Devyn Hayer was probably sleeping his way across San Francisco. Hell, he’d already started while engaged to me, and here I was, living the life of a hermit. I had to start dating again. Move on.
“Headache?”
“Shit!” I spun around, a hand flying to my chest at the unexpected sound of Max’s voice. “You scared the hell outta me!”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. He leaned against the counter. “Sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”
I inhaled a shaky breath. “You’re lucky I didn’t have a knife or something equally sharp in my hand.”
Though he smiled, his handsome face appeared tense. The skin pulled taut over his cheekbones, the shadows beneath his eyes and the small scar on his chin more pronounced. Darn, the kitchen light must’ve woken him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
At three in the morning? “You okay?” I asked.
He lifted an inked shoulder in a shrug, his gaze skimming over my undoubtedly wretched appearance and swollen eyes. No, I wasn’t a pretty crier. His lips tightened. “Yeah. You?”
Warily I eyed him. “Why?” I countered.
“That woman who confronted you in the bar last night upset you. Who is she?”
Of course, he’d seen that. “Someone from my past.”
He didn’t say anything. Waited. Sure, like I was gonna discuss my humiliation and devastation with a complete stranger—no matter how hot or good-looking he was.
Max straightened from the counter and slowly approached me as if I were some nervous filly about to flee. He wouldn’t be wrong. The kitchen suddenly felt too small. I pressed my back into the sink and dug my toes into the cool floor, refusing to run. When a bare inch separated us, he brushed the hair away from my face. Gently, he stroked my brow, sweeping to the side over my temple, and somehow, he found the pounding spot there.
He was giving me a massage. It was the best thing I’d felt all week—hell, in a long time. Unable to bear the scrutiny of those green eyes, I shut my eyes.
“Do you get them often?”
“Headaches?” A soft groan escaped me, one of pain and pleasure all at once. “Sometimes, when I work without stopping.” And when nightmares bear down on me.
He remained silent and continued to rub my temple.
God, but his touch felt so good. Soothing. My tension eased, and his scent, his warmth surrounded me, blurring my thoughts. I swayed, almost falling into him. In pure survival reflex, my eyelids snapped open. Nope, that didn’t help either. His chest with the tattooed demonic ram entangled in a web and captivating, pierced nipples was a mere whisper away.
Heat seeped through me at the intimacy of our position, making me aware of my lack of clothing, that I only wore boxer shorts and an old, tight, strappy top. Biting back my wariness, I lifted my head and forced a smile. “Thank you. It feels much better.”
He said nothing, just lowered his hands, remaining where he was with just an inch separating us.
“Would you like something to drink?” I croaked, feeling as if someone had sucked out all the air in the kitchen. “Coffee, tea, Milo, juice?”
He shook his head.
I’d come into the kitchen seeped in despair, now he was all I saw. God. Safer if I headed back to bed. “Goodnight—”
He put his hands on the sink, caging me. And bent his head, his gaze leveling with mine.
“W-what are you doing?”
“You don’t like me, do you?”
What? “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know you well enough to either like or dislike you. You’re Ray’s friend,” I stressed.
“And that’s all I am. What are you scared of, Logan?” he asked quietly. “I don’t bite. Right now, I’m just trying to talk to you. I like you.”
Something must be seriously wrong with me that I was actually starting to like the sound of my last name on his lips—wait, did he just say he liked me?
I cut him a wary look. “You’ve only known me for a few hours. How can you decide whether you like me or not?”
“I know.” A shrug rolled across those strong, tattooed shoulders. “And I don’t like most people.”
With my defenses still down after my horrid nightmare, his words were like a lasso, slowly but surely drawing me close. The urge to lean in and let his strong arms hold me grew. He was all heat and sinful temptation. And so, so wrong.
I pushed him away, but he captured my hand against his chest, keeping me there. “You’re touching me, and nothing happened. See?”
“Yes, you’re about as innocent as a wolf in a henhouse,” I muttered.
