Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals)

by Jackie Ashenden

  No. Especially not him.

  Soon enough, Rose went to get her purse, slinging it over her shoulder as she came over to where Tamara stood. Her cheeks were pink, her forehead sheened with sweat, and she was looking a little sheepish. “Hey, a couple of the others are going to a new club that’s just opened near here and I thought I’d go along. Do you mind? Or you know, if you want to come . . .”

  This wasn’t entirely unexpected behavior from Rose and Tamara tried not to feel annoyed, but irritation sat in her gut all the same. Fantastic. So not only had she had to sit for an hour on a dusty gym floor, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to keep glancing at Zee, but now she was being ditched in favor of a club.

  This evening was getting better and better.

  “Thanks for the offer, but no. I’ve got a spreadsheet I need to finish.” She forced a smile on her face. “Besides, I don’t want to get in the way of . . .” She directed a glance toward Zee. “You know . . .”

  Rose pulled a face. “Zee apparently doesn’t do the chicks in his classes, or so Katie over there tells me. So if I want to hook up tonight, it’s the club or nothing.”

  “You really have to hook up tonight?”

  Rose gave her an incredulous look. “Is that really a serious question? I haven’t gotten laid in, like, two weeks. A girl has needs.” A naughty grin spread over her face. “Oh and I hear this club is a serious bad-boy magnet and you know how I love a bad boy.”

  Yes, Tamara knew that very well indeed since Rose had no problem sharing blow-by-blow descriptions of her various conquests. “How are you going to get home then?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be with Katie and the others. I’ll organize my own ride.”

  Excellent. So she was going to have to find a taxi herself, was she? Trying not to think about the broken-up sidewalks and abandoned buildings outside, Tamara clutched her purse tightly. “Fine. Well . . . have a good evening, I guess.”

  Her friend lifted a suggestive eyebrow. “Hey, no reason you can’t get lucky. Especially since you’re not actually taking his class and all.”

  Tamara pulled a face. “Boyfriend, remember?”

  Rose blinked. “But tall, dark, and tattooed. And a body like you wouldn’t believe. Perhaps you can work something out with your guy in New York? A get-out-of-jail-free card?”

  Tamara shook her head. Her relationship with Robert was long-distance, but they’d never talked about seeing other people. At least he hadn’t and neither had she, mainly for the simple reason that she’d never met anyone else she wanted. She’d assumed the same of him.

  But what if that’s not the case? What if he’s been sleeping around?

  It was a shock to realize that the thought didn’t really bother her all that much.

  Disturbed, she ignored it. “Tattoos are not the be-all and end-all, believe it or not.”

  Rose only snorted.

  The small group of women began to head toward the gym’s exit, one of them gesturing at Rose to follow.

  “You’re going to be okay going home?” her friend asked belatedly as she turned toward the group.

  Tamara got the feeling that “no” wouldn’t be what Rose wanted to hear and since it wasn’t worth making a fuss about, she only smiled. “Of course. I’ll get a cab home. You go and enjoy yourself, okay?”

  Rose grinned back, gave her a thumbs-up, then vanished through the gym’s exit along with the others.

  Tamara took a deep breath and then started after them.

  No, she wasn’t going to turn around and see where Zee had gotten to.

  No, she didn’t need to see him one last time.

  The hallway was as dark and as dingy as it had been on the way in and she really wasn’t looking forward to going out there by herself and finding a taxi, but maybe she’d get lucky.

  Then abruptly, the door behind her banged open again. “Hey,” a deep, rough, and gritty masculine voice said. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  She stilled, her heartbeat fast and furious. “I’m leaving, what does it look like?”

  “You’re not going with the others?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “You gonna get a taxi?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions?” She didn’t turn, just started walking. “But yes, I’m getting a taxi.”

  “Where to?” It was not a polite request. It was a demand.

  A ripple of anger moved through her, though she didn’t really know why. Repressing it, she stopped and turned around to see Zee standing in the doorway, one tanned and tattooed arm resting against the doorframe, those uncanny silver eyes fixed on her.

