Cocky F@#ker (Tangled Desires #3) (8 page)

And I want to fire back. I want to tell him he’s wrong. But I can’t with Claire right beside us. I’m not sure it would make any difference to the conceited ass, since he hasn’t gotten the message yet. The one where I’m not going to fall for him. Again. I clamber up to glare at him face on. “Maybe I should go out with Dean.”

“Yeah, Chelsea, maybe you should.” He’s smirking now, his arms crossed against his burly chest. He’s practically daring me to go.

“It could be fun,” Claire agrees, heading inside. “You never know. Maybe sweet’s exactly what you need.”

And then there’s only me and Mace. Standing toe to toe, I’m suddenly very aware of how close he actually is.

“Sweet?” Mace fingers a lock of my hair, his knuckles inadvertently grazing my collarbone. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s your type.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a type.” Except maybe I do. Dark haired, blue eyed, cocky as they come. The type who sets my pulse to fluttering with a simple touch. I don’t know why I let him get to me, why it’s so easy for him to get under my skin.

“Sure you do.” He leans in, his breath hot on my ear, sending arousal coursing through me. “I don’t think a guy who girls describe as sweet is what you want at all. You need a man that’s going to tell you exactly what he wants to do to you. A man who isn’t going to think twice about shoving you against the closest surface, ripping your panties down, and holding your hips to his face while he smothers himself in your pussy ‘til you cum.”

God, I really do need a good rogering.
My clit throbs, my panties are soaked. He’s not wrong, and I hate that he can talk to me like this, that he knows exactly how to get me worked up. “You don’t know my type. You have no freaking clue what I need.”

“Don’t I? Are you telling me if I slipped my fingers between your legs, touched your pussy lips, you wouldn’t be drenched right now?”

I jump as his fingers land on my hip, slipping along the waist of my skirt, sensation scissoring through me. I’m practically panting. My nipples are so sensitive, each time I drag in a breath I can feel them rub against my top. “Definitely…not.”

“Then I guess you don’t want me to tell you what else I think you want.” He tucks two fingers under the waistband of my skirt, hooking them there, and presses his hardness to me. “You don’t want to fuck around playing with boys who’ll let you get away with whatever you want. You want to be caught, and you want to be held onto by a man strong enough to clip your wings. Someone who isn’t going to let you go no matter how fucking hard you try to push him away.”

And the way he’s looking at me, like he means every damn word that comes out of his mouth, makes me want to agree with him. To let him wrap those arms around me. I think I might want that. Do I?

If it had been years ago, it wouldn’t even be a question. But he always did have a way with pretty words. Telling me what I wanted to hear, getting me into his bed, getting me to marry him, then leaving. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Can’t tell me it isn’t true. I’ve always known what makes you tick.”

“You have no idea what I want.” It sounds weak to my own ears. There’s something caught in my throat that keeps me from being able to yell at him.

“No, Hells. You’re the one who doesn’t know what you want. You should go out on that date. You’ll only spend the whole time thinking about me.”

I’m hyperaware of how close he’s gotten. His heat zings along every inch of my skin. He’s far too big and real and
fuck
, his mouth is right there, against my ear. I can practically taste him, and I can barely fight the urge to turn into it. My palms go to his chest to push him away. “Do you have to be so full of yourself?”

“You’re just jealous. You wish you were full of me.” He covers one of my hands with his giant paw, trapping me against him. “You say the word, and I can fix that for you.”

“Let go of me, Mace.” I twist out of his grip. “I don’t think of you that way anymore. The night you came home was a momentary lapse in judgement. Any dick would have done.”

I’m lying through my teeth. I’ve done nothing but think about him that way for as long as I can remember. Even when he was gone I couldn’t put him out of my mind. Or forget the way he touched me, fucked me like I was
his
. Like I was the only woman on this planet he’d ever want the way he wanted me.

But that was before he came back. When it didn’t matter if I thought about him while I touched myself. If I made myself cum to the image of his face between my legs, or the thought of his finger rolling slowly over my clit.