“In sheep’s clothing,” he corrected, green eyes alight with amusement.
Stifling back a sigh, I pressed past him.
“You’ll soon see that I’m right, Logan.”
“About what?”
“Us.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Probably. Three days, and you’ll kiss me. Three weeks, you’ll love me. In three years…?” He was openly laughing now. “Who knows?”
“And you’ll soon find out three is your unlucky number,” I retorted sweetly.
“Is that a dare?”
“Did it slip your mind that I’m older than you? I’m almost twenty-five.”
“So?”
I blinked at his cocky response then shook my head. “You need sleep.”
As I headed upstairs, I couldn’t stop from recalling that sensual smile on his lips. One telling me that he would know more about a woman’s body than Devyn ever had.
Three days? Gah. I’d been three seconds from yanking him down and kissing that cocky smile right off his sexy mouth. Obviously, I had lost my mind even thinking about it. There wasn’t going to be anything between us. Ever. He was my sister’s friend. Period.
As for the love? I would never let that happen, or risk my heart again.
Chapter Three
Max
Gray morning light filtered through the gaps in the drawn drapes, lightening the gloom. I lay on the couch and rubbed my gritty eyes. Since my encounter with Logan in the kitchen, I’d been awake. But then sleep was a rare thing for me anyway.
A smile tugged at my mouth. Yeah, I was a bastard, but nothing felt sweeter than getting beneath the cool barriers she’d erected. I recalled her red-rimmed eyes—her vulnerability—something inside me raged. So I’d teased her back into awareness. And me. Yup, progress.
I pushed to my feet, picked up my tee from the floor, and pulled it on. Then made my way to the bathroom. On my return, the blast of a piano sonata disrupted the silence. Dammit. I snatched my cell off the coffee table before it woke up the two girls. Tanner. I hesitated, debating if I wanted to talk to my father’s minion, and then shrugged and answered. “What?”
“You’re back, why didn’t you call me?” Tanner asked.
“Did my old man demote you to babysitter now?” My cousin was okay, too bad he was molding himself into the devil. The world didn’t need another Leland Sinclair.
“Max, all you had to do was finish your final year, get your business degree, and your father would be happy. But you had to go stir the waters and switch to music—why the hell would you do that?”
“So I could be a pain in both your asses.”
An annoyed breath drifted down the line. “Look, we need to talk. Meet me at the usual place this afternoon. Cecilia’s worried—”
At the name, the pain in my frontal lobe upped. “Can’t do it. I’m busy. Gotta go.”
“Dammit, Max, don’t hang—”
I ended the call. As if I wanted to talk about my old man’s girlfriend. I had no idea why, but I couldn’t stand her.
Right, no avoiding my to-do list for today, Gym, Conservatory, shrink, and then the devil.
After trashing the music studio, I wasn’t sure they’d let me back in at school. But I had to get my final piece aired, which was all that mattered. I rubbed the piercing pain behind the scar on
my eyebrow. Uh, fuck, I was in for another shitty morning. They weren’t true migraines, just something I was cursed with since the accident, along with insomnia.
Retrieving my pain meds from my tote stashed in the closet beneath the stairs, I dropped the last two pills into my palm. Damn. This visit I really didn’t care for, but I needed my prescription refilled.
Swallowing the capsules, I walked into the shadowy kitchen, rich with the aroma of coffee—someone was up. I tossed the empty pill bottle in the trash, got a glass and poured orange juice from the frosty bottle left on the counter and chugged down some.
Soft, draggy footsteps on the wooden floor reached me first, then she walked into the kitchen like a ray of light. Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore—not my mind hiding the truth of the accident, not my dislike of my father’s girlfriend, or not knowing if the music school would let me in again.
Totally oblivious to my presence, she dropped her cell phone on the counter and made for the fridge. She still wore the tight, mouth-watering top that clung to her chest, and boxers which revealed her shapely legs, making me want to do things to her, all involving my tongue. She opened the fridge, the light brightening the gloomy kitchen. Fingers tapping on the door, she peered inside and did that same hip sway as she had in the laundromat.
