Ten Tiny Breaths (10 page)

Now Trent starts to chuckle—a soft, beautiful
sound that vibrates through my body and warms my core. “I think
that’s Lenny. 2B’s pet snake. I saw a little bald man checking the
bushes in the commons this morning, calling its name.”

“Pet?” I spit out the word as I sit up
straight. “That man eater is someone’s pet? Isn’t there a law
against owning rattlers?”

Trent’s blue eyes roam my face as he smirks,
settling on my lips. “It’s a milk snake. From what I know, the only
thing it’s going to eat is a mouse.” He’s so close to me now that
his breath caresses my cheek. With my body pressed to him, I feel
his heart beat hammering fast against my shoulder, rivaling my own.
He can feel this too. It’s not just me. He lifts a hand to cup my
chin. “No one’s going to hurt you, Kacey.”

I don’t know if it’s the stress of the
situation, or this sizzling burn inside my belly that flares
whenever Trent’s around, or an uncontainable internal beast
repressed for too long, but this whole situation has gone from
terrifying to freaking hot in a split second.

I can't help myself.

I crash into Trent’s mouth, my hand fisting
the front of his shirt, snapping several buttons with no effort as
I force myself onto him. There’s a second of resistance—just a
second where his mouth and body doesn’t respond—but it quickly
dissolves. His arm slides out from my knees to grip my side,
scorching my bare skin. It’s him that deepens the kiss, slipping
his tongue into my mouth, one hand working its way through my
shampoo-coated hair, gripping a handful at the nap of my neck
tightly. He forces my head back as his tongue connects with mine,
his mouth sweet and fresh. He’s strong, that much I can sense. If I
wanted to, I don’t think I could fight him off. But I don’t want
to. Not one bit.

Without breaking his connection to my mouth,
Trent somehow shifts me onto my back and now he’s hovering over me
on my bed, our torsos flattened against each other, my inner thighs
hugging his hips while his forearms keep his full weight off my
body. I don’t know what’s happening, what I’m doing, what has taken
over all rational thought, but I know I don’t want it to stop.
Every fiber of my body is craving it.

Craving Trent.

I feel like I’ve come up for my first gasp of
air after being under water for years.

Unfortunately, it does stop. Abruptly. He
breaks free and pulls away, panting as he gazes down at me with an
incredulous look. His eyes never leave mine, not to wander for even
a second. If they did, he'd see that my towel has slid off and I’m
lying underneath him, stark naked. Body and soul.

“This isn’t why I pulled you out of the
shower,” he whispers.

I swallow, searching for my voice. The one I
find is hoarse. “No, but it’s worked out rather well for you,
hasn’t it?”

He gives me that lop-sided smile that makes
my body heat up like someone’s taken a blowtorch to it. But then
his eyes cool, searching my face. “Isn’t it exhausting?” The pad of
his thumb strokes my neck softly.

“What?”

“Keeping people out.”

“I’m not,” I deny quickly, my voice faltering
in betrayal as his words punch me in the gut. How can he see what I
don’t want him to see, what I work so hard to conceal? He’s found a
way in, that’s how. Like a trespasser, he’s invaded my space,
breaching security and sliding in to take what I haven’t offered to
him.

The fire he’s able to elicit in my body so
easily still burns, only now I find the need to battle against the
consuming flames. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.” The words
taste acrid in my mouth because I know I don’t mean them.
I do
want this. I do want you, Trent.

Trent crashes in to my mouth, and my
treacherous body leans forward, exposing me for the liar that I am.
But he keeps his hands on either side of my head now, clenching my
pillow tightly as if he’s trying to maintain control. I, on the
other hand, have lost all control, I realize, as my fingers slide
under his shirt to claw at his back, as my legs wrap around
him.

“You don’t want this, Kacey?” he growls in my
ear, pressing his erection against me.

“No …” I whisper, my lips trailing his neck.
Then I begin to laugh at myself, at my stubbornness. At how
ridiculous I must look right now, my body writhing against his.
That little bit of laugher is like a lifeline thrown out to me. I
seize it and let it drag me back from the brink. Tearing my mouth
from his neck, I growl, “Get out.”

He lays three more light kisses on my jawline
and then softly grazes my cheek with his knuckles. “Okay, Kacey.”
He climbs off me and stands. I inhale sharply as his eyes draw in
the length of my body with a hungry, dark look. It only lasts a
second, but it unleashes a need deep in my lower belly. He turns
around and heads to the door. “I’ll take the heat for the doors
from Tanner.”

“Doors?”
Plural?

He still hasn’t turned around. “Yeah. Your
front door and the bathroom door. If he’s going to boot someone
out, I’ll make sure it’s me.”

And then he’s gone.

Dammit!
That guy is the dictionary
definition of a contradiction. He skates between nice guy and bad
boy so fluidly, I never seem to catch the transition. It would be
easier if he was a pigheaded player, but here he is, breaking down
doors to save me from snakes. I, on the other hand, go from bitch
to sexual attacker and back to bitch in three heart beats and he
just flashes those damn dimples. I guess I’m not much better in
terms of a contradiction.

