by Cora Kenborn
The more I taste, the hungrier I get. I’m a greedy bitch, taking everything he gives and wanting more. I don’t care that I mean nothing to him. I don’t care that all he wants is my body. Right now, it’s not my brain that’s screaming at me to straddle him right here on the ice.
What the hell am I doing?
Pressing my freezing hands against his chest, I pull away, almost groaning at how swollen his lips look. “It’s getting late and we have a long drive back. We should get going.” I don’t give him a chance to respond before hobbling off the ice like a newborn baby deer, immediately plopping down on a bench and unlacing my skates. Cary does the same, mercifully not speaking another word as we both walk to the car in silence.
Reaching for the door handle, Cary pauses, holds my eye for a moment, then shakes his head, abandoning whatever he’d considered saying. I almost ask what he’s thinking as he opens the door, instead keeping my mouth shut and climbing inside. No matter how many times I rub my palms on my thighs they remain sweaty, and my heart slams against my chest. Nagging regret gnaws at me as Cary turns the ignition and pulls into traffic, turning the radio up full blast to fill the awkward silence.
I’m not stupid. As amazing as his gesture was, I know Cary is baiting me. However, something shifted inside that arena, and after all the shit that’s happened between us, I have no idea if it’s a good or bad thing. Either he’s about to call a truce, or plan a surprise attack I’ll never see coming.
Twenty minutes later, I glance over at the speedometer again, but decide to keep my mouth shut. Eighty in a sixty could technically cost him his license, but I’m not exactly in a position to be throwing stones. Instead, I tighten my seatbelt and do what comes naturally when I’m forced into uncomfortable situations.
Applied distraction.
“So, you started the Kincaid Center after, you know…you were released?”
“You mean after I was paroled from prison?” I wince at the harshness of his words, but nod as he continues. “Yes. I tried to get loans on my own, but after five banks turned me down, I had to look elsewhere. That’s when I ran into Taryn again. We went out a few times, and her family offered to put up the capital for all the usual business expenses. You know, rent the building, pay all the fees, and purchase the equipment.”
I force a smile, remembering her threats outside the center. “I’m glad she came through for you.”
“Yeah, right. Nothing in life comes free, sweetheart. I’m paying for that loan in blood.”
“What do you mean?”
He turns away from me, shaking his head. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
I grab his arm because I need to know. “Tell me.”
“Look, the money ran out a long time ago, okay? My mom and dad owe them too. Bills are due and our pockets are empty. If I don’t come up with almost four hundred thousand soon, they’re going to take the center and the motel from us.”
It takes me half a second to lose my shit. “Four hundred thousand dollars?”
Cary grins, despite the bleak situation. “No, pesos. Yes, Shiloh, dollars. My start-up loan, with twenty-five percent interest accrued over five years, is a little over seventy-nine thousand. Equipment isn’t cheap.”
“And the rest of it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I think he’s shut down on me until he hunches his shoulders and sighs. “My parents were drowning in debt between Ellie’s medical bills and my arrest costs, so they took out a business equity line of credit. They had to put up the house for collateral, and bills were coming in when money wasn’t. They were about to lose everything, so at the time, Taryn’s idea to have Daddy bail them out sounded like the perfect solution.”
The last thing I want to do is upset him more, but I have a sadistic need to know the rest. “Let me guess, it came with a hefty price.”
He swallows hard and nods once. “More than you could ever imagine. They had to sign a contract stating that if they couldn’t pay it back, ownership of the motel immediately reverted to the McDaniels. As I said, blood money.”
“I can’t imagine what your parents are going to do, but if the center goes under, what’s going to happen to Frankie and the boys?” An unexpected brick sinks low and hard in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll take care of my boys, but I won’t owe anyone else, Shiloh. Somehow, I’ll bail out my parents, but I need to be my own man. I mean, when you were at the top of your game, did you feel like you belonged to yourself, or were you just owned by designers?”
It’s the most real conversation we’ve had since I arrived back in town. Like the ones we used to have in my backyard when I’d bring him iced tea while he worked for our gardener after school. It’s easy and familiar, and I’m shocked to realize I’m feeling something for Cary Kincaid. I don’t know what to call it. Like? Infatuation? Respect? Love? No, it can’t be love. You can’t love someone who hates you. It’s impossible.
Right?
Impossible or not, what I feel is useless, because I have no claim to him. Besides, at the end of my sentence, I’m moving back to California. It would be high school all over again.
Plus, I still can’t get a read on what Cary’s really up to. If he’s being truthful about being involved with Taryn’s family, his whole family is in so deep there may never be a way out.
As we ride in silence, we pass bank after bank after bank, and an idea hits me. The perfect idea. An idea so brilliant, I want to slap myself for not thinking of it sooner.
The tricky part will be getting it to work without Cary’s knowledge. Men have this stupid pride thing that prevents them from making good business decisions. It’s probably why the cavemen didn’t live past thirty years old. If they’d have let the women rule the tribes, shit would’ve gone much smoother.
