“I don’t want it.” Her footsteps pattered on the sidewalk behind me. I opened the passenger door for her. She stopped short of the curb and inspected the shiny black vehicle with narrowed her eyes. “This is yours? Did you steal it or something?”
“No, I didn’t steal it. Why would you say that?” This time I didn’t even try to hide my dismay. I scrubbed a hand over my face, rallying my patience and curbing my temper. “What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?”
Her gaze seared over me, starting at my man bun, lingering on my beard, skimming over my black T-shirt and camouflage pants. Something tightened in my groin. Plenty of girls had checked me out before, but Jo’s scrutiny took the term to a new level. Not to be outdone, I returned the favor, and fuck me if I didn’t like what I saw. Her black yoga pants molded to slim hips and solid thighs meant to wrap around a man’s waist. And she was so tiny, like I could pick her up and put her in my pocket, like she needed a man to protect her from the assholes in the world. I scratched my head and backed up a step, bewildered by my thoughts.
“You’re trouble with a capital T. The kind of guy who bounces from job to job and blows through women the same way.” She pushed past me, climbed into the passenger seat, and stared straight ahead. The partial inaccuracy of her assessment wielded a second blow to my ego.
“Come on.” I closed her door and climbed in my side. “I’ve got a job.” In fact, I’d built an impressive business around bail bonding and bounty hunting. With fourteen offices in four different states, I’d become a respected member in the business. After I fastened the seatbelt, I turned to face her and summoned my most charming smile. “Admit it. Every woman likes a man who’s a little rough around the edges.”
“Not me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. I studied the fullness of her lower lip and the white line where her teeth bit into it. Her creamy skin was bare of makeup, glowing and healthy. “Believe me, you’re everything I don’t like in a guy.”
“So you’re a lesbian.” I started the car and eased into the street.
“Just because I find you repulsive doesn’t mean I don’t like men.” Her brow scrunched. “And that’s a horribly sexist remark.”
I gave her a sideways glance. Everything about her posture suggested otherwise—arms crossed over her chest, legs pressed tightly together, nose in the air. “Okay, so you’re straight but you don’t like sex. I’m guessing it’s been what, like, a year?”
She twisted in her seat, mouth agape. “I’m not discussing my sex life with you, you pig.”
“Ah, so I’m right.”
“Stop.” She lifted a palm in the air. “In case you’re too dense to figure it out, I don’t like you. You’re arrogant, condescending, and demeaning toward women.” My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Most people found me charming, if unconventional, and her steadfast dislike confused me. “The only reason I’m tolerating you is for Bronte’s sake.”
“Damn.” I smirked, certain she was kidding, because she couldn’t be oblivious to the sexual tension unfolding between us. One glance at her lowered brows proved me wrong. The smile slid from my face. I’d met some straight shooters in my day, but this girl won the prize. I need you two to get along. Rhett’s words came back to me. I squared my shoulders and tried to remember my manners. “I apologize if I offended you.”
“Maybe it would be best if we didn’t talk,” she said, training her attention outside the vehicle.
“Suit yourself.” I followed her lead and focused on the road. The tension thickened between us. She smelled like cotton candy, sweet and tempting. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Inside, I warred between anger and the desire to kiss her into submission. Most of the time, I didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of me, but for some reason, her dislike offered the ultimate challenge. I was going to make her like me or die trying.
Chapter 4
Jo
Rhett and Bronte had sublet a beautiful apartment in a historic building near the park. On the plus side, it was close to their work, had gorgeous hardwood floors, and a balcony overlooking the canal. On the negative side, the building had narrow stairways and no elevator.
“Tell me again why you didn’t hire a moving service?” I asked Bronte.
We were stuck on the fourth-floor landing of the stairs with a sofa between us. Rhett and Bronte were on the lower side, while I was wedged between the sofa and handrail above the landing with Carter. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t get the leather couch to navigate the ninety-degree angle to the next floor.
