Damaged and the Saint (7 page)

For whatever reason, I woke up in the morning with a Reba McEntire song stuck in my head. Considering I dreamed of the monster worms from Tremors, the song probably made a little sense. I opened my eyes to find Saint missing from bed and the sun bright in the room even barely past dawn.

Seeing movement in the living room, I found Saint on the couch, drinking coffee. He saw me and smiled brightly. Yeah, he was definitely a morning person.

“You were crankier yesterday,” I said, fixing my bed head.

“My dreamcatcher did the trick. Slept like a rock all night.”

Walking away from him and his happy smile, I muttered, “Good to hear.”

I took a shower and forced myself to wake up. Saint was full of energy, so I needed to at least try to keep up. Wearing sweat shorts and a white tee, I ended up nearly matching Saint. Of course, my bare skin didn’t look anything like his. Forget how pale I was next to him, I looked like a beanstalk compared to his perfectly muscled body. Perfect was the right word too. No muscle was too thick. Not an inch was scrawny. He was sleek and powerful like a panther. His muscles flexed in the sexiest way whenever he moved.

“Feeling perky now?” he said, giving me a sly grin.

Taking the cup of coffee he held out for me, I smiled big and fake. “Oh, yeah, so much. Thanks.”

“I’m a good influence on people. Everyone says so,” he said, walking to the couch. “And not just because I can kill them. They want to say it.”

Sitting in a chair across from him, I mumbled, “No doubt. Have you ever killed anyone for saying the wrong thing?”

Saint gave me a half smile. “Depends on what the wrong thing was.”

He held my gaze while I considered pushing the subject. Considering I wasn’t fully awake, yet fully cranky, I decided to let the topic die.

“What’s the plan for the day?”

“A local guy suggested a little breakfast place a few blocks over. We can walk there and back. If you aren’t limping by the time we get back, we’ll hit the building’s gym. With your funky knee, I figure taking you for a long walk or run might mean I’ll end up carrying you back here. Not that I mind doing a little weight training during my runs.”

“Funny guy,” I muttered, giving him a grin. “My knee is fine.”

“Don’t push yourself to impress me. There’s more than one treadmill in the gym, so we can go our own speeds. That way, you won’t get hurt and I’ll still have something pretty to look at.”

A death wish level of confidence came over me, making the words to tempting to say. “You were possessive at the barbecue. Was it really all for show?”

Saint’s expression never changed, though I felt a shift in his demeanor. “No,” he said in a low voice that should have scared the crap out of me.

“Do you have a woman somewhere? Or women?”

“I told you about my birthday thing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Saint gave me a big grin. “Ah, to be young and stupid. I miss those days.”

“Did you just call me stupid?” I balked.

“You know I did.”

Even wanting to be pissed, I laughed. “I never know what the hell you’re going to say.”

“Welcome to the club,” he said, sitting forward. “I’m about to say something that you need to be cool about. Grown up time, okay?”

My smile gone, I nodded.

“I don’t date. I don’t have friends. I don’t get lonely. Maybe it’s an only child thing, but I could live a long happy live by myself,” he said, setting down his coffee on the table. “You do something to me though. So when I got possessive, it’s because I’ll rip off the limbs of anyone who makes a move on you. In this place at this time, you belong to me and no one else is allowed to touch my things. Blame that on me being an only child, if you want. It is what it is.”

Saint stood up and carried his cup to the sink where he washed it. I finished mine and joined him.

“I feel really special knowing I’m one of your things, but was there a point to your speech?” I asked dismissively, even as my stomach twisted at the idea him thinking I was special.

“No, not really. Just felt like sharing my feelings,” he said, caressing my cheek. “You ready for breakfast?”

“No,” I mumbled, my skin flushing under his touch. “Or yes. Whatever.”

Saint smiled in a way that pissed me off. I hated that cocky male grin even when I saw it on a man as sexy as him.

“Eat shit,” I growled, storming to the living room where my tennis shoes sat under a table. “You’re not special.”

“Never said I was.”

“You’re not my type either,” I said, turning to find him right behind me.

“What’s your type again? Still aroused by pasty white guys with big mustaches?”

His expression was obnoxious like he could barely keep from laughing in my face. I wanted to hate him, but the bastard was making me want to laugh too.

