Fire In You: Volume Six (Wait for You Series)

by J. Lynn

  “Oh. Wow. You know who this reminds me of? Teresa and Jase.”

  One side of my lips twitched. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Well, yeah. Kind of. You know, Teresa was super in love with Jase when she was younger, and he wouldn’t dare touch her because Cam would’ve murdered him in his sleep.” Avery laughed. Teresa was Cam’s younger sister and Jase had been his best friend since they were kids. “Anyway, look how that turned out. They’re married and—”

  “And Teresa is about to pop out a baby,” I said. “I get what you’re saying, but Brock was never secretly lusting after me like Jase was for Teresa.”

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Trust me, I know.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know—wait. Wait. I better go. I hear Ava shrieking.” Avery sighed. “You’re going to come to brunch with Teresa and me on Sunday? You can tell me all about your date with Grady Saturday.”

  “Wow. News travels fast,” I said, jolting a little at the reminder about the art show with Grady. I’d actually forgotten about that. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I had plans, but Avery knew I never had plans, and I remembered I’d promised myself nearly two weeks ago that I could turn her down. I did that once since then. I wouldn’t do it again. “I will do brunch on Sunday.”

  “Really?” Avery’s voice pitched with surprise.

  “Yep. Looking forward to it.”

  “Awesome. Okay. I’ll see you on Friday. Love ya!”

  Saying my goodbyes, I lowered the phone and placed it on the end table. I was about to pick up the remote when there was a knock against my front door that sent Rhage darting under the coffee table.

  Having no idea who could be here, I rose and walked the short distance to the door. Rhage peeked his head out, ears flattened as I rose on the tips of my sock-covered toes and peered through the tiny hole . . . which showed me nothing more than maybe a distorted view of a chest, but who really knew?

  Peepholes were so pointless.

  Settling back on my feet, I threw the deadbolt and cracked the door open. My stomach immediately pitched.

  Under the bright overhead light, Brock stood in front of my apartment door. “Hey.” He planted a hand against the frame of the door and gave me that half-smile while he kept his other hand behind his back. “You busy?”

  For several seconds, I couldn’t even find the words to formulate what I needed to say and then I blurted out, “How do you know where I live?”

  “You’re my employee. I have all your tax information, which has your address,” he explained. My gaze snagged on the thin silver chain hanging from his neck, disappearing under the collar of his gray Henley. “And if I didn’t have that, pretty sure Andrew would’ve given it to me.”

  My dad so would have, too. “Can I just point out that showing up at my apartment unannounced is kind of creepy?”

  The look to his lazy grin said he probably hadn’t thought of that and he also didn’t care. “You going to let me in?”

  I gripped the door handle. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  My brows flew up. “And you couldn’t have done that at work?”

  “Nope,” he replied.

  “And since you’ve been looking at my employment documents, you would’ve seen my phone number. So you also couldn’t have called me?”

  “I don’t like talking on the phone.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you for real?”

  “As real as a heart attack.”

  Jerking my head back, I stared way up at him. “Did you seriously just say that out loud?”

  “Maybe I did.” One shoulder rose as the grin reached his eyes. “Are you going to let me in, Jillybean?”

  “Not if you call me that,” I shot back.

  He tipped his head down, and there was a soft flutter in my chest. “Why do you have a problem with me calling you that?”

  “Maybe because I’m not twelve years old anymore?”

  “Hmm.” Brock straightened. “I doubt that’s the reason.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I’ll tell you if you let me in.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Would you be more open to letting me in if you knew I brought something for you?”

  The center of my cheeks heated. “You shouldn’t have brought anything for me.”

  “Well, it’s too late for that, because I did.” He cocked his head to the side. “And I think once you see it, you’ll be really, really happy you let me in.”

  “I don’t care about what you’ve brought.”

  “I don’t think you’d say that if you knew what I have.”

