He deserved it; he was such a fucking ass.
Ana heaved in deep breaths as she rested her head back against her bedroom door that she’d just closed behind her.
What had just happened?
The last few minutes replayed over in her mind. Knocking on his door… asking to come inside… She groaned. What had she been thinking?
She’d smelled the alcohol on him as soon as he opened the door and heard it as soon as he opened his mouth. Turning around and running would have been smarter; she should have saved her apology for a safer time. Instead, she’d willing walked further into his realm; she’d stood there putting on a show of denial when inside, her body screamed for more of him.
Her fingers brushed over the left side of her cheek where he’d been kissing her. Her skin still felt scarred from the heat of his touch.
She hadn’t felt that wanted in a very long time.
And when he almost kissed her… She hadn’t wanted anything or anyone like that in even longer.
Breathing normally was difficult as another wave of desire crashed over her. She pushed herself away from the door, walking aimlessly into her room.
Her thoughts were a complete jumble: Pierce. His touch. His chest. The promise of his kiss… Another woman.
She hadn’t even realized there’d been another person there. There was no evidence in his room – even the bed still looked like it was perfectly made from when they arrived.
But that couldn’t be possible, could it?
There had been no indication that she was interrupting something; Pierce had seemed to be solely focused on her and that was why the woman’s arrival was a shock – not because she was naked, but because Pierce had made her feel like she alone commanded his attention.
Her chest was tight and tears threatened to spill.
It wasn’t like before… when she’d seen Shane with another woman. No, he’d been her fiancé and she believed in fairy tales back then; walking in on him screwing someone else had been bad. Really bad. At the same time though, Pierce was nothing to her. He should be nothing to her. And up until tonight, he’d been less than nothing – or so she told herself; he’d just been something that she was trying to avoid. The fact that a player like Pierce – someone she knew better than to have any feelings for – made her body ache to be with him and her heart ache from seeing him near another woman, that is what scared her.
The magnitude of her desire, jealousy, and hurt made her heart beat faster; she shouldn’t be feeling so much for someone who felt so little.
Another twinge of pain scorched in her chest as the image of the gorgeous, topless woman popped into her head again. Her large breasts and aroused nipples could only mean that they had been in the middle of one thing when she had knocked on the door.
She was such an idiot.
Her hands came up to cover her face, wiping away the wetness from her eyes before it had the chance to fall. She felt the flush on her face that extended over most of her body from the mortification of what she witnessed. Or the mortification of knowing she’d been about to let Pierce do to her what he’d probably just been doing with the other blonde.
The other beautiful blonde.
Anger ripped through her. That was why this could never happen again.
Ana had come to terms with her appearance and what had happened to her, but that didn’t mean that she was fool enough to put herself in a position where her body would be a disappointment to someone else.
Ana walked over to the mirror to remind herself. Her inner strength was all that she had left; it was the only thing she’d been able to acceptably repair after what Shane had done.
She unbuttoned her flannel pajama top and let it fall to the floor.
She’d seen firsthand the type of woman that Pierce wanted and it looked nothing like what she saw in the mirror now.
Everyone has scars; everyone has pieces of their past that leave a lasting impression on life moving forward. Hers just happened to be carried more physically with her than most people.
Covering her entire left shoulder and down onto the top of her left arm and left breast was a giant, discolored scar; the skin a mix of eerie smoothness and puckered creases.
Yes, there were many who considered her face and figure attractive. Her hourglass shape accentuated her smaller, but plump breasts, the soft curve of her ass, and her long shapely legs. However, what lay underneath her clothes no longer matched that perception.
And that was what Shane had wanted. He’d wanted a trophy wife and when she dared to take that – and his easy access into her parent’s firm – away from him, this had been the result.
She shook her head, forcing the memory back down deep from where it came. There was no point in dwelling on the past; Shane couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Her hand raised to touch the disfigured skin. Pierce’s scar only added to his dark and dangerous persona; hers would be an unwelcome, unattractive surprise. She wasn’t ashamed; she’d moved past that point in her life a while ago. But that didn’t mean she was going to be imprudent. And being involved with Pierce had imprudence written all over it.
It was clear that she wanted him – even more than she’d been willing to admit to herself – but to continue along this path was only setting herself up for disaster in the best-case scenario or heartbreak in the worst.
Tonight, her eyes had been opened to a desire that she’d tried to deny and Ana didn’t like the new perspective. She reached for her top that lay on the floor, pulling it back over herself and walking towards her bed. In the close, confined quarters of his room, she’d lost every shred of the control and resistance that she’d prided herself on these past weeks; she’d also lost every ounce of credibility with herself.
She climbed into bed, trying to ignore the nagging thought in her mind: what if she couldn’t stay away from him?
She bit her lip, tossing the covers off of her. She was still burning, her nipples still hard from her encounter with Pierce and brushing torturously against the flannel. As she closed her eyes, his face was immediately in her mind. She shivered again, her skin acutely awaiting a pleasurable touch that was no longer coming. She squeezed her thighs together trying to ease the ache that he had created – an ache that would have to ease itself in her sleep.
