Legacy of Danger

by Jillian David

  "Sorry, no."

  "Tomorrow night?"

  "Um, can't."

  "How about Friday?"

  Damn, he had weigh-in for the fight that night. "No. I have plans."

  The corners of her mouth dropped, and so did his stomach. "Saturday?"

  "Plans again."

  She uncrossed her arms and stuffed her hands in the coat pockets. "Pretty tight social calendar, there."

  "Mariah, no. It's not like—"

  She held up a hand. "Hey. I get it. My bad for misunderstanding the situation. I should have known."

  "What?"

  Pressing her mouth into a line, she said, "How many women do you string along at any given time?"

  "The hell?"

  "It's okay." She shifted from foot to foot. "I totally understand. It was a mistake for us to go out in the first place, what with me treating your family."

  "No, I—"

  "You don't have to sugarcoat anything, Vaughn."

  Boy, did his name sound good coming from her mouth. What he'd give to hear her say it again. Preferably in a whisper. While they were both naked.

  For the love of all that was holy, stop thinking about that stuff. Concentrate on the fully clothed woman in front of you and try not to make things worse.

  "I'm not sugarcoating anything. This happens to be a bad week."

  "So, let me get this straight. You just asked me out, knowing that you were fully booked?"

  Well, sort of, yes. But she could lay off him already. Christ, she didn't have to push all of his buttons at once.

  The muscles in his legs bunched like he wanted to tackle something. Or someone. He locked his spine into a rigid line. And damn him if an image of Garrison's wife waving those incriminating pictures didn't pop into his head. Yes, this... whatever it was... was a bad idea. Best offense was a good defense, as they said.

  "You seem somewhat sensitive about being stood up."

  "I think we have to have a date actually planned for someone to stand up the other person," she spluttered.

  Semantics. "What about how you bolted out of our brunch yesterday?"

  She raised a hand. "Whoa. The stand-up occurs before a date even begins. What I had was a hospital emergency."

  "You think that gives you a special pass?"

  The jut of her chin spelled trouble. "You bet it does. And if that's too much for you to deal with, then we should probably keep our interactions strictly business."

  A wise man would tap out. "Business?" No one would ever accuse Vaughn of being wise. He went into a wider stance, more in control, more comfortable in a sparring situation. "You're not a little controlling, are you?"

  "Gosh, no. How can I be, with my crazy life and unpredictable work hours?"

  "Uh. That's kind of a good point."

  "So, anyway. Sounds like I need to be going. You have a booked schedule." She fished the keys out of her pocket. "And I am not going to be played."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Well, because..."

  Now to knock her on her ass.

  "Do you honestly think I would want to see someone else?" He put as much sincerity as he possibly could into the words. Show her that he meant it. Anything to try and fix the mess he'd made. Continued to make.

  Even in the shadows from the halogen parking lot lights, he could tell she looked everywhere but at him. "Well. Sure." Her hair fell forward, partially hiding her graceful jaw.

  He rocked back on his heels as the blood exited his head. Whoa. Stop the bus. What the hell had just happened? "Are you crazy?"

  She spun away. "All right. That's enough. This conversation is over. Good night, and thank you again for the meal yesterday and for walking me out here."

  He grabbed her upper arm and rotated her toward him. "No way you can doubt my interest in you." Then he let go and stepped back.

  "Frankly, I don't know what your deal is. One minute you're growly and the next minute you're... not. My neck hurts from the whiplash."

  Rubbing his chin, he stared down at her. "Not that I want to go into details, and not that it's any excuse, but I've been burned before."

  "You're in good company. Along with many other people in this world, I'm sure. But you can still be polite, you know. Or at least not go all over the place with your reactions."

  "I know. And you're right."

  "So..." She shoved her hands in the coat pockets and jiggled her keys.

  "One more chance for me not to stick my foot in my mouth?"

  Her eyes flicked to the ground. "It's a big foot."