Christ, she was sexy. Like some exotic butterfly. The right thing to do would be to leave, walk out because I was too fucked up to even think about anything with her. But my feet refused to take a step away from the girl who was becoming my personal addiction.
She pulled out a squat glass filled with something that looked a lot like dirt dropped with cream, swiped a spoon from the drawer, hip-bumped it closed, and dug into the pudding. As she licked the glob off the spoon, a small appreciative moan left her.
The sound thundered through my veins and my body stirred awake. Fuuuuck! I shifted on my sneakered feet. “Is that any good?”
“Shit!” Her eyelids popped open, and her pretty, gold-flecked, amber eyes widened in shock. A streak of color darkened her cheeks. “Dammit, don’t do that!”
“Sorry.” Not giving her a chance to ignore me—or bolt, or whatever else she had in her arsenal of avoidance—I nodded at the glass she held. “What is that?”
“Nothing.”
She hooked the bar stool with a foot, dragged it out, and sat down. And there we had distance again, done so smoothly.
One thing I understood right then, if I wanted this girl to notice me, I had to behave differently. My typical smooth shit with others wouldn’t work on her. So, how the hell should I act? Usually, when I walked into any place, girls tended to notice me. But then Logan wasn’t my usual type, in for a good time only. She was older, more serious, and getting over a dickhead ex.
Perfect. Hell, easy was overrated anyway.
Now that my challenging path had been laid out, I switched on the light, lowered onto the stool opposite her, and let a faint smirk tug my mouth. An enticing floral fragrance with a hint of apples and turpentine drifted to me.
“Nothing?” I said as if we were still holding a conversation. “That’s something new. Not one I heard of. I have to taste it.” I set my OJ down, took her spoon from her paint-smeared fingers—no, not sleeping, working. Scooping out some, I leisurely sucked the creamy confection from the silverware. “Hmmm…”
She blinked, and her gaze dropped to my mouth, tracking my movements. My dick hardened. Thank the fuck I was seated.
“Oreos and cream,” I had to force the words out through a suddenly dry throat. “What’s wrong with coffee, bacon and eggs, cereal, or whatever it is girls eat for breakfast?” I asked.
“I’m not most girls,” she muttered. Gouging out some of the dessert with a finger, she stuck the creamy digit into her mouth and sucked slowly.
She’d done it to show me she didn’t need the spoon, and I wanted to drag her over the counter and devour her luscious lips. Instead, I nailed my ass to the seat and tried to get my body under control. “Yes, I’m aware of that,” I murmured equally soft. “It’s probably why I find myself drawn to prickly little hedgehogs.”
She lifted her head, eyes golden slits of irritation. “Of all the creatures in the world, you compare me to a hedgehog?”
At her snippy tone, I shrugged, handed her the spoon, and prayed she’d used the damn thing.
“You haven’t done anything to make me think differently. Do so, and I will. I talk to you, and you shoot up all those quills, not a very pleasant experience.” I picked up my glass and, as I drank the last of my juice, I stared at her over the rim.
Her cheeks flushed, she stabbed her spoon back into her breakfast, turning the entire mixture a gooey brown. Thankfully, it wasn’t a knife or anything else equally sharp. She’d probably have staked me in the heart.
However, there was something I had to know. “I don’t see any newspaper around?”
“I don’t read them. You’ll have to buy your own.” She continued stirring, gaze firmly glued to the mess in the glass.
Did she not know who I was? For some reason, the knowledge cheered me. Sure, I wanted her to know me—but the real me, not the usual shit the newspaper spewed out.
Her cell beeped. She picked it up, swiped her thumb over the screen, and her soft mouth tightened. She deleted the message and dropped her phone on the counter. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but she’d probably just shut me out and hide deeper behind the wall she seemed to take such pleasure in putting between us.