“We’re not so different. I mean I like high maintenance men,” I said, heading for the door. “Guys who wear lots of crap in their hair and like to dress up.”

Shutting the door behind us as we walked into the hall, Saint said, “I wore a bowtie once.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty five or six. Can’t remember.”

Laughing, I rolled my eyes. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, following me into the elevator. “I was playing the roll of an intellectual.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and the bowtie made me look like a schmuck, so I was able to walk right past the guards. It was one of my better days.”

Thinking of him decked out like a nerd, I laughed behind my hand. “Do you think I could go into that work?”

His smile fading immediately, Saint cupped my cheek with his wide hand. “I could train you to do it, but I refuse to help you destroy your soul.”

My hand instinctively rested over his. A moment passed while I was sure Saint would kiss me. His dark eyes studied my face. Would he lean down and press his lips against mine? My body ached to know what he felt like. What he tasted like too. I wanted to know so badly that I didn’t think to panic.

Saint didn’t kiss me though. Once the doors to the elevator opened on the main floor, he removed his hand and pulled away his hungry gaze. We walked together to the restaurant without saying another word.

Harlow sulked as we waited for our breakfast. She likely didn’t realize she was sulking, but her face was a mask of unhappiness. Leaning back, I studied her while she sipped her milk. Her attraction to me was pissing her off. Arousal wasn’t something a broken girl like her would appreciate.

I reached across the table and wiped away the milk mustache she was sporting. Harlow’s gaze locked onto my face and she clearly wanted to say something. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.

“You have great lips,” I said softly, daring her to share what she was thinking.

“I know. I’m amazing.” Harlow didn’t smile at her words, instead staring at me until our food arrived. “Have you ever had a real relationship?” she asked, poking at her eggs.

“Yes. You?”

“I went on a few dates last year.”

“What’s the guy like?”

“He got on my nerves at first. He also had a stupid mohawk before his sisters shaved it off. Anyway, I learned he was a good guy and I even love him now.”

If her words were meant to stir up my possessive nature, they worked. I was a pro at hiding my feelings though.

“Why aren’t you dating him now if he’s so special?” I asked calmly.

Harlow stared hard at me, frustrated by the temptation she felt. I held her gaze, yet showed none of my irritation at hearing about her old flame. Suddenly, she smiled and I sensed I’d given away my anger. Her laughter startled me, leaving me grumpy.

“This guy,” she said, covering her mouth, “might have actually been on a date with Winnie and I might have just been the chaperone, but that counts, right?”

“Most definitely,” I said, hiding my relief.

“I was trying to make you jealous.”

“Didn’t work.”

“No, I guess it didn’t, but I know how you’re more into chicks with big hair and lots of makeup. Maybe I should get a makeover.”

“You’d look good with a beehive.”

Harlow laughed again. “Maybe I’ll give it a try for Halloween.”

“I’d like to see that,” I said, tearing apart my bacon.

“But you won’t since you’ll be gone.”

Our gazes meeting, I nodded. “You’ll need to send me a picture then.”

“Like you’ll really care months from now.”

Ignoring the return of her grumpiness, I popped a sausage link into my mouth. “I’ll probably dress up as an angel with a halo and wings.”

Harlow gave me a little smile. “You’d make a very appealing angel, but I think you’d be a better demon.”

“How do you figure?” I asked, frowning.

“Don’t be offended. You’d make a very tempting incubus.”

“A sex demon?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

Harlow shrugged. “You know you’re hot.”

I grinned and wiped an imaginary milk mustache as an excuse to caress her lips. “Thank my hot heritage.”

Harlow ran her fingers over where mine had been. “Can you tell me about your heritage or is that top secret too?”

“Grandma was Puerto Rican. She married a man with Samoan and Anglo French running through his veins. Other grandma was Creole and she married a Norwegian giant.”

“Exotic,” she said in a way that warmed my skin.

Damn her mood swings were making me crazy. “How about you?”

“Mom was an Oklahoma redneck. Dad was an Arizona redneck. Jealous now?”

Her smile made me laugh. “Somewhere in the world, no doubt rednecks are considered exotic. So yeah, I’m jealous.”

Harlow’s smile widened and I had the urge to kiss her. Hating the need eating at my control, I knew I should walk away from this woman and never look back. No, instead I planned to open doors needing to remain shut and ask questions with answers that might destroy us.

