Torque

by Shauna Allen

  I dipped my gaze to his hand, still rubbing idle circles on my flesh. I had a sudden flash of straddling his lap and tracing his throat with my tongue. I wondered what he’d think . . .

  His hand slid away almost regretfully and he picked up his fork for a big bite. “You softening me up before I give you the bid?”

  Oddly sad the moment was over, I forced a smile. “Maybe.”

  He chewed with a low moan, making my insides clench. He swallowed and smiled up at me. “Well, it just might work.”

  “Score one for me.” I’d have to thank Delilah for the tip later. I sat across from him with my own piece and some ice water. I licked the fork and realized I hadn’t done half bad. “So, you like to read?” I asked between bites.

  Silence.

  I glanced up and he was chewing thoughtfully, his eyes downturned.

  “Hey.”

  He looked up.

  “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. Reading is fundamental, right?”

  That got a lopsided grin. “Sure.”

  “Plus, it’s sexy.” I wiggled my brows, trying to lighten him up.

  He belted out a laugh. “Sexy, huh?”

  “Oh, most definitely. So, tell me, what else have you read? War and Peace? Atlas Shrugged? Dianetics? Fifty Shades?”

  He still said nothing, but I found I loved making him smile.

  “Oh, come on. Your secret is safe with me.”

  His gaze seemed to gauge my words. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Sigh. “Yes, I’ve read those. Well, except Fifty Shades. Not exactly prison reading material.”

  I sat back and blinked, stunned. I was just messing with him. But he’d actually read all that? “What else?” Now I was ravenous to know more about this guy. Most people obviously underestimated him just because of his past. I was not most people.

  Now he looked embarrassed. It was cute. “Do you really want to know all this? Can’t we just talk about the Indian?”

  “In a minute. Now you’ve teased me with this knowledge and I must know all.”

  He took another big bite of cake as I stared at him. How much longer could I keep my hands to myself? With this new information, it was starting to seem improbable, if not impossible, that it would be much longer.

  “1984,” he said finally. At my puzzled reaction, he clarified. “The book. And Ishmael. Plato’s Symposium. The Bible, twice.”

  He continued on, listing books I’d never heard of and I was sure my mouth was hanging open like a gaping fish, but I couldn’t help it. Holy. Shit.

  “I can’t think of any more right now.” He looked away and continued eating.

  “One more question.”

  He glanced back.

  “Which was your favorite?”

  “Honestly?”

  I nodded, eager to hear his answer.

  “You won’t tell anyone?”

  I made a crossing motion over my heart and mimed zipping my lips. He was killing me here.

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  Well, hello, Mr. Darcy.

  “I’m serious,” he continued. “If you tell anyone that, I’ll say you’re lying. It would ruin what little cred I have if people knew my favorite book was a romance.”

  My swoony heart threatened to leap right from my chest and land on his now empty plate, but I kept my cool. “Well, it’s more than a simple romance. It’s intelligent and timeless. I loved it, too.”

  His eyes lit with delight.

  We remained quiet a few moments while I nibbled my cake, but I could feel his large, dominating presence filling up my kitchen and it made me feel all warm and squishy inside. Like I was melting.

  “So,” I said as I stood and grabbed our dirty dishes. “The bike? What’s the news?”

  “Again, you’re sure you want to know?”

  “Of course. Price doesn’t matter to me. It was my father’s.”

  His chin dropped to his chest as he cupped the back of his head. “I’m so sorry about your dad, Rachel.”

  “It’s okay.” I faced the sink and took a big breath to collect myself. Even now, thoughts of my dad broke my heart. I missed him so bone deep, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get over it.

  “Well, I can cut you a deal on labor, but it’s the parts that’ll cost you if you want to go all original. And, given the classic it is, I’d recommend that route. Though it may take a while to locate some of the original parts, I think it’s doable. And it’ll be worth it.”

  Not that it mattered, I’d decided to do this. I had savings plus what I’d inherited from my dad’s estate. “I trust you. So, like . . . a few thousand?”

  “Like fifteen to twenty. Maybe more.”

  “Okay. Do you want the money upfront?”

  He gaped. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  He snapped to and his face got all serious and businesslike. “Well, I could start looking around for parts first thing Monday. I can order what I need and use the shop’s discount whenever possible and just invoice you monthly. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds perfect.” I approached and stuck out my hand. “It’s a deal.”

  He glanced down at my hand briefly then accepted the shake. “It’s a deal.”

  We shook, our fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

  “So—” I started.

  “I should go,” he said at the same time.

  “Oh.” Disappointment slithered through me. But, what, did I think we were on a date or something?

  He stood, his body now close enough to mine that I could feel his heat. I wanted to curl into him like a cat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I fought every single instinct I had that wanted to flirt, inhale, touch, have my way with this man. I tried. I really tried.

  Instead, I opened my mouth. “Stay?”

  Jesse

  Stay.

  Rachel’s soft plea had my heart racing. Surely, she didn’t mean . . . ?

  “Dinner?” she added.

  I glanced down to where she was gripping my forearm but didn’t move. I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to without ravaging that luscious mouth.

