Body of Work (26 page)

He tossed the gloves, mopped his face with his t-shirt and tapped out a text.
Feel like a beating?

The phone vibrated in his palm immediately.
It’s on. Get the fuck over here so I can kick your ass.

For the first time in days, he laughed out loud. Family. Always willing to administer a whooping.

* * * * *

Brian peeled into the lot in front of the warehouse. “Hey, pretty boy,” he called to his brother as he leaned out of the Jeep. “Got any meat here?” It was a running joke. Two years Ian had lived here and he’d never bothered to take down the old meat packer’s sign. At least once a week, somebody banged on his door looking to buy a side of beef or a pig for spit-roasting.

“You’re in luck, you ugly bastard.” Ian flicked a cigarette butt to the pavement while sauntering to the Jeep. “Fresh meat just rolled in.”

Oh yeah. It was on, all right. Brian hopped out and slapped Ian on the back. “I’d tell you to quit smoking, but it makes you that much easier to pummel.”

Ian snorted as they walked to the blacked-out doors. “You wish.”

Brian had hung out here plenty of times, and every time he did, his brain kicked into gear, redesigning the place. It’d make a great gym. Ian had come into ownership when an
acquaintance
needed to unload the property—and skip the country—in a hurry, but he had no long-term plans for the building. No short-term ones, either. Ian went with the flow, pushing the line of socially acceptable behavior sometimes, but always staying above board. The man had some crazy balancing skills.

“New TV. Nice.” A sixty-inch flat screen stood opposite the leather couches in what amounted to Ian’s living room. The warehouse was mostly one space. Ian hadn’t bothered to use the old offices along the front wall. All his stuff sat in the open, on display for anybody to see. Exactly like the man. They’d been raised to be honest and upfront. Ian took those philosophies to the extreme.

“Forget your gloves?” Ian asked when they reached the mats.

“Nah. Didn’t want them.” He cracked his knuckles, then peeled his t-shirt over his head and made a point of flexing as he chucked it aside. “Worried I’m going to mess up your face without them?”

“You’d have to hit me for that to happen.” Ian’s shirt joined Brian’s on the floor, revealing his tattoo-covered torso. “And we both know I’m faster.”

“That
is
what the ladies say,” Brian said, raising his fists.

“Oh, ho…you’re going to pay for that one.”

They sparred about ten minutes, until both were slick with sweat and a bit of blood, then dropped onto the mats. They’d beaten each other black and blue once, neither willing to quit. It’d taken stitches at the emergency room and weeks afterward for their cuts and bruises to heal. Since that, they’d agreed to more sensible bouts of abuse. No winner, no loser, just a good mutual beating.

Brian ran his fingers over a tender spot where Ian had landed a solid right hook. “You might’ve cracked my rib.”

“Fair trade for the shiner I’m going to have.”

A glance at his brother revealed the beginnings of what would be a multi-colored semi-circle under his left eye. “Goes with your whole bad-boy look.”

“It’s not a look, it’s a lifestyle.” Ian grinned, rolled away and jogged to the fridge, where he launched a bottle of water at Brian. “But I think you’re right. I bet the photographer I’m working with tomorrow will be all over the black eye.”

“Shit, man, you should’ve told me you had work lined up. I would’ve worn gloves.”

“And give you a reason to call me a pussy until the end of time—I don’t think so.” Ian drained his bottle and cracked the cap on a second. He joined Brian on the mat. “What’s up with the brawling today? Woman troubles, work bullshit?”

“I can’t come over for the sheer joy of pounding on you?”

“Anytime. That all it was today?” Ian raised one dark eyebrow.

They didn’t look alike, lived very different lives, but still had a freakishly strong brother bond. Maybe it was all the blood and sweat they’d swapped over the years.

“It’s both. A woman and work.”

Ian arched his wrist and shot the empty bottle into a nearby can. “Work stuff first, get the boring shit out of the way.”

“It’s an all-in-one thing.”

“Sounds like a fucked-up mess. Let’s hear it.”

