Baddest Bad Boys (15 page)

It made him tense. As did contemplating activities in which he did not excel, i.e., apologizing, groveling, expressing tender emotions. Being charming and seductive when he felt like hammered shit.

Finding her had been easy. He’d taken some overdue leave and driven down a few days ago. Familiarized himself with her schedule.

Stalking, he guessed. There really wasn’t any other word for it.

A car with a shot muffler pulled into the parking lot. Adrenaline jolted through him. Heels started clicking up the steps. He’d scare her to death if he just waited here with his mouth shut.

“Hey, Robin,” he called out. “It’s me.”

The clicking stopped. He counted the thuds of his heart.

He coughed to clear his throat. “Please. Come up and talk.”

He held his breath, and let it out slowly when he heard the heel clicks begin again. She stopped on the landing below, and stared up.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hushed.

There was so much to say to that, it bottlenecked in his aching throat. “Can I come in?” was all he could manage.

She marched past, swaying to avoid touching him, and unlocked the rattling, antiquated knob lock. She marched in.

He waited for it to slam. It did not. He moved towards the dim slice of light that came out of the crack, and pushed the door open.

She stood with her back to him, radiating tension. She’d switched on a cheap gooseneck desk lamp that illuminated a dim patch on the wall. She looked hot. Black miniskirt, no hose, those great, slim legs that went on forever. A skimpy blouse. Way too sexy for a work uniform.

“Have you started, the, uh, circus training thing yet?” he asked.

“Soon,” she said distantly. “Next week is the orientation. I’ve just been trying to scrape together some extra money until then. What’s happening with, ah…her?”

“The process is gearing itself up,” he said. “It could take years. I’m sure her team will go with an insanity plea, which usually pisses me off, but not this time. The woman was tortured by that psycho prick since she was seventeen years old. She’s batshit. She needs to be confined, yeah, but not in a prison.”

Robin hugged herself. “That’s so horrible,” she whispered.

“Don’t think about her,” he said flatly. “Just turn it off.”

She snorted. “Like it’s so easy. How’s the shoulder?”

“Healed up.” He opened his mouth to launch into his rehearsed spiel, and something else popped out. “You didn’t come to the hospital.”

“Danny kept me updated,” she replied stiffly.

“Still. It would have been nice to see you.”

She hesitated. “I’ve been meaning to send a note. To thank you.”

“A goddamn note?” His voice cracked.

She made a sharp gesture. “I thought if I came in person, it might be, um, awkward. Considering.”

He snorted. “Did you now.” She hunched her shoulders. They looked like they were vibrating. She was crying. Smooth move, Jon.

“This isn’t fair,” she said, her low voice shaking. “The last time we were together, you screamed at me, insulted me, told me not to trust you. Then you pinned me to the bed and coerced me into weird sex—”

“I did not coerce—”

“Shut up. Don’t play word games. You know exactly what I mean.”

He shut his mouth. Now was not the time to contradict her.

“Then I get attacked by a psycho serial killer who’s trying to punish you. You rescue me from a horrible fate, which was very nice of you, but God, Jon! Talk about mixed messages! My circuits blew!”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted.

She looked over her shoulder, and regarded him with wet, suspicious eyes. “For what?”

He hesitated. “For freaking out,” he said heavily. “For saying all that rude, crazy stuff to you. I got scared. I hadn’t made the leap yet.”

“What leap?” she demanded.

“I hadn’t realized…” His voice cracked, trailed off. He coughed.

Robin stamped her foot. “Realized what?”

Heat followed cold, flushing through his body. The pressure built, the cork finally popped. “That I love you!” he yelled.

Her eyes went wide. Her knees about buckled.

There it was, his heart ripped loose and bleeding out. All he had to do now was grit his teeth and wait for the verdict to come down.

 

I love you.

The words reverberated, unravelling all she’d done to put her sorry self together after that shattering weekend.

She still felt so fragile, even after all the psychobabble, the pep talks, the chocolate. Not to mention all the disapproval from Mac and Danny. The frantic bustle of packing up, leaving town, finding a place to crash and some waitressing gigs had helped, but still, it all crashed down on her whenever she tried to rest. So she avoided rest. Food, too. She was running on coffee, adrenaline, and self-denial.

That blunt I love you was an explosive charge in the depths of her being. And it was bringing her down, down, down.

“Oh, God. You twisted, sadistic bastard,” she whispered.

He hesitated. “Huh. That was not the response I was hoping for.”

“Don’t you be flip with me,” she hissed. She covered her shaking face with her hands. “You want to get laid, I presume. You’ll be all sweet and nice, fuck me practically senseless, and when I least expect it, you’ll put it to me? Make me feel like I’m an inch tall?”

He closed his eyes. His jaw ached. “No,” he said. “Never again.”

“Then why did you do it in the first place?” she demanded.

“Because I was scared! I was an idiot!” he yelled. “I wasn’t used to feeling that way. I wasn’t used to giving a shit. I panicked! I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry,” she repeated. “He’s sorry. So you were scared, huh? Are you scared now? Because you should be, Jon. You should be!”

The truth rasped his throat like cactus spines. “Sure I am. Scared you’ll turn me down. That you won’t give me another chance. Scared that I killed this thing we have between us stone cold dead.”

He’d let that last phrase dangle, almost like a question.

She ground her knuckles into her wet eyes and then remembered the mascara caked on her lashes. Damn. “And when did this epiphany take place?” Her voice sounded both shaky and bratty to her own ears.

“It started when we were making love that last time—”

“No, Jon. Not making love. Fucking me. Call it what it is, please.”