Now he’s here, and this has got to stop. It was one thing to let him into my fantasies. Or to fuck him while we were both drunk. But I will not give him the satisfaction of getting to me all over again.

“I don’t believe you,” he says.

“You should.” I scowl at him. Now that I have distance, I have perspective, and he’s still the same cocky fucking bastard he’s always been.

“No.” He takes the couple steps to get to me. “But you go on that date. Try to prove me wrong. We’ll see whose bed you end up in, whose cock you end up cumming on.”

Gah! He’s so infuriating. I don’t know how I could ever think I had feelings for the jerk. “Fine,” I say, pulling my cell from my pocket to fire off a text to my sister, telling her to set me up for drinks with Dean. “I promise it won’t be yours.”

Mace

I’m in a piss poor mood tonight. I’ve been roaming the house, generally annoying the crap out of my siblings with my inability to sit still. I check my cell again, then shove it in my pocket.

It’s just that Chelsea is out with that guy. The sweet one.

On their date.

Sure, it’s because of me. I practically dared her into it. But the idea of her with anyone makes me irritable as fuck.

Sweet or not, I know guys. And he’s going to take one look at her and want to turn their date into breakfast, lunch, dinner.

That’s what I’d do, if it were me.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Tom asks as I slump on the sofa. “You’re prowling around here like you want to kill someone.”

“My panties aren’t in a twist, dickhead,” I grumble, tucking my hands under my head to keep from taking out my cell and texting her. “I’ve just got energy to burn.”

“Well maybe you should get out.” Tom kicks his bare feet up on the table. “Go find an outlet.”

“Like you?” I raise one eyebrow at him. “Fucking your way through this town.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, asshole?” He glares at me as he randomly flicks through channels on the remote.

“Nothing.” I check my phone again. Type up a quick text. Delete it. Jumping up off the couch, I bang my hand against the seat back. “You know what? I think I will go out.”

He doesn’t bother to reply as I stalk out, going back to my bedroom to get changed.

Claire comes out of her room as I pass it. Her hair is mussed, her face all flushed. She takes one look at me and she gets this guilty look going on as she yanks the door shut behind her, as though if she looks at me straight I’ll know her secrets.

I swear to God, if my best friend walks out of that room behind her I’m going to kick his ass.

“What are you up to, Little Bit? Have you seen Raze?” I stare her down, waiting for her to crack. At some point I am going to find out what the hell is going on with my siblings. Although I’m not sure I want to know. And certainly not tonight, when I feel like a live wire whipping around uncontrolled.

“No, I haven’t seen him. I fell asleep and just woke up,” she mumbles. “What are you doing?”

“Going out. Thought I’d see if he wants to come.”

“Not tonight.” Razer strolls down the hallway behind me. “I’m going to help Tom out at the gym tomorrow.”

So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe nothing is going on, and it’s my mind trying to conjure reasons for my irritability. But that doesn’t make sense because I don’t need to make shit up to have something to be worked up over.

“Fine,” I say. “I don’t need you fuckers to hold my hand.” Or to keep me from doing something completely stupid like finding Chelsea and putting an end to this ridiculous date.

***

I don’t actually go looking for her. I have some control, some sense of self-preservation. I just head to Blazer’s to knock back a couple drinks. Hell, part of me actually doesn’t want to see her on her date. The rational part that tells me I won’t be able to stand seeing her with some other guy. The part that knows I’ll lose it if she smiles at him, or if he reaches out to tuck some of that wayward hair of hers behind her ear. The thought of anyone touching her the way I have has me gritting my teeth together so hard my jaw aches.

But if this is what she wants I’m supposed to step back, aren’t I?
Probably.
But I don’t think it’s what she wants. Deep down inside her she’s fighting me, fighting
us
a little too hard for it not to mean anything.

And I can’t blame her for that. Because I should be, too. It’s not like we have a great track record.

I make small talk with the bartender while he pours my drinks. Scotch. Doubles. But only a couple. Because I fully intend to call Chelsea after her date. We’ve got a dare to play out to the end.

