“Your brain?” Luke smile derisively. “You should send her to me. I’m better at stealing cars than you are. Is she hot?”
“No. She’s a fucking dog,” he lied, aware it was ridiculous to be possessive about her considering she was a stranger. But stranger or no, if Luke or Atlas made a play for her, there’d be hell to pay.
***
Two nights in a row he’d dreamt of her. Not sex dreams—long, detailed dreams about things like the two of them killing giant bug aliens off-planet, or being part of a live action game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. He felt like he knew her, even though the only thing he knew about her was her name. It was like they’d been lovers years ago and he’d lost his memory, leaving only traces to make him obsess. He needed to get her out of his head before he botched a job and his ass ended up in jail.
After showering and throwing on some clothes, he stomped out of the house and into the crisp night air. Solitude meant not needing to explain his foul mood to anyone.
In a fit of immaturity, he took the hybrid, just to piss her off. It wasn’t like she’d know. He pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town. The stretch of road from the house was almost always empty, so it surprised him when someone started following close enough for their headlights to flash in his rearview. Asshole. Some people didn’t know how to enjoy a country road.
He slowed down to let them pass, but the driver backed off. Someone was tailing him and wasn’t being subtle about it.
The grille suggested an old white Mazda—far from the black Prius she’d pretended was hers. But it was her, and he knew it.
Unreasonable anger crept up on him. How dare she say she was going to stalk him then not turn up for days? Did that show any commitment or pride in workmanship? No. It didn’t bode well for her career as a car thief if she couldn’t even be trusted to show up. If she just wanted to do it for the rush, that was one thing, but if she wanted to get more serious she couldn’t make her buyer wait for days at a time.
Partway down the road, he turned off onto a smaller side road. The other car followed. What if it wasn’t her at all and it was Marcel’s people instead? It would figure if he got himself killed while just trying to freak out an irritating girl.
He rolled his eyes at himself, but kept going until the deserted road went behind a rise. There he stopped, leaving the car running. He got out and stared the other driver down. The gravel road was too narrow for two cars to pass unless one went almost into the ditch. The Mazda rolled to a stop several feet from him and parked. The door opened.
“Hello, Addison. Fancy meeting you in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.”
She stepped out of the car and slammed the door closed hard enough that he thought pieces of it might fall off. Especially the parts held on with duct tape.
“Hey, Fox . . . if that is your real name.” She smiled sweetly. “There’s no need to look so pissed. I warned you I’d be back.” The way she walked toward him drew every bit of his attention. She had a classic hourglass figure, and the sway of her hips made him drool. Jeans and an old band T-shirt had no right to look so good.
“Fox is my real name. I’m not the one who’s a pathological liar here.”
She stopped right in front of him, firmly inside his personal space. Either she had crappy social skills or she was flirting. With some people it was hard to tell the difference.
“A girl needs a hobby. Lying, stealing cars . . . My mother keeps trying to get me into scrapbooking and needlepoint, but I’m afraid I’m not very crafty.” She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Besides, did you expect me to tell you my name right away, considering?”
“You steal cars. Was giving out your name that much more dangerous?”
“It could have been.” She cocked her head to the side. “Should I trust you?”
“I really don’t give a fuck if you trust me or not.” He moved closer and glared down at her, making her fall back a step so he didn’t bump into her. For a bizarre moment, it felt like they were dance partners in a tango competition. “You want things from me. You don’t have anything to offer me in return. It’s a little hard for me to give a shit.”
“What can I offer you to make this worth your while?”
The question was asked innocently enough, but the possibilities ricocheted around in his mind, wreaking havoc.
“You tell me.” Fuck, he was horny. Probably not the best time to be having this conversation. He knew exactly what he wanted from her, but he wasn’t enough of a creep to say so out loud.
“I’m better than you are.” She arched a brow. “Maybe I could teach you how to steal cars without having to wait for me to do all the work first.”
Arrogant little thing. His laugh was loud and short, and not at all polite. If she thought she was better at boosting cars than he was, she’d been smoking something. There was no way—not when she was four years younger than he was, and new at this. Fifteen years of experience would beat out anything college girl could have learned online, no matter how smart she was. “You couldn’t even steal a moped without your gadgets.”
When she took another step back, he knew that had stung. The blue eyes were wide. “Oh, you think so? Has anyone ever told you that you’re full of yourself?”
“My father calls it healthy self-esteem. Do you think that’s a euphemism for ‘asshole’?”
“If it isn’t, it should be. You are one.”
“True. It’s also true that you want me to shove you down on the hood of my car.” As soon as he’d said the words he regretted them, but only because the visual became very distracting.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times as though she was thinking of snappy responses but then reconsidered saying them aloud. His dick was hard and he was pretty sure it was stealing some of the blood flow from his brain.
The girl reached out and dug her fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt, then pulled him close. Her mouth closed over his, insistent, demanding. She tasted like fresh air, the smell of ozone seeming sharper around her. Every molecule in his body was painfully awake—adrenaline surged through him like it had when he was young and stupid and running from the cops. He considered pushing her away, not wanting to let his attraction to her cloud his judgment. The life he led was no place for a suburban kid looking for a thrill.