“I’ve been seeing a woman from the gym. Yeah, I know,” he said at Ian’s grimace. “There’s more. I got caught with her—as in, really caught—then a bunch of other shit went down, and last night, I quit my job.”

“Whoa.”

“That’s the best you can come up with?” Not that he expected Ian to spout some deep, meaningful philosophy, but more than one word would be good.

“You chose a woman over your career. I’m processing, give me a minute.” Ian shuffled to lean against the wall. Folded his hands behind his head while he contemplated what, to a career player like him, must be the strangest decision a man could make. “She must be fucking amazing.”

“She is. Mom and Dad like her too.”

Ian’s eyes bugged at that. “Damn. You gave up your job
and
you put this woman on Mom’s radar. Is she knocked up—when’s the wedding?”

“She’s not pregnant.” The image of Cassie caressing a big belly full of his baby appeared in his mind, so clear it could’ve been a memory. More torture for his shredded heart. “And since she’s apparently done with me, even though she didn’t say why, I don’t think you need to run out and rent a tux.”

The curiosity drained from Ian’s eyes, replaced by cool indifference. “Fuck her, then. She doesn’t deserve you. Forget her and come with me tomorrow. The photographer is your type—lean, great ass, dresses like a there’s a worldwide shortage of fabric. She likes a good time, you know? I bet she’d happily help you forget your Mom-approved ex-girlfriend.”

“Think I’ll pass.”

The perfect teeth that had graced magazines and catalogs gleamed at him from Ian’s cocky grin. “I haven’t been with this one, if you’re worried she’ll compare us and you won’t measure up.”

Trust his brother to force him to laugh, even when he felt like a bag of shit. “Not worried about that,
little
brother.”

“Fucker.” Ian’s smile belied the insult. “Give me a good reason for refusing a hook-up with a hot ’n’ willing photog.”

“Hits a bit too close to home. You pretty much described my girl.”

“The gym woman is a photographer?”

“Yeah. A good one. Grab your laptop and I’ll show you her site.”

“Pimping your ex’s work—you’re in worse shape than I thought.”

“Shut up and get your computer.” Didn’t matter that things had gone cold between them, if he could help Cassie he would. His brother had come a long way since breaking into the business, modeling for skin mags. If Ian liked her style of photography, maybe he could get her an in somewhere, or give Brian a contact to pass along. Ulterior motives, yeah, he had them.

“Here,” Ian dumped the laptop on Brian’s lap, “cue it up while I grab some ice. A black eye’ll work for the shoot—having it swollen shut, not so much.”

“Thanks for the fight, man. It helped,” Brian said in lieu of an apology.

Ian dropped beside him on the mat, a bag of crushed ice pressed to one side of his face. “Anytime.” His free hand motioned for the laptop. “Let’s see what she’s got.” The gallery page on Cassie’s site had dozens of thumbnail images to click on. Ian gave it a cursory glance, barked out a laugh. “Small fucking world. You’re right, she’s good. Better than any of these shots’ll show.” He opened a new browser window and keyed in an address. “Huh,” he said when it displayed a blank page with an error message. “Maybe she’s not shooting skin anymore.”

“What?”

“Your ex-girl. She took my portfolio shots, the ones I used to get my foot in the door at Hot Heads. She had another site, but it’s not coming up.”

“You must have her confused with somebody else.”

“Nope, don’t think so. Cassie Johnson. I remember thinking how funny it was to have a Johnson taking pictures of my johnson. Plus, she’s cute, right? Didn’t make it so hard to get hard with her staring at my body.”

Cassie’d taken the naked—as in, really fucking naked—pictures of Ian that’d landed him the gig with a gentlemen’s magazine…for gentlemen. No way. That was two years ago, maybe Ian had similar names confused. Carrie or Cathy or something. He’d certainly dealt with a shitload of people since then.

Brian pushed up from the mats and retrieved his cell from Ian’s coffee table. He brought up the picture he’d taken of Cassie and him lying on her couch. He’d snuck this one. For a person whose life revolved around pictures, she was camera-shy to a fault. The only ones she’d authorized him to take were…damn.

