Causing Havoc (2 page)

He glanced up to see Tiffany dressed in jeans and sandals, with the same shirt now knotted at the

side. She'd brushed her hair and put on lipstick.

Stil radiating "come and get me" vibes, she put a card on his table and grinned. "'See ya in August."

"Right. August." Dean dismissed her from his mind. He barely registered the sound of his front door opening and closing. But he felt the new stil ness of being alone.

Again.

Which was just how he liked it.

Heart pounding in what felt like rage, but was probably anxiety, he sat down at the smal table and

smoothed the papers out again.

I'd love to see you. Can you come for a visit? Please? There's so much to tell you, and so

much I want to ask. I want to explain everything. I want to get to know you. I want you to know

me. I want us to be family.

Dean grunted. People in hel wanted ice water; that didn't mean they got it.

But he couldn't keep from reading the rest, more of the same, more entreaties, more . . .

desperation. Yeah, somehow the desperation was there, woven between the lines. Subtle, but

detectible.

Or maybe it was his friggin' imagination, brought on by too many knocks on the head.

When Dean finished the note, he sat there, numb, undecided. Torn. Anxious.

And damn it, as hopeful as Cam claimed to be. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. But again, he

didn't lie to himself.

Amazingly enough, he forgot his bruises and cuts. Unsure what to do next, he went to the stove and

picked up the platter of pancakes. He covered them in syrup, and stil standing at the stove, shoveled

them down by rote.

At least Tiffany was a good cook.

Refusing to think any further than the here and now, Dean finished off the breakfast, then indulged in

a long, hot shower. Some of his stiffness eased. A good scrubbing left him refreshed and removed

the last of the dried blood. After he'd toweled off, he found his pain pil s and popped one, then shaved

and brushed his teeth and ...

He gave up.

As Cam requested, he'd go home. He'd talk to her. He'd talk to Jacki. But nothing had changed and

he'd be sure they knew that. They had nothing in common any more, beyond blood. And when it came

right down to it, blood didn't stand for much.

If it had, they would have been raised together instead of on opposite sides of the country.

If it mattered at al , one of his sisters would have contacted him before now.

Within four hours of deciding, Dean finished a dozen phone cal s, packed up his belongings, turned

in the key on his week-by-week rental, and booked a flight.

Simon was pissed. But he'd get over it. Dean didn't go into details on why he needed to make the

sudden trip on top of being beat to a pulp, and Simon didn't press it. He had Dean's cel number, and

Dean promised to cal him when he got settled in Harmony.

It wasn't like he had to be training three times a day now, the way he did in preparation for a fight.

With recent trips to Europe, The UK, and Boston, he was up on his PR. He had offers pending from

other sponsors, but they could wait. He deserved a few months off.

He deserved to see his family.

And more than that, he deserved a chance for retribution.

* * *

watched the line dancing below. In so many ways, Roger's place was the perfect setting for a

bachelorette party. The low-key honky-tonk offered drinks, dancing, private rooms, a festive

environment. . . but God, she detested Roger. She didn't want to do business with the swine.

Blindly Eve reached for her longneck beer sitting on the tiny round table beside her. She finished it

off, then turned to head for the bar to get another.

The sight of a tal man, roughed up and rugged, standing in the doorway, stopped her in her tracks.

He perused the area with a jaundiced eye, lip curled in disgust, body set in lines of weariness.

Obviously Roger's place wasn't quite what he'd expected.

From the outside, Roger's Rodeo looked like any other smal -time bar. From the inside, it boasted a

disco atmosphere with an open first floor that overlooked the basement below by way of a balcony

that circled the entire floor. Both levels provided a bar, and each floor had a smattering of private

rooms. But the action happened downstairs: line dancing, mechanical bul rides, bil iards, pinbal

machines.

Two-seater tables lined the balcony, with enough space between to accommodate spectators.

Tonight Eve had come to watch, to make a decision on whether or not to organize an event in one of

the private rooms in the basement. Harmony, Kentucky, didn't have a lot of options, and most of what

it did have, Roger owned. The group hiring her wasn't interested in going out of town, so ...

