Waking the Lion

by Lacee Hightower

  Wasn’t that an obvious signal of disinterest?

  Would I have another door slammed in my face?

  More angry eyes peering at me while telling me to fuck off?

  He’s already done both. What are the chances of it happening again?

  ****

  Ten o’clock on the nose, and I’m sitting in Rhett Gentry’s circular drive, my chest raging with reservation. Wood blinds across the front of the house are open wide, and I can see light shining from somewhere. But then again, that doesn’t mean he’s not still sleeping. Or not home. Or busy. Or lastly, buried up against a girlfriend underneath warm, silken sheets.

  “Jesus, what the hell am I doing?” My heart drops, this totally forward gesture completely out of my comfort zone. The last thing I want him to do is misread my intentions, so I make a judgment call. With a shudder, I have a slight inkling that Rhett Gentry will be the same cold, unfriendly man he’s been before.

  “Screw it.”

  Nearly jumping out of the car seat when my phone rings, I answer with, “Hey, Kim.” Hyperventilating, my heart feels like it’s in my throat as I rip out of Rhett’s driveway, accidentally burning rubber.

  “It’s your day off. What are you doing up this early?”

  “Oh Jesus, Kass. I haven’t been to bed yet. Well … I haven’t been to sleep yet,” she sighs.

  “What do you mean? Don’t tell me…”

  “Mike texted me right when I left your apartment. He was waiting for me when I got home.”

  “Shit, Kim. I thought you were done with his sorry ass. He’s bittersweet poison for your vagina. You know this.”

  “I do. I swear I do. But, he was all emotional. Apologizing and making promises. I can’t stand it when he gets like that, Kass. He ended up staying.”

  “Jesus, woman. He always makes promises. Or rather false freaking lies. He’ll have his dick wet with somebody else in the next twenty-four hours. You deserve so much better than that.” The line goes silent. I’ve struck a nerve and immediately feel guilty, but still want to throat-punch the guy or put my boot in his balls.

  “I’m sorry. I just hate to see you hurt again.”

  “I know you hate him.” For seconds there’s more silence, and I cringe. “Look, I’m gonna crawl in bed for a while and try to sort some of this out. I just wanted to thank you again for the tickets last night. I still can’t believe Rhett Gentry tossed you that puck. He never does that. I’ve seen him sign autographs, but never toss a puck to anyone besides kids. That was totally cool.”

  “Yeah, it was,” I whisper, remembering the very uncool effect it had on my body. “Well, get some sleep. I have a busy afternoon and didn’t sleep much either, so I’ll probably crash when I get home this evening.” We end the call with me feeling like complete shit for more reasons than one.

  The salon parking lot is already full, so I pull up on the side of the building and park next to Darci’s Audi. Greeted by my morning ritual of whistles and catcalls from the construction crew across the street, I smile and wave, wondering why they aren’t done with the repairs that don’t appear to be all that major.

  “Morning, Leah.” The door chimes as I walk through, the instant smell of coconut-scented candles soothing and warm while Leah unpacks hair products to restock the shelves.

  “Hi, Kass. Oh … are those cookies?”

  “Why yes, they are. Freshly baked by these hands.” A shiver moves through me as I think of where I just came from. If he was awake. If he was alone. “You get the first one, as always.”

  “God, I love it when you bake.” She picks up a cookie, and I return the red lid.

  “Oh, I forgot. This came for you this morning.” Cookie crumbs on her top lip, she hands me an envelope with “Kassidy” written across the front.

  “Wonder what this is?” I stare down at the handwritten letter, my name spelled out in a legible mix of both cursive and print.

  “No idea. A courier service delivered it first thing this morning.”

  “Strange. Okay, thanks.”

  The kitchen is empty as I set the cookies down and stick my purse in a storage nook. With a slip of my finger, I unseal the envelope, two hockey tickets falling to the floor.

  “Oh my God.” My hand flies over my mouth in surprise, an astronomical grin creeping up my face.

  Looked and sounded like you enjoyed yourself last night. Thought you may like to see the next game. Rhett Gentry.

