Knock Me for a Loop

by Heidi Betts

  From the time he’d concussed and flattened her, then asked her out to dinner in an effort to make amends, they’d just sort of meshed and ended up hanging out together as much as possible. Having a mutual group of friends had helped, and before either of them realized what was happening, they’d fallen into bed, then love—or maybe it had happened the other way around, to be honest—then being engaged.

  It had been easy and comfortable, but also scorching enough to singe him to the bone.

  He hadn’t had to chase Grace, though. She hadn’t played hard to get.

  Now, there would definitely be a chase. No way would Grace fall back into a relationship with him without a fight. And she wouldn’t just be playing hard to get, she would be hard to get.

  Given the deck stacked so very high against him, it might be darn near impossible, but there was nothing Zack liked more than a challenge. And in this case, at least, the prize was definitely worth fighting for.

  From his spot beside the refrigerator, he studied her where she stood just inside the kitchen entry. She hadn’t come closer and was worrying one side of her bottom lip, so he knew there was something on her mind.

  The only thing on his mind, though, was her tall, lithe, well-stacked body. She was still wearing the khaki-green sweatpants and camouflage top she’d been in when they walked Bruiser first thing this morning. Both garments hugged her shapely figure like a second skin, and the top—with flat silver grommets in the shape of a winking, feminine skull and crossbones—was so short, it bared a good two inches of her flat midriff every time she moved.

  Reaching up to tighten her ponytail—which was also sexy as hell—he got a glimpse of much more than just two inches, as well as another flash of silver.

  His throat went dry, despite the waterfall of Diet Coke he’d been pouring into it, and his mouth fell open, causing the fizzy brown liquid to trickle down his chin and onto his T-shirt.

  “Shit!” he swore, righting the can, closing his mouth, and swiping embarrassingly at his damp chest.

  Grace lowered her arms and studied him with concern, brows furrowed.

  His own lips dipped in a frown as his eyes zeroed back in on the region of her belly button.

  “When did you get that?” he grated.

  “Get what?”

  “That.” He pointed at the center of her stomach, even though the camo material was now lowered and covering what had captured his attention and was making him drool. “The piercing.”

  Tipping her head to follow the direction of his gaze and index finger, she lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal a sterling silver navel ring with a sparkling diamond on one end and a couple of tiny butterflies dangling from the other.

  “Oh.” She shrugged a shoulder and let the top drop.

  It was all he could do not to stalk across the kitchen, hike up the shirt again, and look his fill. He couldn’t remember ever getting turned on at the sight of a butterfly before, but there was a first time for everything, judging by the sudden semi stirring to life between his legs.

  “A few months ago. The girls and I decided to go out for a tattoo-and-piercing night.”

  The brow over his right eye shot up while his left eye narrowed. “Tattoos and piercings?” he croaked.

  If his throat had been dry before, it was now in stiff competition with the Gobi Desert, and his dick was quickly making progress in its quest to point due north.

  Oblivious to the level of his suffering and arousal, she nodded. “Jenna wanted to get a tattoo to surprise Gage, so Ronnie and I offered to go along and get something done, too. I decided on a belly button ring. I’ve always wanted one.”

  He didn’t know that. If he had, he’d have taken her himself—and spent an inordinate amount of time playing with it while they made love.

  “So what kind of tattoo did Jenna get?” he asked. Not really caring, but feigning interest while his attention remained riveted on her abdomen.

  Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know if she’d appreciate my saying anything, but if you asked Gage, I’m betting he’d tell you, so …” She blew out a breath and said, “She got a badge similar to the Cleveland Police Department’s on her butt that says ‘Property of Gage Marshall.’ “

  Zack’s mouth twisted in appreciation. “I’ll bet Gage liked that.”

  “According to Jenna the next morning—yes,” she replied cheekily, shooting him a quick grin.

  “And Ronnie?”

  Uh-oh. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth again. A sure sign that she had something juicy to reveal.

  “I’m not sure she’d want me sharing that.”

  “Must be good if you’ll tell me about your belly button ring and Jenna’s tattoo, but not Ronnie’s …” He trailed off, thinking for a minute, then blurted out, “Nipple ring.”

  It was a wild guess, but he didn’t think Grace would hesitate to tell him about a nose, brow, or tongue piercing. And if she was willing to talk about Jenna getting a tattoo on her ass…well, where else could Ronnie have gotten one of those that would be so hush-hush?

  An amused, I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile tugged at the corners of Grace’s mouth, and then she said softly, “Lower.”

  He thought about that a minute, silently stripping Grace, not Ronnie, and taking a mental inventory of her fever-inducing body parts from the breasts down. Well, okay, he got stuck on her breasts for a good thirty seconds.

  Not nipples, although that was kind of a sexy thought. Nothing between those and the belly button to pierce, and it couldn’t be the belly button or Grace would have simply told him.

  A little lower, and …

  His eyes widened and he jerked his gaze up to hers.

  “No,” he said, truly and thoroughly shocked.

