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

by J. Lynn

  Throwing off the covers, I crept out into the shadowy living room. “Rhage?” I whispered. The dull overhead lights over the island cast a soft glow into the living room. I saw Rhage sitting by the end table.

  “Sorry,” I said. His ears twitched. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I knelt and extended my arms. Rhage didn’t move for a moment, but then he rose and darted to my arms. I picked Rhage up, holding him to my chest as I turned and walked back to bed. I climbed in and laid him down beside me. Maybe he sensed I needed kitty cuddles, because he didn’t run away from me or try to bite me. He curled up against my stomach and quickly fell asleep.

  It was a long time before I dozed off, haunted by memories of a long-ago night that now seemed like yesterday.

  Chapter 13

  Staring out the window at the rapidly darkening sky, I opened and closed my hands over and over as Brock pulled out of the parking lot of the Academy.

  The whole day had been . . . weird. My mood was somewhere between eating a bag of Cheetos in one sitting and randomly wanting to paint and redesign my entire apartment. Eating the Cheetos would’ve felt amazing at the time but would’ve ended up making me feel gross. Painting was a no-go since I didn’t own the apartment. And I sucked at interior design, but yeah, that was my mood all day.

  The only thing I managed to do was lock down a time when Teresa and Avery could bring the guys and come to the Academy. Excitement poured through Avery’s voice on the phone at the prospect of achieving what had long since been a dream of hers and Teresa’s, and she also couldn’t wait to tell Cam he would be having dinner with his idol.

  Scheduling things with people who had kids or were ready to pop one out proved to be difficult. We were looking at the second week of November, a Friday evening.

  And now I was on my way to this dinner with the investors, and all I wanted to do was eat that bag of Cheetos while curled up on the couch, marathoning old episodes of Supernatural.

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  “You okay over there?”

  Tearing my attention from the window, my gaze flickered over the interior of the extremely expensive car. I’d never really paid attention to the cars in the parking lot, and since I usually arrived and left before Brock, I didn’t know what he drove.

  But I wasn’t surprised to see that it was a sleek, black two-door Porsche waiting for me Wednesday morning. Seeing the car made me want to ask Brock once more why he’d taken this position. I knew he’d agreed that he could live comfortably without working, so it wasn’t like he’d blown through all the money from his fights and sponsorships like so many athletes did.

  I glanced over at Brock and felt an unsteady flip in my chest. His eyes were on the road as he turned left, onto Route 45.

  I’d never been a facial-hair kind of girl. Ever. But the scruff of his was filling in, and it looked good on him. Way good. I couldn’t help but think what it would feel like when he kissed—

  Okay.

  So didn’t need to think about that.

  Bad life choice right there.

  “Yeah,” I answered, focusing straight ahead as I smoothed my hands over the pencil skirt I’d worn. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  I widened my eyes. Not like I was going to tell him exactly what was on my mind, but I said, “I’m nervous.”

  “What’s got you nervous?” he asked, and when I glanced over at him, I saw that his gaze had been briefly on me before he refocused on the road.

  “This whole . . . wining and dining thing is not my forte,” I admitted.

  “Oh, I think it’s up your alley.”

  I snorted like a little piglet, one of those tiny, fat ones. “I think you’re on drugs.”

  “And I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” he replied. “You grew up with these guys coming in and out of the Academy. You know how to talk to them. You know how to handle them.”

  I turned back to the passenger window as a reluctant half-grin pulled at my lips. “It’s not the same as then, though.

  “How so?” he challenged.

  Fiddling with the strap on my seatbelt, I decided I could be honest about why I was nervous. It wasn’t easy. As soon as I started speaking, my cheeks heated. “You . . . you remember that I can’t hear out of my right ear?” I kept going, not giving him a chance to say something. “When I’m with groups of people and there’s a lot of background noise, it can be hard for me to follow the conversation. The meetings at the office aren’t too bad,” I added in a rush. “It’s quiet, so it’s not hard to follow, but restaurants sometimes can be the worst.”

  “I know,” Brock said after a moment. “I wasn’t thinking the Friday I saw you at the restaurant and stood on your right side. Sorry about that.”

  I glanced at him sharply, having forgotten that he’d done that. “It’s okay. People forget. It happens.”

  “That wasn’t cool of me,” he continued, one hand draped over the steering wheel. “I took that into consideration. We have one of the more private booths in the back of the restaurant where it should be quieter. I’ll be sitting to your right, so our guests will be to your left and across from you.”

  I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. Part of me was relieved to learn he had taken my hearing into consideration, lessening the possibility of that becoming an issue. The other half of me was embarrassed he had to take that into consideration. And all of me was annoyed that I was embarrassed in the first place. My partial hearing was a fact of life now. I shouldn’t be ashamed.

  Annoyed, my fingers tightened around the strap. “I hate that I’m embarrassed by it,” I admitted, unable to stop myself.

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  “I know. I know I shouldn’t. I guess . . .”

  “You don’t like the attention it brings,” he said, surprising me because he hit the nail right on the head. “You were never big on being the center of attention.”