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the next as I glanced behind him. Cool air was drifting into my apartment, and if I weren’t careful, Rhage would sneak out. I nibbled on my lower lip as I weighed my options. Letting him in wasn’t like I was opening myself to anything other than having a conversation with him.

  “Decisions, decisions,” Brock murmured.

  Rolling my eyes, I stepped back and grumbled, “Come in.”

  Brock dropped his hand and walked inside, his head turning as his gaze swept over me. I closed the door.

  “Nice socks,” he commented. “You know, it’s like you’re recognizing two seasons right now—summer and winter.”

  I glanced down at myself. Oh crap! I’d forgotten I was wearing cotton sleep shorts paired with knee-high socks. And these were short shorts. Grateful that I was wearing a long cardigan over the shirt, I self-consciously tugged on the hem of my shorts while he looked around the apartment. I saw he had a little brown bag dangling from his fingertips.

  “So,” I said, fiddling with the sleeves on my cardigan, “what did you bring me?”

  “Oh, so now you’re curious about what’s in the bag?”

  Crossing my arms, I stared at him while I hoped it wasn’t obvious that I wasn’t wearing a bra, because I could feel my nipples pressing against the shirt I wore.

  Brock chuckled as he lifted the bag and reached inside, pulling out a small white carton. He then turned, spying the small kitchen. “So, how long have you lived here?”

  “Um, I don’t know.” I watched him walk over to the island and place the carton and bag on it. “I think I moved in here about four years ago.”

  “Nice place.” His gaze strayed to the stack of books on the other end of the island, and a fond smile appeared as he started to open the carton. “It’s safe here?”

  “Yeah. There have never been any problems here.” I crept closer. “Most of the people who live here are married or work in D.C and commute.” My gaze dropped to his back. Did he ever get the large phoenix tattoo colored and filled in? I bet he did and it looked amazing. Then again, his back with all those ropey muscles always looked amazing. “So, where . . . where do you live now?”

  “I bought a house outside of Shepherdstown,” he told me. “Got an amazing view of the river. You need to see it.”

  I stopped walking, thinking his fiancée might not be too keen on that. Then again, I doubted she would see me as a threat.

  Brock turned sideways, sliding the carton toward where I stood. I glanced over, and I stopped thinking when I saw what he’d brought.

  “Glazed doughnuts,” Brock said. “Just glazed. Nothing weird hidden inside them. I know how much you used to hate biting into something and having no idea it’s filled with cream or fruit. They’re fresh, too. Picked them up at the bakery in Shepherdstown that makes them all day.”

  I did hate biting into any food and having something unexpectedly squirt into my mouth. It was freaking gross, but I wasn’t focused on that aversion.

  Sitting atop wax paper really were large glazed doughnuts.

  It was so simple. Just glazed doughnuts. Nothing fancy or spectacular. But he remembered, and I didn’t know why that meant anything to me. I was sure serial killers remembered things about their victims, but I felt some of the ten
sion easing out of my stiff muscles as I blinked back sudden hot tears.

  Gah, I was so over-emotional. It was just doughnuts. “Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “That’s really nice.”

  His gaze flew to mine, and I hastily lowered my chin, walking past him into the kitchen. “Jillian—”

  “You’re eating one if I am,” I said, snatching several sheets off the paper-towel roll. God, I was such a damn mess, but I . . . I missed this—missed having someone in my life who knew me inside and out, because no one, no one knew me like Brock had. I turned around only when I was sure I didn’t look like I was seconds from exploding into tears, and went to the island, placing the towels on the counter. “I mean, I’m not going to eat three gigantic doughnuts.”

  “Since when?”

  A strangled laugh escaped me. “Well, I’m not seventeen anymore.”

  “I can see that.”

  A fine shiver coursed over my skin as I looked up. There was an intense, almost predatory glint to his stare, one I didn’t understand. And it suddenly struck me, really hit me, that after six years, Brock Mitchell was standing in my apartment, in my world, and I would never in a hundred years have expected this.

