Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)

by Kat Bastion

  Darren…

  The truck door slammed shut. I stopped breathing.

  Idiotic.

  Responsible…but fucking idiotic.

  I watched a great girl, one I could get into—really get into—walk away.

  Because I told her to.

  I stared out the passenger window at an expanse of toned legs that stretched up under Kiki’s fluttering skirt before she stepped behind the white picket gate and fastened it.

  She shivered as she walked up the brick path, then rubbed her hands up her bare arms. She didn’t look back once. Why would she?

  Yet after she climbed the two steps to her front stoop, fumbled with a handful of keys until she stabbed one into the lock, then tucked her slim purse under her arm, she turned and waved at me with a warm smile.

  Or was it a smug smile?

  Or a wave off?

  While she stood under the porch light, a breeze blew the ends of her dark hair across her face, plastered her tiny dress to her generous curves.

  The universe punished me at every turn.

  Do the right thing. Don’t do the right thing.

  My life had been crammed with disappointments and challenges. Because of them, I’d walked the narrow path of responsibility for two long years.

  But now I was being tested. Kiki was a temptation I hadn’t expected. I didn’t know how or why: With only a few random conversations at the club and three awkward rides home she’d burrowed under my skin.

  Which was exactly why I couldn’t see her again.

  No way in hell could I follow through on her invitation.

  “Fuck.”

  I’d never been so turned on and pissed the fuck off all at the same time. But wanting and not being able to have—story of my life.

  I sucked in a sharp breath. “Get a grip, D.”

  Her scent filled my nostrils. Vanilla and something a little spicy. Like a damned mouthwatering cookie.

  The air in the cab sweltered. I cranked the AC up. Then I finally put the truck in gear and pulled away from her house. When I reached the end of her street, I hooked a left and headed toward Downtown Philly.

  Her scent got stronger with every breath, like her essence still lingered where she’d sat. Which was ridiculous. I glanced toward where she’d been seat-belted in, trusting me to get her home safely—where she had straightened with confidence, asking me to stay the night.

  What a night it would have been. Unforgettable. Unforgivable.

  Dark fabric caught my attention. I reached over and tugged on a mass of silky material, but it was caught on something. With a frown, I pulled over to the curb, then turned the cab light on and leaned over. Not wanting to rip the delicate fabric, I followed its length with my fingers, then untangled its corner from around the plastic molded base of the passenger seatbelt where it was secured into the floorboard by the door.

  I stretched the find out between my hands. It was a tiny jacket of some kind. If jackets were made of see-through material—almost all sleeves, no buttons or zippers.

  Unable to stop myself, I lifted it toward my face. And inhaled.

  Kiki.

  “No wonder you rubbed your arms,” I grumbled. “You were freezing your ass off. Not that this thing would even help.”

  I turned the truck around, then headed back toward her house.

  “Some plan of staying away from her.” Hadn’t even made it back to the city. But the sudden backtrack was only to return her jacket-thing. All it was.

  Her yellow house still had its porch lights on. But all the windows were dark. Not even a light glowed upstairs. Maybe she’d passed out on a couch.

  I parked on the opposite side of the street, then got out, her soft jacket bunched in my fist.

  A flash of movement in the narrow alley beside her house caught my attention. The alleyway led behind the house. Widely spaced streetlights along its edge disappeared into near darkness halfway down. Two large figures strode down the middle, arms spread wide as if corralling an animal.

  A smaller silhouette walked beyond them with a familiar sway of the hips, flutter of a skirt.

  Kiki.

  I couldn’t make out her face in the dark, but I knew her shape, how she moved.

  My heart thundered as I marched toward them.

  One of the guys called down the alley. “Come on, girl. We won’t hurt you.”

  “She’s with me,” I growled.

  Startled, the guys spun around. Young. Not much older than me. Shadows marred their expressions, made them appear more menacing. Didn’t matter. I would beat the shit out of them.

  One stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Don’t look like she’s with you.”

