Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (21 page)

CHAPTER

 21 

S
he was not having sex with Aiden Kruze tonight. At least that was what he informed her when she suggested they stop by the gas station on the way back to their motel room. From what she’d seen, he only had one condom in that wallet, and they were definitely doing it more times than that. Or so she’d thought, until he took her face in his hands and placed a chaste, patronizing kiss on her cheek and said, “You, sweetheart, by no means fit the legal definition of
consenting adult
right now.”

“Uhhh . . .” she huffed, flopping back against the passenger seat. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Baby, you’re trashed.”

“I am not trashed, I’m tipsy.” As if that somehow made it better.

He chuckled. “Yes, you are. And you nearly tipsied ass over teakettle in that restaurant.” He fired up the Escape and turned the defroster on.

“Why do you have to be such a lawyer?” she complained. “I tell you what: you make me come, and I promise not to sue you.”

She gave him a saucy wink when his head whiplashed back around to look at her. He dragged his hand through his hair and muttered a nasty curse to which she responded, “That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re clam-jamming me.”

He busted out laughing, which had not been what she was going for—at all. “I’m what?” he asked incredulously.

“Clam-jamming me. It’s the female version of cock-blocking,” she snipped. “It’s a real thing. You can Google it.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, still laughing like she was Gabriel Freaking Iglesias or something. “I just never thought I’d hear those words come out of your sweet little mouth.”

“Well, that makes two of us, cuz I never thought I’d hear the word
no
come out of yours.”

His smile morphed into a scowl that suggested she might have dealt him an unintentional low blow. To which he responded, “Guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I, baby girl?”

Yep, she’d offended him. If she couldn’t tell by his cutting tone, then the use of that hated pet name left no doubt in her mind. She might be drunk, but she wasn’t drunk enough not to care if she pissed him off and ruined their night. They’d had an amazing evening together, the last thing she wanted to do was be the spark that sent it up in flames.

“Look, Aiden, I’m sorry . . .”

He turned his attention back to the road, shifted the Escape into drive, and mumbled, “It’s fine, Ryann. Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.”

Excuse me? What the hell did he mean by that?
She sat up in her seat and grabbed Aiden’s wrist before he could move his hand off the shifter. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He looked at her, but his expression belayed none of his emotion. “It means I had a really great evening with you, Ryann. And it isn’t very often that I can spend time with a woman and not have it revolve around sex. I thought we might have had that tonight.” He shrugged. “I was wrong. Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

Ryann wasn’t sure she could have felt like a bigger ass. Just when she thought she’d figured Aiden out, he went and threw a curveball at her. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t make sense.
If you don’t want me, then why were you flirting with me all night?

“Of course I want you.”

Shit, did she just say that out loud? Oh, man . . . she really was drunk.

“I mean, look at you, you’re hotter than hell. But I’m not doing this if there’s a chance you’re going to wake up in the morning with regrets. And to tell you the truth, I had just as much fun talking to you.”

“Hey . . .” She pulled his hand into her lap and laced their fingers together. Struggling to push back her guilt, she forced herself to meet his eyes and said. “I had a really great time with you, too. This night
has
been perfect, Aiden, and I don’t have a single regret.”

“No regrets, eh, champ?”

Aiden trapped his lips between his teeth to bite back a grin as Ryann sent him a scathing glare from her post in front of the porcelain throne.

“Shut up,” she moaned before hurling into the toilet.

With one hand fisted into her hair, holding it up, Aiden used his free hand to grab a washrag off the rack and run it under the sink of cold water. Squeezing out the excess, he draped it over the back of her neck.

“Uhhh . . .” she moaned after her stomach finished rebelling. “Just let me die.” She flopped a dramatic arm over the seat and rested her cheek on her forearm.

“Not a chance. You’re going to be all right,” he reassured her, bringing the cool rag around to her forehead. “Though I suspect you’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

“What time is it?” she mumbled, not bothering to lift her head or open her eyes.

“It’s about three.”

Ryann had fallen asleep—or more accurately, passed out—before they’d gotten back to the motel. Aiden had tucked her into bed before returning Coach’s call. After getting his ass chewed for scaring the shit out of him and for taking five years off his life when he didn’t have that many to squander, the old guy wished him luck in New York and told him if there was anything he needed, he was only a phone call away. The thing was, he knew Coach meant every last word. Damn, he loved that man. The guy was a freaking saint.

After hanging up with him, Aiden had taken a quick shower and then hit the sack himself, sleeping the sleep of the dead. At least until Ryann had jumped out of bed and bolted for the bathroom. The night had passed so quickly, and the alcohol had flowed so freely, that before he knew it, it was time to leave, and Ryann was completely inebriated.

