Breathless (Players to Men)

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  The doorbell rang.

  “Don’t answer—I got it,” Ray yelled. Jumping up from the couch, she shot past me like an unleashed arrow.

  “Believe me, that’s the last thing on my mind,” I muttered. As if I wanted to open the door for the pinup. I picked up the TV remote just as the dickweed entered.

  “Ray.” Titus Connor gave her a charming smile, shrugging off his outer coat. “How are you? Is Ila ready for me?”

  “Yes, she’s in the studio,” she said. Stars practically popped out of her wide eyes. Un-freakin-believable.

  “Thanks. Can I have coffee, black, in an hour please? Great.”

  Ray’s mouth dropped open, the stars exploding a fiery death as he dumped his coat in her hands and disappeared into the studio. She tossed the thing on the small table there and stomped back into the living room then glared at me like I’d given her the damn order.

  “He didn’t just say that, did he? Do I have ‘waitress’ stamped on my forehead even at home?” She rolled her eyes, did a gagging mime, and flopped onto the couch. Seemed she was over her celebrity crush.

  It should have made me feel better. But Logan was still locked in her studio with him. “You’d think he’d have enough pictures of himself around. As if he needs a damn painting, too,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, models. They seem to live on a whole other plane—” Her cell beeped. She grabbed it off the coffee table and read the text. “Gotta go. Tell Ila I’m covering a shift at work.”

  “Sure.” I lowered to the armchair.

  “Oh, and Max?” I pulled my gaze away from the ballgame. Hers brightened in merriment. “Would you take Titus his coffee?”

  “Not in this lifetime. Or any other.”

  Laughing, she headed upstairs. “Then he’s just gonna have to die of thirst.”

  After she’d left, the silence became oppressive. Channel surfing didn’t hold my attention. I stared absently at the news, the closed door in the foyer mocking me.

  The hour came and went. How long did it take to paint one scrawny-ass male model? I pushed up from the armchair, deciding to head for Jack’s, unable to handle this constant gnawing in my gut. Truth was, I didn’t like Logan with the guy—hell, I didn’t like her near anyone with a dick.

  Then the door opened, followed by soft footsteps. Logan appeared and passed me without a word, her cheeks flushed.

  A cold rage ignited in my belly. If the asshole made a pass, I’d break his pretty face. I went after her. She cut me a wary look as she got out a mug from the cupboard and she poured the fucking coffee.

  “Where’s Ray?” she asked.

  “At the bar, covering for a friend. What did he do?”

  “Nothing.”

  I blocked her path, forcing her to stop. “Don’t give me that shit. You look rattled.”

  “Not now, Max.” She stepped around me, walked back to the studio. The door clicked closed, shutting me out again. But like a detonator, the click short-circuited my temper. I went after her. Right then, I didn’t give a fuck about any damn closed-door policies. I opened it. Soft music reached me first, probably why they didn’t hear me. I staggered to a halt, feeling as if someone had punched me in the chest.

  There, on the bed, amidst the disarrayed sheets he lay.

  Naked.

  Sporting an erection like a fucking steel pipe.

  Logan set the coffee on a small stand near him.

  “Thanks, Ila.” He rose and headed toward her with that damn bobbing pole, and then he touched her arm. A red haze took over.

  “Get the fuck away from her!”

  Titus spun around, knocking into Logan as she whirled to face me. She stumbled. He grabbed her, holding her against his nakedness.

  My skull pounded, mashing my brain along with any logical thoughts, I leaped across the room and flung him away. He fell onto the futon.

  “Max, what the hell’s gotten into you?” Logan grabbed my shirt, trying to pull me away.

  I clenched my fingers. Before I broke his fucking jaw and had a lawsuit pinned on me, I pivoted and slammed out of the studio, out of the apartment, and into the night. The cool weather did little to ease my fury. The ache inside me expanded, clawing at my sanity.

  I cut through a side road—needing a smoke so damn bad—and passed the garage. A couple of shit-stirrers hung around a battered Camaro, eyeing me as I entered the 7-Eleven, and bought a pack of Marlboros.

  She doesn’t want you, asshole. No one does.