The hunk locked eyes with her.

Eve's heart skipped a beat. It seemed her al -business night was about to include pleasure.

As he started forward, he looked... way too intense. And real y beat up. But sexy, too. Rock hard and

ripped, al machismo and confidence despite the bruises.

To Eve's surprise, when he got right in front of her, his mouth lifted on one side—and he stepped

around her to peer over the balcony.

Playing hard to get? Amusement and interest unfurled inside her. Turning, Eve took up her position

against the railing again. "First time here?"

Without taking his gaze from the dancers below, he rumbled, "Probably my last, too."

Nice, deep voice. A flutter stirred in her bel y. "Not if you plan to be in Harmony long. Roger's Rodeo is about the only decent place to drink social y."

One thick shoulder lifted. "Drinking alone has its perks."

"Those being?"

"Less noise." He turned toward her, and his gaze boldly searched every inch of her person. "You drinking alone tonight?"

"Not anymore." She saluted him with her empty beer. "So did a bul stomp al over you, or did you forget your parachute when you jumped from the plane?"

He stared at her mouth. "It was a Russian bul , and mean as hel ."

"I take it the bul won?"

"Actual y, no."

"Ah. Wel , looks are deceiving."

His gaze came back to hers. "I hope not."

Those three words dripped sensual suggestion. Eve almost sighed. How could one man possess so

much appeal? It had been a very long time since she'd felt this drawn. She wanted to get closer to

him. She wanted to touch him.

Even in the crowded bar, with the smel of liquor and sweat hanging in the air, she could detect his

scent. Rich and reminiscent of the outdoors, it suggested that he'd had a long drive, probably with the

windows down. She liked that.

His mussed, light brown hair nearly matched the mel ow color of his expressive eyes. He stood

easily six-four, towering over her by damn near a foot. His worn jeans and black T-shirt hung loosely

on his frame, but solid muscles shown anyway. Whatever he did, he kept his body shredded, without

a single ounce of fat.

Eve glanced behind her, saw an empty nook, and said, "Wanna grab a seat?"

His gaze searched hers. "Is a seat my only option for now?"

Lord help her, she wanted to melt. Instead she donned a cocky smile. "For now."

Both sides of his mouth lifted. "Then, yeah, I'l take a seat, especial y if it comes with a beer."

Final y having a good excuse. Eve wrapped her fingers around his wrist on the pretense of guiding

him to the room. He had thick bones, hot skin, and crisp hair. The fact that her fingers couldn't

completely encircle his wrist got her heart pumping double time.

Along the way to the semiprivate alcove, Eve paused at the bar to say, "Bring us some beers, wil

ya, Dave?"

"Be right there."

"Thanks." They reached the room just in time to head off another couple. "Sorry," Eve said, and slipped in before them.

Once inside she had to release him, but she held out her hand. "I'm Eve, by the way."

He looked at her outstretched hand, but didn't accept the handshake. Instead he captured her wrist,

lifted her palm to his mouth, and put the gentlest of kisses there. Stil holding onto her, he whispered,

"Hi Eve."

Get a grip, Eve told herself. She sucked in a deep breath and leaned close as if sharing a

confidence. "I'm already sold. You can ease up now."

His thumb teased over the inside of her wrist. Slowly he shook his head. "No, I don't think I can."

"Real y?" Damn it, she squeaked. Clearing her throat, she said, "Try, okay?"

"How about one taste first?"

"One taste?" Yeah, sounded like a hel of an idea. "You mean .. . ?"

With one smal tug, he had her up against him. His free hand flattened on the smal of her back, but

not in restraint. She in no way felt forced.

She felt. .. seduced.

And wasn't that a unique thing?

"A kiss," he told her, and his breath brushed her lips. "Just a smal one."

Would she be able to control herself? Doubtful. Harmony did not have men like him. Her experience

was limited. She'd never encountered—

Hot, damp heat touched her lower lip and her thoughts shattered. Lightly he traced the tip of his

tongue to the corner of her mouth and back again, and sure enough, her lips parted.