“Why are you in here?” she groaned. “To gloat over my shame?”

She was pathetic, and still cute as hell. How that was even possible, he had no idea. “Nah . . . I can’t tell you how many times someone’s held my head out of a toilet after partying too much. Shit, sweetheart, I’m just paying it forward.” He let go of the rag and tucked a few errant strands of sweat-dampened hair behind her ear. “I didn’t realize how much you were drinking.”

“Neither did I,” she moaned. “I don’t usually drink.”

“You don’t say . . .”

She popped open an eye to give him a miserable glower, but her top lip twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.

“I couldn’t tell,” he teased. “You hold your liquor so well.”

“I think you’re enjoying this far too much,” she grumbled.

“No way.” He rinsed the rag with cold water and handed it back to her so she could wash her face while he kept his hold on her hair. Just in case.

She sat back on her knees and ran the cloth over her face. “God, how horribly unattractive is this,” she complained into the washrag.

“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t ya?” Taking the rag from her, he tossed it into the sink and handed her a cup of water to swish her mouth out. As she spit into the toilet, he said, “Yet, somehow you’re still doing it for me.”

She gave a pitiful laugh and elbowed him in the thigh. He chuckled and let go of her hair so she could stand, then swept her up into his arms. His shoulder bitched about the movement, but he ignored the burn in his rotator cuff. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her face into his shoulder, his body stirred at the sheer nearness of her—at having her slight weight in his arms, her fragile frame tucked tight against his bare chest.

Yep, hard as a rock. How fucking pathetic was that?

Now that he was wide awake, he was restless and edgy. It’d been days since he’d trained, and when a guy was used to spending eight-plus hours a day at the gym, that left a lot of bottled up energy with no good outlet. Being trapped in here with Ryann certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. He needed to get out of here.

Aiden tucked her back into bed and pulled the covers over her shoulder. “How ya feeling, sweetheart?”

“Oh, splendid. If I could just manage not to hurl, I should be good to go. ”

“What a trooper,” he teased, smiling as he brushed her hair back from her face. When he turned and grabbed his shirt off the chair, Ryann’s hand shot out and latched on to his wrist.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To the store for some ginger ale and Gatorade. If we don’t get you hydrated, you’re going to feel pretty rough come morning.”

Her bravado fell and that grip on his wrist tightened. “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded miserably.

Fuck, how could three little words shred him like that? Exhaling a defeated sigh, he dropped his shirt back into the chair and lifted the covers. “Scoot over.”

She inched into the middle of the bed. As soon as he sat down, reclining against the headboard, she snuggled into his side and wrapped a slender arm around his waist, hugging him close. He tensed at the contact, his heart clenching inside his chest, his lungs refusing to breathe.

Having her this close to him, drawing comfort from him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, made something inside his chest shift. It was as if one of the key puzzle pieces in his life had finally fit into place—and it scared the ever-loving hell out of him. Had he really thought the risk laid in having sex with her? Fucking her probably would have been the safest thing he could have done, because this—the visiting with her, laughing with her, holding her—was far more dangerous than anything else he could have done.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, not breathing, not moving. Surely she was asleep by now. Just when he was about to slip his arm out from under her and make his escape, her arm around his waist tightened and she said, “You really are a great guy, you know that?”

Aww hell . . .
“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

“Is it hard?”

Oh, man, it was so damn hard his balls ached. “Is what hard?” he asked, his voice rough as gravel.

“Pretending to be someone you’re not. I think it would be very tiring after a while, showing the world one thing when you’re really something else.”

His hand slipped into her hair, running through her long silky tresses while he thought about her question a moment. “When you’ve been doing something your whole life, after a while it just becomes natural. And eventually, even you begin to believe the lie.”

“Well, I think it’s sad.”

“What’s sad, sweetheart?”

Her hand slid to his stomach and her fingers began tracing the path of muscles across his abs. Little jolts of electricity arrowed into the base of his cock, making the member strain toward her touch. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing. Thank God he’d decided to sleep in his jeans. The denim barrier wasn’t much, but it was better than his Hanes.

“That the world doesn’t really know you. Can I tell you a secret?”

“That depends. Are you still drunk and will you remember it in the morning?” he teased.

“I’m pretty sure I am and probably not.”

“Okay, then go ahead,” he chuckled.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

CHAPTER

 22 

O
h, God, Aiden, will you please stop that pounding?”

But he didn’t answer. It took Ryann a moment to realize the pounding was occurring inside her skull. She was pretty sure her heart was playing bongo with her brain. Exhaling a pain-filled moan, she tried to open her eyes against the sunlight beaming in on her through the break in the curtains and failed.