  Something hot stirred in her blood. A shifting, hungry, unfamiliar thing.

  It irritated her.

  Lifting her chin, Tamara gave him the ice queen stare she’d perfected during her college years, the one that had cowed and discouraged many an unwelcome advance. “Where do you think? I’m going home, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “You don’t wanna be standing out on the sidewalk for a taxi in this neighborhood.” His gaze never left hers. “Pretty little rich girl like you wouldn’t last long.”

  Pretty little rich girl. How patronizing.

  You’re only pissed because he’s right. Standing out on the sidewalk here would be a stupid idea.

  Her fingers moved restlessly on the strap of her purse. For some reason, she really didn’t want him to see her uncertainty. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Zee leaned against the doorframe. “You’re a little lamb, pretty girl,” he said casually. “And there are wolves in this neighborhood who would eat you for breakfast. So I guess that depends. Do you wanna be breakfast or do you wanna be alive?”

  Her spine stiffened. She was no one’s breakfast and she wasn’t a lamb. He had no idea.

  Careful. Keep it under control.

  She forced down her annoyance. “Don’t you have something else to do? Someone’s butt to kick?”

  His smile was white in the dim light of the hallway. “You should have taken my class. Then I wouldn’t need to worry about you standing out there on the sidewalk by yourself.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sorry, but I’m not taking any classes right now. And you don’t need to worry about me. Like I said, I’ll be fine.”

  There was a moment when she thought he was going to drop it. Where she expected him to do what any of the other guys she knew would do, which was to shrug their shoulders and back away, leaving her alone.

  But he didn’t. He just looked at her and she felt the air between them get dense and thick, humming with static like the atmosphere before a particularly violent thunderstorm. Then, with a sharp movement, he stepped into the hallway, the gym door slamming shut behind him.

  It happened so fast that even hours later, she still couldn’t figure out quite how he’d managed it.

  One moment they were facing each other in the dim hallway. The next she was up against the wall and he was standing in front of her, caging her, his palms flat on the dingy plaster on either side of her head.

  Tamara stared at him, shock forcing all the air from her lungs.

  His eyes gleamed, cold and sharp as razors from beneath thick black lashes. “You shouldn’t come here if you can’t handle yourself, baby.”

  She blinked, still unable to process quite what was happening. The heat coming off him was incredible and he smelled of hot metal, oil, and clean, male sweat. And something else, a spice she couldn’t quite identify.

  Her mouth dried, her heart battering itself against the cage of her ribs, that strange knot of sensation in her gut gathering excruciatingly tight.

  For God’s sake, pull yourself together. He’s just another man being an asshole.

  Yes, good point. After the problems she’d been having with Scott at work, she was getting really sick of men being assholes.

  She swallowed. “Perhaps you should have thought of that when you decide
d to have women’s self-defense classes at night, in a shady part of town.”

  “The classes aren’t for the likes of you. They’re for women here, not fucking sightseers.”

  Her heartbeat was now like a drum in her head. She could barely hear anything over the sound of it. “Look,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “I just want to go home. So back the hell off.”

  He smiled. “Make me.”

  * * *

  The blonde’s lovely eyes were wide and he could see fear in them, staring back at him. But that was good because fear would save her. Being afraid was a healthy survival mechanism and if there was one thing he tried to teach women in his classes it was to listen to their fears.

  Don’t be a hero. Stay alive.

  His classes weren’t intended for rich bitches from downtown looking for a bit of rough. They had their own protection built in, along with their wealth and privilege. Except of course when they came down here on their own like lambs to the slaughter, all helpless and unknowing. Thinking they could just wander outside and wait for a taxi in their fancy-fucking-ass designer clothing and monogrammed purses.