On my way back from the bathroom, I spot her at one of the high tables. She’s nursing a glass of something, twisting it around and around in her hand while she pretends to listen to the guy she’s with. I can tell she’s not into it. She keeps darting glances at the wall behind him and checking her phone.

I check out the competition—or the lack of—as I make my way back to the bar. Tall, skinny. He probably could make headway with a lot of girls. Just not my girl. I’m grinning by the time I take my seat.

Pulling out my phone, I fire off a text. Something to give her to look at the next time she picks up her phone.

Are you enjoying your date?

Then I order another drink.

Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.

I swallow a mouthful of scotch and text back.

Really? Are you going to let him clear out your cobwebs?

A woman takes the barstool beside me, and I give her a quick side glance when she leans on the bar and touches my arm. She’s saying something, but Blazer’s has gotten noisier as it’s gotten later, and I don’t catch it. I’m not interested anyway. I’m more interested in the next text that comes through.

Maybe. He’s nice. Gorgeous actually. Better than that strumpet you’ve got attached to your arm.

A perverse sense of self-satisfaction fills me as I dart a glance at her over my shoulder. Not only isn’t she enjoying her date, she knows I’m here, and she’s jealous of the girl who’s still trying to engage me in conversation.

No, he’s sweet. You don’t want sweet.

My phone buzzes almost immediately, and that lifts the dregs of annoyance right off me.

You make it sound like sweet is a bad thing.

My tongue firmly planted in my cheek, I try to stifle the grin on my face, but who am I to not feel completely fucking pleased that she’d prefer to text with me than pay the proper attention to the guy she’s with? She should let him off the hook. It would make all three of us happier.

If sweet is making you stare at the walls and check your phone to see if I’ve texted you, then yes, it’s a bad thing. Dump your date and I’ll dump mine.

This time I give the girl my full attention. She’s pretty, her dark hair slicked back into a neat ponytail, and she smiles at me. But she’s not remotely my type. Not even close to the green eyed blonde who has always been exactly the kind of girl I’d prefer to be banging.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I’m Bella.”

“I just moved back to Reverence.” I signal the bartender. “Sorry if I came across rude. I’m not much for company. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can see that,” she says as my phone buzzes again.

I can’t do that. I don’t want to be rude.

“Let me buy you a drink? For being rude.”

“Sure.” She smiles. “Not that you were, you know.” She leans over the bar to order, and I toss cash on the bar while I finish off my text.

Give me five minutes, and I’ll do it for you.

Twisting in my seat, I smirk at Chelsea, waiting while she reads my text. Her expression slowly changes before she lifts her head to glare at me.

“It was nice meeting you, Bella. Enjoy your night.” My focus still glued to Chelsea I get up from the bar, pointing at my watch and mouth at her, “Tick. Tock.”

Chelsea

Asshole. Prick. The arrogant fucker has some nerve showing up on my date and telling me to cut it short. Especially when he’s clearly on his own date. I should have pretended I didn’t notice him, but seeing that girl touch his arm had me wanting to rip it off and beat her over the head with it.

Jealous much?
I tell myself it isn’t because I want to be the only one who gets to do that. It’s just that he’s a prick for continuing to play games with me, and I wish I could find a way to make him as uncomfortable as he makes me.

I tell Dean I’m not feeling well, that I have a headache, which he buys since I’ve been vague all evening. He’s as gorgeous as my sister said, and a sweetheart of a guy. I should have been into him, but I’m not. Instead, I’m hung up on what Mace said to me before I agreed to this stupid date. Not the part about cumming on his cock, though that image is pretty vivid in my mind. But the part about how I need someone who can hold onto me when I’m trying so hard to push them away.

Dean offers to drive me home, but I tell him I’m going to a friend’s and that they’re picking me up. He doesn’t seem too put out by my cutting our evening short. In fact, he seems relieved, and I find myself apologizing for not being a better date.

Mace is waiting for me near the exit. Slouched against the wall with that shit-eating grin plastered ear to ear. “You cut it fine. I was about to come get you.”