  But there he was, larger than life itself, turning what was a roomy apartment into something that now felt entirely too small. He was one hundred percent grown man who was not just breathtaking to behold, but a walking legend in the world of mixed martial arts. More than that, though, he was a man who overcame such a terrible childhood, beating statistics and naysayers. Demolishing everyone’s doubt as he rose through the ranks, suffering a career-threatening injury to come back and win it all, over and over.

  Brock had fire in him.

  He always had.

  And that was what had drawn me to him from the moment I’d seen him in the living room, glaring up at my father even though he was afraid and hungry.

  The kitchen island separated us, but he reached over it with one long arm. The Henley stretched against his muscles as he swept his thumb along my skin, right over the deep indentation left in my cheek.

  I sucked in a startled breath as that touch burned its way through me. My senses shorted out and a wild heat swept down the entire front of my body, tightening the tips of my breasts. He was only touching my cheek, my scar, and my body was flipping out.

  Brock held my stare for a moment too long and then exhaled heavily, dropping his hand. I had no idea what he was thinking as he shifted his gaze away from me, but he had touched the scar, and I could only imagine it was something I probably didn’t want to hear.

  Unnerved, I grabbed the ends of my cardigan and yanked them together. Time to get this conversation back on track. “So, why did you—”

  “Damn,” he cursed, eyes narrowing. “What in the hell just darted across your floor?”

  I turned just in time to see the tail end of Rhage’s brown and white butt scurrying behind the couch. “Oh, that’s Rhage, my cat. He hates people, so it’s best to pretend like he doesn’t exist.”

  “Rage?” He looked back at me, brows raised. “That’s an interesting name.”

  “It’s based on a vampire—a book character.”

  “Glad you clarified it was a book character,” he teased as he reached over and grabbed a paper towel. “Did you get enough of these? We might need one more.”

  “Shut up.” My lips twitched as I realized something else about Brock hadn’t changed over the years. He loved to tease. Never maliciously, but he was always playful.

  “For a second I thought you had a rat.” He moved to one of the barstools. “Sit with me.”

  “Do you want anything to drink?”

  “A water would be fine.”

  Of course he would ask for a water while eating a doughnut, I thought as I grabbed myself a Coke, because why would I purposely drink water when I had carbonated goodness within reach? I grabbed a bottle of water and placed it in front of him as I walked around the island and sat on the barstool that forced him to sit on my left.

  I hopped up, only realizing then that my hair was pulled back from my face. I started to reach for the pin securing the length in place, but stopped myself. What was the point? Not like he hadn’t seen it—and seen it when it had been a hell of a lot worse than this. Plus he’d just touched the one scar, so . . .

  Annoyed with myself, I bit into the doughnut and nearly moaned as my taste buds practically orgasmed. It had been so long since I ate the fried, sugary yumminess.

  “You like?” Brock asked, his heavy hooded gaze on me.

  Mouth full, I nodded.

  His smile was swift and wide. “Good.” His gaze flicked away from a moment. “You know what this reminds me of?”

  I raised my brows since my mouth was full.

  “When we used to sit in the kitchen late at night, because you decided you wanted brownies or cake,” he said.

  Swallowing the sticky goodness, I picked up my can of soda. I didn’t want to reminisce with him, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Actually, you wanted brownies or cake.”

  He chuckled. “That’s a revisionist history of events.”

  I cast him a sidelong look.

  “Okay. I was the one who wanted to eat the baked brownies or cake, but you wanted to make it because you wanted the raw cake and brownie mix.” His thick lashes lowered. “You still do that?”

  “Never.” I did just that two days ago.

  The look on his face said he knew the truth. Neither of us talked as we finished off the doughnuts, leaving one in the carton—one that I would definitely eat once he left.

  “So, I came here to talk to you.” Brock wiped his fingers off on the paper towel as his gaze slid in my direction. “Because I’m disappointed.”

