Lady Killer (Tangled Desires Book 2) (4 page)

“Huh?” She darts a glance over my shoulder in the direction of the main floor. The sound of guys working out drones in the background. “I told you, it’s Gem.”

“Gem, huh? I hear differently.”

She winces. “What exactly did you hear?”

“What’s your fucking name? What are you running from? If you’re going to be using my gym, I want a fucking honest answer.” It’s a matter of more than my ego. This is my business and if she isn’t who she says she is, did she even sign herself in as whoever she really is? She probably doesn’t realize she’s not just fucking with my head, but screwing with my insurance, my business, and that’s a whole other ball game.

This is my life, and it might not be all it could have been, I might have lost the chance to find out how far I could go competitively, but I’m not going to let anyone screw up what I do have, what I’ve managed to salvage. Not even the girl who has me wanting to take my time getting to know all the secret parts of her.

“I’ll find somewhere else to train.” She tries to push past me, but I fence her in with my arms on either side of her.

“This is the only fight gym in the area, so good luck with that.”

“Oh.” She darts another glance over my shoulder before she goes a little less rigid.

“Now, what’s your name? Your real name this time.”

“It’s Gem,” she says. “Gemma.”

“Are you certain you want to stick with that? Not change it like you did earlier when you were talking to my brother?” I want to believe her. My gut instinct says she’s telling the truth, but after she lied to Mace, I don’t know what to think.

“Your brother?” Her eyes widen, and she curses under her breath.

“Yeah. That brick shit house of a guy was my brother, Mace. Said you couldn’t even get your own name straight. Want to tell me what that was about?”

“It’s complicated.” Her voice comes out tiny, and she doesn’t explain herself.

“You’re running from something or someone?”

“Someone.” The color drains from her face. “I-I change my name every time I move.”

“But you told me your real name?”

“I guess. I didn’t mean to. It kind of slipped out.”

“Why? Why me?” She confuses me on so many levels, and the same things draw me to her in a way I’ve never been interested in anyone before.

“Because you put me off guard, made me feel safe for a minute.”

“Shit,” I say. I believe her. And I know I’m about to do something I shouldn’t, when she’s looking at me all wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted. Because Mace, as usual, is right. This girl has too much baggage, and I shouldn’t be adding it to my own. Not when she’s obviously running from some pretty fucked-up trouble. I’ve got more than enough to deal with, but she’s all trembling and vulnerable, and she’s staring at me, into me, as though she sees
me
. The real me, underneath all the layers of my reputation. She sees that guy as some kind of knight in fucking shiny armor. It makes me want to be that. It yanks at something in my chest. The warmth of her scent and the subtle sweetness of her perfume deepens the sensation, and I can’t fucking help it as I bale her up against the wall and bring my mouth down to hers.

I barely get a taste of her ripe lips before she drives a fist into my gut and knees me in the fucking balls. Pain blooms from the point of contact, doubling me over. Slipping past me, she takes off while I’m still gathering my scattered wits and trying not to puke.

Gem

Oh my God, did I really knee him in the nuts? I race down the street toward the grocery store. I desperately need gum, or something to keep my mouth occupied after that. My lips are still tingling from their almost brush with the Lady Killer. Not that it’s the first time. The first time is still imprinted on my mouth, apparently, because it’s watering like crazy and my heart is doing a tap dance in my chest.

My hands shake as I fumble through my bag, finding my purse and counting out the scant change I’ve got. Enough for some crackers and cheese for dinner, unless I want to tap my savings fund.

To heck with it. I fly down the aisles, picking up cheese, crackers, gum, and a pint of Castle’s triple fudge ice cream. That’ll be gone by the end of the night, but I don’t have anywhere to keep it, anyway.

Never staying anywhere long has its disadvantages, like rarely sleeping in a real bed, or not having somewhere to store a pint of ice cream. I used to on occasion find a really cheap motel where they’d take cash, and I could get a hot shower and sleep on a half decent mattress, but quite honestly, it wasn’t worth it. I’d learned that the first time Santiago caught up to me.