“Is this her?” Brian handed him the cell, adding, “Don’t scroll through.”

“Yup. Hair’s shorter than I remember, and she’s got a big red growth coming out of one side that wasn’t there before, but that’s her.”

This time, he couldn’t even force a laugh at Ian’s ribbing. Pretty damn hard to laugh when it felt as if his chest had been cracked open, his beating heart yanked from the gaping cavity and splattered on the concrete floor. He’d been upfront about everything.
Everything.
So completely fucking honest, he’d forfeited his job and a slice of ownership. For her. Their physical connection had been intense and he’d have bet his left nut that she cared for him—she’d been willing to have sex with Trevor to save his ass, for fuck’s sake. But when he thought back on their conversations, she’d been elusive from their first meeting to the day she didn’t bother to say goodbye. While he’d fallen in love, she’d merely been falling into the sack.

He shook off the fury the best he could. “I have to go. Have to put a resume together.”

“Any leads?”

His dark mood had gone unnoticed—good. He didn’t want to learn anything else about Cassie from his brother. What he’d heard would keep him fueled with adrenaline until he got some serious space from it all.

“None. I’ll probably have to move, put a bunch of distance between me and my history before I find a gym that’ll hire me.”

“That’ll kill the folks. Hell, it’ll kill me.” Ian slapped the cell onto Brian’s palm. “I got it. Fuck getting hired. Be an independent contractor, like me.”

The burn in his chest subsided enough for him to snort. “Don’t think I’m cut out for standing in front of a camera, with or without my clothes.”

“No, dipshit.” Ian put a fist to the bruise forming on Brian’s ribs, grinning at the pained whoosh of air his gesture created. “We both know I got the looks in the family.”

“And the ego. Christ.”

“True.” Ian laughed. “And you got the people skills. You’re this giant, hulking thing who should scare the crap out of anybody with half a brain, yet they flock to you. How much did that gym charge for your personal training sessions?”

“One-fifty for an assessment, including a one-hour training session. Eighty-five for the following sessions.”

“And how much of that did you pocket?”

“Around thirty-five bucks.”

“That’s bullshit. Drop the middleman, pocket the whole shebang.”

“Not that easy. Most clubs don’t allow outside trainers.”

“Then I say, fuck them too.” Ian tossed the ice pack and stood, arms spread wide, a borderline-lunatic smile on his face. “Start your own.”

* * * * *

Jelly legs carried Cassie from the parking lot behind Brian’s apartment building to the front vestibule. A wave of lightheadedness washed over her as she pressed the button for his unit. Hopefully he’d let her in to talk.

“It’s open,” rumbled through the speaker.

She grabbed the door before the buzzing ended. Even with the tension inching its way up from her stomach, the sound of his deep voice made her tingle in all the good spots. Get in, say what needed to be said, get out. She had to ignore the chemistry that was sure to erupt when she got close to him. Then again, she might not need to worry about it. The phrase “too little, too late” existed for good reason.

His apartment door opened before she’d raised her hand to knock. He filled the doorway, vertically and horizontally. God, he was big. A few weeks without her daily dose of ginger and she’d forgotten exactly
how
big.

“Cassie.” The greeting—such as it was—held surprise, not warmth.

Looking at him, she had plenty of heat for both of them. He was shirtless, his chest rising and falling from obvious exertion, his pecs and abs slick with sweat. Shorts clung to his legs—and that’s not all they clung to. Her eyes went to the ridge of his cock under the light-gray jersey. She cleared her throat and took in all of his exposed skin. A mouthwatering picture, until her eyes reached his face. Clenched jaw, narrowed eyes. Zero smile.

“I’m interrupting.” Please, please, let it be a workout she had interrupted, not something else.

“It’s fine, just giving it to the bag.”

“Lucky bag.” The words slipped out without thinking. But he smiled, and oh god, it made her day. She missed that. She missed all of it.

“What’re you doing here?” His tone hadn’t hit the friendly zone, but it was getting warmer.