Wrong for Me

by Jackie Ashenden

  “You bought this for me?” His voice sounded as rusty as the fucking car.

  Gideon nodded. “Yeah. Stupid, huh?”

  He wanted to say, yes, it was stupid. That Gideon was right. Levi had something bigger and better to do than tinkering around with cars.

  But he couldn’t say it. That tight feeling in his chest wouldn’t let him.

  Instead, he looked away, back down to the Firebird, remembering the day Gideon had asked him if he wanted to help out in the garage.

  Levi had been sixteen and had always liked fiddling with things—he’d had to fix a lot of stuff in the apartment because his father kept breaking things when he was drunk—so making the jump to messing around with engines wasn’t a big deal. But the best part of it had been that Gideon was going to pay him.

  Some of Levi’s happiest moments had been spent with Gideon in that garage. Levi’s mother had died when he was small, and he’d never had a proper father figure, never had a brother. But Gideon, even though he was only three years older than Levi, had been both of those things.

  Gideon had taught Levi what it was to be a man. What family meant. And the safe space of the garage, with Gideon and his ready acceptance, had been Levi’s savior on more than one occasion, just as much as Rachel had been.

  Levi put a hand on the car, the metal warm under his hand.

  It wasn’t stupid. It was a typically generous Gideon gesture, and it mattered.

  He didn’t look at the other man. “What’s the engine like?”

  “Needs an overhaul. Probably take some time.”

  “Uh huh.” He rubbed at a flake of paint. “You got room for this in the garage?”

  “I’m sure I could find some,” Gideon said.

  Levi finally looked at him. “Do it. I’ll come in tomorrow to take a look at what needs to be done.”

  Gideon didn’t smile, but there was warmth in his eyes, and for some reason the uncomfortable, tight feeling in Levi’s chest relaxed a little. “The door’s always open, man. You know that.”

  * * *

  The last client of the day, a musician pleased with the sleeve of skulls and snakes and roses Rachel had designed, rolled off Rachel’s tattoo couch. She chatted to him as she cleaned him up, then dealt with the payment, trying not to notice the time ticking by.

  In half an hour it would be seven, and she was due at Levi’s.

  “So, going to Gino’s?” Xavier asked from his own station after the musician had gone out the door and Rachel had begun the process of cleaning up and sterilizing her gear.

  “No, not tonight.” She didn’t look at Xavier, not wanting to get into more tedious explanations about moving in with Levi. Having to tell Zoe about it had been bad enough. “I’m kind of tired.”

  “Uh huh.” Xavier sounded unconvinced in the extreme. “All that moving must be tiring.”

  Oh, fuck.

  Rachel shot him a glance. He was leaning against his tattoo chair, one eyebrow raised in wordless question.

  “Don’t you have a client soon?” she asked.

  “In a couple of minutes, yeah. But don’t change the subject.”

  “Who told you I was moving out?”

  Xavier lifted a shoulder. “Hey, it’s a small neighborhood.”

  “Jesus.” She turned around, busying herself with putting away the rest of her gear, mainly so she didn’t have to look at him. “Okay, so I’m moving in with Levi. It’s no big deal.”

  “Sure it’s not.” The edge of sarcasm in his voice would have done her proud. “And you’re completely acting like a woman in love. Walking on air, can’t stop smiling, mooning around, all that shit.”

  “So, I’m not demonstrative. I’m doing all that on the inside.”

  Xavier laughed. “Bullshit, girl. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She shot him another glance. “Maybe I’m sleeping with him to see if I can get him to sign this building over to us.”

  Xavier stilled, his eyes widening. “Seriously?”

  She hadn’t meant it seriously. But now that she’d said it . . .

  Weren’t you going to treat the arrangement with Levi like a transaction? He’s getting something from it, so why can’t you?

  Ever since Levi had gotten back here she’d felt as if she was at his mercy, that she couldn’t argue with him, couldn’t protest. The way she had all those years ago when her gran’s heart problems had gotten worse and she’d needed more medication. It had been expensive, and Rachel had no job, no way of getting any money.

  She’d only seen one way out of her situation at the time, and she’d done what she’d had to do so her gran could get her medicine.

  Maybe the time had come to do what she had to again. And this time she’d do it for herself. She’d worked so hard for this studio, for her art gallery plans. She wasn’t just going to let those plans go because Levi was being a demanding asshole.

  Hell, he was getting a lot out of this deal. Why shouldn’t she?

  “Well, sure,” she said, giving Xavier a grin, the decision crystallizing inside her. Finally she had a bit of direction. “Why not? We can’t have him keeping this place, right?”

  Xavier gave her an assessing look. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing, okay? He doesn’t strike me as a man you can screw around with. In all senses of the word.”

  He wasn’t. But she had to remember that she did have one thing on her side—Levi wanted her. Which meant she could use that. At least, she had to try.

  While Xavier greeted another client, Rachel, full of new purpose, went over to the rack of clothing and began leafing through what was there.

  Levi had told her not to bother with dressing for the occasion, and she hadn’t, settling for jeans and a T-shirt. But suddenly that didn’t feel right. If she was going to get what she wanted out of this, making an effort seemed like a good idea.

