He whistled through his teeth. “And they still treat you like shit? Why do you put up with it?” He caught her eye and winked. “Unless you like it a little rough and mean.”
Shayla blinked and looked anywhere but Luke, focusing on the third door on the left that they were rapidly approaching. She would put him in there, offer him a beverage, and then be out of his hair until the little girl came in to get her damn cat. She had to keep her resolve through a few more moments of conversation, and then she’d be free from temptation.
“It’s a tough business to get into,” she replied, fingers reaching out for the door handle.
Luke’s hand over hers stopped her dead in her tracks. “So is show business,” he said, his voice low. “But young actors still get respect.”
Shayla licked her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry. Luke had green eyes, with flecks of brown that reminded her of the moss covered trees of the forest. His gaze was so fierce that it stole the breath from her lungs, but she wouldn’t back down. She pushed through his hand and pulled down on the handle, swinging the door inward and gesturing for him to enter.
“One day I’ll have the respect of the nation,” she said. “Until then I’ll make do with the scorn of the newsroom.” She smiled at him. “If people are treating you badly in a place like this, it’s a sign that you’re doing something right.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her but walked into the dark room anyway, flicking on the light on the wall. The fluorescent bulbs hummed on the ceiling, bathing the room in a harsh glow. The conference table was a long, glass oval with six matching office chairs arranged around it. It looked good enough from afar, but if you got close you could see the scratches all across the top from over thirty years of use.
“Maybe this story will bring you to the top,” Luke said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the table top.
Shayla tracked his movements; how his tattooed biceps bulged with the motion, straining against the fabric of his white t-shirt. A thick, jagged crack splintered through her resolve.
Luke caught her looking, but she simply gestured to his arms. “Nice tattoos.”
He smirked. “Thanks.”
She took the opportunity to take a closer look, noticing one in Greek script that circled his arm like a multi-layered arm band. Before she had a chance to ask what it was, Luke reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small book, dropping onto one of the chairs and putting his boots up on the table.
Shayla took that as a pretty firm sign that he wanted to be alone. Had he even been flirting with her in the first place? Maybe she’d misinterpreted his signs entirely. After all, there was a reason Shayla hadn’t been with anyone in nearly a year—she was horrible with men. They came flocking to her because of her pretty face and long legs, but pinged off of her like badly aimed darts when they were faced with her intensity and dedication to her job. Before the news station, it had been university. Before that, high school. The ones that did hit a bullseye never stayed around for long. Either she’d grow bored of them, or they’d grow bored of not being able to change her.
Either way, not a firm base of confidence for dealing with the opposite sex.
Shayla hung around for a moment more, waiting for him to do or say something. He had to, right? Surely he wasn’t just going to zone out and read for the next half hour. But, then again, he looked quite content with his book and his kitten. She ignored the dust that shook off of his shoes onto the table. She’d be the one cleaning it up later, no doubt. But right now her thoughts had swung from wanting to chastise him to wanting to chase him.
“Do you need anything else from me?” Luke asked, his gaze fixed firmly on the text in front of him.
All Shayla heard at first was “need” and “you.” Dammit. She really did need to get laid. Shayla shook her head. “Um. No. I guess not.”
“I’ll see you in a bit then.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Shayla shuffled out of the room and clicked the door closed behind her. She walked a few steps down the empty hall and then turned and pressed her back against the drywall. Everywhere in the station was usually searing hot from the amount of equipment they had and the unwillingness management displayed to pay for air conditioning. Now, especially, Shayla felt the heat flame through her. The cool wall was bringing a little relief. She suppressed the urge to press her face against it.
She knew that once back in the newsroom she’d have to put on her impenetrable mask, and she’d probably be dealing with shit from both Amy and Anthony tonight. But in this moment she allowed herself some time to cool down and arrange her thoughts, away from prying eyes.
Then she took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her hair, and walked into the heart of the storm.
Chapter Six
Behind the cover of the closed door, Luke snickered to himself. Shayla’s demeanor had changed in a flash as soon as he’d stopped paying attention to her. Why were people so easy to play with? These were schoolyard tactics, and yet they’d had her singing his tune in no time. He was a little disappointed that she turned out to be so predictable. After all, she was more than likely the smartest person in the whole building. But he’d read her body like a well-worn paperback, and she hadn’t even realized it.
Then again, not many guys who ran in the kind of crowd that he did had such a keen eye for body language and facial expressions. It was something that gave him an edge when it came to defusing fights and starting them. The best part was that he’d learned it all from the books that his rivals so often scoffed at.
Well, maybe not that often. You could only scoff so much with a broken nose.