“I can’t believe your gall,” I snipe. “Showing up on my date, when you’re clearly on your own. You’ve got some sick sense of what’s appropriate.”

He steps off the wall, his fingers fluttering through the ends of a lock of my hair that’s hanging over my shoulder. “I like this shade on you.”

“What?” I glance to where his knuckles rest on my collarbone, then down to the black dress I bought for this occasion. My skin buzzes where he touches me.

“Green,” he says, locking his hand around my wrist and leading me out of the club. “Jealousy. Envy. Whatever you want to call it. I like it on you.”

“I’m not jealous,” I sputter, and try to yank my arm free, but he moves his hand down and threads his fingers between mine.

“No?” He raises one eyebrow, the humor leaving his face.

“Absolutely not. You’re allowed to date anyone you like.” Even if I don’t want to see him do it. “I just would have thought she wasn’t to your taste.”

“And now you think you know my type.” I can hear the cockiness in his voice as he leads me in the direction of Tom’s house. It’s only a block or two from where we are and probably my safest bet because there’s almost zero chance he’s going to get me alone at this time of night in a house full of his family. That’s got to work in my favor.

“That girl was all class,” I bite out. I don’t know why I’m letting seeing him with someone else get to me like this. I should be over the moon that he might be starting to take his focus off me. The right girl coming along would make my life a hell of a lot easier. Or any girl. I doubt he’s been too picky since he’s been gone. He didn’t seem to be before he left.

“Actually, she was,” he says. “But you’re jealous because you want to be the only girl who gets my attention.” He stops dead on the corner.

From here I can see the light on at Tom’s front door. Once inside I’ll be able to evade him. I’m so close to getting out of this awkward conversation and then he stops, slides his hand up the outside of my arm to thread it through my hair and yanks me up against him. “Come on, Hells, admit it. It’ll make you feel better.”

With every breath I can feel the brush of his chest against mine. The heat of his palms, the subtle pleasure of his fingers rubbing against my skin. Do I want to admit that he makes me want to go against my better judgement? Do I even want to go there with him, knowing how this plays out? I don’t know what to say, so I stare up at him, my mouth slightly open, waiting for my brain to come up with the perfect comeback.

He exhales audibly. “Fine. Have it your way. At least tell me what you’re so afraid of.”

“You,” I say, without even thinking. It’s not a hard answer to come up with. Because I am scared of the way he makes me feel, and how easy it would be to let him suck me back in. We’ve been here before, and each time he’s walked away. But this time he isn’t going to join the marines, or be deployed. He’s staying in Reverence. How am I supposed to deal with that when he changes his mind about wanting to be with me again?

I twist out of his grasp, and hurry across the road. I don’t glance back, but if he was right behind me, he’d grab hold of me. I’m sure of it. I don’t hear footsteps either as I race toward Tom’s.

I wonder what I would have done if he’d caught me up. If he’d have held onto me, instead of letting go. Just once, I would have liked to know what that was like.

***

It’s too quiet at Tom’s. Unusual, considering how many of us are packed in to the place on a day-to-day basis. I stop by Tom’s room to grab a change of clothes. Lucky lifts her head off the pillow she’s made of his legs and lets out a low yowl in greeting. It’s probably weird that I spend so much of my time sharing a bed with Tom and the dog. But we’ve been doing it so long now, it seems normal.

When he moved back to Reverence after his boxing career ended he didn’t sleep much. He had pain from the car accident that kept him awake. So we’d taken up where we’d left off before he moved away. Keeping each other company in the darkness. It worked since neither of us dated, but at some point that will probably change.

I know it’s getting to Mace. He doesn’t like knowing I’m in bed with his brother, despite the fact he knows neither of us would ever do anything. Tom’s still hung up on my dating Rush. He’s always been one to see things in black and white when it came to his brothers.

I don’t know how he would take it if he knew the truth. That Rush was nothing compared to the monumental craziness that overcomes me with regard to Mace. But it’s a moot point. Because there is nothing going on now, and there won’t be. Some secrets are better kept in the dark.