  I frowned as I cleaned the stickiness from my fingers. “In what?”

  “You.”

  “Excuse me?” I leaned back.

  Rolling the towel up, he dropped it in the brown paper bag. “When you decided to stay and work with me—”

  “For you,” I corrected.

  “For me.” He dipped his chin and grinned, peering up at me through those impossibly thick lashes. “I didn’t think you would spend the entire time hiding from me.”

  Oh crap.

  I fixed a blank expression on my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” His tone was sly. “The only time I see you is when we’re in a meeting with the staff.”

  “That sounds normal,” I argued.

  “And whenever I happen to walk out of my office, you’re suddenly on the phone.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Well, I’m making a lot of calls, checking the prices of advertisements and trying to find—”

  “Uh-huh. And it’s real convenient those calls only seem to take place when I’m not in my office.”

  I forced a casual shrug.

  “And how do I know that?” he rested his chin in his palm, looking way too smug. “I checked today. I called Steve. You know, he sits directly in front of you, and I asked if you were on the phone.”

  Oh no.

  “He said no, but guess what?”

  I said nothing.

  Brock waited.

  Sighing, I folded my arms. “What?”

  “You were on the phone a second after I stepped out of my office.”

  “How coincidental,” I murmured. “You have some really bad timing.”

  He arched a brow. “That’s bullshit.”

  “Language, Mr. Mitchell,” I mimicked.

  Surprise flickered over his face and then he threw his head back and laughed, exposing his neck. And who knew a neck could be so attractive? I didn’t, but his was.

  Without warning, Rhage jumped up on the island.

  Brock lowered his chin. “Well, hello there.”

  The cat looked at him, ears perked and then twitched. He stared at Brock like he had no idea why another male was in the house. It would be a valid thing to wonder about.

  “Sorry.
He has really bad manners.” I sighed. “Rhage, get down.”

  Plopping his butt down on the counter, he lifted one leg and slowly licked his paw as he eyed Brock.

  “He listens well,” Brock said dryly as he reached toward him.

  “Don’t do that!” I warned, but it was too late. His fingers were already within biting and scratching territory. Cringing, I wanted for the inevitable claw swipe.

  It never came.

  Rhage lowered his paw and stretched his head out, sniffing the tips of Brock’s fingers. Then Brock moved. Rhage stayed still as he scratched him behind the ear. After a few seconds, Brock removed his hand and Rhage hopped down, his kitty claws clicking as he pranced down the hall, toward the bedroom.

  “What the hell?” I whispered, awed and a bit annoyed. “He hates everyone. Including me.”

  “Odd. Seems like a pretty chill cat.” Turning back to me, Brock rested his arms on the island. “Anyway, you’re avoiding me.”

  I was still fixated on the fact Rhage didn’t bite him or at least hiss at him. My cat was a traitorous bastard of the worst sort.

  “And I want you to stop.”

  “Huh?” I blinked, focusing on him.

  He leaned in, his gaze locked with mine. “I get there is some . . . there is some shit between us, and God knows if I could go back and change things, I would. You have no idea how badly I wish I didn’t have my head stuck so far up my own ass back then. I can’t go back though. Can never do that.”

  I clammed up, my jaw locking down so hard I was surprised I didn’t undo all the work doctors had invested in repairing my face.

  “But you know, when Andrew said you agreed to the job, I was so . . . so fucking relieved, because I knew then I was going to not only get to see you, but finally talk to you.” He sat back and slowly shook his head. “Reconnecting with you means a lot to me, Jillian. I know I’m now your boss, and I know how this sounds, trust me, but I want to be friends with you.”

  I had no idea what to say.

  “And I know we can’t go back and pretend that I didn’t . . .” A muscle flexed in his jaw as his gaze moved to the opposite wall lined with cabinets. “That I didn’t let you down in all the worst ways. I know I’ve apologized before. I said I was sorry a hundred times.”