Today’s reading was The Aeneid—the story of Aeneas of Troy’s flight from the Trojan battlefield and the founding of Rome. At first he didn’t empathize as much with Aeneas as he had Hector and Achilles. He had fled the burning ruins of his home as the Greeks caught and enslaved his people. He had broken the heart of a powerful queen and made an enemy that would last Rome until the end of its days. But he had done it all because of a duty he held to his people. And a duty he held to the gods.
Luke liked that. He figured there were stages of his life, and his stage as the dutiful Aeneas had not yet arrived. He’d cut through swathes of rivals as the blood-thirsty Achilles. Currently, as the honorable Hector, he was returning a kitten that he’d grown quite fond of to its rightful owner. And, in a broader sense, he was making decisions to benefit his family—his motorcycle club.
He wondered when he’d reach his Aeneas stage; when he’d fulfill his destiny. And, indeed, what that might be.
Sparky would laugh his balls off if he knew any of this had passed through Luke’s head. The guy was a good friend and a great right hand man, but his philosophical capacities were for shit.
Anyway, Luke was glad that the librarian at his branch had recommended The Aeneid to him after seeing the script on his arm. He wouldn’t have thought to look for another epic from Antiquity otherwise, besides The Odyssey, anyway.
Dido was in her death throes when the door opened next. Achilles, who had been snoozing on the crevice between Luke’s legs, immediately perked up and scrambled across the table to where a little girl with dark pigtails scooped him up and cradled him in her arms.
Luke’s eyes slid up to the doorframe, where Shayla was holding a microphone, a man holding a camera on his shoulder just behind her. He could tell the smile on her face was fake. Curious. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that it was nearly midnight and she was stuck reporting on a lost and found kitten.
The camera panned to Luke, and he retracted his feet from the table and stood, sliding the book back in his pocket. He smirked as he saw the angle the camera man had to tilt his equipment to reach Luke’s face.
Luke squatted down to the little girl’s level. “Hey Jacklin,” he said. “I’m Luke.”
The girl’s parents barged into the room past the cameraman, apparently sensing that their child was in danger. Luke rolled his e
yes. They stayed back, at least. Jacklin wasn’t afraid. She shone a gap toothed smile on him.
“Thank you for saving Bubbles!” she exclaimed.
Luke bit back a grimace. “Bubbles?”
She nodded.
He leaned in closer to her, careful so that he wasn’t overheard. He whispered in her ear and she nodded her head heartily.
Leaning back on his heels, Luke shot a cheeky grin toward Jacklin’s parents. “So, Jacklin,” he said, though his gaze was directed at them. “Think I could come visit sometime?”
“I think he’d like that! And I would too!” Hearts all over the world were probably breaking. Well, maybe nothing quite so dramatic. He was certainly melting the heart of Jacklin’s mom, however. The ire he was getting from her dad made up for it.
“So there you have it,” said Shayla, dipping into the frame. “A kitten found, best friends united, and new friendships forged. All in just one day in the beautiful town of Templeton.”
Luke tried not to snort. He wondered if she had come up with that line on her own or not. He hoped for not, but judging by how pleased she looked with herself, that didn’t seem the most likely. Everyone had to have some sort of flaw. Maybe hers was just to err on the side of cheesiness and drama. She was certainly physically flawless.
He felt a tiny jab in his gut as the cameras shut off and Jacklin took Achilles away. That kitten was going to be one lazy and adorable cat one day. He was just sad that he wouldn’t get to see it. He wasn’t so sentimental that he would actually visit a cat he’d known for less than twenty-four hours, but it was tempting. If only for the reactions of Jacklin’s parents.
The cameraman followed Jacklin and her parents out, but Shayla stayed in the room.
“You okay little guy?” she asked.
The moment his eyes hit her, he saw that she had realized her mistake. Her eyes widened, lips parting ever so slightly. Luke Cinder was many things, but a man you could speak to with condescension was not one of them. If it had been one of his gang’s rivals, the guy would’ve been down for the count already. If it had been Sparky, or one of his own guys, they would’ve been on the receiving end of a stern glare and on thin ice.
Luke didn’t know how best to approach such an affront when it came from a girl, not least Shayla. He wasn’t talked down to often, and he most certainly was never talked down to by a woman who’d been giving him the eyes moments before. He saw the humor in it, and knew she meant nothing by it. But it was an opportunity to have a little fun, nonetheless.
“Say that again,” he challenged, his voice a low growl. He walked toward Shayla and she stepped back, pressing her slender frame against the wall and fixing him with wide eyes.
“I didn’t say anything.”
He smirked and crowded her, pressing his hands on either side of her body. She was trapped.
“I think you called me little guy,” he purred. “I just want to be sure I heard you correctly.”