He shoved doggedly on. “Uh, whatever. Then you walked out the cabin door and took all the oxygen with you. That was my second clue.”

Tears spilled over again. She turned away, dabbing and sniffing.

“And when that crazy bitch got to you, I went nuts. I knew I’d die, too. That you are the most important thing that ever happened to me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the hospital,” she whispered. “I couldn’t risk feeling any worse than I did. One more hit, and I was going down.”

He made an incredulous sound. “I jumped on a van in motion, crashed into a tree and took a bullet, and you thought I’d blow you off?”

She shook her head. “You’d do that for any stranger you met on the street,” she whispered. “I’d be a bubblehead to take it personally.”

“Oh, what a crock of steaming shit,” he said savagely.

Suddenly his arms were around her. He smelled and felt incredibly delicious and solid and strong. He tipped her mascara-blurred face up. “So what’s the deal? Does this mean you’ve still got some feelings for me after all?” he asked.

She wiped her eyes. “I’m not ready to give one inch yet, so back off.”

His expression was cautiously hopeful. “Uh, OK. Meaning that in some as yet undisclosed future time, you will be ready? Maybe?”

She shook her finger at him. “Not one inch,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Whatever. My inches are all jazzed up and at the ready, whenever you feel like taking them. Say the word. They’re yours.”

She shoved at him. “Don’t you dare come on to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It just slips out. You really turn me on.”

“We’re not anywhere near there yet,” she said primly.

He vibrated with silent laughter. “Exactly how far are we?”

“After that last time at the cabin…” Her voice trailed off, and her face went flaming hot. “Pretty damn far.”

His grin faded. “I’m sorry what I did made you feel bad.”

She sniffed, eyeing him sidewise. “Hmmph.”

“I don’t apologize for making you come, though,” he added baldly.

She shoved, but the circle of his arms just tightened. She glared up into his unrepentant face. “You don’t apologize much, do you?”

His eyebrow twitched. “Is it so obvious? I’m just being honest. When I’ve got you in bed, I don’t care about what’s polite. I go straight for the prize. Watching you come so hard you pass out—I love that.”

His voice rasped across her nerve endings. His erection pressed her belly. “You’re rushing me,” she whispered. “Ten minutes in the door, and you’re rubbing your hard-on against me and talking dirty.”

He dropped his arms, and stepped back. Cold air rushed in around her where his delicious heat had been. She missed it.

“I will not force you.” The quiet words had ceremonial weight.

She was at a loss, wavering without his sustaining embrace.

Jon looked around the bare apartment, the single folding chair, the narrow cot. “That’s one hell of a narrow bed,” he commented.

“Is this your sneaky way of asking me if I’ve entertained a dozen lovers on it since I last saw you?” she flared.

His gaze whipped back to her. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. “No, actually, it was just a random observation.”

The silence stretched out and sagged under its own weight.

“So?” His voice was hard. “Have you?”

She swallowed. “What if I had?” she asked quietly.

His jaw clenched. “I’d hate it. And then I’d get the fuck over it.”

“It wouldn’t matter to you?”

“I couldn’t say that. But it wouldn’t put me off. I love you, Robin.”

Her eyes filled up again, to her dismay. “Jon, I—”

“I’ve never said that to anybody before. Ever, in my life,” he said. “Not even when I got married to Vicki. But I’m saying it now. And I hope you’re listening. I love you, Robin MacNamara.”

“I’m listening. I hear you,” she said. “And I, um…haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?” he demanded.

“Had any lovers,” she blurted. “No one.”

Jon passed his hand over his forehead, and exhaled slowly. “That’s good news,” he muttered. “Jesus, Robin. For a beginner, you know how to put a guy through the wringer.”

I’m sorry. The words quivered on the tip of her tongue. I love you too was right on its heels. But nothing came out. Not yet. This hope was too fresh, too tender. A pale green shoot, so easily crushed.

“I wish I could be more flowery and eloquent about it,” he offered.

She gestured towards her cluttered desk. “I’ve got a thesaurus.”

His eyes sparkled. “What is that, a challenge?”

She shrugged. “Just a suggestion,” she said primly.

“OK, let’s see if I can vamp it up,” he mused. “I, um, adore you. Revere you. My body explodes with volcanic passion for you. You are, uh, sweeter than a cupcake with buttercream frosting and sprinkles. Hotter than a Polish kielbasa smeared with wasabi mustard—”

“Stop it!” she cut him off, waving her arms. “That’s terrible!”

He blinked. “Aw. Well, verbal skills are highly overrated in men, anyway. I’m much more skilled with body language. Wanna see?”

She covered her mouth to hide the smile. “There you go again.”

His arms encircled her. He nuzzled her shoulders, stroking her back. “It’s a serious suggestion. Let me worship at your shrine. The beast stays locked up until you let him out yourself. This is all about you. Showing you how much pleasure I can give you. How much I love you, how much I’m going to love you. Forever.”

“Oh. Wow,” she whispered. Her head dropped back into his hand, and she melted into a kiss that made her forget everything. If she let it.

She pulled away. “I don’t want you to keep any part of yourself locked up,” she said. “I’m not afraid of it. I want it all. No more games.”

He gazed down at her for a long moment. “That works for me.”

They stared into each other’s eyes. A thousand I love you’s jostled to get past the lump of emotion in her throat, but the barrier held, and body language was all she had to work with. So she got to it, starting in on the buttons of her blouse. Jon helped, with a clumsy urgency that sent buttons spinning to the floor. He tugged the thing off her shoulders, and fumbled for the zip of her mini while his other hand splayed over the black tank top. “No bra?” He sounded scandalized.