Hard Way (13 page)

Their voices were dropping, becoming deeper and crueler with every word.

“Only after spending five years
waiting
. Waiting for you to come home and waiting for you to actually
be
home when your body was there.”

“I waited too. Berkeley is a damn sight far from Colorado. Law school and the Air Force Academy—and we made it work. Don’t tell me this has been one-sided, or that it’s worth giving up on.”

They glared at one another. Liam’s shoulders and chest rose in a long, deep breath. Sunny battled the urge to just keep fighting—for real this time, not the kind that left her screaming his name into the desert night.

Maybe holding on long enough to count to ten, to slide away from that impasse, was an improvement.

So was giving a little ground.

“Yes, that was rough.”

Liam pressed his forehead to hers and she let him. At that range, his eyes were magnetic and bright. “Forget it now. Those years aren’t today. I haven’t been present in the way you deserve. That’s ending now.”

“With pinball machines?”

“Yes. With pinball machines.”

“I fail to see the connection.”

His hands gripped her hips with determination. “You will in a moment.”

Damn, but he was right. He came alive in a way that was completely new to her. He walked her up the aisle and described most of them. He wasn’t this animated and relaxed when he talked about flying.

Halfway down the row, she started humming The Who under her breath.

He caught the reference. “Yeah, yeah. Tease me.”

“I didn’t know you sure played a mean pinball.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m not a disturbed ten year old, but I like ’em, yes. This one in particular.”

“Ms. Pac-Man as a pinball game?” She peeked up at him from under her lashes. “That seems wrong. Seriously. What’s Ms. Pac-Man without the ghosts and little flying fruits?
Nada.
”

“You haven’t played it yet.” He fed coins into the slots then lined her up. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”

She shook her head. “No way.”

“It’s pinball. Everyone loves pinball.”

He was a solid length at her back. His heat stretched toward her, enveloping her. She wanted to lean backward. It would only take an inch or two before she’d feel his solid chest against her ass and shoulders. She licked her lips and focused on the game in front of her.

“I don’t.” She eyed the flippers and bells and blinking lights. “I don’t have the coordination for them. I lose in no time. Never get best scores.”

“Have you ever thought maybe the point isn’t to win?”

“What?”

He scooped up her hands and aligned them on the triggers. “It’s a tiny ball locked in a small box. You’re banging it around and you’re rewarded with some numbers and flashing lights. If you’re on the right machine, it’ll play a jaunty little tune.”

“Jaunty?” She craned her head toward him. “Did you just say jaunty?”

“Shut up and play, woman.”

She did. The ball bounced and dinged, and she frantically tried to flap it where she wanted it to go. She could never get the thing toward the bonus alleyway. Once, she managed to get it in that direction, but the ball skipped right over the hole and dropped into a forfeit. “Goddamn it.”

Dash stroked his hands across her shoulders. “Relax into it. You’re having fun.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You’re supposed to be,” he said with a laugh. “C’mon. Relax. You’re trying to direct the ball. Let it wander where it wants. Give it a tap now and then. Not slamming it around.”

“Says you, man who about broke our front door.”

Though still grumbling, she followed his advice and managed to keep it in play a bit longer. Her score racked up before she noticed. The tiny white ball rolled down toward her flippers. She pegged the button and,
blam
, it arrowed straight for the bonus.

“I did it!” She bounced up and down, then spun. “Hah! Take that, Ms. Pac-Man.”

Dash tried to duck around her to smack the flippers, but he didn’t get there in time. “And then you lost your ball.”

“Don’t even care.” She crossed her hands behind his neck. “I got the damned bonus. That’s like eleventy billion points at once.”

“Ten thousand,” he corrected, but he was smiling back at her. His hands found purchase on her waist. The tips of his fingers wiggled under the back of her blouse. His nails scratched across her skin. “I think it might be time for you to see the inside of that storage closet.” He leaned low and licked the hollow behind her ear. “Whether you want to or not.”

Oh, how unfair. The amusement died in her throat. She couldn’t withdraw, though. There was something safe about being in his arms. That’s what made their games okay. She knew that no matter what, he’d protect her.

He just didn’t give her any glimpses of the truth underneath. The things that made him tick.

Except maybe he had. “How often do you come here?”

He answered her with surprising gravity. “Weekly.”

“Why?” The question came out abruptly, but there were so many things she was still learning about him, even after eight years as husband and wife.

Not for lack of trying.

“It’s safe here. Nice.” He looked over her shoulder, down the marching rows of games. “In the middle of the day, it’s usually pretty quiet, and there’s no one else here. No one…expecting anything of me.”

“Do I expect things of you?”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to answer that?”

She bit her bottom lip. This was a crux. A point where she could let him evade. If she really, truly had no intention of keeping their marriage together, she ought to let him hide. No point in ripping open his deepest, most private reserves if she didn’t give a shit about what she found. “Sure, I have expectations. Who doesn’t? But what I really meant is, what I really want to know is, what you
think
I expect of you.”

“Be hard charging. The badass pilot. Keep you laughing all the time.”

“And if I say I want all that, plus the places you keep hidden?”

Dash’s mouth twisted into a wry smile—half joking like always. The surprising thing about half joking was he was being half serious too. “I’d say I don’t know where I hid those places. Maybe for now we can make do with a pinball arcade.”

Chapter Thirteen

The weekend had passed without confrontation—no, that was a lie. There’d been two confrontations, both of which had left Dash dizzy, exhausted and satiated, and Sunny grinning after what would’ve looked like torture to anyone else. They’d turned into roommates who fucked wild-animal style, which he regarded as a step up from
done, done, done
.