  Christ, I didn’t need this shit in my head now. It was already too fucking crowded in there. Outside again, my hands trembling like an addict in need of his next fix, I fumbled a cigarette into my mouth, lit it, and took a deep drag, but nothing could remove the images imprinted in my mind.

  Teeth clenched, I stuffed the pack into my back pocket and walked past the hoods at the garage.

  “Look, a wannabe bad boy thinks to cruise into our place.” One cranky asshole decided I was fresh meat for his drunken humor and stepped into my path.

  “Get outta my face.”

  “I don’t feel like it.” He knocked me back with his shoulder. “What ya gonna do, huh?”

  Clamping the burning cigarette between my teeth, I lashed out, hard, fist connecting with jaw. Welcome pain spread through my knuckles.

  Snarling, the thug dove at me, and a punch landed on the side of my face. Stars exploded in my head, finally shutting out the echoes in my mind. I staggered. The fucker grinned, flicked open a blade. “Not so brave now, eh, asshole?”

  Not caring if I got staked, I leaped for him and kneed him in the belly. The knife dropped with a dull clatter. He doubled over, falling to his knees, groaning. The mood I was in, I’d probably kill him or end up dead if the rest of the hoods jumped me. I kicked the blade away, wheeled around. Drawing on my burning smoke, I nailed them with a deadly stare. “Any of you fuckers want to take me on, too?”

  They eyed me warily then shrugged. “Hey, we’re cool, man.”

  They grabbed the moaning dickhead and loaded him into the back of their Camaro. Doors shut. The car sputtered off, exhaust backfiring and stinking up the side street.

  Killing the half-smoked cigarette, I tossed it in a dumpster and walked back up Pine to the apartment. Stopping at the front door, the window with the drawn shades mocked me. I couldn’t stop the images from replaying in my head.

  That’s what she was painting—not a damn portrait!

  Yeah, Logan had guys in her life, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else holding her, touching her now. The coffee I’d had earlier backtracked up my throat.

  Not in the mood to face anyone, I climbed the fire escape stairs to the top of the building and walked out onto the roof instead. I pulled out another smoke, lit the thing, and took a deep pull. The acrid taste of tobacco filled my lungs, barely easing me.

  Footsteps sounded. I didn’t want company and hoped whomever it was would just fuck off. I took another drag, filling my lungs with more smoke.

  “Max?”

  At her voice, everything in me tensed. I glanced at her. “What do you want?”

  She drew closer. “Are you all right?”

  A harsh laugh caught in my throat. All right? God, I was so fucked in the head over this woman, I had no idea which way was up or down. It surprised me that she’d come after me.

  Deliberately, I let my gaze sweep over her as I took a longer pull on my cigarette, wanting some reaction out of her instead of this frigid wall she presented me with daily.

  Her face flushed, and she crossed her arms beneath her chest, dragging my gaze to her tempting breasts. Her short, unpainted, ragged nails dug into the flesh of her upper arms, but her fingers were messed with the tan and cream oils she’d used painting the fucker.

  “Why are you here? Don’t you have a client to see to?”

  A sigh escaped her. “Max, this isn’t working. Kate, my boss, has a place available. It’s not very expensive—”

  “Of course,” I drawled and
took another pull from my smoke. “Easier to get rid of me than face the truth, isn’t it, Ila? Be honest with yourself for once. You want me, too, and you’re too fucking scared to admit it.”

  Her gaze shifted away from mine and then came back—a hint of desperation in her gaze. “I’m not scared.”

  “Really?” Anger edged my cold tone. “Then why so anxious to get rid of me? Running, Ila?”

  “I’m not running—don’t you want a decent bed to sleep on instead of a couch? And stop calling me that!”

  She didn’t like me calling her Ila? Satisfaction welled. I’d rattled her. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

  Her mouth tightened. “Not the way you say it.”

  “It’s odd. My sleeping arrangements never came up until I wanted to rearrange your client’s face.”

  “You can’t be comfortable there.”

  I ignored that. “Just how do I say your name, Logan?” I lowered my tone to a sensual purr. “And I don’t care where I sleep so long as it’s near you.”