  Her dark eyes lit with a smile. “I know we had dessert first, but you gotta live a little, right?”

  I murmured my agreement, my body vibrating with her nearness. God, I wanted her more than my next breath. Then reason smacked me upside the head. “I have a curfew.” At her puzzled look, I clarified. “Parole, remember?” Sometimes I hated that fucking ankle bracelet. I had my freedom, but I was also still in prison.

  “Ah, right. What time do you have to leave?”

  Something akin to hope floated through me. “Hour and a half? I have to be home by ten. No later.”

  “Well, there’s time then.” Uncertainty danced across her face, making her eyes soft.

  “I guess.” My voice was low as I tried to rein in my emotion. No woman, no person, had ever affected me this way. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “So you’ll stay? I mean, I’m not much of a cook, but I can throw together some pasta really fast. Maybe we can play cards?”

  “Cards?”

  “Yeah. Cards. You know, a fun activity between friends. Unless you have plans?”

  I watched the uncertainty dance across her features. “No plans, but do you think . . . is this a good idea?”

  She stepped back and I immediately missed the warm contact of her hand. “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea? It’s just dinner.”

  I tilted my head. Did she honestly have no idea how close I was to saying ‘fuck it’ and throwing her down on her dining room table to taste her for the first time?

  “Jesse . . .”

  I waited, not sure I trusted myself to speak. I may be well read and reasonably intelligent, but right now I was practically drunk and stupid on her scent.

  “What’s going on here, Jesse?” Her voice was rough and whisper soft.

  Tread carefully, man. “Nothing. You’re hiring me to fix your
bike—”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “I know.”

  “And?”

  I met her fierce gaze. “And I’m a felon, Rachel.” I would not voice the rest. Never. That was enough.

  “So? You served your sentence.”

  Ha. “I’m on parole for the next year. I’m not a normal guy who can just . . .”

  “Just what? Spit it out, Joyner!”

  That fine tether of control snapped deep inside me. Without another thought, I prowled toward her, intent on showing her just how she needed to stay away from me.

  Her eyes widened, and with each step I took in her direction, she backed up one until I had her against the wall, our chests mere inches from each other. I brushed a wayward curl from her face, where it stuck to her lip.

  Her eyes stayed pinned to mine. Wide, observant, but not scared. “Say it,” she pleaded.

  “I can’t want you like this, Rachel. You need to stay away from me. I’m no good for you.”

  Her breath heaved in and out, making her chest brush mine, as we stared each other down.

  Seconds ticked by. She licked her lips. I thought I’d implode.

  “Why don’t you let me decide what’s good for me?”

  Then she tugged my head down and her mouth was on mine. Her tongue brushed my lips and I couldn’t help my moan as I gave myself over to her completely. It was my first taste of paradise. Dark and sweet and dangerously perfect.

  “About damn time,” she panted, her forehead pressed to my chest, our arms still tangled around each other, her sweet shampoo scent filling me.

  I was having a hard time forming words. As much as I’d dreamed of kissing Rachel, the reality was a million times better . . . and much more dangerous. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep myself from coming back for another taste.

  She leaned back and studied me, her nearly black eyes clearing and filling with something that looked an awful lot like regret. She cupped my cheek. “Jesse? What’s wrong?”

  I wanted to say we shouldn’t have done that, but that would be like saying Heaven was a lie.

  She must’ve sensed my hesitation and tightened her hold on me. “Listen to me. I don’t care about your past. Honestly. Forget that I’m a lawyer for just one second and tell me how you feel . . . because I can tell you that I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

  I had no idea what to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “Me, too.”

  She smiled. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Everything. No matter what I want, I can’t just forget that you’re a lawyer and I’m a parolee. It’s who we are.”

  Nodding once, she released me and I stepped back. “I get it. You don’t want to be seen with a lawyer.” She made the last word sound like something vile.

  I gaped. “Wha . . . ? No. Of course not. I’m not like that. Don’t you—?”

  “What’s the difference, Jesse? I’m not like that either, but you’re trying to shove me into some box. I’m not proposing marriage, for fuck’s sake. I’m just asking you to have dinner with me. Maybe make out a little. What’s wrong with that? You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

  Who was this woman? She had me reeling and I wasn’t sure I’d ever find my footing. “Fine. Dinner. But let’s bench making out for a while.”

  “Okay.” She grinned like she knew this was going to happen all along and spun to saunter to the kitchen. “Oh,” she threw over her shoulder, “did I mention I also have a fresh batch of banana pudding in the fridge?”

  It was official. She was going to be the death of me.

  She wasn’t lying. There was dinner . . . some kind of chicken pasta stuff that was awesome . . . and the best banana pudding I’d ever had. Yeah, she’d kill me and I’d go gladly.

  I sat back with a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

  Her sparkling eyes smiled at me. “You’re welcome.”

  I rose with her to clear the dishes, but she shooed me back to my seat and took the dirty plates to the sink. I couldn’t help staring at the wispy red curls that had escaped her ponytail and were brushing her nape. I wanted nothing more than to tuck them back into place and press my lips there.