  My heart races at what this might mean, and the thought almost makes me tear up. But then again, I’m most likely overreacting.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rhett

  Too much? Too quick?

  Nothing beats a win on home ice, even during pre-season. Especially when it involves a winning goal—by my hand. Fuck, it feels good to be back.

  After locking in on a no-look pass from Spunk, I was on my own, left to face Mikko Brodin, the trash-mouthing, arrogant goaltender I can’t stand. The mouthing prick was spouting off some bullshit about fucking my wife in the ass when I deked the bastard to the ice, scoring on a backhand shot with a little over a minute left.

  Sweet fucking justice.

  After a successful win, my body aches. I am tired as hell. During a quick post-game dinner with some of the team, even listening to Spunk’s never-ending woes about his current state of blue balls can’t pull me from the hazy funk I can’t kick. My brain is in overload, that dark demon that I fight every minute of the day still trying to cloud my judgment. Inevitably, I am going to be a sore motherfucker tomorrow, not to mention the blow to the jaw I’d gladly taken. My body needs recuperation. And sleep.

  After I inform Spunk a man actually needs a set of balls to have the current condition he was claiming, he gives me the bird, spouting off a long thread of Swedish expletives, and I say my goodbyes for the evening. I am never more ready to hit my bed than when I get home, and for the first time in months, it feels damn good. I slip off to sleep in minutes after my head hit the pillow, hoping for a much needed eight or more hours of good sleep.

  ****

  I’m drowning again. In thick, deep blood, my legs refuse to move. And they’re getting closer. I have to save her.

  My eyes snap open with a painful outcry wedged in my throat. Cruel black dreams have me up before daylight. A look at the clock, it’s only half-past five. Nightmares are the same as always. Me … drowning. Streaks of gold. Blood.

  So much blood.

  Blank faces.

  Hands tugging at my morning hair, I grunt at the soreness streaming through my body. Swiping at the sweat over my brow, I crave a Vicodin so badly for a long minute that I get up and pace the floors. Fighting the urge to give up and surrender to the ugly impulse. Trying like hell to erase the godawful images still fresh in my mind.

  Finally, with a mug of strong, black coffee between my shaking hands, my first long drink is a painful welcoming of the punch to the jaw I’d taken last night. Motherfucking hell!

  And Kassidy Johnson. The last person I expected to see at a Hawks game, she looked so fucking good, dressed in tight jeans and an equally snug shirt that hugged her breasts just right. For the rest of the game thoughts of my hands roaming the bends and curves of that beautiful body as I explored every inch before fucking her deep and hard and then doing it all over again, gave me a surge of adrenaline so damn heavy that I felt like I was flying over the ice the rest of the night.

  But now I’m fucked six ways from Sunday. What even possessed me to toss her that puck? Or stare into those stunning blue eyes just enough to give her a reason to think I was interested … when I wasn’t?

  But I am.

  No goddammit, I’m not.

  It was just those damn eyes cutting through me like glass. Her addictive smile and soft lips. Those beautiful tits. That spectacular ass and everything between. Possessiveness still pounds through me at memories of the fucker beside her with his hand on her shoulder, uttering something in her ear. This makes no damn sense. I’m put out with m
yself for this uncalled-for fit of jealousy I have no right feeling, but something about this woman awakens my whole body. I haven’t been affected this way in years. I barely give women a second glance. But this hair stylist causes my body to turn fucking hard every time I see her. Just the thought of her goes straight to my balls.

  Rationalizing with my cock instead of my head, now I’ve had two tickets for the upcoming game against the Ducks sent over to her salon before giving it reasonable thought. Fuck if this move wasn’t a major screw-up.

  Hours pass, and I’m back in the kitchen in the same chair I always sit in. Deep into sorting through mounds of bills and bullshit items, I’m fighting like hell to keep a clear mind, longing and lust biting and almost painful. Ironic as it was, Kassidy was sitting in the same area as Lindy was the first time I saw her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have noticed. Wouldn’t be sitting here trying to calm my damn dick. Granted, it was probably a pure chance coincidence, but it still shook me up.

  Again … all pure chance. Nothing but a fluke.