  Christ, they pissed him off, especially women like this one. So fucking beautiful. Deep golden hair in a high ponytail and smooth, soft-looking golden skin. She had dark eyes for a blonde, lovely and deep, the kind a man could lose himself in. And she smelled . . . Jesus, he didn’t know what kind of perfume she wore, but it was expensive and it smelled like a garden after a rainstorm, sweet and sensual and heavy. It was delicious.

  You’re not pissed off. You’re turned on.

  Yeah, well, he couldn’t deny he’d felt the charge of attraction almost as soon as she’d walked in with her friend, long-legged and delicate as a butterfly, staring at him with those dark, guarded eyes as if he were a dangerous dog.

  An inexplicable attraction.

  He’d spent the whole class only half paying attention to what he was trying to teach, the rest turning over in his head just what it was about the rich-bitch blonde that held him absolutely riveted. Because it wasn’t like he had a shortage. He had ring bunnies and fight groupies lining up outside his bedroom door most nights and all of them were just as beautiful as this woman. She wasn’t anything special.

  So why have you got her bailed up against the wall?

  Stupid fucking question. He was being a prick and intimidating her to prove his point, which was a dick move, but in his experience it generally worked.

  Her chin lifted, jutting determinedly. “Make you do what?”

  Fuck, her voice was pretty too, winding around him, softness with a faintly rough edge, like raw silk. “Make me back off. If you can do it, I’ll let you leave on your own.”

  What he should be doing was just letting her leave and to hell with her. Yet as soon as he’d noticed her exit the gym on her own, he knew he couldn’t let her go, not without at least seeing if she was okay. He had enough on his conscience already.

  Her gold-tipped lashes swept down. Beneath the pristine white of her T-shirt, her breasts rose and fell fast and hard, the pulse at the base of her throat frantic. Oh yeah, she was afraid, though she was doing her best to hide it.

  He nearly felt sorry for her. Until her knee rose, catching him off guard as it aimed directly for his crotch. Sneaky girl.

  Blocking her easily enough with one arm, he slid his hand beneath her upraised thigh, catching it and holding on tight.

  The hiss of her indrawn breath echoed in the silence of the hallway and he could feel the heat of her through the denim of her jeans, her muscles trembling beneath his palm. The fear was still there in her eyes, but beneath that he could see a flicker of anger. Good. Anger helped. As long as you remained in control of it, of course.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Now what?”

  Her mouth flattened. “Now you let me go.”

  “You haven’t made me back off yet.”

  Again those soft, lush lashes of hers swept down, veiling her gaze. “I’m not your student. I don’t know how to do that.”

  “Then stop fucking around. You can’t handle yourself, admit it.”

  Her body had gone rigid, the flush rising in her skin evident even in the dim light of the hallway. “Do you always harass women who come to your classes like this?”

  Actually, he didn’t. Not unless they wanted to be harassed and some of them certainly did, not that he ever took them up on the offer. He had a firm rule about not messing around with his students and he never broke it. Besides, the women who came to his classes tended to be vulnerable and vulnerable women weren’t his type.

  So why are you touching her? Remember, asshole. When you screw around with girls like her, they tend to get broken.

  Exactly. Girls like this one were meant for rich fucks in fancy downtown offices, with fancy downtown apartments. Porsches in the garage and country club memberships. Not for guys like him with violence in their pasts, who fought most nights just to let off steam and got their hands dirty working as mechanics in garages during the day.

  Yet still, he didn’t let her go. She was all warmth and expensive softness, like the fancy material of her T-shirt, like a luxury he couldn’t afford. And Christ, it had been so fucking long since he’d allowed himself any luxuries. “Not usually. I make exceptions for pretty girls hanging around in places they shouldn’t.”

  She muttered something under her breath. “Okay, you win. Clearly I can’t fight you off. Now can you please let me the hell go?”

  He didn’t really want to, which was a worry, but he forced his fingers to release her, stepping back to give her some space. “If you’d taken my class you would have known what to do. I give tips on the right way to knee a guy in the balls.”