  I tucked her jacket into one of my back belt loops.

  The guy on the left pulled something from his pocket. Metal gleamed in the lamplight.

  “She is.” I tilted my face down, glared at the punks from under drawn brows. “Right, babe?”

  “Right.” Kiki stopped within my peripheral vision. Nervous, she shifted her weight from one foot to another.

  Problem was, we were in a bad situation: Kiki on one side, me on the other, danger between us. What the hell was she doing out here? Had they broken into her house? Chased her down the alley?

  Best-case scenario? Them leaving at my end of the alley, without incident.

  Didn’t even want to give thought to a worst-case.

  With slow steps, I arced away from them, moving flush with Kiki’s higher backyard fence. It gave them a wide exit path. As I advanced, they took the hint and moved opposite me. They circled around, mad dogging me the entire time. I stared back. And I never took my attention from their hands, nor the way they shifted their bodyweight.

  “She’s not worth it,” the farthest one bit out before spitting on the pavement between us.

  Not for you, she isn’t.

  After another few steps, they turned and vanished around the corner.

  I waited a full two breaths before turning to find Kiki standing right beside me.

  “Thanks,” she said. Her tone was casual, like I’d just held open a door for her.

  “What the fuck?” I put a protective arm around her shoulders, needing to touch her. “Are you okay?”

  She leaned further into my side. “Yeah. They wouldn’t have hurt me.”

  “Don’t be naïve. They sure as fuck would have.”

  “I can take care of myself.” She whipped out her keys and brandished a five-inch black metal kubotan that dangled from the keyring.

  “No you can’t.” I knocked it from her grip to prove it. The keys arced through the air, clattered onto the ground, then skipped across the concrete until they crashed into a heap against the base of a wrought iron lamppost.

  “Hey!” She shoved out of my hold. “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

  “I’m not being mean. They” —I pointed toward the end of the alley— “would have been mean.”

  When she huffed away to retrieve her keyring, I rushed alongside her, then scooped it up before she had a chance. I shook out the jumbled keys, rubbed them over my jeans to dust them off, and handed them back.

  With a fierce glare, she swiped them from me. Then she stormed ahead, back toward the street. I followed. But after two steps, she whirled around.

  She propped her hands on her hips. “Why did you come back, anyway?”

  Adorable didn’t begin to describe how she looked: dark hair tousled, pale skin flushed, full lips drawn down into the sexiest pout.

  I walked closer.

  She held her ground.

  By the time I stood within reach, she’d half-turned toward her house. A nearby streetlight bathed her face in a golden glow. Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you come back?” she repeated, her voice just above a whisper.

  Hope washed across her face a split second before those delectable lips twisted into a smirk.

  I tugged her jacket free from my belt loop, then held it up. “You forgot this.”

  Her hop
eful expression fell. Then she snatched the fabric from my hand and stomped backward.

  I strode toward her.

  She paused, letting me.

  A foot. Half a foot. Two inches. As I closed the distance, her head tilted back, gaze locked with mine.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice went breathless.

  “Don’t know.” Mine grew ragged.

  Something unnamable drew me to her. Seconds later, the reason hit me. Being near her quieted all the racket in my head. Until I didn’t even hear the never-ending rhythm. And all I saw was her.

  My world narrowed to the pulse at the hollow of her neck, her throat as she swallowed.

  Her gaze lowered to my mouth. Those luscious lips parted.

  Then she stared into my eyes, lashes fluttering. “When will you know?”

  Good question. And as I stood there, seconds ticking by as we both breathed harder and harder, no answer came.

  Her eyes began to widen, like the electric thing buzzing between us surprised her too.

  Frustrated and tired, I grabbed her hand and led her back to her front porch.

  “You’re going inside your house. Safe and sound. I’m going home.”

  She didn’t resist. Or say another word.

  Maybe we didn’t have to. Too much had already been exposed in what hadn’t been said.