Just before sleep claimed her, she wondered what it would be like to be with him, even just for one night. What if he wanted her? What if he did with her what he’d been doing with the other woman? What if he did with her all of the things that he said he didn’t need a bed for? She moaned softly, floating towards the man who tempted her to ignore all the warnings.
In her dreams, she was dancing with the devil.
Chapter 6
Pierce groaned as his cell ringing woke him from his much-needed slumber. His head – and the hard length between his thighs – was throbbing.
“Fuck,” he swore, looking at the screen to see who he was going to murder for waking him up so early.
Shit.
It was Loury. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever known the man’s first name; he was one of those people who only needed one name. But if you wanted to buy or sell anything in this city, Loury knew just who and where to find it. Pierce hadn’t known that when he met the man, of course. If he’d known that Loury procured drugs for people, he never would have pursued the contact. However, four years ago when he had met Loury, it had been in the same pub where they met the pretty little thieves. Back then, Loury had managed the pub – and all of its extracurricular activities. Pierce didn’t care about the illegal gambling or the loan sharking that had gone on, but now, Loury was in far deeper, in far more sinister circles – circles that had information that Pierce wanted.
“Hello?” he rasped into the phone.
“Damn.” The man laughed into the phone. “It’s almost ten o’clock, guv. I thought I’d be safe calling you now.”
While a British accent can do wonders for any type of statement, at this moment, it only f
urther aggravated his headache and rising temper.
“You should know better than to think that anything is safe with me.” His response was light yet slightly threatening at the same time.
He hadn’t seen or heard from Loury in over two years. He knew the man was much more involved in the black market and illegal sales of art, drugs, and weapons; he also knew that Loury had no allegiance to him. Just because they’d marginally passed as friends during his stint in London four years ago didn’t mean that Loury wouldn’t turn around and sell his secrets to the highest bidder.
“Quite true.” He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the emergency? Your message was very cryptic.”
“Well, you specialize in secrets, Loury. I’m only trading in your currency,” Pierce replied. “Meet me in an hour.”
“You Americans are always so demanding. I have business that I need to attend to.” He didn’t; it was all part of a power play.
“Hour and a half.”
“Where?”
“Seven Dials.”
The line went dead.
God, he hoped the sly bastard knew something.
He dropped his phone onto the floor next to the couch, slowly stretching out his legs that were cramped from the way he had slept. His eyes focused on his surroundings – on Ana. Or her painting.
After beating the countertop to a pulp last night, he’d painted her face – the tortured one from just before she’d run from him – and now he stared into those eyes that only radiated betrayal.
“Fuck.”
He needed to apologize to her. And God help him if apologizing wasn’t the thing he was worst at.
He needed to apologize and then forget about everything that happened between them – and everything that he wanted to happen.
He would blame it on the alcohol; that was always a sure bet. He would tell her that he was an ass and that alcohol only exacerbated his condition.
He pushed himself up off the couch, walking into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the bloody mess on the countertop; it was the first time he’d even thought about his hand this morning. Running it under the water to wash away the dried blood, he assessed the damage. Every knuckle had been split open and since he’d been punching something so immoveable, like granite, the bright red wounds were surrounded with deep purple and black bruises.
Pierce frowned, flexing his fingers. At least, it didn’t hurt really.
He had a high tolerance for pain – both physical and emotional.
He quickly shut that door before the thoughts went any deeper. He ran his fingers through his hair, a half-assed attempt to make the dark, disheveled mess somewhat presentable.
Fuck it. It was only Loury.
Strolling through the bedroom, he stepped into the walk-in closet.
Black suit. Black shirt. Black mood.
He needed to put something in his stomach. Right now, it was revolting from the vodka.
Bagels.
He’d helped Tash unload bagels yesterday; that’s what he wanted.
Throwing open the door to his room, he stepped into the hall, stopping short as Morgan came up the steps.
“Hey, man.” Morgan’s hazel eyes narrowed on him and instantly all he could see was Ana; it was strange how those same eyes could radiate so much more than her brother’s. “You look like shit.”
“Goose. Fucked me big time,” he explained hoarsely.
“Looks like it. Although, you’re dressed awfully nice to be recovering from a hangover. Where you headed?” Morgan asked skeptically as he stopped at the top of the stairs, preventing Pierce from walking past. He was blocking the exit until he got the answer that he wanted.
Fist clenched, he tried to remain calm as he answered. “Going to meet an old friend if that’s all good with you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not like I’m being put to much use here anyway, so figured I might as well enjoy myself while you guys do all the work.”
That accusation caused Morgan to sigh and shake his head. “Look, I know you’re not happy about her decision, but she does know what she’s doing. Not to mention, she’s right. You’re too close to this. It’s been four years and we’re closer than you’ve ever been. You don’t want to fuck that up, do you?”