Digging in my purse, I pull out the brand-new phone Bianca bought for me and shoot off a quick text to my accountant.
ME: I need three million overnighted to me out of my California money market account. Oh, and I need it separated into three different bank checks.
MONEY SUCKER: What the hell did you do now?
ME: That’s rude. I didn’t do anything. I’ve turned over a new leaf.
MONEY SUCKER: Why, do you plan to roll it up and smoke it?
ME: I’m glad to see you’ve kept your sense of humor in your old age.
MONEY SUCKER: What are these insane withdrawals for, Shiloh?
ME: Don’t worry. It’s all on the up and up.
MONEY SUCKER: Right. I’ve heard that one before.
ME: I’ll text you tonight with the details. Later, you sexy number cruncher.
I feel a little icky typing that last part, but my accountant gets off on a little harmless flirting. He should really get laid with something besides his own hand. Because loving yourself doesn’t count if you end up with blisters.
“Who are you texting?” Cary asks, taking his eyes off the road to examine my screen.
I jerk my phone against my chest. “Oh, we’re speaking now?”
Whether choosing to ignore me, or simply not giving a damn, he returns his attention to the road. “Not gonna tell me, huh?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the P at the end.
* * *
An hour later, we pull into my gated community. Pausing at the security office, Cary keeps his foot on the brake as I lean over him and punch in the access code, the friction between us causing both our bodies to stiffen.
God, I’m so screwed.
He barely pulls into my driveway before I’m already reaching for the door handle and jumping out of the car. I stumble a little as my open purse slams against the doorframe, causing random contents to scatter onto the floorboard. Cary leans over to help, but I just shove as much back in as I can and clamor onto my feet.
Pausing just before the door closes, I stick my head through the small opening and offer him a genuine smile. “Thanks for the amazing day. It was one of the best I have had in a long time.”
I
don’t wait for a response as I take the porch steps three at a time. Once behind the safety of my front door, I collapse against it, and slowly sink to the floor with my head in my hands.
I can’t want Cary Kincaid. The minute I knew I was being forced to return to this damn state, I planned for hatred. I planned for disgust…maybe even a little vicious retribution.
But not this. Never this.
I slip a hand over my mouth, still feeling the assault of his lips on mine.
Now what?
Nineteen
Cary
A fucking checkbook.
When she stormed out of my car on Saturday, that’s one of the things that fell out of her purse. Neither of us noticed it because it had fallen underneath her seat. I’d stuffed it in my pocket and planned on giving it to her the next day, not giving it a second thought
Until now.
Sitting at my desk on Monday evening, I’m still staring at the damn thing like it’s going to magically change into something else. Or disappear. Or not tempt me to do what I’m considering doing.
And who the hell still carries a checkbook? With everything paid online now, that’s got to be the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen. I’ll need to have a talk with Shiloh about the stupid security risks she takes.
Right after I fuck her over.
My stomach churns the whole time I tap the checkbook against my palm. I’m either going to throw up or shit my pants. Maybe both, I don’t know. This feels wrong. I have no clue why I’m doing it. My plan from the beginning was to ruin her, but this makes me a thief. No better than her or anyone else I served time with.
But damn, she owes me. Out of the millions that she makes, would she seriously miss a few thousand? It wouldn’t solve my problems, but it would buy me some time.
That’s when her voice echoes in my head again.
“You’re no saint, but I’m no angel either. So, where does that leave us?”
It leaves us back at square one—trying like hell to survive three years together without destroying each other.
Jerking my desk drawer open, I toss the checkbook inside and slam it shut. “Jesus Christ, woman,” I groan, dropping my head in my hands. “What the hell have you done to me again?”
My moment of solitude is interrupted when I hear belligerent yelling coming from the main room of the center, followed by a string of curse words vulgar enough to make me cringe.
And that’s saying something.
Pushing my chair away from my desk, I fling my office door open to find Romeo with his hands around two smaller boys’ necks. His eyes are wide, and his pupils are so dilated I can only see a sliver of color. I recognize the signs right away. He’s in hypermanic mode, bouncing around, ready to fight anyone who looks at him. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on.
“Romeo!” Clearing a path toward him, I glare into his glassy eyes. I know that look. He thinks he’s invincible.
“You want a piece of me too, big man?” Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he punches the air a few times before slamming his chest into mine.
Cocaine. I’ve seen it dozens of times, and it pisses me off. Romeo has been clean for two years. Now that’s all shot to shit, and for what?
“Was the high worth it?” I roar, shoving both hands into his chest.
“Fuck you, Cary.”
“No, fuck you, Romeo. Get out.”
“I ain’t leaving shit. You can’t make me go anywhere.” Just to prove his point, he drives the heel of his palm hard against my shoulder and laughs.
Fuck this, I’m done. “Get in the ring. Now.”
At some point during the altercation, Shiloh walks in, because as Romeo is telling me to go to hell again, she takes it upon herself again to play the role of mediator and jump between us.
“Come on. You two don’t want to do this.”
