Rough and Tumble

by Crystal Green

  ***

  Another week passed. Another. Then one more.

  Some nights the heartbreak was so keen that Molly literally had to press a hand to her chest in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to see Cash’s face. Other nights she submersed herself in work so deeply that she didn’t have time to hurt. The future was now, especially since the firm was talking about putting her on a team that would service an account based in Singapore.

  Adventure, she thought. Surely this would satisfy the appetite she’d discovered with Cash by getting her jollies in new, safer ways.

  But the same thoughts keep needling her: was she emulating Cash’s pattern by taking off to parts unknown, fleeing from the real problem—him?

  She pushed the idea aside, sitting with her legs stretched out on her white leather couch in shorts and a tank, surrounded by everything she’d worked so hard for: the thick shag carpet that was cleaned every six months, the view of a color-splashed garden outside her sliding glass balcony door, the marble countertops and fireplace mantel topped with brass-framed pictures of her parents back when they were alive.

  She tapped away on her laptop. Work, good for the soul—and good for forgetting . . .

  Her cell dinged from its spot on the glass-topped table next to her, and she checked the screen. A text from her sister, who was probably contacting Molly to thank her for covering last month’s groceries before she’d made a couple big sculpture sales at an art fair, then paid Molly back some of the money she owed her.

  As Molly looked closer at the text, she saw it was actually a picture of a painting—a nebulous portrait of a woman with ice-blond hair that hid most of her face, leaving only a half smile that was mysterious and warm at the same time.

  Love ya, sis.

  Molly’s throat closed as Margaret’s meaning sank in. Thank you for allowing me to do what I love during the hard times. But, more strikingly, this was obviously how her sister saw her: a blonde hidden behind a veil of hair with only a whisper of the woman who lived beneath it. Molly was still closed off, even to her family.

  But . . . Margaret hadn’t seen her in Nevada.

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Molly wrote back.

  Love you, too, Margie. This is beautiful. The

  world is lucky to have you painting it.

  Molly set the phone aside for a while, returning to her digitized accounts, and when her cell dinged again, she almost ignored what she thought would be a smiley face from Margaret. But something pulled her gaze over to the screen, where another picture waited.

  A door.

  Wait. Her door?

  She checked where the text had come from, and she didn’t recognize the number.

  A knock sounded.

  Fear and curiosity struck her, and she froze for a few seconds. Someone had her phone number. And someone was here.

  Quietly, she laid her computer on the coffee table next to her copies of The New Yorker, then got to her feet. The plush carpet cushioned her steps before she walked over the tile of her foyer and looked through her peephole, into the bright entranceway to her condo.

  She saw a man, his head down, his longish light brown hair falling over his shoulders, his hands in jeans pockets.

  Her entire body jerked with a combination of heat and ice. Cash?

  Was she seeing things? He wouldn’t be here. He didn’t even know where she . . .

  But he did know where she lived. During one of their light pillow talks, she’d told him about her yuppie community in University Towne Centre, near the mall. Anyone could use the Internet to find her. . . .

  Her heart was logjamming her chest, bumping harder and harder. What the hell was happening?

  Hand shaking, she opened the door, still not believing that this wasn’t a hallucination brought on by her desperate longings.

  But as she faced him, he still didn’t disappear. He only took his hands out of his pockets, his fingers curling into fists by his sides.

  The air ticked with every sharp second that passed, pacing her pulse and, finally, just as she thought he was going to evaporate, he took a step toward her.

  “Molly . . .”

  “Why’re you here?” She held up a hand, keeping him back, even though all her body and soul wanted was for him to cross her threshold.

  He seemed as anxious as she was, but was that even possible? Cool, calm cardsharp Cash?

  “I know this is unexpected, but . . .”

  She shook her head, but he went on.

  “Molly, I’ve driven thousands of miles the past month, and I think I’ve seen about everything the West has to offer. None of it was the same without you.”

  Her heartbeat was so loud that she could barely hear her thoughts. But maybe they were too scrambled to decipher anyway.

  “Don’t give me your lines,” she said, hoping she could tell him to go to hell without faltering. “My bet is that you were in the area and you wanted an easy lay.”

  His expression fell. She’d never seen or imagined it could happen, but here he was, in her doorway, telling her he missed her.

  God, she understood why he’d left her behind after she’d asked him for more than he could give, but why was this happening?

  “Besides,” she said, “you were driving aimlessly before I met you.”

  “I know. But after everything, I realized that the road ends here, Molly. With . . . you.”

  She could tell that he was putting every bit of himself on the line. His eyes didn’t lie—his gaze pierced her, but not just with passion.

  With what she’d seen in the picture of them on the highway.

  As he took another step toward her, through her doorway, she started to tremble.

  The road ends here with you. . . .

  Fear of being devastated by him again kept her rooted in place, and as she was about to tell him that he should’ve called, he came to her, bringing her against him in a rough, yearning embrace that pressed the oxygen out of her lungs. Her pulse sawed through her, painful and welcome at the same time.