  Dressing like a hooker now?

  Shoving that snide little thought aside, Rachel concentrated instead on what she was looking for.

  There was a dress on the rack in the store that she’d had her eye on for a while now, a simple, formfitting dark-red mini that left one shoulder bare. Excellent for showing off her ink, since the fabric was almost the exact same color as the roses on her arm and across her chest. Plus it would show off her curves to perfection.

  Pulling the dress off the rack, then making a note by the register to pay the designer for the dress later, she took it into the studio’s tiny bathroom, undressed, then wiggled into it.

  Smoothing down the fabric, she glanced at herself in the cracked mirror.

  The color was perfect, highlighting the deep red in her sleeve and in the rose petals that drifted across her chest before disappearing beneath the material. It also gave color to her pale cheeks and made the rest of her skin glow.

  The dress did a good job of following the shape of her figure too, ending at mid-thigh. Not too short to be classy, yet short enough to be sexy. Perfect.

  Rachel pulled out the tie of her ponytail, shaking her hair out so it tumbled down over her shoulders and back, then she leaned forward and applied the finishing touch: deep red lipstick.

  Now her outfit was perfect.

  She gave Xavier a wave as she left the studio, but he was too busy chatting with his client to respond, which was probably just as well. She certainly didn’t want any last minute wishes of good luck or knowing looks. This made her feel weird enough as it was.

  It’s not weird. It’s just a transaction, remember?

  Yeah. She was going to give Levi what he wanted—her in his apartment, in his bed—in return for signing ownership of her building over to her.

  A thrill went through her, alien and unfamiliar. Reminding her of all the things she didn’t want to think about. The sexual things. His hands. Her desire. Her hunger . . .

  No. Think of the beach and the sand. Pretend.

  The door to Levi’s building opened as soon as she approached, and, as she walked in, she caught the red
blinking light of a security camera that hadn’t been there a couple of days before. Clearly Levi had been making some improvements.

  Stepping into the cage elevator, she pressed the button and waited as old machinery clanked into life, laboriously hauling her up to the top floor.

  She had to stop outside Levi’s door to take a breath, to calm her racing heartbeat and get herself under control. Because she didn’t want to go in there shaking. Didn’t want to face him already vulnerable. Not when he knew how to take her apart so completely.

  When she’d made sure her metaphorical armor was firmly in place, that there were no chinks to speak of, Rachel raised her hand to knock.

  But the door swung open before her knuckles made contact with the wood. And Levi was there, standing in the doorway.

  And her throat closed as the sheer physical impact of him hit her.

  It had only been two days, and yet the sight of him brought everything she’d been so carefully not thinking about rushing back.

  The strength of his hands as he’d shoved her hard against the wall. The heat of his body when he’d pinned her there. The feel of his cock pushing into her. The terrible aching pleasure of each thrust, the stretch and burn, his breath harsh in her ear.

  Levi. Her friend. The first guy who’d made her laugh and think that the world might not be such a bad place after all.

  The friend she’d destroyed.

  Tears rushed into her eyes, and she had to blink hard to get rid of them. So much for her goddamned armor.

  “Hey,” she forced out, her voice husky. “Here I am.”

  He didn’t say anything, propping one forearm against the doorframe and leaning against it, his uneven gaze scanning her from head to toe. And she caught it, the flare of heat in his eyes as he looked at her.

  Good. The dress was obviously a success then.

  “You dressed up,” he said, the rough velvet of his voice rolling over her.

  “I thought I would. It’s an occasion, right?”

  Again, he was silent, his gaze continuing to roam, and she had to fight to keep the shivers that chased over her skin locked down. Not letting him get to her was going to be a problem, especially when he looked so damn hot himself.

  He wore a dark blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the black bands tattooed around his arms, the cotton pulling tight across the impressive width of his chest. The waistband of his worn jeans sat low on his lean hips, and there was a rip in one knee. He definitely hadn’t dressed up, but then, he didn’t really need to, not when he looked so . . . fucking good. When the easy, relaxed way he was standing with his arm on the doorframe, a confident, dominant posture, made something inside her want to roll over and beg.

  He wanted to make you beg too.

  She swallowed, ignoring the thought, the silence deepening, becoming tense and loaded with undercurrents, both emotional and physical.

  She didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, but right before she opened her mouth to say something, anything, he abruptly dropped his arm and stood to the side, indicating she should come in with a wordless gesture.

  Without hesitation, she stepped through the doorway and into the apartment, catching his scent as she went past him, woodsmoke and spice, like a forest fire. It made some part of her want to stop and turn to him, bury her face in his neck, have him put his arm around her and hold her like he’d used to.

  But those were dangerous thoughts. He wasn’t her friend anymore, and she wasn’t going to think of him like that. So she didn’t stop, continuing on down the short hallway until she’d come out into the living area.

  It wasn’t as empty as it had been a couple of days earlier.

  There were a low, black leather sectional sofa and a coffee table that looked carved out of a single, thick piece of battered wood arranged in the middle of the room. An empty shelving unit stood against one wall, and against another was a long console table with a massive, flat-screen TV on it.