  Was it something I said?

  Something I did?

  Seriously concerned with needing to get bills current and the yard and pool tended before a nice little letter ends up on my front door from the glorious Homeowner’s Association, I hear the sound of the doorbell. Without looking to see who it is first, I assume it’s probably Reese or Tack, and open the door. It’s neither. It’s her.

  This woman’s fucking smile lifts the damn hair on my chest.

  Not empty-handed, she’s got a clear bag filled with monstrous cookies dangling off her arm. She looks at me for a few sundry beats, flashing that earth-shattering sweet smile of hers, which gives me the strong urge to plant a soft kiss against her lush lips. The sudden tight pull behind my chest forces the breath from me. Soft blue eyes shining, hair pulled up in that ponytail thing she obviously likes wearing—for a few seconds I can’t look away from the delicate soft skin of her neck. When I blink away, I notice the bright sunlight beaming down on the dark tresses of her hair, revealing faint streaks of auburn-tinted highlights I hadn’t noticed before. My chest hammering, I finally break my stare and glance down at the pink Adidas once again covering her feet that look half the size of mine. Her casual attire jabs me hard in the chest with a stirring trip down memory lane.

  “Hi,” she says, still smiling, her heavy-lidded gaze meeting mine.

  “Hi,” I groan, doing everything in my power to be cordial, shifting my stance and trying like hell not to look down at the feminine curves of her body. Instead, I focus on the graceful movements of her fingers, even that making my cock twitch. After realizing I’m still frowning, I push off the door and raise an arm to motion her in.

  Her cheeks flush. “Just a few cookies to say thanks for the tickets … and the hockey puck. I really don’t need to come in.” Her eyes wander a few beats before her gaze settles on me, her lips closing with a long sigh, bringing on a warm, rousing emotion deep down my spine. The house is a fucking mess, the blanket of dust covering pretty much everything undeniable. I’m instantly uncomfortable. Not ordinarily a slob, I just don’t really give a shit right now, even though I’ve made a mental note to call the housekeeper and, I hope, get her back on schedule. Besides, nobody sees my mess other than my brother or the occasional hockey player. None of them give three fucks if my house is spotless or otherwise.

  “Sorry for the mess,” I mumble, my cock thickening as my eyes do a quick sweep of her body.

  Her fingers brush against mine when she hands me the cookies. Something resembling peaches radiates off her skin as my eyes latch onto the roundness of her tits, which are the perfect size to fit my palm. Another reminder of a need I’m trying to ignore, it nevertheless jogs my memory at just how much I’ve lost.

  “You’re a hockey fan,” I say, attempting to break the ice. Fighting like hell not to look into those burning blue eyes. “I sure wouldn’t have thought that,” I add, not knowing another damn thing to say during this awkward as fuck moment.

  Damn it. My head is messing with me, my body doing shit I don’t welcome. Her tits keep lifting just the smallest bit every time she takes in a breath, the slightest swell of her nipples brushing through the stretchy fabric of her shirt. Confident that I want to taste the hardening curve of her breast, I scratch at my jaw, my cock aching with thoughts of hard, balls-deep fucking, when it’s the last damn thing I want to think about. Bells suddenly go off in my head with all kinds of carnal, barbaric things I’d love to impose on her body. Fucking hell, this woman is an obstacle that’s taking my focus off the real issues in my life. An interference I absolutely have no time for.

  “I am now,” she says in her feminine tone, another small, sexy smile crossing her glossed lips that I immediately visualize in a totally inappropriate way. “Last night was actually my first time to ever watch hockey. I had no idea who you were, Rhett. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it, but I’ve never been a huge sports fan. You’re tons of fun to watch, though. That was the best time I’ve had in I don’t know how long. But all the fighting is … well, a little shocking.” She brushes a small finger over my jaw, and my whole body stiffens.

  Soft blue eyes blink up, and for quick seconds, I want to caress her porcelain skin with the pads of my fingers. Her delicate voice has my teeth clenching as her fingertip traces the curve of my jaw again. “Does it hurt underneath all this? That Predator was an absolute asshole for slamming his fist against this jaw.”