  Keeping his hands at his sides, he nodded. "I have a big mouth."

  "Not going to argue there."

  "You're tough."

  A pause. "You have no idea."

  It took effort to keep his distance, but he wouldn't crowd her, by God. "Oh, I have a very good idea of your toughness. I've got the invisible scars from the tongue-lashing to show for it." He lifted a hand. "Not that it wasn't deserved." When he exhaled, a puff of vapor drifted away, taking some of his past misgivings with it. "Your call, Mariah. Any chance we can try to line up our schedules and have a nice bagel and coffee like two regular people?"

  "Simple?"

  "Of course."

  "And it's not a date, right?"

  "Yes. I mean, no, it's not. If you don't want it to be a date."

  "And no getting mad if the hospital calls me while we're not on a date."

  "You got it."

  Her bright smile chased away the cold, dark night. "I can manage that."

  He barked a laugh. "You can manage it? Like it's a chore?"

  "No. It's just bagels. And coffee. Coffee is never a chore." A little wrinkle of her nose and he relaxed.

  A rare chuckle rumbled through him. "Then it's a not-date?"

  She tilted her head to the side. "Deal."

  "And Mariah?" His heart pounded in his chest.

  "What?"

  "You have to know that I am interested in getting to know you. There is no one else in my life, relationship-wise."

  "Well, thank you for saying so." She chewed on her lower lip, capturing his attention and stealing his ability to form a sentence.

  The low rumble of the hospital HVAC cycling from the rooftop filled the silence between them.

  His heart thudded loudly enough to be heard two counties over.

  It would hurt like hell if he failed, but he needed to take a chance right here, right now.

  "Mariah?"

  "Yes."

  Shit, he wasn't used to asking for anything. But he was too terrified to make a move without permission. Big, strong Vaughn Taggart, paralyzed stupid by his past. "I'd, uh, like to maybe give you a hug."

  "Because of your sister?" Was she making fun of him? No. Open sincerity was written on her fine features.

  "No. Because I'd like to give you a hug." He plastered his palms to his hips. "But only if it's okay."

  "Are you asking me for permission because you were a jerk earlier?" The breathy voice with that hitch in it weakened his knees.

  He swallowed. "No. Because I don't want to make another mistake."

  * * *

  Mariah trembled. Honest to God trembled.

  The thought of stepping fully into the circle of his massive arms took her from having a few palpitations straight to emergent supraventricular tachycardia. The first time her last boyfriend hugged her, she had screamed. Great way to start a new relationship. Couldn't wait to see how she reacted out here in the Wyoming night to a hulking guy who sported an expression like a dog who had been kicked.

  Worst part? Vaughn wasn't the problem. Actually, he made her want to use his embrace to help overcome her horrible past. She wanted to touch him. To feel the warmth of his body against hers.

  But what if he hugged too tightly? Or not tightly enough? Or didn't let go? What if she had a flashback when he touched her?

  God, the two of them were a hot mess.

  "Okay," she whispered, not moving.

&nb
sp; Vaughn lifted his arms slightly away from his body and took a half step toward her. "Your call."

  "Everyone has a past, you know." Where had that comment come from? She glanced up at him.

  A curt nod. "I'm not in the past right now."

  A rough sigh ripped from her as she bridged the foot of space between them and pressed her cheek to his chest, between the sides of his unzipped jacket. Solid. Warm. His pulse... about ninety beats per minute. Regular. Steady.

  His arms stayed out to his sides.

  She relaxed into his torso by slow degrees, the heat from his frame seeping into her skin.

  "Mariah." The timbre of his voice vibrated through the bones of her face and down to her toes.

  As she slid her hands under his jacket, the muscles under his shirt tensed and rippled.

  She wasn't confined at all. Running her hands as far around his torso as she could reach, she melted into his frame. A weight on her head told her he'd rested his chin there. And it felt right.

  The gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders didn't make her flinch. It made her want more. An unsteady breath shifted his chest.