“Because we’re trying to save a few bucks,” Rhett answered for her.
I cringed inside. Despite my protests, they’d been helping with expenses for the coffee shop over the past couple of months. My best efforts at management had come up short. Business continued to decline, while our overhead skyrocketed. No one felt my failure more than me. Rhett’s comment only increased my guilt. Although they were too polite to complain, I knew it was my fault.
“Try it again,” Carter said. He was beside me, holding the bulk of the sofa’s weight. When he shifted, the bulge of his bicep brushed my breast. Lust flooded my veins.
I closed my eyes against the sting of arousal. Everything about him irritated me, from his penetrating eyes to the woodsy scent of his cologne, and don’t even get me started on his cocky smirk. To make matters worse, with each passing second in his presence, my panties grew damper.
“Lift it higher,” he said. “Don’t push so hard.”
In my head, I could hear those terse commands given in the middle of a very intense, very erotic session of marathon screwing. My thighs wrapped around his waist. His hands on my ass. The two of us grinding and writhing and sweating. The walls of my sex shuddered. “Shit,” I muttered.
“Jo, lift!” Rhett, Bronte, and Carter shouted in unison, jerking me out of my fantasy and back to the unpleasant reality of the staircase.
“I am lifting!”
“Okay, everyone, altogether. Now,” Carter barked.
The four of us moved in unison, wedging the sofa tighter into the corner.
“This isn’t working,” Bronte said, her voice muffled by the piece of furniture between us. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. I think we’re certifiable.”
“I’ll second that,” Carter replied, his deep voice rumbling through the space between us.
“You need to lift it over the railing and angle it up,” Bronte said.
“I think we should turn it on its side,” Rhett added.
“My arms are starting to cramp.” I’d been standing in the same position for at least ten minutes. Unlike Carter, my biceps weren’t used to the heavy weight.
Carter shifted, taking more of the weight to lighten my load. In the process, he crowded me further into the railing. We were too close. The heat of his body shimmered over my side. The coarse hairs on his forearm tickled along my shoulder. The scent of his sweat and shower gel teased my nose. He was a dirty, sexy, wild man, and all I could think about was my thighs wrapped around his narrow hips while he rode me like a rodeo star.
“Mmmm.” I hummed in approval, mesmerized by the thick vein running down his arm. I’d bet he could manhandle me just the way I liked it, moving me where he wanted, driving into me. Feeling the weight of his stare, I glanced up to find his predatory gaze on my face. I swallowed against the embarrassment thickening my throat. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. Why did he have to be so damn delicious? He was a seven-course buffet of hotness, and I’d been on a diet for way too long.
“Don’t even pretend like you weren’t checking me out,” he said.
“I wasn’t.”
“It’s okay. Go ahead and look. I don’t mind.” His invitation sucked the stability out of my knees. I leaned against the railing for support. He chuckled. It was the first time we’d spoken directly to each other since the drive over.
“You’re disgusting.” I
tilted my nose into the air. “Why do you have to be such a pervert all the time?”
He bent, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear, his words for me alone. “I get the feeling you like that about me.”
“No.” Yes, yes, yes. My sex quivered, and my earlobe burned where his lips had all but touched me. I turned my head, squeezing my eyes shut while I rallied my common sense. Being around him was pure hell. I had to get away, but I was trapped.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” Rhett said.
Carter lifted the sofa higher, giving me a great view of the way his T-shirt molded to his abs. I bit the inside of my cheek and fought the urge to run a hand down his chest. This time, I put my entire body weight into moving the sofa, eager to find escape. With one mighty coordinated shove from the four of us, the couch rounded the corner, and we managed to move it into the living room.
I retreated to the farthest corner of the apartment, as far away from Carter as I could get, and began unpacking boxes. Bronte fluttered between the rooms, her face pale. Lines of tension marred her freckled complexion. Although she was brilliant, she suffered from mild autism and Asperger’s. Clutter and chaos disrupted her thought patterns, and I worried that the stress of moving might send her into a meltdown.