“Aiden . . .” she called, curling in a ball and pulling the covers over her head. When seconds ticked by without a response, panic slammed into her, drowning out her hangover migraine. Ryann threw the covers back and bolted out of bed. Which was a horrible mistake, because her world tilted and her stomach immediately flopped, sending waves of nausea crashing over her. She had to force back the urge to vomit as she stumbled toward the window overlooking the parking lot. Bracing a hand against the sill, she ripped back the drapes and became instantly blinded.

“Shit!” she hissed and lifted her hand, shielding her eyes as she shrank back from the light like some vampire in a B movie. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. All the while panic ratcheted her pulse until she was sure she’d died of an aneurysm. Maybe she was just a sucker for punishment, because she knew what she was going to find when she looked out that window. Steeling her resolve, Ryann stepped back into the light and forced open an eye. Betrayal hit her like a sucker punch, the air leaving her lungs in a
whoosh
of defeat.

He’s gone . . . I can’t believe he left me.

Had that been his plan all along? Get her to trust him, to lower her guard, and then steal away in the middle of the night? She was such an idiot! Numbly, she staggered back to the bed, plopped down on the mattress, and put her head between her legs as she tried to take deep breaths into lungs that refused to cooperate. “I’m such an idiot,” she moaned miserably.

Through the veil of her hangover, the night came crashing back to her in flashes of bits and pieces. The dinner, the drinking, the laughing, the vomiting . . .
Oh, Dear God, I told him I was falling for him!
Right now, he was probably laughing his ass off at how gloriously he’d played the naïve little girl. Hell, he could be halfway back to Minneapolis by now, getting ready to catch the quickest plane to Vegas—and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him.

“It’s over,” she said in defeat, shaking her head as the world of shit she was in slammed into her with the force of wrecking ball. “I can’t believe I fell for it. I fell for Aiden Kruze . . . and he left me.” Heartache warred with rage, both emotions rocking her already tumultuous stomach. Oh, God, she was going to puke. Dropping her head between her knees, she took a few slow deep breaths, trying to push back the nausea.

Ryann wasn’t sure who she was more furious with: Aiden for leaving her, or herself for being dumb enough to trust him.
I’m such a fool . . .
As she sat there berating herself for letting her guard down and allowing herself to care about him, the key fob beeped outside, the lock released, and the door pushed open.

Before she could lift her pounding head, that familiar deep voice bit out a sharp curse. There was a rustle of a plastic bag and something heavy hit the ground. And then he was there, kneeling before her, her face gently framed in those strong, callused hands. He tipped her head up to meet his amber eyes, and he searched hers with concern and dare she hope something more . . .

Relief flooded her at the sight of him, the feel of those hands, that comforting strength. As a part of her rejoiced at discovering she’d overreacted, another part warned her she’d traveled into dangerous territory where this man was concerned. Her total lack of keep-your-shit-together proved it. Faced with the prospect that he might have left her, there was no more lying to herself or trying to deny it. She was hopelessly head over heels for this man.
“I think I’m falling for you” . . . ?
Shit, she had fallen and was down for the count.
“The winner by KO goes to Aiden ‘Disco Stick’ Kruuuuze!”
the mocking announcer’s voice proclaimed in her head.

“Hey, Ryann, talk to me. Are you all right?”

All right? Hell no, she wasn’t all right. She just realized she was in love with the big jerk! “Where were you?” she demanded, taking a page out of his lawyer playbook.

His brow arched in question, as if that clearly was not the response he was expecting. A measure of concern lifted from his handsome face and was replaced by . . . humor? Oh, no, he didn’t . . .

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

He brushed a chunk of hair away from her wet cheeks and tucked it behind her ear.

“Wrong side of the bed? Aiden, I thought you’d left me.”

His brows pulled tight into a scowl, all trace of humor fleeing his face. “You think I’d do that to you?”

“Well, what was I supposed to think when I wake up to find you gone? You didn’t leave a note, and after last night . . .” There was no way she was going to finish that sentence. But Aiden wasn’t going to let it rest—of course.

“What about last night?”

Shit. She could tell by the determination in that bold stare, he wasn’t going to let it rest. “After puking up my toenails and then telling you I was falling for you, I’m not sure I would have blamed you for running off.”

His top lip twitched into a crooked grin that, holy hell, had the power to make her instantly weak in the knees. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I don’t scare that easily. We all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re wasted.”

What was that? Was Aiden giving her an out?—giving her the opportunity to save face and retain a scrap of dignity? Or was this his way of asking her if she meant what she’d said? Did he want to hear her admit it now that she was sober? And what if she did? How would that possibly be a good idea considering their situation? But something in the way he watched her, the subtle tension in his jaw, told her he was waiting for an answer.