He leaned down, inching his face toward hers. She smelled of flowers and something sweet, like honey. Or coconut. He’d never been great with smells. Whatever it was, it was drawing him in. And he desperately wanted to taste her.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
He held her gaze, watching the pupils of her eyes as they dilated. Her arousal nearly caused him to break, to take her right there against that wall. But he couldn’t fuck up this job for her. He was rooting for her, after all. He always rooted for the underdog.
Luke let out an abrupt laugh and stepped back, watching the air fill her lungs again. Shayla came back to life, shaking her head and shooting him with a glare. “That’s not funny,” she said. “I was—”
“Turned on?”
“Scared.”
“Liar.”
She gave him an impetuous glare but didn’t respond.
Luke grabbed his coat from the table. “So where are you taking me for dinner?”
“What?” She furrowed her brow. “Dinner? It’s past midnight.”
“Do you have anywhere to be in the morning?”
“That’s beside the point…”
Luke slid his arms into his jacket and pulled it over his shoulders, giving the collar a flick. “I’m hungry. You owe me. Dinner. Questions?”
But Luke didn’t wait for questions. He swept out of the room like the wind, knowing full well that she’d be jogging along after him within moments.
Click, click, click.
There she was.
“Wait,” she said, coming up beside him. “What do I owe you for, exactly?”
He glanced down at her but didn’t slow his gait. She was tall for a woman, but even her long legs were having trouble keeping up.
“Your big break, of course,” he said. “Nothing’s for free in this town, sweetheart, and my favors cost more than most.”
Shayla groaned in frustration. “I never asked you for any favors!”
Luke reached out for the handle of the door back to the lobby, but angled his body toward hers and stopped. “Body language,” he said, dragging his eyes up and down her delectable frame. “Yours has been telling me all kinds of things. Earlier it asked for a little help.”
She crossed her arms of her chest. “You can’t call in your chips when the other players don’t know that they’ve laid down their cards.”
Luke opened the door, grinned, and gestured for her to walk through first. Shayla let out another groan and rolled her eyes, but went through without further protest.
“Word of advice, sweetheart,” Luke said. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll know.”
“Word of advice, dickhead.” She frowned at him. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
Chapter Seven
Shayla had never understood adrenaline junkies. When she was eighteen, a friend from high school begged her to go bungee jumping with him, and she had agreed even though the thought made her feel ill. Everyone she knew who had done it claimed that it was worth all the fear, and that the rush they got on that long plummet was better than anything a person could experience with two feet firmly planted on the ground.
Shayla was no coward, so she went along.
The bridge that spanned the gulley was made of corrugated steel, and seemed quite sturdy. Walking out on it, though, Shayla had never felt more unsafe. She knew it was all in her head; that she was more likely to die on the drive home than while bungee jumping, but her mind’s logical processes seemed to have taken a vacation. She had walked forward with shaky legs, trying to keep her eyes on the little diving platform ahead and not on the sound of rushing water below.
Jackson had thought her quite brave for wanting to go first. Even braver for wanting to dive backward. In truth, Shayla had been doing everything in her power to get the dive over with as soon as possible, and she didn’t want to see where she was headed while she did it.
Standing on the ledge, with the wind prickling at her clammy skin, Shayla had said a silent farewell to the world. It was dramatic, sure, but with the way her pulse was pounding in her throat, all her instincts were telling her she’d never survive the fall.
Then, with her eyes screwed closed, she’d pushed off and careened toward the river.
It was the same feeling as a long drop on a roller coaster, but it didn’t end. She opened her mouth but there was no air to scream. They had told her not to hang on to the foam thing that covered the attachment to the rope, but her arms flung up and held onto it tightly, willing it to stay her movement.
And then the rope had snapped taut, and the relief that welled inside of Shayla was the sweetest thing she’d ever felt. But it was short lived, because as soon as she stopped going down, she began to fly back up. While that sensation wasn’t as unpleasant as the fall had been, she knew that she’d have to go back down soon enough. And the dread was worse this time than it had been before she jumped in the first place, because she’d never factored in this part of the experience before. She hadn’t prepared herself for this loop of falling and soaring, and she didn’
t know when it would end.
When she had finally finished bouncing, she swung lazily over the rushing river below as someone pulled her back up to the bridge. The instructor, a new age hippie with a crooked grin, had said, “See, not so bad huh?”
Shayla had merely glared at him.
That experience had shaped Shayla’s thrill seeking capacity ever since. She had kept to herself, never looking for more of an adrenaline rush than a good lead for a story or a designer sales event at her favorite store. Because it had been so bad. And she hadn’t felt, afterward, that bungee jumping had been worth it. It had left her shaken, upset, and frankly a little bit nauseous. Her time would have been better spent studying or writing.
She understood the romance of getting to experience plunging to one’s death without actually dying, but screw that.
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