  The mouth I was dying to taste again opened then closed. I’d never hidden the fact that I wanted her.

  “Stop it.” A whisper.

  I took another pull on my smoke. “Why?”

  “God, Max, must I spell this out for you—”

  “That you’re older?”

  A deep sigh left her. “Yes, that’s part of it.”

  What? I was too young to even consider the type of relationship she’d probably want?

  Grasping her hand, I pressed it against my chest. “Whatever is happening inside here tells me differently. When I think of him naked around you, I want to kill him.”

  Her lips trembled. She eased her hand from under mine. “Max, don’t make this any harder than it is—”

  Her eyes widened. Bet she hadn’t meant to let that slip.

  Hell, I could be a nice guy and let it go. I could even take up the offer of whatever poky box of an apartment she’d so sweetly offered. But I wasn’t nice. I always walked where I shouldn’t. And when it came to this gorgeous and insecure girl who thought she was too old for me, I had no qualms about not being fucking nice.

  “So you think it’s wrong, me wanting you?”

  “Yes.”

  The fact that she said it without hesitation twisted my stomach.

  “And I have a date. Tomorrow,” she added.

  Irritation surged through me. No more, I was done playing.

  “I see.” I eyed her for a second. “Okay, then. One kiss. Can’t hurt, right, with you dating someone else?” I killed the end bit of my smoke on a nearby wrought iron table and tossed it away. “And I want it all, Logan, since it’s probably the only thing I’ll get from you.” Sliding my hands into my pockets, I rocked on my heels and waited.

  “You’re crazy!” She spun and headed back for the stairs.

  “Scared?” My soft word floated in the night. Accusing.

  She stopped dead. A low growl escaping her, she pivoted and stomped back to me. Grabbing my tee, she yanked me down to her and slammed her mouth on mine.

  It wasn’t the kiss I wanted, but it pierced me all the way to my hardened heart.

  Before she pulled away, I slid my arms around her waist. “Not so fast. That’s not the kiss I want—this is.”

  Gently, I slid my mouth across hers, and she stilled. I kissed along her jaw, nipping her lightly on her stubborn little chin. Her breath caught. I’d probably shocked her by not simply taking my kiss. But I wanted her, and no fucking obstructions she put in my path would stop me.

  Finally, I moved my mouth back to hers, nibbling and licking the lush lower lip while my hands stayed on her hips, not daring to move any higher or lower. I wanted to crack through the shell she wore around me, not have her running again. I wanted the grins she gave those idiot posers. All her smiles belonged to me.

  “Open, Logan,” I murmured, sucking on her full lower lip. Angling my head, I increased the pressure, my tongue stroking the seam of her mouth. She inhaled sharply, her lips parted. I deepened the kiss, licking inside, stroking her tongue with mine. A low moan escaped her, and she sank into me, as if trusting me to hold her if she fell.

  I slipped my hand beneath her tank and stroked the smooth skin of her back, pulling her even closer. When she sucked on my tongue, my heart expanded…

  Suddenly, she pulled away. Her eyes were huge, and she stared at me as if in shock. Then she was gone.

  Goddammit! I jammed my fingers through my hair in frustration. What the hell would it take for her to admit she fucking wanted me, too?

  Chapter Seven

  Max

  I groaned and sat up on the couch, dropping my feet to the floor, the sheets sliding to my waist. I rubbed my face and winced at the pain in my jaw. Not my smartest move, letting that hood get in a hit. My eyes were raw and gritty. Sleep had eluded me for most of the night again, and my head ached this morning, hot nails pounding into my skull.

  Three days of resisting pain meds. Enough. I needed relief, or I’d be a vicious bastard to anyone who attempted to talk to me.

  I retrieved the pills from my tote and swallowed two. Hoping a cold shower would ease the pounding in my head—worsened by last night’s events—I trudged upstairs for the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, a towel slung low on my hips, hands clenching the basin, I stared into the mirror. The bruises on my brow and knuckles barely registered, my mind slipping back to last night. Hell, it was all I thought about since sleep evaded me.

  Fists clenching, I left the bathroom, only to bump into Logan leaving her room. Then I remembered she’d have to go back to work and stare at pencil-dick’s naked body. Not in the mood to hash this out again, I walked past her.