Shit. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

What he wanted her to say? Hell, he’d spent the last six hours in knots over what she’d said before promptly passing out on him, leaving him trapped against her with nothing but time to meditate on her confession. For the most part, he’d convinced himself she hadn’t meant it. How many women had told him in a lull of drunkenness or the throes of passion that they loved him? Too many to count. And he hadn’t once given a second thought to their declaration—until Ryann.

“Until Ryann” was pretty much turning into his damn mantra. He’d never wanted a woman to truly know him—until Ryann. He’d never known a woman who challenged him, excited him, and stirred him—until Ryann. And he’d never met a woman he’d considered opening himself up to—until Ryann.

He’d mulled on that epiphany for the next several hours as she lay passed out in his arms, wondering what in the hell he was going to do about it. Would she even remember what she’d said? And did he want her to? He didn’t need this complication—and this would most assuredly be one big complication. He wasn’t looking to fall in love. He liked his life footloose and fancy free and wanted to keep it that way—didn’t he?

Right now, his course was set. Ryann’s situation had been eating at him ever since she’d gotten that call from Moralli’s man. After discovering just how much trouble she was in, and what was at stake for her if he didn’t go back so she could get that reward money and pay off Moralli, he didn’t see how he had a lot of options.

Bottom line, he liked Ryann. Hell, he cared for her, even, and he had the means to help her out. Truthfully, he was her only hope. It was as simple as that, and he’d have to be a special kind of selfish bastard to abandon Ryann now and make her face Moralli alone.

He wasn’t excited about doing it, but it was a little easier pill to swallow when he knew he was making the sacrifice for her. He never thought he’d find himself agreeing to do this, but he’d meet with his parents. Ryann would get paid, and Moralli would get off her back. Then, Aiden could return to Vegas with a clear conscience and no worse for the wear. It was a good plan, a solid plan, so why was she rocking the boat now with talk of emotions? Why was he giving her the opportunity to tell him he meant something to her? Ryann was a smart woman. She had to see this couldn’t go anywhere.
Or could it?—
his Jiminy chimed in at the worst possible time.

Aiden knelt before her, staring into eyes that held a gut-wrenching amount of conflicting emotions, and he found himself holding his breath as he waited for her to respond. Something soul deep inside him flickered to life, b
urning slow and warming him from the inside out. It took him several moments before he recognized the emotion. God help him, it was hope. He wanted to hear Ryann tell him she’d meant what she said.

“Aiden, I—”

Her phone abruptly began buzzing on the nightstand, cutting her off. She tensed, a flicker of apprehension shadowing those jewel-colored eyes. He glanced at his watch, recognizing this was the same time she’d gotten the call yesterday. Before she could reach for the phone, he snatched it off the table and stood. Tension snapped through him like a whip, straining his sore, tired muscles. The ache in his shoulder intensified as he swiped his thumb across her screen to accept the “Unavailable” call and then lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” He growled the greeting with all the friendliness of a pissed-off lion.

“Aiden?”

“Mother?” That was so not the voice he was expecting on the other end of this phone, though he was no more pleased by it.

“So you are alive after all. After fourteen months, I wasn’t so sure.”

When would she realize he didn’t respond well to sarcasm? He never had and he never would. Unfortunately, it was the woman’s main style of communication. Behind him, Ryann whispered, “Oh, shit, I forgot to call your mother back.”

His eyes lifted heavenward as if praying for patience. “I can’t do this with you right now, Mom. What do you want?”

“Well, I
wanted
to talk to Ms. Andrews. Seems she’s just about as good at returning my calls as you are.”

Aiden’s hackles rose. It was one thing to turn that snarky temper on him, he was used to it, but he drew the line where Ryann was concerned. “Don’t start, Mom. Ryann is busy right now. Can I take a message?”

“You can tell
Ms. Andrews
I’m not paying her to ignore my calls. And if I wanted to talk to her receptionist, I’d call him.”

“Well, you could try, but he blocked your calls when he left Manhattan over a year ago and he’ll be advising
Ms. Andrews
to do the same. I will contact you when I reach New York. Rest assured Ryann has done a spectacular job of doing your bidding.”

He regretted the words the minute they left his mouth. He didn’t hear what his mother said next, his attention caught on the offended gasp across the room. Fuck, he shouldn’t have said that. How was it that several states away, this woman could still manage to bring out the worst in him? As she continued to rattle on in his ear, he turned back toward Ryann to mouth an apology, but she was already off the bed and closing the bathroom door behind her.