  She chuckled, her lips spreading into a full-fledged grin. “Uh-huh. I couldn’t believe it, either. She said it hurt like a son of a bitch, but Dylan had once teased her about being too chicken to do something like that, and you know how she is about his dares. Even now that they’re an item, they can’t seem to break the habit of goading each other.”

  Zack’s attention trailed back down the line of Grace’s body, getting stuck in a fantasy that Dylan apparently got to live every freaking night. Lucky bastard.

  “So did you …” Zack half asked, half suggested.

  Two long-fingered, pink-tipped hands shot down to cover the area he was trying damn hard to burn the clothes away from with the heat of his gaze.

  He now knew what power he would want if he ever got the opportunity to be a superhero, even for only a day—X-ray vision. Definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt—X-ray vision.

  “No!” she yelped, then jerked sideways when his concentration never wavered. “And stop staring at me like that. Geez!”

  The view of her rear was almost as good, so it was hard to peel his gaze away, but he managed…barely.

  “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” he remarked, surprised at how normal his voice sounded when his heart was thudding inside his chest like a heavy-duty subwoofer amplifier, and every drop of blood in his veins had descended to fill his aching cock.

  “Yeah, well, you aren’t going to see it again,” she shot back, “so stop trying to visualize it.”

  Too late. He’d done just that any number of times since their broken engagement.

  And I wouldn’t be so sure of that, he thought, in response to the first part of her statement. He wouldn’t say it aloud, of course, because that might tip his hand and alert her to his nefarious plans—as well as earn him a kick to the nads.

  No, he’d wait, and bide his time, and visualize her naked as much as he darn well pleased. She didn’t have a say over his brain cell activity, thank goodness, and as long as he didn’t start drooling like a horny teenager, she wouldn’t even know that he was mentally filming Inspect Her Gadget with her playing the lead.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, even though he sooo was not. All part of his master plot to get her to lower her g
uard. Then he would pounce.

  In an effort to appear blasé, he grabbed a handful of chips, shoved them into his mouth all at once, and washed them down with a swig of cola. His cock still throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, but she didn’t need to know that—not when the chip bag made such a great shield.

  “I didn’t come in here to talk about tattoos and body piercings, you know.”

  He raised an eyebrow, continuing to chew while he waited for her to tell him why she had come in here.

  “I just got off the phone with Quentin,” she murmured reluctantly.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “Not a …problem,” she said slowly, making him think that’s exactly what it was. “More like a special request from Insides Out that I’m not sure you’ll be willing to go along with.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a careless gesture and let it drop again. “So spell it out for me, and I’ll let you know.”

  “All right.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Instead of sending a photographer and film crew here to shoot the ad campaign and commercial, I.O.U. wants us to fly to New York and spend a few days there to get everything done.”

  He bit into another chip, waiting for her to get to the part he wasn’t going to like. When she didn’t, he prompted, “And?”

  “I told them no.”

  Though he didn’t let it show, he was surprised. This entire thing was a huge opportunity for her; he would have thought she’d be bending over backward to do whatever Insides Out asked of her.

  “What’s the big deal?” he asked. New York wasn’t that far away. “Can’t you get enough time away from the show?”

  She frowned, her lashes fluttering as a short burst of confusion played across her features.

  “No,” she replied. “I mean, yes, I could get the time away if I needed it. I turned them down because of you.”

  “Me?” This time he was sure his shock registered clearly on his face. He pulled back, shaking his head. “Why me? I’ve got nothing keeping me here right now.”

  Of the two of them, he was the one most able to just pick up and take off, with no boss to make excuses to or obligations to put off. It was just one of the perks of being on medical/lame duck leave.

  “Because of your knee,” she said, cocking her head in that direction. “There’s no way you could tolerate traveling that distance on a cramped airplane.”

  For several long seconds, he stared at her blankly, trying to register her words. She was fighting the endorsement company’s request for him? Because she was worried about his knee?

  Was this the same woman who had driven one of his hockey trophies through the wall and turned his Hummer into a pile of scrap metal?

  Couldn’t be. Either she’d been possessed then, or she was possessed now—once by the devil and once by a saint.

  On the other hand, her concern was encouraging. If she didn’t care, if there wasn’t a possibility she still had feelings for him—or could be convinced to let herself have feelings for him again—then she wouldn’t have bothered one way or the other. She’d have said yes to I.O.U.’s request, and told him to suck it up, folding him like a cheap sweater and stuffing him into the overhead compartment if she had to.

  Part of him wanted to hop over, wrap his arms around her, and kiss her smack on the lips.

  Hell, a bigger part of him wanted to throw her down on the floor and do a lot more than that.

  But his dick didn’t always get its own way—more’s the pity—so he tamped down both urges and stayed where he was, knowing she wouldn’t welcome either advance. Not yet.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he told her carefully. “I don’t mind flying.” It wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but he’d survive. It also wasn’t that long a flight from Cleveland to New York City, and if his leg got stiff, he could get up and pace back and forth along the aisle on his crutches for a while.

  “No,” she said adamantly, shaking her head. “Your leg is getting better, but it’s still too much for you at this point. Not to mention dealing with the crowds and airports.”