Christ knew I had my own crap I never wanted to talk about. If she knew what I’d done…the horror I was responsible for, she’d definitely kick me out on my ass.
Ray walked into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a USF tee. “Mornin’ my fave people in SF.”
She gravitated toward the coffee pot like a bloodhound, filled a mug, and dropped on the stool beside me, taking a deep drink of the steaming beverage. She closed her eyes, as if letting the caffeine revive her, then her eyelids popped open. “Ila, don’t forget this afternoon—”
“Can’t. I’m busy.”
“Ila, pleeease?” Ray wheedled. “Do this for me, and I’ll be your slave forever. I have to study for a test.”
“Do the laundry.”
Ray wrinkled her nose. “Okay.” She drained her coffee, left her mug in the sink. “I’m off. Later, people.”
The sisters got me curious. “What’s happening this afternoon?”
Logan ate some of her gooey mess before she responded. “Ray wants me to chaperone our neighbor’s kids to the park.”
“What’s so hard about that?”
“You haven’t met Peter and Iris. The twins are ankle-biting terrors, and faster than a jet on rocket fuel. An afternoon with them is like boot camp.” A tiny smile tugged at her mouth, and all I could do was stare. It was like a beam of sunlight flooding me, warming me.
“So, you’re terrified of children?”
She snorted. “If you’re such an expert on young people, why don’t you try it?”
“Very well. What time do we leave?”
Her mouth dropped open. Just as fast, she backtracked. “No-no, I merely meant—”
“Backing out, Logan?” I drawled, pushing to my feet. Yeah, like I was going to be a nice guy and let this go.
Glowering, she stabbed her spoon back into her breakfast. “Hardly.”
“Good. What time?”
“Two.”
It was said with such reluctance, I couldn’t resist. “It’s a date.” I winked and walked out.
***
Despite the twinges and aches informing me that I’d brutally worked my body to the bone in the gym, the chaos in my mind remained undiminished as I left my shrink, Jean Creswell’s office.
It wasn’t a visit I liked. Too much shit there, too. After I’d turned eighteen, she and I had done the dirty. I hadn’t planned for that to happen, but she’d stroked my arm, and I hadn’t cared who she was, I just wanted the crap inside my head—the pain—gone. I wanted the nothingness an
emotionless fuck had given me. At least, in the past…
But I needed my prescription refilled, so she had to be faced. Damn, but I hated the questions she still hounded me with. Like I’d ever talk. I hadn’t before, and that wasn’t going to change. Ever.
My old man had done all the talking when he’d first dragged me there. No, he doesn’t remember the accident—doesn’t sleep.
No point in reiterating the same shit. She knew there was nothing she could do, except give me what I needed. Though it didn’t stop her from giving me the look as I walked out.
Jaw tight, I slipped the script into my pocket, and paused on the pavement outside the building, scanning the street choked with traffic for a cab. My earlier stop at the Conservatory hadn’t gone well either. The music director hadn’t been in, so my future there remained up in the air.
Right. I might as well visit the devil at his helm and round off a crappy morning of visits.
Fifteen minutes later, I shoved the imposing door open and walked into the intimidating steel and glass building of Sinclair Investments Inc.’s head offices in the Financial District. Even thoughts of my ‘date’ with Logan and the kids in tow didn’t ease the edginess riding me.
The narrow-eyed stares coming my way from the suits in the building had me glaring back coldly. Did they not like my sweats and tee? Or was it my tatts on display? Snobby damn assholes.
Shifting my tote to my shoulder, I headed for the bank of elevators. The security guard walking past nodded in acknowledgment. Obviously, he recognized me.
Inside an empty cab, I jabbed the button for the top floor and then stared blankly at the ascending numbers.
I’d always thought I’d end up at Sinclair Inc. after university. Hell, it was all I’d wanted. I enjoyed the wheeling and dealing of investment banking. Then, last year, while I’d interned here, it all went to hell. Fast.
Breathless (Players to Men) Page 4
