I snapped it out and smiled. Deep V-neck. At least he had ulterior motives. I dropped it over my head and nearly moaned. It smelled like him. That freshly laundered scent that seemed to cling to him like he wore knickers made out of dryer sheets.
I glanced at myself in the mirror and winced. What had started out as a relatively attractive style thanks to Lindsey’s efforts now looked like I’d taken hedge clippers to my hair. Christ.
I opened the drawer to the left of the sink and my eyes widened. Three tubes of toothpaste—still in their boxes—were lined up with two toothbrushes—also still in their packaging—lined up on each box.
Was it wrong that I had the strangest urge to jumble it all up?
Probably.
But I was only sleeping with him. I didn’t have to deal with his militant order. At least I knew he was a clean one. That was definitely a plus with the animals that surrounded me. Showers were often an afterthought to some of them.
Unsurprised by the lack of a brush, I closed the drawer and did the best I could to finger comb my hair. I quickly plaited it and left the tail untied. When I went back into his bedroom, the lights were out again. From the light behind me, I saw that he’d stacked my jeans and boots on his desk.
Somehow I was still wearing my Union Jack socks. Good thing we’d been in the dark. That would have been quite the sight. I snorted out a laugh.
“Get over here, English.”
I rolled my eyes and snapped off the bathroom light. “I really should go.”
“You should really get over here. I’m not done with you.”
I twisted my fingers and slowly picked my way across the room. The light from under his bed left a soft glow in the room. One helluva night light.
“Don’t like the dark, Cage?”
“Not especially.”
Surprised that he’d answered that, I knelt on the mattress. His arm came out snake-quick and dragged me under the covers.
“You need to stop doing that,” I said when my heart rate bumped down from psychotic to wild.
“I figured you were about ready to bolt.”
“So you manhandle me?”
“You like it.” He tucked me back against him, his heavy arm trapping me spoon-style.
I’ve never spooned with a guy in my life. Even with the limited boyfriends I’d had, there had been no cuddling. Spooning had definitely been off the menu. I was naturally hot, so the furnace of chest and thighs behind me had me squirming.
“Keep that up and I’ll be inside you again,” he said against my neck.
“Hot.”
“Yes, I know I am.”
I snorted. “Ass.”
“We can try that next time.”
I elbowed him.
He hushed me and tucked his chin into my shoulder. “You smell amazing.”
What? I did not. I’d been in a club, then in his backseat, then sweat out my body weight having sex with him. He was on drugs.
His breathing evened behind me, but thankfully he wasn’t the snoring kind. I’d just lay here for a while and sneak out. It was easier that way.
His knee slid between my thighs again and my eyelids grew heavy.
Just a few more minutes.
Just…
TWELVE
I woke again, this time to an empty room.
Even without moving, I knew he was gone. Johnny Cage had a presence that was hard to describe. That and the wall of heat was missing behind me. I huddled under the blanket he must have thrown over me.
Hmm. I didn’t really know how I felt about that. I punched the pillow—stupid, perfectly fluffy and supportive, yet soft pillow. Who had pillows like this? Hotels did, not real people.
If he couldn’t sleep with me there, he should have just let me leave earlier, dammit.
I flopped onto my back. I could literally sprawl across the entire bed and barely touch the edges. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what luxury was. I came from a household that definitely had coin. I’d just walked away from it a long time ago.
Distant strumming teased me out of those dangerous thoughts. I really didn’t want to take a trip down memory lane. As it was, everything about tonight had been a lesson in keeping me off-balance.
I straightened my borrowed shirt and stepped off the bed. It fell to my hips, and was the perfect blend of worn and oversized. Something warm curled around my ankle, and I yelped. In the under-light from Johnny’s bed, a pair of huge green eyes stared back at me.
“Hello.”
The cat did a figure-eight around my ankles and the purr was as loud as a motorbike. It hopped onto the bed and bumped against my hip. Ultra-soft fur skimmed my skin, followed by a rough little tongue.
“Friendly one, aren’t ya?” I stroked down its head and neck. When it leaned into the stroke, I went all the way to the tail. It jumped again and I had no choice but to catch the little beast.
I’d never actually had a cat leap on me unless their needle-like talons were involved. This one wanted nothing but a thorough scratch.
I carried her—wasn’t sure, but she felt like a girl—to the desk. I set her down as I pulled on my jeans and boots. I patted my pocket to make sure I still had my card and phone. Because I needed to end this bit of insanity here and now, I opened my Uber app and ordered a car using my location.
I didn’t want the wrath of Lindsey, so I tucked her tiny shirt into my back pocket.
And because I liked the weight of her, I picked up the cat. I settled her against my chest and neck to follow the sound of the guitar. All I had to do was slip out of there. He was occupied and didn’t even have to know I’d left.
Walk a few blocks, meet the Uber driver—no big deal.
Instead I went down the iron stairs. Johnny was on a couch in the huge living area. The lower floor was all brick, hardwood and more iron. A battered leather sofa took up the majority of the room. A Union Jack coffee table, about as wide as the couch, drew my gaze.
I grinned.
Liked a little English in his decor? More like he had a thing for Def Leppard based on his wardrobe choices.