  Leaning back, she looked up into his dark, shadowed eyes.

  Then he brushed his lips over her forehead. Just the lightest press of skin against hers.

  The muscles of his back clenched into iron rods beneath her hands.

  A headache flickered across her temples, followed by that cocoon sensation. A bubble of safety. She wanted more.

  His rough palms brushed over the wool coat as he encircled her frame. Not too tight. But present. Solid. Safe.

  A low growl came from his throat, triggering a frisson straight down her body into her pelvis.

  Okay. Maybe not completely safe.

  But not scary.

  His lips descended again, this time sweeping over her temples and cheekbones, leaving behind tingling, hypersensitive skin. "Mariah." His hoarse voice sent her heart into another pattering rhythm. "Can I kiss you?"

  "Yes," she breathed.

  The virtual cocoon warmed several degrees as he bent his head down. She stood on tiptoes to meet him. She had wanted only a tiny taste. Mostly to make sure she was okay.

  The second their lips touched... heck, she was more than okay. Her internal BTUs went from zero to spontaneously combusting.

  His arms tightened around her as he slowly kissed her. He changed angles, drawing shudders and sighs from deep inside of her. A wave of headache came and went again. Must be the cold air.

  The headache was a distant memory when he nipped at her mouth.

  And when his tongue lightly traced the seam of her lips?

  She stepped back.

  He froze, his dark gaze locked onto her face.

  Then she reached up and laced her fingers behind his neck, stretching to reach his mouth again.

  With another guttural sound, he clasped her flush to his chest. As he swept his tongue across her lips again, she opened to him on a sigh. A throbbing between her legs grew, and she pressed harder against him. The friction created a little sparkle of stars at the edges of her vision.

  "I want...," he breathed. "Christ, Mariah."

  Another gentle onslaught of kisses stole her breath. The rasp of his stubble against her cheek turned her insides to warm liquid. And when her tongue tangled with his, she actually wobbled. But she knew that she wouldn't fall. Not with his arms around her and his solid frame supporting her.

  "You're amazing," he whispered as he nipped over her lips.

  As he rocked his pelvis against the cradle of her hips, his erection hardened. His fist tightened on her wool coat, like he wanted to tear it to shreds. Given the size of his hands, he could probably do it, too.

  Breaking off the kiss, he lifted his head. "Shit."

  One by one, though, the stars faded away, leaving two individuals standing on cold asphalt pavement in the hospital parking lot.

  Air rasped in and out of his mouth. His nostrils flared.

  "This isn't a fling," he said, as if talking to himself.

  When he stepped away, a wave of vertigo made her stumble. Vaughn grabbed her elbow, steadying her. But he didn't pull her back into his embrace.

  And she felt empty because of it.

  "This isn't a fling," he repeated. Although he stared at her, it was as if he looked through her.

  "I know this isn't a fling," she said, her own voice none too steady.

  "No, you don't understand. You deserve so much better."

  "Because of your past? We covered the fact that we both have some demons."

  He rubbed his jaw. "That's not it."

  "All right, then what?"

  "This was a mistake."

  She flinched, and her heart took a zero-G drop.

  "Mistake?" she gasped.

  "Not mistake, like what you might think of a mistake." He wet his lips. "Well, yes. Kind of a mistake." He held up a hand as she took a breath. "It's all my problem, not yours. You're fine."

  "That's the lamest line I've ever heard."

  His mouth gaped open, no words coming out. Good, because she might just punch him if he said something else stupid.

  Rubbing a hand over face, she nodded. "Fine. I might be slow, but I finally get it. This time, for real, I'm going to take what shreds of dignity I have left and exit this situation."

  "Mariah."

  She blinked several times. "Don't say anything. Please." She straightened her shoulders and set her expression into what she hoped was a professional appearance.

  His face went blank. That lack of emotion iced her blood. Something more than a simple kiss had happened. A connection had been formed, and breaking it hurt like a beast.

