heavy lidded eyes dropping to my lips. “Exactly.”

  I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows.

  “Abstinenc
e is a dangerous thing. Could make a person do things he or she wouldn’t normally do.”

  “Like get in a bar brawl when one can’t afford any negative press,” he adds and gets even closer, close enough that I take in a lung full of his intoxicating scent. “But on one condition.”

  I stiffen, nervous that there’s some outlandish request coming. Sorry, but I don’t do threesomes. There may have been a small window of opportunity where that could’ve happened in my early twenties, for shock value more than anything else, but that window closed a long, long time ago. “Yes?” I summon the courage to ask.

  “I don’t share.”

  Praise Jesus. Thank you, tiny, adorable, newborn, baby Jesus.

  “Me neither.”

  “That means not even with Jacob, or Gary, or whatever the hell you call those things.”

  It takes me a minute to figure out what he’s talking about. An irrepressible grin stretches across my face. “I don’t know. Those guys do a heck of a lot of heavy labor.”

  “I’m willing to do just as much, if not more.”

  My eyelids are pinned to my forehead, my heart racing. “Promise?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” With that, he grabs my face like he has a right to it and cradles it possessively in his wide palms. He’s not tender. Not even a little bit. His mouth crashes into mine, kissing me like a man sentenced to life, a man deprived of something essential. And I am gone, my body and soul humming with a sense of right time, right guy, right everything.

  “I trust you won’t poke holes in the condoms,” he mutters in between his relentless kisses. As quickly as he picks me up, I wrap my legs around his waist. Stumbling, we crash into the wall. Without a doubt there will be bruises tomorrow. His hips press into mine. He wants me to feel him. The baseball bat he carries in his pants presses against every part of me that loves baseball bats. Sigh, triple sigh with a cherry on top.