He had his bare back to me. He had broad shoulders kissed with freckles ranging from pinpricks to small leopard spots. A network of muscles and golden skin made my mouth water. He really was a fine specimen of male. I was used to muscleheads at the gym, but there was a fluid grace to the bones, muscle, and sinew on this man that was far more interesting.
Attraction.
I understood it on an intellectual level. I’d lost myself to lust a time or two, but the buzz of chemistry never lived up to the actuality of hopping on a man’s stick.
Now this man…he’d redefined all of it.
Even more reason for me to get the fuck out of there. I didn’t have time to be distracted with sex. Because I knew if I got closer, I’d end up climbing into his lap. Give me three more minutes and I’d be naked.
Hell, I would probably be the one initiating it.
My pussy was already on board with the idea. My nipples were poking out of my borrowed shirt right now. Watching him strum then scribble, pick out a few chords and hum some more—yeah, that was enough for my whole system to be lit up all over again.
I stopped my descent when his simple strumming solidified into a song. His voice was low, as if it was just for him to get the words right. I recognized it. “All My Scars.” From that night at the show.
It was a little more raw, and the words were more whiskey-soaked sandpaper than the last time I’d heard it. He curled over the guitar and his forearm and biceps flexed with the constant strum of his hand. A tattoo climbed to his elbow on one arm, but I was too far away to see exactly what it was.
We’d been in the dark and shadows since we’d met. I could describe the length and curve of his dick, the color of his eyes, the scar on his lip, but not his ink.
I knew little more than what his moans sounded like, and his love of dirty words.
Here was the real man. No pick, just his fingers plucking and st
rumming. The worst part was that hollow thump I remembered so well. His thumb kept time like a kick drum. The song was sad, the lyrics raw.
I shut my eyes.
I couldn’t keep watching. He’d been alone. This was a private moment. I didn’t want a window into him. I preferred the skin and dirty words. They were safe. They could be boxed and put away for the lonely nights in my future.
I had no line of defense for the music. His music.
I was careless
She was lost
I was strong
She was looking for a way out
In the footsteps of our past
I traced a faded picture of us
All my scars are tattooed to my chest
Hers were cut with a safety blade
In my recovery, she was a burn
In her recovery, I was a silvery scar
I was broken
She was fixed
I reached for her
She was gone
The stair squeaked, and he turned around. He slapped his palm over the strings, halting the song as if it had never been. “Hey.”
My throat dried to dust. I didn’t even realize I’d still been making my way down the stairs through his song. Making my way to him. “Hi.”
“I see you found Shelby.”
I scratched the cat behind her ear where she seemed to like it best. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a cat actually leap into my arms.”
He grinned and set the guitar into a stand behind him. He stood, a pair of ancient jeans riding low on his hips. Low enough that there was no doubt that was all he’d bothered to put on.
Did I mention the dry mouth? Because, yeah, I needed a gallon of water. Mostly to recover fluids. I’d ended up with a second workout after all.
He moved over to me, slipping his hand under the cat. His dimple flashed as he brushed my nipple—on purpose. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He leaned down to nuzzle Shelby.
The motor started up and his warm skin and the cat’s vibration left me mildly embarrassed at how hard my nipple got. He lifted her off me and shifted her onto his shoulder.
Her huge green eyes blinked at me as Johnny lowered his mouth to mine. When I didn’t kiss him back, he pulled away.
“Cat. Staring.”
He brushed his cheek over her belly and lifted her off, setting her down on the table behind me. He reached around me and grabbed a handful of my ass.
“Excuse me.”
He grinned, grabbing the other cheek, until I crashed into him. The kiss was wild, wet, and playful. For someone who was up at three in the morning, he was awfully chipper.
He dug his hands into my back pockets and huffed out a laugh against my cheek. “Thief.”
“You left the shirt for me.”
He held up the little excuse for a shirt by his forefinger. “You came in this.”
“Yes I did. More than once.”
He laughed. “So you’re going to steal my shirt?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to return it?”
I pressed my lips together. Such a simple, yet loaded question. “Do you want me to?”
He leaned into me, letting the shirt slide down around his arm before he caught the tail of my braid. He wrapped it around his hand and dragged my head back a little. “Yes.”
I swallowed. “My life is complicated at the moment.”
“Mine too.”
I glanced down at his lips and the little scar at the right corner, then back up to the gray-green of his eyes. My front pocket buzzed.
His eyebrow rose. “Someone calling you?”
“Yeah, the Uber driver is outside.”
He frowned. “I thought I was taking you home.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Tell him to leave.”
I grinned. “And lose my 4.8 star rating? No way.”
He chuckled. “Ah, English, what am I going to do with you?”
I leaned in, kissing him with enough force that I almost wavered. He was hella talented with that mouth. I’d started it, but he took over the kiss—as usual. Before I went back down the naked rabbit hole, I broke away from him. “Gotta go.”
He fisted the front of my—his—shirt. “How am I going to find you?”
“You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure it out.” I curled my fingers over his hand until he loosened his hold. “See ya around, Cage.”
He caught my hand. “At least give me your full name.”