Letting down my guard ended in pain. I’d been lucky the couple in the room next to mine had heard me scream and called the cops. Being trapped by four walls with only one exit? I shudder at the thought. No thanks, never again. I prefer the cramped back seat of my car with its two exits; sufficing with showers at whatever gym I end up at, in each town I park for a while. The small amount of work I pick up at vets and shelters fills my car’s tank and my belly. That’s all I really need.

Stowing my purchases in my bag, I grab a plastic spoon from the inside pocket stash I keep and rip off the lid. The first mouthful sooths the adrenaline racing through me.

I should probably go back and apologize. I should probably kiss him better, rub his bruises maybe.

There’s this weird connection between Tom and me. Some kind of pull he has on me, but then, I’m pretty sure he has that effect on every girl, so I really need to ignore it. Except when he gives me that half-baked grin that makes me want to melt into a puddle of goo, it’s easy to forget other women even exist.

Triple fudge barely makes a dent in the warmth between my legs, but my hands are starting to shake, both from holding the frozen substance and the guilt over hurting him when he’s done nothing to me. It’s probably that guilt that draws me to him, I surmise as I wander through the park that leads back toward the vet center where I left my car this morning. It’s my fault he ended up victim to my mistakes. My eyes he’d been staring into the night he got hurt.

For the first time, he’d actually seen me, and yet I couldn’t seem to calm my speeding heart enough to tell him why I needed his help. The car had come out of nowhere. The heavy roar of it bearing down on us before he shoved me out of the way. His body hit the hood with a sickening thump and then he was flying like a ragdoll through the air, landing on the blacktop at such an odd angle.

I sure have enough to be guilty about when it comes to him, and then I had to go and add to it by kneeing him in the balls. It’s that fight and flight response that’s kept me out of Santiago’s reach all this time. Well, really it’s more of a run like hell response. I know I should have a choice to fight or to run, but fighting him isn’t really a choice. He’d pummel me. It doesn’t matter how many self-defense classes I take, how many hours I spend working the bags. Santiago’s a big guy with a bad attitude. He’s built to destroy men with his fists. I don’t stand a chance against him. Especially when he isn’t searching for me alone.

Climbing into my car, I drive toward the lake. It’s peaceful down there, but still close enough to houses that if anything happened I could scream for help. Of course, that’s only my back up plan. I glance at the glovebox, where I keep something a little more reassuring as plan A.

Tom took it too far when he leaned in to kiss me. Scaring the living daylights out of me, he got too close to the truth so fast it made my head spin. I might have been able to control all that if my pulse hadn’t gone wild when his lips touched mine, dragging me back to the night I watched him almost die, the last time he kissed me. Letting him kiss me again would have been a mistake, a complication I don’t need and sure as hell don’t want. Still, I press my fingers to my lips. Good Lord, the man knows how to kiss. I’d gotten the slightest taste of him once, and I’d been unable to forget it. The amount of skill, the confidence with which he played his tongue against mine, doesn’t come without a whole lot of practice.

I’d have to be an ice queen to be able to ignore the temptation he offers, which is why I can’t let it happen again. No, I’m going to have to forego the gym in this town and keep out of his way until I’ve got enough together to move on to a new pit stop.

My coupe chugs, almost empty. Almost as though it’s telling me we aren’t going anywhere yet.

Pulling into the tiny gravel carpark at the edge of the grass that leads down to the lake, I pick up the ice cream and sit cross-legged on the hood of my car. I’m not actually a fan of sweets, chocolate or otherwise, but I eat every last bite from the pint and then stare at the girl on the label.

Kaylea Castle, my sister. She’d been three when my grandfather found her on the kitchen floor, the freezer door open, and several tubs of ice cream around her. She’d been covered in triple fudge, and he’d chuckled and cooed at her while he took her picture. He’d ended up using that picture for the branding of the entire Castle ice cream range. I wonder if she finds that embarrassing now that she’s a teenager. I expect she would, but then I haven’t seen her in three years. In truth, I don’t really know my own sister anymore. Maybe she loves it, and revels in everyone knowing who she is. Hell, maybe she signs ice cream cartons when people recognize her. How the heck would I know?