  “What are you going to do?” he wanted to know. “Blow the whole deal because you don’t want me to aggravate my injury?”

  “If I have to.” Her mouth flattened into a mulish line and she stuck out her chin, daring him—or anyone—to argue with her.

  That was a look he’d seen a million times before, too. One that said I’m prepared to be as stubborn as it takes to get my own way, so don’t even think about trying to change my mind.

  “Seems a little silly to me,” he murmured, “to get this far, have such a great deal in your pocket, and then blow it over a minor geographical detail.”

  “You won’t think it’s so minor when your knee pops or swells up and you’re in agony again,” she threw back.

  She had him there, but he still believed there had to be some happy medium they could find to give everybody what they wanted.

  “Any room for compromise?” he suggested.

  Her gaze skittered off to the side and her tongue darted out to wet the soft, glossy swells of her lips. “I did tell Quentin that we might be able to drive.”

  As soon as the words were out, she fixed him with a glare that was part hopeful, part dare, part nerves over how he would respond.

  “That’s a hell of a distance to drive,” he said. Not awful, but definitely longer than it would take them to fly.

  “I know, but if we take your Hummer, you can put the seat all the way back and stretch out your leg, and we’ll stop whenever you feel like you need to walk around and work out the kinks. We’ll give ourselves plenty of time to get there, too, so we won’t feel rushed. And we can even take Muffin along, which we wouldn’t be able to do if we flew. He’d have to go to a kennel or something, and you know how much he’d hate that.”

  Her mention of his brand-new Rockets-blue Hummer sent a stab of icy fear skating down his spine. He barely heard the rest of what she was saying for the loud whoosh echoing through his brain.

  The last time she’d gotten near his vehicle, she’d completely destroyed it. She’d gone medieval, breaking out the windshield, side, and back windows. She’d flattened the tires with God-knew-what and shredded the upholstery. Smart money was on a pocket knife or box cutter for that one, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she’d used her bare, taloned hands.

  After that little incident, he had personally paid to have security cameras installed in his apartment complex’s underground parking garage.

  So the idea of letting her within a thousand yards of his new Hummer—let alone behind the wheel—pretty much gave him the shakes and shrank his teabags down to the size of Milk Duds.

  The rest of her proposal…once his heart had started beating again and his brain had regained enough oxygen to interpret her words…did make sense, though. A road trip would take longer than flying, but then a road trip would take longer than flying.

  A lot longer. And rather than dealing with crowded airports and crowded planes, they would be alone for days …and nights…on end.

  Just him, Grace, and a snoring, sometimes flatulent dog. Alone in the car, and then again in a hotel room each night.

  So maybe the danger to his vehicle wasn’t as important as the chance to get Grace alone—really alone—and out of her comfort zone. And that was what car insurance was for, right?

  “You think we can find hotels that will let Bruiser stay with us?”

  A hint of excitement turned Grace’s blue eyes sapphire sharp. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll tell Quentin it’s a deal-breaker, and have him call ahead to set up everything.”

  Zack took a slow sip from his can of soda, letting the carbonated liquid roll down his throat while he weighed his options and played it all out in his head.

  “Okay, I can see the sense in that.” And the bevy of opportunities to charm Grace out of her silky French underwear.

  “So I’ll do it,” he said, watching her face light up with happiness
, only to have her go pale a second later as he added, “On one condition.”

  Row 12

  She should have known.

  Things had been going so well. They’d been getting along. He’d even offered to put himself out and fake a resurrected relationship in order for her to accept the Insides Out deal, which she’d taken as not only a good sign, but a very kind repayment of how she’d put herself out to move in and take care of him.

  But, of course, it couldn’t last. She should have known Zack would find some way to fuck it up.

  He was probably ready to ask something truly vile of her, too. Some sick, perverse sexual favor. And he was going to dangle the I.O.U. photo shoot over her head like a thick, juicy carrot until she agreed.

  Any modicum of appreciation, or even enjoyment, she’d found herself having by being in his company again vanished, and she straightened, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, regarding him with a stern, even hostile gaze.

  “And what might that be?” she asked. As though she didn’t already have a pretty freaking good idea.

  “I want you to start calling ‘Muffin’ “—he used two fingers of each hand to make air quotes sarcastic enough to match his tone—“Bruiser again.”

  She blinked, wondering if she’d heard him correctly.

  “That’s it? You just want me to start using the name Bruiser instead of Muffin for your”—oops—”my”—still not quite right—“our”—grr, what was wrong with her today?—“dog?”

  No requests for naked table dancing? No favors that involved knee pads, lockjaw, or positions that only streetwalkers and contortionists were usually willing to perform?

  “He’s a boy dog,” Zack explained, as though she didn’t know that and hadn’t been the one to drag the massive Saint Bernard to the veterinarian to have his nads chopped off. “He should have a boy name.”

  “Muffin isn’t a boy’s name, huh?” she asked with a slight curl to her upper lip.

  She was still having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that this was the only thing he wanted when he could have asked for so much more. Was he being sincere, or simply biding his time, softening her up for some bigger, more squirm-worthy proposition later on?