He didn't overpower her with the kiss. In fact the contact of his mouth on hers was so light that he

somehow lured her into leaning into him, trying to get more.

His head tilted the tiniest bit, his tongue pressed in, touched the edge of her teeth, slicked beyond to

meet her tongue. ... And he retreated.

Breathing hard, Eve final y realized that he'd released her. Her eyes fluttered open to find him

watching her with so much force, she felt snared.

"Wow."

Something flared in his light brown eyes, an inferno exploding, and she knew she'd just sealed her

fate—at least for that night. "So." She tried to gather her thoughts. "How about—"

Someone grabbed her arm from behind. Taken off guard, she stumbled back and almost fel .

The hunk reacted with incredible reflexes. Within a single second, she was free, upright, and

somehow behind him.

She heard Roger sneer, "I guess I'm interrupting?"

Oh shit. Double shit. How could she have forgotten about Roger the Repulsive?

She ducked to the side of her hunk to meet Roger's seething condemnation. A glance at the hunk

showed no expression at al . He didn't look angry. Or concerned. He didn't look like a man who'd

reacted instinctively to a situation with lightning speed.

"Sorry about that."

"Save your excuses," Roger bit off.

"I wasn't talking to you." She stepped between the men, putting Roger at her back. "I can't imagine how," she said with a smile, "but I forgot that I'm meeting Roger tonight to discuss business."

"Business, huh?"

"'He owns this joint. I'm an events coordinator." She lifted her shoulders to share her predicament.

"The town doesn't boast a lot of options, so I'm forced here on a regular occasion."

"Forced?" Roger snarled. "Without me, you wouldn't have a business."

Now that was too over the top. Eve prepared to blast him, but he beat her to the punch.

"Find your manners and introduce me."

"Right." She real y shouldn't go out of her way to provoke Roger. He was right that without him and his establishments, her business wouldn't be nearly so lucrative. "Roger Sims, proprietor." She

gestured toward the hunk. "And you are?"

He smiled.

Roger gave a caustic laugh. "You don't even know his name? Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

They both ignored Roger.

Propping one shoulder against the wal , the hunk said, "Most people cal me Havoc."

"'Seriously?" How odd. Sure, he'd caused havoc to her system, but that couldn't be his given name.

"Oh wait. Is that like a fighting label?"

Roger pushed himself closer. "I hope you're joking."

Havoc winked at her.

Fascinating, Eve thought. And, somehow, the name suited him. "So how come Havoc? I mean, why

not Mayhem? Why not Destruction?"

"I didn't choose it. You fight, you get dubbed. When a name sticks, it sticks."

"It's idiotic," Roger said.

Havoc's gaze flicked to him, dismissed him as insignificant, and came back to her. "How long wil

your meeting be?"

Their lack of attention didn't sit wel with Roger. "It's going to take a while so you might as wel forget it."

In the most emotionless voice imaginable, with no expression whatsoever, the hunk said to Roger, "I

don't like you very much."

"Is that supposed to bother me?"

"Just stating a fact."

Roger bunched up. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

Eve barely swal owed a groan. Roger was such a bul y that he often egged some poor schmuek into

throwing the first punch. Then he'd turn around and have the guy arrested for starting a brawl—a

brawl that Roger usual y finished.

But Havoc just said, "Nope."

That threw Roger, but only for a moment. "You're a fighter who's afraid to fight?"

Havoc laughed. "No."

"Then—"

Taking Eve's arm, Havoc pul ed her a few steps away from Roger. After gently tucking a strand of

hair behind her ear, he asked, "So how long wil you be?"

Elation rose. Final y someone who didn't give a fig what Roger thought. Someone rational who

wouldn't be pul ed into an idiotic pissing contest. Havoc could be her knight in shining armor.

Was he moving to Harmony? She sure hoped so.

"Not long at al ." She turned to face Roger. "I'l take the night we already discussed. The price you gave is fine. Seven hours, from eight p.m. to three a.m. Three private rooms. Exclusive use of the