No. But he wasn’t going to – if anyone cared to listen.
“Sure, whatever. I gotta run,” he said curtly, staring at Morgan to imply the rest of his statement: so move out of my way.
Morgan stepped to the side, but as Pierce walked by, he grabbed his arm.
“As your friend, I’m trying to do what’s best to help you whether you believe it or not. However, as her brother, I’m asking you to take it easy on her. She’s been through a lot and she didn’t have to take this job, so stop being an ass to someone who’s only trying to help you.”
Help him recover a painting or help him lose his mind? Whichever the answer, she seemed to be doing a damn fine job at it no matter what he did.
He said none of that though, only nodded. A sharp pain speared through his stomach that was demanding food, but before he could move further down the stairs, Morgan’s grip tightened on his arm.
“And Pierce, as her brother, I’m fucking warning you right now. If you pull any of your usual shit with her, I will murder you.”
Pierce tried not to laugh, he really did. And he was mostly successful, but he couldn’t stop the smile that broke on his face.
“You’re welcome to try,” he taunted and then stalked down the stairs, pulling his arm from Morgan’s grasp.
“Don’t fuck with me, Pierce!” Morgan yelled after him.
At that point, his laughter broke free for the final few steps into the kitchen.
He half expected to run into Ana at the bottom of the stairs again, but he entered the room safely with no one else in sight. Locating the bag of bagels, he took one out and sliced it before putting it in the toaster and turning the setting to ‘dark’.
His apology would have to wait until later – he needed to see Loury first. And hopefully, that British bastard had some decent information for him so that he could prove to Ana that he wasn’t just adept at screwing things up; that he did actually have some skills outside of the bedroom.
“Aren’t those Tash’s?”
Fuck.
With one hand on the countertop, he turned to face the golden goddess who had occupied every delicious dream he’d had last night. She’d walked in through the main entrance to the kitchen, which meant that she’d just gotten home from somewhere, otherwise she would have used the stairwell that he’d just traversed.
She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve tee. And another goddamn sweater.
But, what really bothered him was the fact that she looked perfectly rested – like what had happened between them last night had made no difference to her. Whereas, he looked – and felt – like an anvil had been dropped on him. Or just Ana.
“She won’t mind,” he replied gruffly; his eyes narrowed as she shook her head at him in disapproval. “About last night…”
Her eyes widened and she quickly interjected, “I came to apologize for being rude to you in the meeting yesterday.”
“Right, but how I treated you—”
“It’s fine. You had been drinking and in retrospect, it wasn’t the most appropriate time for me to be approaching you anyway.” She gave him a tight smile. “We are both to blame and I’d rather we just not speak of it.”
Pierce just stared at her; not only had she taken the words right out of his mouth, but she appeared as though she’d already forgotten what transpired between them. And it was pissing him off. She looked completely fine – like these things happened all the time. Like she hadn’t felt an ounce of what he had.
Had he imagined it?
It was to the point where he wondered if in his state of drunkenness, he had completely imagined her response to him.
He placed his palms flat on the countertop. “Look, I was drunk
, but that was no excuse—”
“What happened to your hand?” she exclaimed.
Shit.
“The granite and I got into a disagreement,” he joked tightly. “Seriously, Ana, I think I should explain—”
“Honestly, I’d rather that you didn’t. All I wanted was to tell you that I’m sorry; it was my mistake for doing it how I did,” she repeated when he didn’t respond. “However, I’ll repeat what I said last night. I’m open to hearing your suggestions, but this needs to be handled my way.”
He took a deep breath, remembering what Morgan had said. Turning, he pulled his bagel from the toaster and carried it over to the counter by the fridge, and stood just a few feet from her.
“I think that you should let me talk to some of my contacts here now that the thief has resurfaced.” He opened the door to the refrigerator in search of some cream cheese.
Her arms crossed over her chest. “I thought I made it clear why that’s not a good idea.” She walked closer to him and his body thrummed, her sweet rose-like scent hitting him like a wall.
All he could think of was wanting to find out if the rest of her skin tasted as intoxicating as it smelled.
“Apparently not clear enough.” He gave her a tight smile.
“What if you give me their names and either Tony or I will go and speak to them?”
“They don’t know either of you; they won’t trust either of you, no matter what I say.” He dropped the knife he’d been using onto the countertop in frustration. “These are not upstanding people, Ana. They are going to take one look at you and know that you are some sort of cop; you won’t get any information from them.”
“And what if you go and find out everything we could ever want to know and before we can act on it, word has already gotten back to this woman that you are looking for her? Then it will all be for nothing.”
She had a point; the problem was, what other choice did they have?
“That won’t happen,” he assured her resolutely.
“Why do you insist on fighting me about this?” her frustration starting to show in her tone. “Do you not trust us to do what is best for the objective – for you? Do you not trust Morgan?”
The Painter's Passion Page 6