“No, no. This isn’t right.” She stared at the cluster of furniture near the dining room. “It’s not balanced. There are too many chairs on that side. I can’t breathe.” Her chest rose and fell with a dozen short gasps. She rested a hand above her heart.
I dropped the armload of clothing in my arms, intending to rush to her side. Carter beat me there.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“Um, the table needs centered on the rug, and there should be six chairs, not five.” Bronte bit her lower lip, glancing to me for reassurance. I nodded. “And I need a space to walk through the rooms. All this stuff, it’s freaking me out.”
Carter nudged the table to the left. “How’s this?”
“No. That’s too far. It needs to go up about three inches.”
“Okay. What about now?” He worked with her for the next ten minutes. I held my breath, waiting for one of them to lose patience with the other. Carter continued to adjust the table. He never complained or grumbled. This patient, sympathetic side of his personality confused me. I watched and waited for him to break the façade, but he never did.
“Yes. Perfect.” Bronte’s shoulders lowered, and she let out a heavy sigh. “That’s so much better.”
“Great.” The gold in his eyes shimmered. I wanted to press a kiss his full lower lip to express my gratitude. “I’ll run down to the truck and find the other chair.”
“I thought I could deal with this.” Bronte waved a hand helplessly about the room but summoned a smile for Carter. “I’m being a pain in the ass. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” A genuine smile transformed his sharp features into a thing of beauty. My pulse leaped. So the caveman could be charming when he wanted. Catching my expression, he winked as he headed toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back. Try not to miss me.”
“Not a problem,” I replied haughtily, although the room seemed larger and emptier the second he crossed the threshold.
Rhett walked into the center of the living room. He’d been in the hallway, searching for Bronte’s box of bathroom toiletries. One look at her, and a frown marred his forehead. “What do you need, angel?”
“Nothing. All good. Carter helped me,” Bronte said. “I’ll be fine once we get things put away. I’m just a little weirded out by the mess.”
“Are you sure?” Rhett bent at the knees to catch her downturned gaze then glanced at me. I shook my head. Without exchanging words, he understood my concerns. Before he could say more, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. After a quick glance at the screen, he groaned. “Something’s going on at the office. I need to run over there for a minute.”
Bronte scowled at him. “You promised no interruptions today.” I loved the way she spoke her mind to him, something she’d never been able to do with most people. He brought out the best in her, and I respected him for it.
“I know. I told them not to bother us, but this can’t wait.” He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “It’ll only take a minute. I promise.”
They beamed at each other. He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. My heart squeezed at the depth of their connection. I valued her happiness above my own, but I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. Harold had been affectionate until our breakup, but he’d never looked at me the way Rhett looked at Bronte. My cheeks heating, I glanced out the window, feeling like a voyeur.
Carter returned with the missing chair. Our gazes collided, my emotions naked on my face. I broke the connection and pretended to dig for something in one of the boxes. I didn’t like giving away my feelings, especially to a man. I focused on my concern for Bronte. “Why don’t you go with him, sis? Grab some lunch while you’re at it.”
“I can’t,” she said, although her voice held a note of hopefulness. “There’s too much to do here.” Her shoulders began to rise again as she surveyed the apartment.
“It’s okay,” I said, giving them a smile. “Go ahead. Take your time. I’ll keep working. I know how you like things. By the time you get back, I’ll have the living room cleared, and you’ll have a place to escape when the clutter gets overwhelming.”
“Are you sure?” She glanced at Rhett then back to me, but the strain around her eyes melted. We smiled at each other.
“I’m sure. Go on.” I flapped my hands in the direction of the door.
Thank you, Rhett mouthed over Bronte’s head. With a protective arm around her shoulders, he ushered her toward the door.