  Better now than later. She turned her back on him and slid into the driver's seat. "Good night."

  "Damn it. It's not your fault."

  The burning behind her eyelids challenged her tight control. "Of course it's not." She turned the key in the ignition. "Your issues are your own. Good night."

  "Mariah?"

  "Unless you plan to yank my chain even more, I'll ask you to move away from the car and leave me alone." Cold. Final.

  She had never talked to anyone like that.

  He did as she asked, and she closed the door and drove off into the chilly night.

  Chapter 12

  Four solid walls, clean furniture, some knickknacks, and a few pictures did not a peaceful sanctuary make. Didn't matter that Mariah's house was located smack dab in the middle of Copper River, with pleasant neighbors all around.

  Late into the evening, she paced circles on her living room carpet.

  Right now, in her mind, she wasn't in Copper River.

  No, in Mariah's mind, she was back at the compound in that desolate corner of Utah, trapped in the unfinished plywood room, pacing across rotting subfloor. Every circuit, she'd had to avoid a black section of moldy wood or risk crashing through the floor. Every circuit, she passed by the locked door.

  How many times had she been trapped in that building, held there by men with guns who threatened her brother's life? Meanwhile, the closer Kevin had come to reaching his teenage years, the more beatings he endured.

  Sweat beaded her brow, even in the winter climate.

  Keep walking. Just keep walking.

  Tonight's episode with Vaughn had rattled her down to the bones. He didn't trap her. Didn't confine her. Hadn't pressed. Maybe he'd manipulated her emotions some, and whether it was intentional or not was a subject for debate. But she could deal with that question. Hey, sometimes guys could be a mess.

  To be fair, she had participated equally in this evening's parking lot interlude. He'd given her plenty of chances to step away. In fact, he had let her take the lead.

  The intensity of her desire for him scared her—not because of the possibility of success but for the chance of failure.

  Time to stop trying to diagnose herself.

  She sank into the rocking chair, picked up the phone, and hit a number from her cont
act list.

  "Hi, sis," came the voice on the other end.

  She gripped the phone. "Kevin. How are you?"

  "You called me. What's going on? Everything okay?"

  "Yes. Just needed to hear your voice." The tension inside of her dissipated like a boiling pot removed from the heat.

  A pause. "Did something happen? Do I need to come up there?" That was Kevin, always willing to drop everything and help.

  "No. Of course not." Her voice faded away. In her mind, she was that fourteen-year-old girl, looking out a cracked window over the desolate terra cotta rock and sand terrain, desperately plotting a way to save them both. "Tell me how your training is going. When's the bout? January?"

  "Yeah. This might be my big break, moving up to the next level. There'll be scouts from the UFC present. I've been working on jujitsu skills the past few months, and I think it'll pay off."

  "Awesome. But are you staying healthy? Nutrition good?" Normal, safe topics. The bad memories faded away as she ran her hand over the solid, real, wooden arm of the chair. The present. Not the past.

  "You bet. The gym here has a guy who helps with diet. Shouldn't be an issue to cut weight next month. I'm feeling good going into this one."

  "Still fighting at 135?" Her brother might not be a big guy, but pound for pound he was one of the fiercest competitors she'd ever seen. He'd stand up to people twice his size, especially if it meant defending his older sister. That fierceness had drawn far too much negative attention and subsequent pain.

  No. That's the past. Stay in the present.

  "Yeah. It's a tough division, but if things go well, I might get a contract. Oh man, that would be awesome, fighting on the big stage. Maybe compete internationally." It sounded like he took a sip of something. "What about you? Working any fights coming up?"

  "Just a few local matches lately. This weekend I'm going to Lander. Want to come up?"

  "Can't. Gotta work to support my MMA habit."

  She laughed. "You're a junkie."

  "And you're enabling me by helping with the costs." He blew out a breath. "If I haven't told you thanks lately... thanks. I used that last check to cover my trainer for the month. You don't know how much those extra bucks help."