But pushing her away was beyond him.
The initial forceful kiss gave way to something less full of bravado. Sweet and tentative, unsure of herself, she tried to get him to respond. Her tongue brushed at his lips, and he parted them, giving her access but not reciprocating, even though his cock throbbed painfully. The growly dominant parts of his psyche weren’t happy about being held back.
Eventually she stopped trying and pulled away. She let go of his shirt and retreated. He followed, backing her up until she bumped into the side of his car.
Nowhere to go now, little girl.
“Is that how you plan to get ahead in the world? If someone doesn’t want to work with you, you’ll kiss them?” He turned his head and spat, as though he was disgusted with her. She flinched, but didn’t turn away. “There are men in this business who won’t care that you’re beautiful. Actually, it’ll probably be a liability. There are no sexual harassment training videos and no security guards. You’ll either have to be charming or dangerous to get by. Possibly both. Why don’t you go home and take up something safer, like bungee jumping or skydiving?”
If he thought she was cowed, the smirk set him straight. “Why don’t you?”
The challenge in her gaze forced his body to respond. Without thinking, he pinned her against the car, one arm on either side of her, his body pressing her back against its unyielding frame. If he’d brought a sexier car, he might have been forced to see how she looked on the hood. When she didn’t object to being caught there, he kissed her, needing that much but denying himself more. He was going to pull away and send
her packing . . . in a minute . . .
She responded with reckless enthusiasm. Their kisses turned bruising and desperate. His hand tangled cruelly in her hair and she moaned into his mouth. When he ground against her, she reciprocated, and her hands slid up into his shirt, making him shiver. Control was slipping from his grasp. Her fingers abandoned their exploration of his chest and back muscles, and she fumbled with the button of his jeans. He shoved her hands away, not willing to let her rush him, even though his body was calling him an idiot.
Instead, he forced his thigh up between hers and pressed it against her pussy. Her breath caught and in a heartbeat her eyes went from surprised to unfocused. Heat radiated through her jeans, and he wanted to slip his hand into them to see if she was wet too. He could feel her trying not to move, but she squirmed subtly against his thigh, making him ache to be inside her.
One of his hands found its way into her shirt. He mauled her breasts through her bra, the feel of them against his palms and the bump of her hard nipples between his fingers inciting his cruelty. Rough handling didn’t seem to bother her. She whimpered, her kisses punctuated with small sounds of desperation.
“What’s wrong? Should I stop?” His voice was rough, but he wasn’t feeling very civilized.
“Oh god, no. Please don’t stop.”
The words sent an electric surge through him, and he felt like Frankenstein’s monster waking from death—alive, out of control, in danger of going on a rampage. He wanted this woman in every vulgar, uncivilized way he could think of. He wanted to show her body, and her, who the alpha was in this equation. It sure as fuck wasn’t her. At that moment, it might not even have been him. His body was trying to take over his good sense.
Shit. He was supposed to be getting rid of her, not making out with her.
Unable to resist, he kissed her one more time, long and gentle, which wasn’t what either of them wanted.
When he pulled away, he forced himself to give her a cold look. “Stop following me.”
She stumbled a few steps away and stared at him in confusion.
“But what—why?” She blinked at him.
“Because this isn’t a game, little girl. If you keep following me around, you’re going to get hurt. I don’t want that on my conscience.” He got into the car and put it in drive, but kept his foot on the brake.
Brow furrowed, she stood there, looking lost.
He drove away before he put the car back in park and did something he wouldn’t regret in the slightest.
Chapter 3
Addison poked at her roast beef with her fork. Sunday dinner at her parents’ house meant one of the three meal options: meat loaf with frozen French fries, overcooked roast beef and potatoes, or chicken casserole. Predictable made her father happy.
“How’s school?” her dad asked.
She took a break from playing with the last potato on her plate and looked at her dad. Years in middle-management hadn’t done Roger Kennedy any favors in regards to his health. His big gut and pale skin spoke of hours spent in an office of, coincidentally, an office supply store. His thick glasses and growing bald spot made him look older than he was. She wished he’d take up hiking or something to keep himself active. Even bowling would be better than TV marathons. But, the man had a heart of gold.
“Good,” she answered.
“Only a year or so until graduation.” He grinned at her. “Have you thought about where you want to do an internship yet?”
The reminder that her future loomed made the overly familiar roast beef less palatable. “It’s on my to-do list.”
Truthfully, she’d been avoiding the internship thing. She was hoping if she ignored the fact that graduate school was more than almost over and she had unpleasant decisions ahead of her, maybe it wouldn’t happen. Maybe the universe would hit the pause button and things could stay as they were for a little while longer.
Giving her classes a half-hearted effort hadn’t affected her test scores enough to lose her STEM scholarship. She felt a little guilty wasting it, but it was only March. Graduation was still over a year away, but that still didn’t leave much time until the end of life as she knew it. She’d already postponed it by entering the master’s of electrical engineering program and dropping to part-time. But she couldn’t hide from life by staying in school forever.