  A dry laugh parted my lips. “I prefer to be an observer.” Feeling his hand on mine, I stopped talking and looked down. His fingers were gently working mine from the strap. Sucking in a shallow breath, I looked over at him.

  Brock was still focused on the road. “If you keep twisting the seatbelt like that, you’re going to twist it right off.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, because that was all I could say. He’d lowered my left hand to my thigh and hadn’t let go. His large hand completely covered mine and the tips of his fingers were resting against my upper thigh.

  My heart leapt in my chest, slamming against my ribs as I stared at his shadowy profile. My mouth dried, and I didn’t pull my hand out from his. I was mostly frozen, except for my mouth. Unfortunately. “Are you and Kristen still together?” I wanted to smack myself upside the head the moment I asked that question, because I really didn’t need to know the answer.

  “I told you we weren’t engaged.” Brock shot me a wry grin.

  He had. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not still seeing each other. You went back to Philly this weekend and—”

  “I want back there to sign paperwork for the sale of the house,” he explained. “I did see Kristen. She still had things she needed to get out of there. It’s taken her a year. I told her if she didn’t get her stuff out this weekend, I was donating the shit.”

  “Oh.” My eyes widened.

  “She wasn’t exactly happy about that.” His thumb moved over the side of my pinky, sliding up and down. It was such a slight touch, but my entire being focused on it. “It was a long weekend.”

  Gathering my thoughts, I recalled how tired he’d looked Monday morning. “So . . . why did she come here?”

  “You know, I wish I knew why. None of the reasons she gave me made a damn bit of sense, all things considered.” His thumb still moved over my hand. Did he realize he was doing that? I was pretty sure that wasn’t something a boss did with their employee or friends, because that would get weird quick. “But t
o answer your question, no, I’m not seeing Kristen in any shape or form.”

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  The Porsche coasted to a stop at a red light and he looked over at me, his eyes hidden in the darkness of the car. “I’m not seeing anyone, Jillian.”

  My lips parted, but I couldn’t get any words out, and my heart was really going crazy now. I lifted my gaze to his and I was snared. For a few brief seconds, there was no past, no yesterday and no tomorrow. There was just now, just Brock and me in this car, his thumb tracing invisible lines over my hand.

  Then the light turned green.

  A car honked behind us.

  A boyish, almost sheepish grin curved his lips and he hit the gas pedal. I looked at our hands. What was he doing? What was I allowing? Biting down on my lip, I slipped my hand free of his.

  For a second, his entire hand was flush with my thigh, the weight burning through the thin material of my skirt. Heat pooled low in my belly. His hand was just there for a few seconds, but my body’s reaction was sharp and swift. Arousal pounded through my veins.

  Then Brock seemed to realize that his hand was actually on my thigh and he jerked it back.

  I exhaled softly, turning my gaze to the window once more. Houses blurred past as we drove down the main street in Martinsburg. I willed my body to get itself back under control.

  “Jillian?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked.

  The question caught me off-guard. I started to say no, but realized that wasn’t exactly true. “I kind of am.”

  The grin of his went up a notch. “You sure about that?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Because I wasn’t.

  * * *

  Through what turned out to be a three-hour long dinner—the longest dinner of my life—there were only two instances when I had difficulty following the conversation of the two fast-talking gentlemen from the west.

  Brock had noticed immediately that I hadn’t picked up on what they were saying. I don’t know if I had a “WTF” expression on my face or if he was somehow just tuned into me, but he smoothly repeated their statements or questions.

  The two men didn’t seem to realize I had any problem hearing them, and after the initial double take I received and expected from most people, they didn’t stare.

  They wouldn’t.

  Both men respected my father too much for their stares to linger, and frankly, they were too in awe of Brock to really notice I was there.

  So I ordered a glass of wine.

  Or two.

  Tyler James, the older of the two men, was most eager to see the Martinsburg facility. “We definitely have some time tomorrow. Our flight isn’t until the afternoon.”

  Brock, who’d stuck to drinking only water, took a sip as he glanced over at me. “That would be perfect.”

  Holding onto the stem of the wine glass, I nodded. “We actually have two higher-level mixed martial arts classes in the morning, if you’d like to take a look at them.”

  Both men agreed they’d be interested in seeing some of the training in action, but the big surprise was when Brock mentioned my idea for expansion, advising that we were looking in the direction of offering dance and possibly gymnastics down the road.

  “A lot of untapped potential you have there,” Mr. James said as the check arrived. “We are definitely interested in potentially working together in the future.”

  Shocked that he’d even bring it up and that he would credit me with the idea, I was bowled over when both men, whose company specialized in high-protein drinks and bars, wanted to be kept in the loop about the possible endeavor.

  It was close to nine-thirty when we stepped outside into the much cooler night air. The men said their goodbyes to Brock and then me, shaking my hand. It was Tyler James who spoke. “I’m really excited to hear more about the possible expansion.” He smiled. “I think you got something very interesting brewing there.”

  “Thank you,” I said, bubbling with elation. If Brock was on board and if possible endorsers were interested, then getting my father on board shouldn’t be so difficult. “I think so, too.”