  She’d pushed herself away from the wall and was smoothing down her T-shirt, her other hand still clutching her ridiculous designer purse. “Thank you, but no thank you,” she said in a crisp, scrupulously polite voice. “I keep telling you, I’m not here for the classes.”

  “Why not?”

  She stopped smoothing. “Because I don’t agree with using violence as a means to defend myself, that’s why.”

  Jesus. He wanted to laugh, nearly did. That kind of attitude was nice for the people who could afford it, shitty for the people who couldn’t. “So what would you have done if I’d been seriously trying to hurt you just now? Cut me to death with some sharp words?”

  Something shifted in her dark eyes. “But you didn’t hurt me. I was fine.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What’s it to you anyway?”

  “You got a problem with me not wanting to see a woman get hurt?”

  She looked away at that. “No. Of course not.”

  There was a strange, tense sort of silence.

  Fuck, what was it about her? Was it the fact she wasn’t falling all over herself to get in his pants? Or was it the air of expensive privilege around her that made him want to smash through it and show her what the real world was all about? Or was it because he just wanted to touch something soft and beautiful for a change?

  Oh, hell no. You can’t do that. Remember?

  Yeah. He did. And really, he should be getting back to the gym and stop wasting time proving whatever the fuck he was trying to prove to this woman. People like her never got it anyway.

  Yet he didn’t move. “What’s your name?” he asked, because he realized he didn’t know.

  She gave him a wary look. “Tamara. Tamara Lennox.”

  “Okay, Tamara Lennox. Two things. One, you’re not gonna find a taxi because they don’t come down this end of the city at night. And two, if you walk out of here right now, despite my warnings, you’re on your own. Got it?”

  One fair eyebrow arched. “I think I got it. And I have a phone. I’ll call a company.”

  Let her go. She thinks she can handle it? Let her. She’s no concern of yours.

  Zee fought down the automatic denial. He’d been there, done that with a woman before and it had
all turned to shit. He wasn’t doing it again.

  “Suit yourself,” he said.

  Giving him a last wary look, Tamara Lennox turned gracefully on her heel and headed down the hallway to the exit.

  He watched her all the way and tried not to wonder if he’d just made a big mistake.

  Chapter 2

  Tamara stepped onto the cracked pavement outside and instantly wished she’d decided to go with Rose to the club instead of insisting on going home.

  The night was hot and there were a few more people around than there had been before. A gang of youths laughed and catcalled outside a liquor store across the street, while at the seedy-looking bar a bit farther down a drunk had collapsed onto the pavement.

  A group of young women in short skirts, tattoos, and piercings approached, giving Tamara some scornful looks and yelling a few obscene comments as they passed by.

  She ignored them, too caught up in the fact that her heartbeat was racing and parts of her skin felt burned, like she’d pressed up against a hot oven door. And that she was almost shaking with anger.

  And the worst part of all was that she didn’t even know why.

  Yes, you do.

  Okay, so it was Zee. It was the fact that he’d been an asshole and caging her against that wall had been an egregious invasion of her personal space. But she was normally way cooler at handling stuff like that. For example, she’d been expertly dealing with her boss being a giant bastard for the past six months now, yet even he hadn’t managed to get her as wound up as Zee had in five seconds flat.

  It’s not just anger you’re feeling.

  She swallowed, wanting to deny it to herself, yet knowing she couldn’t. Because the effect his physical presence had on her was still echoing through her body. She could still feel the intensity of the heat that had radiated from him. Still smell the scent of oil and sweat, and that unforgettable spice. And when she closed her eyes, she could still see his looking back. A clear, perfect gray with a darker charcoal around the edges, like tarnished silver....

  Taking a deep, shaky breath, she held it. Then let it out.

  Damn. She couldn’t feel attracted to him. She already had a boyfriend, and even besides that, why on earth would she be attracted to anyone who shoved her up against a wall and dared her to try to move him? Okay, so he might be incredible to look at, but he had scars all over his face and tattoos all over his body. And she’d never gone for the bad-boy look.