  Then he was kissing her, forcefully, full of need, all-consuming. He ran his hands through her hair until her ponytail band slid out, and she grabbed his T-shirt, their breaths coming hard, her head spinning, her knees giving out until he pressed her even closer to him.

  He held both sides of her face, looking into her eyes as if he was taking in the color of them, matching them with his memories of her.

  “I was driving,” he said again, his tone ragged. “Through Utah, into Colorado, not knowing where I was going. I circled back around, and I passed the Coyote Moon Lodge. Like everything else, it made me think of you, but this time . . . Jesus, it was where I turned my back on you, and before I could figure out what I was doing, I was driving to San Diego. It wasn’t until I ended up here, on your doorstep, hoping that this was the right address for Molly P. Preston, that I knew I was finally where . . .”

  “You belong?” she asked.

  He nodded, his smile tenuous. He wasn’t hiding what he felt from her now, and she touched his face, still not believing he’d come to her.

  “What even got you out of Rough and Tumble?” she whispered.

  “Leighton caught up to me.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Everything’s fine. Beetles took matters into his own hands and . . . let’s just say he managed to stay out of jail and Leighton’s getting his own vacation there for the time being.” Cash pulled her to him again, burying his face in her hair, keeping her close. “Maybe I have him to thank for getting my head together. Or maybe it would’ve happened somewhere down the line. Either way, I was never going to get over you, Molly.” He swallowed. “After Johanna’s suicide, I . . . couldn’t cope. I shut down, thinking that life would be so much easier without attachments. Then you came along.”

  Her heart careened
. So she had been different.

  “You were right about how I tried to make you into someone who’d be easy to leave,” he said. “But you weren’t. I couldn’t function without you. You were the only light I’ve ever had, and I snuffed it out. All I want is to have you back.”

  For a man who didn’t express himself much, he was doing just fine, she thought. He’d definitely changed, and she held him all the tighter.

  He rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers, as if he was assuring himself that he was still here. “Some guys would’ve called you to talk things out before showing up at your door, but I wanted to see your face again—I wanted to know without any of those damned words if you’d forgive me.”

  Words. Now there was a new one she could write on herself: Forgiveness. Because right here, in his arms, she was going to give him all the chances he needed.

  But he was still going on. “I know I’ve got a lot of work to do and a lot of things to put behind, but . . .”

  Molly placed her hand against his heart, feeling it pound. “In my wildest dreams, I was hoping you’d come around again.”

  He pulled away to look at her, the emotion in his eyes clearer than ever.

  If this wasn’t love yet, then it could be. She’d never witnessed anything like the glow in his gaze, the care, the promise that he was going to be all in with her.

  He reached behind him, closing the door, watching her to see if she was really serious about him staying.

  After the door shut, she went over to lock it.

  He smiled, but it wasn’t in that cocky way she’d gotten so used to. There was a question there, a hesitation that showed a vulnerability that only a few had probably ever seen in him.

  “Come here, Cash,” she said, pulling him into her home.

  He scooped her into his arms, kissing her instead. They never even made it past the living room, collapsing to the thick carpet, tangled with each other. His stubble burned her skin, whisking over it in what used to be such a silent house. Their clothes seemed to melt off with every touch.

  It was magic. Pure magic.

  He kissed his way all over her body, bringing it alive again, each cell beating in brutal time, joining with her wild heartbeat.

  “Cash?” she asked as they paused, pulsing body to body, his chest against hers. She could feel his heart exploding over and over again, two people colliding into one.

  “You know what you can call me,” he said on a fervent whisper.

  She smiled, stroking his face. Then she used a finger to write on his chest. Beau.

  Her Beau.

  He encircled her wrist with his fingers, kissed her palm, looking into her eyes with such intensity that she nearly exploded.

  “There’s just something I need to tell you before we go any further . . .” she started.

  He bent, laughing into her neck, tickling her skin. “What now?”

  She laughed with him. “You ever been to Singapore?”

  He didn’t even ask what she meant as he smiled, kissing her so thoroughly that she shifted under him, feeling his hardness probe her.

  With one drenched thrust, he slipped inside her, his flesh embraced by hers. They moved together, slow, no games this time, no words coming between them. Nothing between them now.

  A flicker of passion traveled in a circle inside her, zooming faster, like a firefly leaving a bright trail, whizzing up and up, drawing heated tracks until she quaked in a breath and convulsed under him. She rode the high as he found his own, fusing into her, making her wonder how she’d ever felt so alone.

  He kissed her again, tracing four last words on her chest with his finger.

  My love.

  At least, she was pretty sure that’s what he’d written, and she bloomed inside, rejoicing in a feeling that was only going to grow and grow.

  Love, she thought, drawing the same word on his chest.

  As they lost themselves in each other’s arms, Molly sighed at the word, but it was the feeling itself that had turned her inside out and upside down, right along with the last man she’d ever thought she’d end up with.

  Molly P. Preston was finally in love.

  First time for everything.