The lure of a regular paycheck—more than the minimum wage she made at the electronics store—tempted her to suck it up and face the real world. With more money coming in, she could pursue other . . . hobbies that gave her the charge she needed to avoid feeling dead inside.
The topic of careers made her stomach churn.
A buzzer went off in the kitchen and she was glad for the distraction.
“That’s the pie,” her mom said, placing her napkin on the table. “Oh! Before I forget, Addison, there’s an Extreme Scrapbooking class on Saturday at the community center.”
Her fork paused its poking. “Extreme Scrapbooking?”
Her mom bustled into the attached kitchen. “Twenty pages in six hours!”
Normally, Addison would be up for anything with the word “extreme” in it, but scrapbooking didn’t exactly evoke much of a sense of danger. What was so extreme about scrapbooking? Paper cuts?
“Do you want to go, sweetie?” she said, bent over the open oven.
I’d rather stick this fork in my eye, Mom. She felt bad for thinking it as soon as the thought crossed her mind.
“Saturday?” Addison pretended to consider it. It was nice that her mom wanted to include her in things, but handling six whole hours of scrapbooking and people making polite conversation was a bit much. “Um. Sorry. I have plans.”
Her mom walked back in, carrying a steaming pie with crocheted potholders. “What kind of plans? A date?” Her mom’s smile widened and Addison knew that was her ticket out of this.
“Yes, a date,” she agreed. It was sort of true. She had a date with Fox, even if he didn’t know it yet. Some would call it “stalking,” but she preferred the term “aggressive pursuing.”
“Oh.” Her mom placed the pie on the table. In contrast to Addison’s dad, her mom had aged well. Like most women over fifty, Marilyn wore her brown hair short—as if it were a societal rule. Her smile was kind but shy. Once Addison had become too old to need a stay-at-home mom, she’d gone back to work as a receptionist at a dentist’s office, so her teeth were always shiny white. “It’s been so long since Jeremy, I was beginning to think maybe you were a . . . lesbian.”
Her ex hadn’t done much for her in the bedroom. Why was it guys were either sweet outside the bedroom but tame inside, or assholes in both places? Couldn’t she find someone with a little bit of both? Sweetness and edge.
Addison rolled her eyes. “I’m not a lesbian, Mom. I’m . . .” She paused. “Wait. If I was a lesbian, what would be wrong with that?”
“Nothing!” Mom wiped her hands on her apron. “Nothing at all. It’s just something a mother likes to know.” After sitting primly in her seat, she glanced at Addison hesitantly. “Joyce’s daughter just married her lesbian girlfriend. She brought the photos to our last scrapbooking event. They were so gorgeous! All the Scrappers were jealous.” She smiled in delight. “Two wedding dresses! Can you imagine?” Her mom’s friends called themselves the Scrappers—like they were some kind of menopausal gang armed with decorative scissors and double-sided tape.
“Mom.” Addison gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you saying you want me to be a lesbian so you can make a better scrapbook than your friends? ’Cause I’m gonna tell you now . . . it’s cock for me.”
Her mother gasped and her dad choked on his food. She should’ve felt guilty but someone had to keep them on their toes. Watching too much TV and doing needlepoint for hours was going to rot their brains.
But yeah. She was into guys. And not just any guy at this point. Fox, specifically.<
br />
After that panty-melting kiss, she was hooked. He was her newest high and she wanted to ride it, and him, again. Too bad he seemed adamant about pushing her away. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take a hint, but when a man kissed a girl like that, he didn’t really mean for her to go away, did he? Not only did he have a body to die for and a swagger that could make a girl swoon, but he held the promise of the kind of future she wanted—one filled with excitement and challenge. She just had to convince him he wanted her too.
“Um . . .” Her father blinked several times, as though his mind was trying to erase what it had just heard. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate dinner conversation, but thanks for the update.”
He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin that had been folded like a swan beside his plate. But even the napkin origami didn’t disguise the two empty spots at the table. Sunday dinner without her grandparents still felt wrong.
“How are Gran and Gramps?” she asked, deciding even a painful topic was better than the current one.
Her mother sighed. “Well, you know how it is. I’ve been driving Gran back and forth every day, but she hates leaving him with strangers. It’s so busy there, and he gets upset about the noise. Without her there to calm him down he can get pretty agitated. No matter how good the staff is, they can’t soothe him like Gran can.” Tears threatened to spill from her mom’s eyes, but didn’t. Was she already becoming resigned to it?
The way Addison’s father reached out automatically and squeezed her mom’s hand was beautiful in its simplicity. As tame as her parents were, they sincerely loved each other, just as much as her grandparents did—at least, the ones on her mom’s side.
“We can still sell the house,” her father said, and her mother waved the dismissal she always did when the subject came up. “A real estate agent came by the other day and said they were looking for houses to sell in the neighborhood. Apparently, young families are buying the suburbs right now and developers can’t move fast enough to keep up.”
Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline) Page 3