  In the twenty minutes it took to drive home, I’d cleared my head. Mostly. Windows down, cold air whipped through the cab while I’d lectured myself on all the reasons taking Kiki up on her offer was the last thing I needed.

  Once I pulled into my short driveway, put the truck in park, and cut the engine, I’d wiped all thoughts from my brain about what I couldn’t have. Easy to do. Been doing it long enough.

  A stereo blasted from inside as I stuck my key into the dead bolt.

  I stepped in, slammed the door, and threw the bolt. Then I slid the chain across.

  No change in the haunting alternative rock that vibrated our plaster ceiling.

  The only light in the room was the one I’d left on above the stove. I dropped my keys onto the counter, crossed to the foot of the stairs, and stared up toward the dark second-floor hall.

  “Lo?” I shouted loud enough to wake the neighbors…across the street.

  The only response? The music turned up a couple more decibels.

  I dropped my gaze, stared at the worn edge of the bottom step. The caring half of me wanted to pound on her door, check on her. The smart half knew better.

  With a headshake and a heavy sigh, I retreated to the safety of the kitchen. I popped open the fridge, grabbed a beer, then went to the living room and dropped onto our threadbare couch. Tired to the bone, I closed my eyes. Then I guzzled down the bottle, absorbing the chill of the liquid along with the soulful music.

  I accepted my situation. The girl upstairs? What I’d signed up for.

  She was the reason I couldn’t take Kiki up on her offer, wouldn’t take something for myself.

  Because apparently I didn’t get to have happiness.

  A part of me wondered if I had any left to give.

  As I sank into sleep, thoughts of Kiki flowed in: the confident girl in the alley hell-bent on proving she could take care of herself, that glint of hope in her eye.

  Kiki…

  A scratching sound permeated my brain.

  “Wha—” The word strangled in my dry throat, then died.

  My eyelids were glued shut. I blinked down hard, twice, before they opened.

  Bright white assaulted my eyes. Lots and lots of white…

  Disoriented, I pushed upright. On a white slipcovered couch.

  “Oh.” I’d never made it past the living room.

  Fuzzy memories sharpened by small degrees as my gaze wandered over the pristine snowy rug, then up pale maple shelves to linger on a stack of books with pastel-colored spines. Yet despite the innocence of my surroundings, my mind gravitated toward the debauched thoughts I’d had last night.

  I smiled when it landed on the subject of said thoughts. Darren.

  He’d followed me halfway down the darkened alley. Then he’d “rescued” me from two guys I definitely could’ve handled, or at least my self-defense instructor and I bravely thought so.

  The scratching sound resumed, followed by a pitiful high-pitched cry. I groaned and shoved up off the couch. When my bare feet left plush carpeting, they met cold porcelain tiles in—of course—another shade of white. White marble covered the countertops. A white apron-style country sink sat below a window draped with white sheer linens.

  I opened the back door and let the little guy in. “Hey, munchkin.”

  In trotted a teenaged calico kitten as if he owned the place. While he prowled the inside perimeter, I opened the fridge, grabbed a carton of milk, and poured it into a saucer. The little devil launched onto the counter, nudged his head in, and began lapping away before I had a chance to put the saucer down on the floor.

  Laughing, I ran my fingers down his silky short coat. “At least one guy wants what I’m offering.” Strong purrs vibrated under my fingertips. I stroked him twice more before I put the carton back into the fridge. Then I hunted human liquid fuel. The caffeinated kind.

  After a few shakes, a pour, and a switch flipped, the coffeemaker began brewing a strong dose of morning medicine. Drips and sizzles filled the silence while I stared over the counter, back into the living room.

  The muted color, or absence thereof, did have a calming effect. Cleared my head, in a way. Helped me begin to analyze the bewildering crash-and-burn that had happened last night.

  It didn’t matter a great deal that Darren had rejected me outright. Just threw me a little. I’d never had to offer myself up on a platter like that.

  But in those last moments, a spark was there. At least I’d thought so.