This is the closest I get to home so, despite my lack of a sweet tooth, I gorge on ice cream when I miss my family too much, and remind myself why I don’t go back. Why I will not bring my trouble to their doorstep.

It gets late before I work up the guts to call her. I tell myself it’s better that they don’t know where I am, but sometimes I need to hear her voice so I pull out my phone.

She picks up on the third ring, and I hear her sleep muffled voice on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

My chest aches and tears prick my eyes, but I don’t say anything. I just tap my finger three times on the speaker. It’s a code I taught Kaylea so we could communicate without anyone knowing what we were saying. Something our parents never did manage to work out.

“Gemma?” I hear her breathing pick up as she throws off the vestiges of sleep.

Two more taps, then four more.
I’m here.

“Are you coming home?” Kaylea asks. Her voice trembles, and wetness slides down my cheek.

One sharp smack to the speaker.
No!
Then three double taps, much like the beat of a heart.
I love you.
Just once I’d like to have the guts to ask her how Mom, Dad, and Grandpa are doing, but I know if I gave her a chance she’d try to convince me to go home. So I hang up and slide into the backseat of my car, bundling up under a couple blankets, and rock myself to sleep.

***

I walk out of the self-defense class, even more sweaty and disgusting than I went in. Some of the women talk to me, being friendly, and I answer them as little as possible. There’s no point in making friends. Not when I’ll be leaving before long. Not when drawing them into my life is drawing them into danger.

They’re all heading home and the guys are shutting down the gym, but I’m desperately craving the sweet cleansing spray of a warm shower and soap. I can’t manage another showerless day just because I’m trying to avoid Tom. I’ll smell like a barn, especially after spending my days with animals. As much as I love working with them, it’s not a smell I want to acquire as my own. I’d avoided him for three days after that almost kiss, until I couldn’t handle my own filth or the urge to throw a punch at the vet’s daughter who comes in to clean cages with me in the mornings. Even her annoying whining doesn’t deserve to be dealt with by violence.

Stripping out of my gear, I step into one of the glass cubicles and turn the spray nice and hot. I have a quick routine, not liking to be naked and vulnerable for longer than necessary, but willing to risk it for a few minutes while I wash. The glass is heavily frosted, but not so much that I can’t make out the shape of other bodies when they’re near. As I’m the last one out tonight, other than Tom and the class instructor, Razer, I allow myself a little leisure.

After I wash my hair, I lather up while the conditioner soaks in and take a few extra minutes to run a Lady Bic over the important areas. I usually don’t bother with the triangle of hair between my legs. No one gets to see that anyway. But tonight I find myself primping a little more than normal, my mind on the man who makes me wish I was shaving for a reason. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Fantasizing about how it would have felt to let him kiss me, to respond to his kiss, instead of kneeing him in the junk. Wondering if he really does live up to his reputation in all arenas. I bet he does.

Something sweet clenches inside me while I imagine his mouth on me. How far would I have let him go? I can practically recall his breath on my neck, his hands on my waist. My own hand travels south while my pulse picks up. Fantasizing it’s his hand parting my thighs to press a digit on my clit. Who needs the real deal when my imagination is so freaking vivid?

I rub tiny circles over my clit, feeling it swell with my arousal. He’d probably get on his knees, put his mouth there and lick me all over. It’s enough to make me cum, tilting my face to let the water wash over me as the ripples of my orgasm drain from me.

It would be easy to forget that I’m not interested in dating a manwhore, a boxer, a man who makes a career out of violence. Not again. Though something inside me whispers that Tom isn’t like Santiago. He’s kind and considerate in the way he treats everyone. He can throw a guy bigger than him down on the mat and then extend a hand to help him up. He’s willing to help a complete stranger, a girl he’s never met before, and he’s brutally honest. The only thing that makes him dangerous is the way he makes me feel safe, crashing through my guards, making it easy for him to learn my secrets.