  I could barely contain my excitement as the two men climbed into the car they had rented. It had been a long time since I felt like I was actually accomplishing something I cared about at work.

  Without thinking, I spun around and sprang forward, throwing my arms around Brock. It wasn’t until I was hugging him did I realize exactly what I’d done. He was just sort of standing there, arms at his sides, still as a statue and obviously shocked by the unexpected gesture from me.

  Okay.

  We were friends now and while Brock didn’t act like a boss should toward an employee, maybe we hadn’t hit the hugging stage yet.

  Feeling like a giant idiot, I started to pull back. I didn’t make it very far, because Brock finally moved, folding his arms around my waist. A gasp parted my lips as he pulled me more firmly against him, and suddenly it wasn’t just a normal, excited hug. Oh no, it was so much more. My breasts were pressed to his chest, my lower belly to his hips. There wasn’t an inch of space between us, and when Brock drew in a deep breath and his chest rose, I felt it shudder through him.

  His fingers tangled in the ends of my hair as I felt him lower his chin until it rested atop my head. Brock didn’t hug me back. He held me to him, and yeah, that wasn’t the same as a hug. They were vastly different things.

  Cars passed us on the street. The distant hum of conversation drew close on the sidewalk and then passed us. A wild, raw emotion crowded my senses, dredging up old, familiar feelings of the way things used to be. A cyclone of passion and yearning whipped through me as I rested my chest against his, right above his heart. I could almost pretend like we—No. I couldn’t pretend. That was starting down a road only someone who was a glutton for punishment traveled. I pulled back and looked up at Brock.

  He stood still, the epitome of relaxed, but there was a coiled intensity to the way he stared down at me. It was unnerving and provoking. It made me think that if I stretched up on the tips of my toes, I could maybe kiss him.

  Oh my God, what was I thinking?

  Slipping free, I was thankful he couldn’t see how red my face was becoming. “I’ll pick up some pastries tomorrow,” I decided, wrapping my arms around my waist as I shivered. Wind lifted my hair, tossing the strands around my shoulders.

  Brock was quiet and still.

  I drew in one breath and then another. “We should also give Paul a heads-up about them coming in since I believe they are his classes.”

  “They are.” Brock shrugged off his black sport coat and draped it over my shoulders, apparently not even phased by the weirdness that had just gone down. “We have three prospects in those classes. I know your father is interested in having them come up to Philadelphia so he can get a read on them.”

  “Thank you.” I gripped the edges of his jacket, holding them together as we crossed the street. “Which guys are you looking at?”

  As Brock rattled off their names, he fished out his car keys. Hitting the unlock button, he opened the passenger door for me. I slid in, keeping his jacket around me, mainly because it was warm and . . . and when I inhaled deeply, I caught the scent of woodsy cologne.

  “We did good tonight,” Brock said as he closed the driver’s door and hit the ignition button. Air blew out of the vents, quickly warming up.

  “Yes. We did.” I glanced over at him.

  Sitting back against the seat, he eyed me in the shadows. “We make a good team.”

  “We do.” A smile pulled at my mouth, so I turned to the right.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” My smile faded as I looked back over at him.

  He leaned over, curling his fingers around my chin. My breath caught and my eyes widened. “Every time you start to smile, you either stop or look away. Why?”

  “I . . .” Our gazes locked, and I had this crazy sense of falli
ng under. I don’t know what made my mouth move. “I can’t smile right.”

  His gaze searched mine and he didn’t speak for a long moment. “Nerve damage?”

  “Yeah.” I tore my gaze from his. “It’s weird. You’d think it would be my right side since I had . . . I had to have that part of my jaw replaced, but it’s the left side. I guess it . . . just hit the right place.”

  Brock’s gaze dropped from mine, to my mouth. “I can’t . . . I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”

  I tensed.

  “Well, actually I do.” He dragged his thumb along my lower lip, sending a wave of shivers over my skin. “I remember.”

  My eyes closed as his thumb made another sweep. The gesture affected me more than it should have.

  “I know your smile now has to be as beautiful as it was before,” he said, voice low. “Don’t hide it, Jillian.”

  Then, my eyes still closed, I felt his lips against my cheek—against the deep scar. I sucked in a startled breath, shocked to the very core. It was such a sweet kiss, definitely not the first time in my life that Brock Mitchell had kissed my cheek, but it felt very, very different now. The way his lips felt, the brush of the hair on his chin and jaw caused my skin to prickle with heat. How his nose dragged along the curve of my cheek as he lifted his mouth and pulled away scattered my senses.

  It was just a kiss on the cheek, chaste and harmless, and I wanted it to stay that way, where it was safe, but my heart was thundering and my pulse pounding, and there was nothing, nothing safe about how that felt.

  Chapter 14

  Brock slipped the car into gear and pulled out of the parking spot while I sat back against the seat, fingers aching from how tightly I was clenching his jacket. We didn’t talk on the drive to my apartment.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he announced, coasting into a spot near the front.

  “That’s not . . .” I trailed off as his fingers brushed my hip. He was unbuckling my seatbelt. I blinked and Brock was already climbing out of the car and walking around the front. “Okay then.”