  Maybe it said something that I’d strayed outside of my usual type. Sure, he was drop-dead gorgeous, but even with the pretty face, he was different: a little edgier and much quieter. And yeah, his body drew my eye, but the lines were lean and muscular, not bulked out from too much weightlifting for sports.

  Music suddenly streamed from inside my purse on the edge of the counter, playing Ariana Grande’s “Focus”—Kendall’s ringtone. I leaned over, grabbed my phone from my clutch, then hit the control button. “Yyyello.”

  “So how was the ride?” she teased.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Redirection sounded better than “nonexistent.”

  “Well, duh. That’s why I’m calling.”

  I snorted. “When have you ever known me to kiss and tell?”

  “Never. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you into a guy. I was beginning to wonder if you played for the other team.”

  With all the luck I’d had last night—with all that I’d ever had—maybe I should’ve begun to wonder myself. “Well, don’t get used to it. There’s a reason my love life is classified.”

  My family was under the impression my very private personal life had to do with the traditional Michaelson gauntlet that suitors had to survive before being stamped as “acceptable” by our clan. That was part of it—even though most of their scrutiny was really playful teasing. But no one knew the real reason I’d kept my personal life under wraps. And I planned to keep it that way.

  A heavy sigh sounded out over the phone, seconds before a low grunt. She’d probably plopped herself onto her overstuffed couch. The crinkling of plastic told me she had a bag of chips. A loud crunch followed.

  “Nothing? Can’t even feed your girl a breadcrumb?”

  “Damn.” I whistled low, intent on diversion. “We cannot let this appalling info leak out. The Michaelson girls are sounding really hard up.”

  “We are,” she groaned.

  “Sad.” But apparently true. The coffee maker chirped. I opened a cabinet, pulled out a mug, and poured myself a cup as I considered her request.

  “Okay.” She wants a breadcrumb? “The instant he touched me” —my mi
nd flashed to his finger on my lips— “my body burst into flames.”

  “Ugh!” I heard a slap and imagined her palm smacking her forehead. “Cheap tease!”

  I grinned. Then I blew out a measured breath through pursed lips, remembering how my first intimate contact with Darren actually felt—more like a slow-burning fuse that crackled and popped along my nerve endings.

  Damn. Why couldn’t he be a good, typical, hormonal guy like all the others? Take the bait. Lay the girl. Be happy when she nudges you out the door before morning and doesn’t ask for your phone number.

  “You asked.” I felt zero remorse.

  “Fine. But one of us must get laid sometime this century or people will start talking.”

  “About us not having sex?”

  “Sure: Those Michaelson girls are such nonsluts.”

  Suppressing a smile, I blew on my coffee. “Mmm-hmmm. The country club membership committee? They no longer represent our standards, simply not hussy enough for us.”

  Her voice developed a throaty high pitch, lilting with a foreign accent. “The antithesis of promiscuous.”

  “Our critics are now British?”

  “Sure.” Another crunch sounded. “Mary Poppins. Pygmalion.” She mumbled around food in her mouth.

  “Henry Higgins would be so proud.”

  “Iiieeey…” Her vowels twisted on a whine. “Eeey’s Professor Iggins ta yew, eeey is.”

  I nearly choked on my coffee, laughing at her London street-urchin imitation. “Goodbye, Kendall.”

  Hilarious subject closed, I clicked off the phone.

  In the sober quiet that followed, her underlying point echoed loud and clear. One of us needed to get laid. I definitely did. My withering lady bits could only handle a sexual vacuum for so long.

  But as I stared into the overwhelming white of the room, its starkness glared back at me. All the same things no longer seemed to be working. My optimistic self was taking a beating, no matter how deserved.

  Maybe a change was long overdue.

  I shooed the furry munchkin off the counter, washed his bowl, grabbed my purse and coffee, then stepped outside behind the little guy, locking up. And all the while, I couldn’t stop thinking about Darren. Something more lay hidden behind that sexy broody exterior. Maybe it was the unspoken challenge he presented.