  This feeling between us is way heavier than just seconds before. There’s a streak of something tempting in her eyes, and as much as I want to do the opposite, I take a hesitant step back.

  “I’ve taken worse blows.” Before I realize it, the room is tense with a dense quietness and I’m pulling at the hair on my chin, fighting a smile as she turns away, all shy and cute, staring out the long wall of windows onto the patio, the dirty white cat peeking through the glass like the nosy little bastard he is. The sudden pink in her cheeks give me at least a dozen dirty ideas how to bring out her timidity.

  “Is he yours?” The bottom right-hand side of her lip falls between her teeth.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I answer, not sure how to label the pesky animal.

  I hope he’s not too cold, babe. It’s freezing outside.

  This girl has taken the time out of her day to bake me cookies, and I’ve proceeded to say less than ten damn words, continuing with my asshole moves. But as all unholy hell goes, I don’t know how to make casual conversation with a woman anymore. Not with one that stirs something deep behind my chest that I’m wanting this damn bad. It’s been too long. Obviously, I need to come up with some kind of small talk before I forget entirely how to speak and come across like a complete jackass again.

  “Hmm,” she whispers. “Looks like the cat needs a little grooming, too,” she says, her smile nearly gutting me. “I love animals. I hope he’s okay out there.” More memories invade my head with her comment, and I ignore it.

  Fuck! Fuck!

  “I don’t shave until after playoffs, Kassidy,” I say, lying straight to her face. While I don’t generally shave during playoffs, the season is just getting underway. As fast as my beard grows, it would be down around my ass by the time playoffs hit if I didn’t trim it. Again, what the fuck do I say?

  Her cheeks flush a soft pink again, damn near causing me to blow a load in my pants. “Oh,” she whispers, looking back toward the mangy cat, the color in her face trailing down her neck.

  “Look, Rhett. I’m not trying to be forward. Cross my heart, I’m not a puck bunny trying to get lucky with the team captain. I only wanted to thank you for the tickets and let you know my offer for the haircut or trim still stands.” She places a soft hand on my chest, my dick doing a dance while I suck back another hearty laugh about the puck bunny comment.

  Despite a quick reminder to myself that I’m in no place to pursue a woman, the urge is nonetheless sizeable, even though it’s every damn thing I don’t want and sure
the hell don’t need. Regardless, my body has its own ideas, and my damn dick has never listened to me. Desire strains through my groin like a heavy steel wand, my balls suddenly full and hard with need.

  Goddamn hell!

  “I never thought you were being anything,” I snap, pulling away from her innocent touch as I try pulling my head back together. I walk toward the front door, hoping like hell she’ll take the hint and leave before I’m forced to ask. Before the tent inside my pants stands so high and mighty, it won’t go unnoticed as I fight thinking how good fucking her would feel.

  Disappointment clouds her expression. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you around,” she says shyly, her voice soft and kind. “Thanks again, Rhett. Enjoy the cookies. They’re pretty freaking amazing. And good luck during the rest of the season.” Another skeptical smile crosses her lips, only making me feel more like the ungrateful dick I am. “And oh … by the way, friends call me Kass.”

  Friends? We’re not friends, sweetheart.

  I walk her to the door like I have a hot rod crammed up my ass as I try shaking off my growing dick. All too soon, it’s over, and she waves goodbye as I rudely shut the door behind her, not a minute too soon before she notices how stone hard I am, desire channeling through my lower body almost to the point of bitter agony.

  Christ, my life has become fucking havoc.

  My head is everywhere it shouldn’t be.

  Is it so wrong that I desire another woman when I’ve made an oath to love only one?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kass

  Though it’s dark and dreary outside with the onset of a rain shower, the salon is nonetheless buzzing with cars at an early 8:45 AM.

  “Morning, Leah.” As usual, the receptionist is her chipper, perky self, rocking a fedora on top of purple hair. “Why do you always have to look so freaking adorable?” I shoot an overstated thin-lipped smile.

  “Rebecca Holt just called and canceled. Her baby’s sick.”

  “Well damn. I could have used an extra hour of sleep.”