  She grasped my arm. “Max, wait.”

  “I’m late.” Yeah, my run time was very important, because if I stayed, with this crater deepening inside me, I might just do or say something I’d later regret.

  A shocked gasp escaped her. “Your face—”

  Obviously, she hadn’t noticed the bruises last night. “I’m fine.” I leveled her with a stare, dared her to ask why I’d gotten into a fight.

  “No, you’re not. Your jaw’s bruised, your brow’s split. Let me see to it—”

  “I don’t need you to take care of me.” I removed her hand from my arm and walked away. She didn’t want me anywhere near her, but if I got hurt, then she wanted to fucking mother me. My jaw tight, I changed and hit the noisy, wet streets in a hard run.

  The drizzle continued. Fog swirled around the tall building. A half hour into my run, breathing hard and slick with sweat and rain, I slowed to a stop. God. I scrubbed a hand down my wet face. I had to go back, apologize for being such a dick. She needed the job, I understood that, but to paint a guy who got a fucking hard-on just by looking at her?

  That I’d never accept.

  I jogged back to the apartment, opened the front door as Logan shuffled out from her studio wearing low-riding, paint-splattered jeans and a tight, sky-blue tee, revealing a handspan of tan skin. She looked so damn sexy in her work clothes. “Logan—”

  “Whatever it is, can it wait?” She removed her jacket from the coat stand. “I’m in a hurry.”

  “About this morning, I’m sorry.”

  “And last night? You terrified my client.”

  Terrified the bastard? I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands. “I’m not sorry about that.”

  She blew out weary a breath, stirring the few short silky strands that had escaped her ponytail to seductively frame her striking face. “I have to get to the art store.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and looked me up and down, from my damp shirt to my sweaty face.

  “I need a shower. Ten minutes, or I’ll come as is.”

  An eternally long second passed before she nodded.

  Grabbing fresh clothes from my tote, I headed for the bathroom.

  Eight minutes later, showered and changed, I jogged bar
efoot downstairs.

  She turned from staring out the window. She’d waited, hadn’t pulled her usual disappearing act. Hope renewed itself. I pulled on my boots, raked my fingers through my damp hair then grabbed my jacket and beanie since it was still raining. We headed outside. She stopped in the covered porch and pulled up the hood of her coat as I shrugged on my jacket then put on my beanie.

  She cut me a quick look, her gaze flickering to my head.

  “What?”

  A tiny smile tugged the mouth I so badly wanted to kiss again.

  “You look nice in that.”

  Her words almost knocked me off my feet. “Wow, Logan, two compliments in two weeks.” Color surged beneath her skin at my edge of sarcasm.

  I couldn’t resist tormenting her. “I liked it better when you nuzzled my neck and whispered I smelled good the night I carried you to bed.”

  “It’s not very gentlemanly to remind me of how drunk I was.”

  My smile vanished. “At least then you were more honest about your feelings.”

  She bit her lip, head lowered as we walked out into the rain. I exhaled a frustrated breath then stopped short at the sight of my black Jeep parked two cars away on the curb. Jack had finally delivered my SUV. I’d been so pissed this morning, I hadn’t seen it—hell, a horde of reporters could have camped about butt-naked, and I wouldn’t have noticed the skunks either.

  I snagged Logan’s wrist before she walked past the Jeep, hunkered down and reached beneath the running board for my hidden key.

  “What are you doing?” A shocked whisper.

  I winked, pressed the unlock remote and opened the passenger door. “Climb in.”

  When she just stood there and stared, I picked her up by the waist and dropped her on the seat. “Max!”

  Her minty breath swept over my face in a whisper of a caress. With barely an inch between our faces, the temptation to kiss her grew like a wildfire. With effort, I forced out the words, “I like hearing my name on your lips.”

  She flushed and glanced away, Her brow furrowing, she met my gaze again. “Is this yours?”

  “Live a little, Logan. Stop worrying. Enjoy the”—I dropped my voice to a suggestive purr—“ride.” I didn’t miss the flare of her pupils at my carnal comment, and she bit her lip.