Within seconds, they were gone. My selfless plan had one fatal flaw—now I was alone in the apartment with Carter. The silence amplified his breathing, thickened the air in the room, and intensified the ache of desire deep in my gut. I kept a wary eye on him. He seemed oblivious, focused on arranging the dining room table with meticulous care, verifying the distance between each chair with a measuring tape.
“Do you think this is okay?” he asked after he’d placed the final chair.
“Perfect.”
At my praise, his face brightened with a smile. My heart doubled its cadence. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t, enchanted by the combination of sexiness and caring. Panic sliced through my chest. No man could be this patient, this giving. If he was, it would negate everything I’d come to believe, and I’d have to admit that not all men were douchebags. I needed to remember who he was, how much of an ass he could be.
I placed my hands on my hips. “Go ahead, say it. You know you want to.”
“Um, you have giant tits?” He lifted an eyebrow, confusion reading plainly on his face.
And there he was, the asshole I’d come to know and despise. I huffed, feeling relief and a bizarre disappointment. “No. Bronte. She’s weird. I know you’re thinking it.”
With a groan, he sank onto the edge of the sofa, like he’d finally run out of patience—not with Bronte, but with me. I waited for his temper to burst, for him to saunter out the door, but instead, he clasped his hands between his spread knees and shook his head. “Who am I to say what’s weird and what’s not? A little bit of crazy is what makes a person interesting. If you ask me, Bronte’s more normal than me—or you.”
I stared at him, unable to decipher the meaning behind his words. I was itching for a fight to ease the tension between us. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll catch the bus home when I’m finished.”
He scratched his fingers over his chin, the good humor slipping from his face. “I don’t mind.”
“No, seriously. You can go.” The longer we were alone, the weaker my resolve became. Every time he came within a yard of me, my nipples pebbled, and a funny twist happened in my lower belly. If we didn’t get some distance between us, I was going to lick one of his smooth, bulging, sinful biceps, and that wou
ld be humiliating.
He slapped a hand on the box between us, making me jump. “What is your problem? I know you don’t like me, but damn. At least I’m trying to get along.”
If he had any idea how far he’d gotten beneath my skin, he’d laugh in my face. Maybe, if I made him angry enough, he’d go. “Is that why you keep staring at my ass and making pervy comments about my boobs?” I brushed his hand aside and opened the box, rummaging through the contents like a deranged squirrel.
“Jesus. Fine.” He jumped to his feet and paced to the window. “No more sexual comments. I’ll pretend like you’re ugly. Is that what you want?”
“Yes. No.” With a shaking hand, I swiped the hair out of my eyes. I had no idea what I wanted, except for the endless ache between my legs to stop.
“Fuck, you’re impossible.” At last, his temper snapped, but I felt no relief. Instead, the flash in his eyes lit a dozen tiny fires inside my womb. “I promised Rhett I’d make an effort to get along with you, but I didn’t sign up for this kind of abuse.”
He stalked toward me, brows lowered. The growl of his deep bass dissolved the bones in my knees. I placed a hand on the back of the sofa to hold myself up. He bent, close enough for me to feel the puff of his breath against my lips. And fuck me if it wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever experienced. I stared at his lips. Kiss me, kiss me. Kiss. Me. I spoke a silent prayer, begging him to put me out of my misery.
“You don’t own Rhett and Bronte. Rhett’s more family to me than my blood relatives. I’m here to help them. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. If you don’t like it, then you can leave, but I’m not going anywhere.” He glared at me, an infuriating mix of male righteousness and smug self-conviction. “What do you have to say about that, Ms. Hollander?”
“Suit yourself.” Unable to tolerate the intensity of his stare for one more second, I shoved the heavy box toward the bedroom. My stomach churned. I didn’t like being mean. It went against my sunny nature. Now, having vented a bit of my frustration, I forced an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but helpful today, and I’m being a total bitch. Truce?” I extended a hand to shake.
Pretty Broken Bastard Page 3