  But that wasn’t all.

  There was an armchair standing near the window. It was old, the red velvet covering it worn and stained, parts of the fabric coming away from the base. It should have looked out of place with all the new furniture around it, with the new white walls and the freshly varnished floor. But for some reason it didn’t look out of place at all. It looked . . . right.

  Her gran’s chair.

  Rachel’s throat closed up, and for a second it was difficult to swallow. Because it wasn’t only the armchair that was here. On the coffee table were two of her favorite knickknacks: a small antique vase her gran had given her, made out of pink glass with gold patterns on it, and a little china statue of a black cat curled up and fast asleep, the closest she’d ever gotten to a pet.

  And on the wall, near the armchair, was a framed picture, one she recognized. She’d drawn it in her last year of high school, a self-portrait for an assignment. Her own face looked back at her, overlain with the sugar-skull imagery she’d first started using around that time, roses for her eyes and birds around her head. It was very similar to the mural she’d drawn on Sugar Ink’s wall.

  God, where had he gotten that? She thought she’d chucked it, along with a whole lot of other drawings she’d done back when she’d thought she’d go to art school and maybe one day be a famous artist.

  The sound of Levi’s footstep came from behind her, but she didn’t turn, still staring at the picture on the wall.

  “Why?” The question sounded far too blunt in the silence of the room, but she didn’t make any effort to soften it. Or explain.

  “I told you this was our apartment,” he replied. “So your stuff is here too. Most of it is in storage in an empty room downstairs, but I pulled out some of your favorite things to have up here now. You can go down tomorrow and bring up anything else you might want.”

  A few of your favorite things . . .

  He’d remembered. Even after all this time he remembered which things she’d treasured most.

  “That picture isn’t my favorite,” she said.

  “No. It’s mine.”

  She turned, finding him standing close behind her, watching her. “I don’t understand. What’s all this for? I thought you wanted to punish me.”

  The expression on his face was unreadable. “There are lots of ways to punish someone, Rachel. And this could have been us eight years ago.”

  “No, it couldn’t. We didn’t have the money. We didn’t—”

  “Not for this apartment, no. But this could have been us somewhere else.”

  Oh, now she understood. He was rubbing her face in it. Making her think about all those lost years. Years she’d deprived them of. And yes, it was a punishment all right.

  Her heart felt like it was drying up in her chest, becoming brittle and cracked like fall leaves.

  You’re not supposed to let him get to you.

  She wasn’t, but somehow he’d found a gap in her armor and had launched a sneak attack, hurting her deep inside. How was she supposed to protect herself against that?

  Use the same dirty tactics as he does?

  That was one answer. But it would probably only make things even worse. No, the quickest way to end this was to take the hits and hope that once he’d gotten the measure of hurt he wanted, he’d leave her alone.

  Anyway, she could bear it. She was strong.

  Levi lifted his hand and cupped her jaw, the heat of his palm feeling like a beam of sunlight against her skin. She wanted to tell him to fuck off and not to touch her, but her throat had seized up.

  “Yeah, I think you understand now, don’t you?” he murmured, running his thumb across her cheekbone, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice thickening. “I understand.”

  His thumb swept back and forth along her cheekbone in a slow, steady caress, and the scent of him wound around her, pulling tight.

  The ache inside her deepened, her heartbeat beginning to race. She didn’t want to feel this,
but she was feeling it all the same, a rising, helpless need.

  For years she’d kept sexual desire out of her life, yet now it was as if she were drowning in it.

  “Good.” Keeping his hand where it was on her jaw, Levi reached for her purse with the other, sliding it off her shoulder and discarding it onto the floor. “Are you ready for the rest?”

  Think of the beach....

  She resisted the urge to turn her cheek into his warm palm, to look up into that dark, disturbing gaze and try to find the Levi she remembered there. The Levi who smiled at her, whose blue eyes were always full of warmth, who always had a hug for her no matter what.

  She closed her eyes, fighting the pain of that loss. “Yes,” she lied. “I’m ready.”

  Levi’s hand fell away unexpectedly, and she opened her eyes again. The last rays of the sun came through the windows, highlighting the perfect, vivid lines of his face. Straight brows of dark, tawny gold, the silver ring gleaming. The shadows in his one dark eye were deep, the silver blue of the other blazing with something that looked very close to satisfaction.

  Of course he’d be pleased with himself. She was here, at his mercy, ready to take whatever it was he was going to give her. Relishing her pain.

  Anger stirred, an ember of it catching alight inside her. Okay, so maybe she was here to take his damn payback, but he didn’t have to look so fucking smug about it.

  “So are we going to get to it then?” she asked, an edge in her tone. “Come on, Levi; don’t leave me hanging. What do you want me to do this time? Ditch the dress? Get down on my knees and suck your cock? What?”

  One corner of his beautiful mouth curved in a tiger’s smile. “Actually, what we’re going to do is have dinner.”

  Chapter 9

  Rachel’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t been expecting that. Good. He wanted her off balance. Wanted her guessing about what was going to happen and what he was going to do.

  Tonight he’d remember both his control and his patience.

  Tonight this was his goddamn show.