  She turned and paused, her eyes widening as if she read my thoughts. I let my lips tip up in a half-smile. Busted. “So, you said something about cards?”

  A surprised laugh bubbled out of her and I found I liked it. A little too much. “So I did.”

  She left the room a moment and I heard her moving around in the living room. She returned and sat across from me with a deck of cards in her hand. She drew them out and began shuffling like a card shark. “What’s your game, Joyner?”

  I glanced up from her nimble fingers, my brows raised. “Don’t have one.”

  “Don’t you?”

  I met her dark stare, understanding that she was asking about more than simple cards. “Nope.”

  She began to deal. “Seven card stud then, Jokers wild.”

  I picked up my hand and studied the two aces, two sevens, and one king. “What are we betting?”

  She froze and her eyes darted up to mine. “You wanna bet?”

  Her flush was adorable. Absolutely fucking adorable. “Let’s make things interesting.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  I thought fast. “If I win, you get those girly hands greasy and help me with the bike.”

  Her brow quirked then a ghost of a smile moved across her lips. “Okay. But if I win, you teach me to ride it.”

  My eyes popped open. “What? You don’t ride?”

  She shook her head.

  “Your dad didn’t teach you?”

  “No. His bikes were a newer hobby for him.”

  Oh. Oh, shit. Suddenly, all I could envision was all that pale skin and red hair smeared on the concrete when she bit it for the first time. “I’m not sure—”

  “What? You scared you’ll lose?” She bit her bottom lip and I stifled a groan.

  I glanced at my hand again. “Nope. It’s a bet.”

  Tipping her head once in triumph, she nodded toward my cards. “You wanna draw?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll take two.” She tossed down a couple and drew from the deck as my nerves began to jangle. “Call.”

  I took a breath and laid them out. “Two pair, king high.”

  Her brows rose. “Impressive.”

  Joy filled me as I imagined her bent over the Indian. I nodded toward her hand. “You?”

  Her face was the mask of seriousness as she slowly laid them out. “Flush.” Her eyes met mine. “I’ll take an IOU on that riding lesson.”

  Shit.

  Rachel

  I tossed and turned in my bed, feeling hot and unsettled after Jesse left that night. I kicked the covers off my legs as memories of our kiss ripped through my mind. It had been better than I’d ever imagined. By a million percent.

  I can’t want you like this, Rachel.

  On a rational level, I totally got where he was coming from, understood his fears. He was on parole, I was an attorney. We were miles apart there. But on a gut-deep level, my body obviously didn’t care.

  I sighed and flopped over, glancing at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Sometimes I wished Jewel still lived with me. She never seemed to mind my middle of the night ramblings about difficult cases or even more difficult men. Plus, she always dished the ice cream. Man¸ I could use someone to talk to about now, and it was too late to call Delilah. But what would I say even if I did? I want your husband’s best friend? Naked.

  Yeah, no. Besides, she already knew that.

  It was more than that and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something in those eyes of his pulled me in. It was as if I could not only see his soul—his hidden pain—I could touch it.

  No. That was just hormones talking. I hadn’t been with a man since Angelo and I broke up . . . not th
at anything we shared came close to that kiss with Jesse.

  Giving up, I rolled out of bed for a glass of wine and Netflix documentary binge.

  By Monday morning, I was a big bundle of hormones and hyperactive senses. Jesse had cancelled our Saturday bike plans, saying he’d been called in to see his parole officer unexpectedly then he had some errands. The stark reminder of who he was cooled my jets for a moment, but not long. I really got the feeling he was trying to avoid me.

  The firm’s glass doors swooshed open as I strode in with purpose and moved to my desk. I had to put Jesse on the back burner for a while and get to work. I had a deposition to prepare for Mrs. Casey so we could get her SOB husband.

  I’d just tucked my purse under my desk when a soft tap sounded at my door. “Rach?” Angelo popped his head inside, his black hair gleaming and slicked back, his hazel eyes assessing, as always.

  “Good morning, Angelo.”

  He stepped further inside my office and closed the door with a soft click, filling the room with his obnoxious cologne. I steeled myself mentally for whatever bullshit he had for me this morning. As his eyes raked me up and down, I wondered what I’d ever seen in him. Ugh.

  “I wanted to talk to you about our upcoming caseload.”

  In my emotional state, his condescending tone really, really rubbed me the wrong way. I sat, not letting him see my eyes roll. “What about it?”

  He didn’t sit, instead choosing to tower over me from the front of my desk. “With Stripling coming from Atlanta, we need to really consider taking on higher profile clients.”

  I crossed my arms under my breasts. “Higher profile?”

  His eyes darted down to my cleavage and I suppressed the urge to look as well to make sure my buttons were snugly in place. “Yes. So we can build into something more in line with our original vision.”

  What vision was he talking about? I distinctly remember graduating law school with the dream of using my knowledge to help the underdog. The disenfranchised. The ones no other firm would want to touch. Because I could. And he knew that when we went into practice together. When he proposed. Had he already forgotten I’d helped build this firm? My name was on the front, just the same as his.