I stepped back before I couldn’t. His arm was stretched out to keep our fingers locked. Golden skin, battered jeans, and bare feet. It was the snapshot that I’d hold onto for a good long time.
I let him go and climbed the stairs. Street-level was two flights above this floor, and he knew I wasn’t just stopping by the bedroom to grab my stuff.
“Dammit, English!”
I knew I shouldn’t. I took the stairs two at a time. The fighter side of me wanted to shut it down, but the woman he’d woken up answered. “Evelyn Pierce,” I said from the top stair.
I headed down the hall and up the next flight to street level. I slid the heavy iron door shut behind me, then followed the path out to the sidewalk. I looked over my shoulder. One light was on, and a figure stood in the window.
Was that him?
The shoulders sure seemed like him.
I turned back to the street and waved to the waiting car.
Was it wrong that I really hoped Johnny cared?
Guess I’d find out if he did or not.
EPILOGUE
I braced myself against the whipping October wind. Goddamn Meat Packing District was nothing but a wind tunnel on days like this. But it was also a no-questions-asked area. And when it came to the underground fights in New York City, that was what people had to deal with.
Illegal.
Full of crowds.
I nodded to the bouncer at the door, paid the cover charge, and took the stairs to the lower level. They knew me. I was a frequent fixture at the dark haunts in the city. Sometimes I was with friends, but more often than not, it was just me. I liked the anonymity of sports arenas. I fed on the energy.
It was the second best feeling to the stage.
Tonight was a big match. Full of people with fistfuls of money looking to score. Bets, women, blow—you could get whatever you wanted on fight night.
I didn’t give two fucks about the last two. Just the first.
Playing the numbers, trusting my gut, and the flush of the win—that was my drug.
The crushing blow of the loss…well, that was to be avoided at all costs. Especially tonight. Costas was the main event, and he always drew a crowd. Fifteen seconds for the kill? Twenty-eight? Maybe even a full round or two if the new kid was lucky.
Or if Giovanni Costas felt like playing with his opponent.
He didn’t too often, but now and again I could see the glint of the challenge in his eyes and knew the bets would be fierce. He was by far my favorite. I liked some of the new guys on the circuit, but no one had the power and grace of Costas.
I found a spot along the wall to wait out the minor-league trash fighting on the undercard, then pulled out my phone and tapped the stats app to check the score of the game.
“C’mon blue, don’t fail me now.” The lineup for the game scrolled by. I cursed. Damn quarterback was out with a sprain. “Fucking Giants.” There went five-hundred more.
“Doesn’t sound good, Johnny.”
I froze. “What do you want, Bas?” I shoved my phone into my jacket pocket. “I paid you last week.”
“Yes, but you lost big last night. Just wanted to give you a friendly reminder of what you owe.”
Like I could forget? It was the sole reason I was at the fight tonight. Normally when I lost, I needed to regroup. I disappeared for a while.
Not tonight. I needed to pick a winner, or this fucker was going to give me another once-over. And this time the brass knuckles would probably land a little harder than the glancing
blow from last month.
When Evie Pierce had kicked Bas’s ass.
Jesus. Memories of that were ill-timed. An incredible night that I still couldn’t process, even weeks later. I stuffed her to the back of my mind. I’d been doing it for a while now. Compartmentalizing was something I excelled at.
Until her.
He stepped into my space and I went very still. He was wider than me, had another inch on me too. Not too many people did.
“C’mon, Cage, tell me you can’t make the payment. You know I want that car.”
“You’re not getting my GTO.” I’d sell a goddamn kidney first.
“I’d cut you a sweet deal. I don’t care if you pour the money back into Mr. Salzano’s pockets. Hell, then I get a commission when I beat it out of you afterward.”
“Fuck you, Bas.”
His smile was blade-thin. He was the enforcer for Marco Salzano. It just so happened that Salzano was the biggest bookie in town, and I’d been stupid enough to borrow money.
I never seemed to stop paying for that mistake.
Drowning didn’t cover it.
Being a millionaire rock star didn’t exactly mean you had actual millions in the bank. My net worth was tied to other people, my music, and my royalties. And royalties meant jack shit these days.
The money was made on the road, and Rebel Rage hadn’t been onstage in fucking forever. We needed a new album, and that meant lyrics. Lyrics I couldn’t find anymore. At least not Rebel Rage songs.
My head was full of other songs.
Songs no one gave a fuck about.
No. Not tonight. I couldn’t have those memories fucking up my focus tonight.
I fisted my hands in my pockets. “I have until Friday.”
“Tonight at midnight, Cage.”
I clenched my jaw. “Don’t fucking worry about it.”
Bas’s eyebrow inched up. Asshole thought he looked like The Rock. “The Giants game is down by twenty.”
My gaze crashed into his. I didn’t make that bet with any of Salzano’s people. I’d made the bet online, for fuck’s sake.
“I know you, Cage. Same as I know you’ll be using whatever you have left in your accounts to make up your losses on the matches tonight. Choose wisely.” He bumped my shoulder hard enough that I scraped the shit out of my leather jacket on the concrete wall behind me.
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 58