“Go away, Shiloh,” I growl. “He disrespected me and what I’ve built.” I turn my attention back to Romeo. “Now get your ass in the ring, or get it out of here. Which will it be?”
“Cary!” she yells.
Extending an arm, I push her out of my way. I’m in no mood to deal with her bullshit tonight. I’m too pissed at Romeo for being a douchebag and her for defending him.
Romeo glares at me and rolls into the ring belly first. “Fine. Take your best shot, old man. But I won’t take it easy on you.”
I squeeze in between the ropes and stretch my arms. “You done running your mouth?”
We attack at the same time, and Romeo gets a lucky jump on me first, maneuvering me into a headlock as he lands a few impressive blows to my ribcage. I’m not going to lie, it takes the breath out of me, but I’m far from done. Taking that Krav Maga shit Shiloh pulled on me the other day, I grab his wrist, pull it out, and twist around until I’ve got his arm pinned around his back. Jerking hard, I bend my arm and land five hard blows to his back with my elbow until he hits the floor. Running on pure adrenaline, I follow him down, grab his ankles, and turn them until he cries out in submission.
Releasing my hold, I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his neck back. “Get up, and get the fuck out. Don’t even think about coming back until you’re clean. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah. Yeah, boss.”
“Good. Now, roll your ass out of here.” Letting go of his hair, I turn a side-eyed glare toward Frankie, who’s watching beside Shiloh. “Take his ass to Will’s.”
“Boss, I don’t have a car.”
“Take mine.”
“Boss, I don’t have a license.”
“Do I look like I give a shit right now? Just get him out of here.”
Frankie just nods, helping Romeo out of the ring as he hobbles silently toward the door. The rest of the boys stare in silence, their hands shoved deep in their pockets.
“Any of you have something to say?”
They all shake their heads in unison and cast their eyes toward the floor.
“That’s what I thought. Everybody out. It’s getting late anyway, so you all can find something else to do tonight.”
Although they all groan, nobody challenges me as they file out one by one.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I feel something wet and sticky, and realize I have Romeo’s blood all over my hands, which I’ve now wiped on my face. “Motherfucker.” Jumping out of the ring, I slam my feet on the floor and stomp across the room.
Shiloh’s slender arm stops me. “Don’t you think you were a little harsh on him?”
“Don’t judge what you don’t understand, Shiloh.” My breath wheezes out with forced exertion. “This is how we settle things here. There’s one line we don’t cross here, and he crossed it.”
“He just made a mistake, Cary. Everybody makes them.”
“Is that right? Interesting. Does everyone who makes them own up to them? In my experience, that’s not the case.” White noise fills my head, and I honestly have no clue what the hell is coming out of my mouth. Seven years of pent up hate is finally exploding.
She frowns, managing to look pissed and dignified at the same time. “Have you never regretted anything in your life, or are you just that damn perfect?”
“Un-fucking-believable!” I roar, jerking out of her hold so hard she stumbles backward. “There you go again, turning shit around on me. You just can’t own up to what you did, can you? You’ll never take responsibility.”
“What good would it do now?” she screams, her anger level starting to match mine.
“What good would it do? Damn it, Shiloh! Do you have any idea the hell I went through for you?” Grabbing a towel from the side bin, I turn my back to her. “I can’t have this conversation right now.”
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower. Unless you’d like to fuck that up for me too.”
I stomp down the long hallway toward the locker room. Turning the corner, I rip off my drenched clothes while cursing her name. With every slam of my fist into the shower tile, I hear a te
lltale cracking sound, letting me know I’ve gone too far. Closing my eyes, I brace both palms against the fractured material as water pelts me from overhead and try to control myself. I’m in debt enough. I’d be an idiot to willingly destroy property I can’t afford to repair. Admitting that to myself pisses me off even more and makes me want to want to rip down every piece and smash it against the concrete floor with my bare hands.
Within thirty seconds of standing there, my senses go into overload. As usual, I smell her before I see her. Rain and sunshine. One whiff and my cock stands at attention.
“If you’re gonna be in here, Starshine, you’re gonna be naked.” I don't have to turn around to know she’s scowling. I feel the fury vibrating off her, and it makes me smile. Choosing to ignore her, I make an unnecessary production out of soaping my chest and biceps.
“I—I should go.” When she makes no move to leave, I know I’ve got her.
“What’s your hurry? Leaving without my signature puts you in breach of contract.” I glance down, making sure to drag her eyes along with mine. “And it appears I have no place to hide a pen on me.”
The old Carrick was self-conscious about his body, hiding it behind layers of sweltering clothes. However, the new Cary is well aware that hours in the ring has transformed it into something she never expected. I’m confident now and making Shiloh sweat a little is an added perk of my game.
Besides, I want her to look. I already know her eyes are glued to my ass, but I need more. There’s a raging fire in my veins that needs her so enthralled with me that she forgets to breathe.
“Cary…” She tries one last time, but I’m done pretending. My name is name barely out of her mouth when I turn to face her, fighting the smirk that’s dying to betray me.