Dash remained reluctant to leave for work and was even more reluctant to leave the house for some R&R with the guys. Work was a necessity. A Tuesday-evening prizefight at the Bellagio felt dangerous, like a man throwing away precious gems. She could slip away forever while he was sipping a beer and watching two heavyweight champs smack each other senseless. But he’d promised Mike and Eric a few weeks before. He couldn’t have guessed that a slightly high-end guys’ night out would be a problem.

What’s more, this wasn’t his sort of fighting. No finesse. Few surprises. In martial arts, smaller opponents could put up a helluva struggle before going down. Maybe land a few solid blows.

Dash rubbed his jaw where one of Sunny’s blows still ached below his skin. He couldn’t imagine how she was dealing with the abuse he’d dished out. And he couldn’t imagine going another ten rounds tramping down a perpetual hard-on.

It was a loop. Boxing meant fighting. Fighting meant taking down.

Taking
.

Then he was right back to Sunny and how she let him treat her how they both wanted. This wasn’t so clear-cut as domination and submission, although he’d thought along those lines, wondering if he could put a name on it. No, this was scarier.

He didn’t want her to submit.

He wanted to tear away all choice, all possibility of letting her decide. The control—control over Sunny, over
any
aspect of her life…that was the appeal. He wanted to take her in every way, body and will and thought, until he came away satisfied. Sometimes that meant making sure she was satisfied too. Sometimes he couldn’t have cared less.

Maybe knowing—for real now, without pretense—did it for her. Because she came each time. Clenching. Screaming. She always slammed back as hard as he thrust into her. They were a teetering married couple who fucked with as little civility as a criminal attacking his victim. And they both loved it.

His hard-on wasn’t going anywhere.

“Knew it,” Eric said at his side. “Sunny comes home. You check out.”

“Should’ve given the ticket to Leah,” Mike added from his other side. “She sure as hell would’ve known when to cuss and clap. You’re acting particularly dumb as shit.”

They both held small plastic cups of beer, which looked ridiculous despite the obvious safety consideration. Plus they both wore equally derisive smirks. Had they sat side by side, Dash would’ve made a joke about how Leah should be jealous.

Eric shook his head in mock sadness. “Too much regular poon.”

Comments like that made Dash all the more aware he didn’t belong in the Bellagio’s massive amphitheater. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Kisser?”

“Getting too much from the same girl. Makes a guy dull.”

“You’re full of it. If your dumb ass doesn’t fall out of the sky one day, you’ll shrivel up because of some nasty venereal disease.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you’re an empty uniform tonight, man.” An uncomfortable amount of worry showed on Mike’s face. Dash had shared his concerns about Sunny with his best friend, but he certainly didn’t want those concerns mirrored back while Kisser was watching. Wrong time. Definitely wrong place.

Strange thing was, even if he could open up to Mike about Sunny’s request for a divorce, he’d never be able to discuss the new development in his sex life.

Oh yeah, so Sunny likes me to force her to have sex. And guess what? I enjoy behaving like a goddamn rapist. That’s cool, right? No big deal?

“Sorry I’m not Mr. Fun and Games tonight. Not happening.”

“Didn’t ask for fun and games.” If anything, Mike’s holier-than-Zen expression became even more astute. He was digging for details. “Just commenting on how you seem really
off
tonight. Shouldn’t you be enjoying this, anyway? I’ve seen your garage. It’s practically a custom-made training room.”

“For martial arts, yeah.”

“That’s right. Black belt in all sorts of cool shit no one’s heard of. So…ta-da. Violence.”

“A helluva lot different.” Dash offered his best eat-shit grin. “Now how about you drop the topic of me PMSing?”

“Ooh, with an attitude like that, you’re gonna love having Leah as our new major.” Mike
tsk
ed, still smiling his broad joker’s smile. “That is, if you enjoy having a chick beat your ass.”

“Not my thing, thanks. Shut up and watch the fight.”

Eric lifted his plastic cup as if in a toast, then downed the rest of his beer. “Amen to that.”

Attempting to give a damn, Dash nodded toward where the two heavyweights were raring to go, each like a leashed animal in its corner. Thirty seconds till the bell sounded for round three.

“So, who do you have your money on?”

“Yeah, fess up, Kisser,” Mike said. “Unless getting punched so much as a kid means brain damage, you should have the inside scoop.”

Dash sipped his beer, but it tasted like metal. The whole night was wrong. “Wow, when you put it that way, Strap, why do we fly with this guy? I need a reminder.”

“Cuz we like to ride into the danger zone.”

“Maybe…a highway to the danger zone?”

Mike nodded sagely. “Exactly so.”

“Fuck those Navy pricks,” Eric grumbled. Referencing
Top Gun
among the Aggressors was tantamount to cussing out the baby Jesus in a Nativity play. “The man in the red silks has it in two rounds. Tops.”

Dash handed what was left of his beer to Eric, then stood. “Well, shit. What did Sunny do with my allowance? I need to go place a wager.”

“You’re leaving,” Mike said flatly. “Really?”

“Tell Major Girardi I’m sorry I used up a ticket. You were right. She would’ve enjoyed it more.”

Eric managed a halfway convincing expression of concern. “Sit down, man. I won’t even drink your beer.”

Dash offered a piss-off salute. “See ya, gents. I hope the guy in blue wins to dent your ego.”

Eric shrugged, which was his way of saying he’d tried. By his standards, he had. “I’m never wrong about shit like this.”

The bright gleam of Mike’s eyes focused on Dash for far too long. Finally, he nodded. “Have a good night, Dash.”

“Sure thing.”

The bell sounded by the time Dash turned away. He didn’t want Mike’s concern, because then he’d have to admit there was something to be concerned about. The fact he was leaving his two closest friends and a boxing match on the off chance Sunny might want him at home…that was difficult enough to acknowledge.