“What are your siblings’ names?” I said, pushing her buttons like she pushed mine. “Your biological ones.”

Harlow’s smile faded. “Why?”

“I want to share things with you. Private things, so you need to share first.”

“Why first?” she said then rolled her eyes. “Oh, because you’re an only child and never learned manners.”

“Oh, I learned them.”

Harlow glanced around before focusing on her food. “My sister was Eden and my brother was Dex.”

“Did they look like you?”

I watched Harlow struggle to remember without breaking down. “Dex looked like our mom. Me and Eden look like our dad.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

Harlow shook her head. “Vaughn took me out of Phoenix the same night they died and there was no way to get pictures. They’re all at my aunt’s house and she wouldn’t give them to me.”

“Why not?”

Harlow focused on my face. “Her husband was Playboy who raped me and pimped me out to his club buddies. Do you really think she’d want a reunion when she thinks I got him killed?”

“No, probably not. Two kind of women end up with a guy like Playboy. Victims or bitches. Sounds like your auntie is number two.”

“I doubt she’d even have any pictures. Probably burned them after Playboy killed mom.”

Reaching across the table, I took her hand in mine. “Let me tell you what I think. I bet she does have them. She keeps them because she tells people something else happened. Says Vaughn killed your mom, brother, and sister along with Playboy. I’d bet you money that Auntie plays the victim and whips out the pictures for pity.”

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better. Even if she kept them, I can’t get to them. She won’t welcome me and I can’t trust her. Even with the Devils dead, she’s a threat. All the people left behind are threats.”

Nodding, I didn’t let go of her hand. “True, but having them exist in the world should give you hope. Maybe one day you’ll be tough enough to roll into town and get what’s yours.”

Harlow gave me a small smile. “Maybe I will.”

A moment passed where we both wondered about my hand on hers. What the hell did any of it mean?

“You like me,” Harlow said, grinning.

Pulling my hand away, I leaned back. “That was a sympathy hand touch. Out of pity for your loss.”

“Even though I have flat hair and don’t know how to work eyeliner, you like touching me.”

Grinning slowly, I rested my arms over the back of the booth. Harlow’s smug grin faded as she took in the hint of chest hair peeking at her from my shirt.

“Vanity will be the end of you,” she grumbled, returning to her food.

“And lust will be the end of you. Who’d have thought you’d be turned on so easily?”

Harlow opened her mouth to complain or defend herself. Whatever she wanted to say, she kept it to herself.

“Yes, you’re attractive,” she said then gave me a devious look. “I’ve always had a problem around attractive men. I usually hide it better, but the other day Vaughn was shirtless while working in the yard and I got a little turned on. Of course, I felt bad because he’s married and his wife is my friend. Still, it happens. Hey, I guess I’m growing up.”

“Vaughn, huh?” I said, scratching the stubble at my jaw. “Your big savior.”

“My big sexy savior.”

I grinned. “His wife is hot too.”

Harlow’s grin disappeared. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

Laughing, I nudged her foot under the table. “Your mistake was using Vaughn. I’d have bought it if you were hot for Judd.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just see you going dumb over him.”

“Judd is scary. He also threw a biscuit at Vaughn once and hit me in the face. I could never lust over a guy with such bad aim.”

Laughing again, I finished up my breakfast then waited for Harlow who took her time. She knew I was waiting and I swore she chewed especially slowly to mess with me. After taking an obnoxious amount of time wiping her mouth, Harlow finally looked at me.

“You’re pretty sexy when you get impatient,” she said, standing up. “Leave a nice tip for our waitress, will ya?”

I stood up and grabbed the bill. By the time I paid and left the tip, Harlow stood outside. Her hair remained a bit damp from the earlier shower, but a few dry blonde strands shined in the summer sun.

Feeling me behind her, Harlow turned and smiled. The look on her face stopped me for a moment. When I was a young man, I saw beauty all around me. Mexico ended much of my appreciation for such things. After prison, I saw the ugliness in people. The way they plotted and lied. The world was dangerous and I became a predator to survive.

Harlow reminded of the simple beauty I loved from my childhood like a bird hovering in the sky or the sun rising on a new day. When she smiled at me, I remembered what it felt like to be a good man capable of hope. My need for her rushed over me, addictive and demanding. Hell, if I’d ever be able to let it go.