  Rough & Tumble Saloon

  Rough & Tumble, NV

  Dear Drunks,

  Another day in paradise. Mol & me settling into things. Learning Mandarin, eating at hawker courts (food courts in Singapore for you apes that don’t know). It’s one big adventure with my angel. (Stop laughing and thinking you jackasses were right about everything.)

  Bennett, Jesse’s email said you’re having difficulty with a showgirl that’s got your number. Grab your sack, man. Love turned out to be damn good on my end.

  Cash

  Look for Bennett’s story in the next Rough & Tumble novel

  DOWN AND DIRTY

  Available from InterMix October 2014

  On the outskirts of Sin City there’s a rough and tumble saloon where the women who are brave enough to enter can mingle with men that are equally magnetic and dangerous. And in this town, no one’s afraid to get a little dirty . . .

  Billionaire playboy Bennett Hughes’ black sheep reputation is well-earned, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting the respect of his family—even if it means tracking down his brother’s gold-digging one-night-stand to earn it. But when Ben finds his intended target to be the opposite of what he expected, his chance at redemption ends in an accidental quickie marriage.

  Despite her history, ex-showgirl Liz Palazzo believes in love at first sight, something she thought she experienced with Ben. Determined to put her party-girl reputation behind her, Liz vows to be the best wife ever—even if her husband seems set on keeping their union a marriage of convenience.

  But as the sparks fly and their connection grows, Ben starts to wonder if Liz might be the one person who can make him a better man—or if the former bad girl just wants him for his money . . .

  Just before Liz Palazzo leaned back on her chaise at the Mandalay Bay European-style pool and closed her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a man who’d walked into the pool area.

  Or, rather, the hunk of total burning love who’d wandered out from reality and straight into her sights.

  Hub-ba. That was her heart talking, and it’d never shouted so loud at her, never forced her to her lose a pulse-beat in a way that made her think she was never going to get her body started up again. But when her heart did get back to business, so did her brain, processing everything about the new arrival.

  His hair was the type of blond that reminded her of eternal youth, like in old movies with Brad Pitt, who’d seemed so immortal and shining gold. Even from here, Liz could tell his eyes were blue—the shade of runway lights in the dead of night when she used to drive to McCarran Airport to watch the planes take off to places other people got to go. He wasn’t dressed like anything special, just the white shirt and long shorts of a tourist, but she could only sizzle for what she imagined was under the clothing: wide shoulders, gym-honed arms and chest and abs, an ass that would feel like granite if she gave it a good squeeze . . .

  Phew. Funny how, one second, the world had been just a fun little playground for her and her friends, but the next . . .

  Burning.

  But there was something more about the man that made him extra interesting. It was like he . . . walked alone? Carried himself apart from everyone else?

  Odd, to get that kind of impression about him . . .

  Liz ripped her gaze away from the new arrival, who had been checking her out, too. She shouldn’t be acting interested in the man anyway. Let him come to her if that was in the cards because, not to be vain, that’s what males always did—at least at first. She’d been relying on her looks to attract others her whole life, and so had her mother, so she knew the drill. In fact, they’d banked on those looks since she wa
s a baby chick trying out for commercials and going to ballet, tap, and jazz classes, so why stop now?

  It was the after-attraction part that usually gave her problems, but that could come later.

  Heart twirling, she chanced another gaze over to where the blond stud had been standing. He’d be a nice change of pace from the group of tourists she’d met earlier today—a group that’d come in to the pool just to gawk at all the breasts—even if they’d bought her and the girls a slew of martinis.

  Just one look and she wanted more. Much more. There was just something about him . . .

  He’d gone to the bar by the hot tub, taking a seat, his back to her. Hmm. Had she only been imagining the way his gaze had lingered on her when he’d first entered? Why hadn’t he sidled on over here like any other red-blooded male would’ve done by now, even if it was just to sit by the pool a few feet away to ogle her bared breasts?

  That heart of hers—the one that’d been so giddy a few seconds ago—thudded, slowing down.

  Was he . . . not so much into women? Or just not so much into her? Or maybe . . .

  Liz smiled. If he was playing it cool, she could play it right back. And if he was meant to be more than a guy who’d wandered into the pool area, life would find a way to get him over here.

  Liz gave him a few minutes. Then a few more, the top-forty music playing away, along with the laughter of her fellow ex-showgirls in the pool. Then, peeking open one eye, Liz checked to see if the man was still at the bar, if he had turned around in his chair to face her yet. Boobs were boobs, and they were here for him to see. Come on already.

  But he was having a drink, laughing with the bartender.

  He was taking much too long to get with the program.

  Oh, well, sometimes destiny needed a kick in the butt to get going.

  Sitting up on the chaise, she tied her bikini top on since bar etiquette demanded it. She put on her wedge sandals, resisting the urge to take a picture of the man for her many Facebook friends and instead moved right to the bar.

  God, was it possible that she could smell the soap on the hunk’s skin from two seats down? The shivers all over her arms made her think that kind of chemical magic was possible.