When I finally emerge from my room fifteen
minutes later, our apartment has been invaded. Livie’s in the
kitchen, standing next to a sexy disheveled Storm with a crying
five year old in her arms. Clearly my screams yanked Storm out of a
dead sleep because she's wearing nothing but a tank and thong.

A police officer is interviewing a short
balding man with the perpetrator coiled around his wrist. I shiver.
Lenny, I presume. Trent’s right. Now that I see the thing, it’s not
nearly as big as I first thought. Still, I fold my arms across my
chest protectively, feeling its beady little eyes sizing me up.

Tanner hovers beside the busted front door,
scratching the back of his head as if confused by the splinters of
wood. I have to admit, I’m more than a little impressed. Trent’s a
big guy, but I wouldn’t bet money that he could break through not
one, but two doors to save me. That little bit of knowledge makes
the guilt over kicking him out of my room churn faster.

Trent stands quietly beside him, his hands in
his back pockets as he looks down at the mess. His shirt is half
undone where I tore the buttons, drenched and clinging to a
sculpted chest. Even with present company, that sight makes my
mouth dry up.

Storm’s the first to run to me after handing
Mia off to Livie. She throws her arms around my neck. I still
flinch, but not as bad as I did the first time she did it. “Are you
okay?” If my leaving her in the car last night bothers her, I can’t
tell.

Over her shoulder, I watch the officer and
the little bald man’s eyes bug out, riveted to Storm’s ass. The
officer, at least, has the decency to flush and avert his attention
to a worn spot on the linoleum. The bald man, on the other hand,
doesn’t; his grin widening. “I’ll be better after I go punch that
guy in the nose,” I say loudly enough for him to hear me. He looks
away, caught red-handed.

“That’s Pervie Pete,” she whispers, cringing
as she stretches the back of her shirt down to cover her bare
backside. It’s futile. The shirt’s too short and her thong is too
revealing. “I’ll be right back.” She scurries out.

Tanner looks up from the splintered mess.
“Oh, hey, Kerry.”

Kerry?
My brow arches severely. “Hey …
Larry! How’s it going?”

Livie tries to muffle her snort with her
hand. At first Tanner looks confused, but then a toothy grin
stretches across his face. “Kacey,” he corrects himself. “Sorry …
Kacey.”

The police officer patiently scratches down
notes on a pad as we replay the entire incident while taking
frequent breaks to stare at Storm now that she’s dressed. At the
end, he gives Mia a sheriff badge sticker which makes her grin from
ear to ear. Pervie Pete apologizes profusely and takes Lenny back
to his cage, swearing to a stern Tanner that he’ll double check to
make sure the cage is secured well. The officer asks me if I want
to press charges against Trent and I glare at him like he’s grown
an arm out of his ass.

When the officer leaves—not before giving
Storm a long, appreciative smile—Tanner and Trent are still staring
at the two broken doors. “I understand that this was an emergency,
but … er … I need to get this fixed and Perv-” Tanner clears his
voice, “Peter will take a while to come up with the money. I doubt
these gals have insurance …” Tanner reaches into his back pocket to
pull out his wallet. “I’ve got, um, a hundred bucks I can throw
in.”

My jaw drops.
What?
I’m expecting a
tirade and eviction notice and here Tanner is, offering to pay for
our door? Livie, Storm, and I share a look of shock. Before I can
get a word in though, Trent’s handing Tanner a fistful of money
from his wallet. “Here. This should cover it.” Tanner takes it with
a nod, and then exits without another word, leaving us all
speechless.

Trent walks over to Livie and thrusts out a
hand. “Hi, I’m Trent. We haven’t met formally.”

Whatever rage Livie had running through her
veins has extinguished, leaving her blushing and as awkward as a
tittering twelve year old. She shakes his hand quickly before
recoiling as if she might get pregnant with the touch, her eyes
avoiding anything to do with his half-open shirt and that gorgeous
toned body underneath. I grin inwardly. My chaste Livie.

Trent introduces himself to Storm next. She
blushes sweetly and an unwarranted stab of jealousy pricks me. When
he moves on to Mia hiding behind Storm’s legs, I catch Storm’s
exaggerated wink of approval. I roll my eyes.

“And you must be Princess Mia? I’ve heard
about you.”

Her lips pucker and she leans out just a bit
further from Storm’s cover. “You have?”

He nods. “Well, I heard about a Princess Mia
who likes ice cream. That must be you, right?”

She nods slowly and whispers, “Did you hear
that, Mommy? People know I’m a princess!”

Everyone laughs. Everyone but me. I’m too
busy fighting this internal battle inside that tells me I must
resist this charm. It’s all an act. He’s no good for me.

Actually, that’s not it at all, I hate to
admit.

The problem is that I know he’s too good for
me.

Trent stands up to face me. “You going to be
okay?”

Always so concerned about me
. I nod,
my arms folding over my chest as I look down at my robe, fidgeting
awkwardly under that scrutinizing gaze of his, remembering the feel
of his body pressed against mine. And that he pulled me from the
shower, buck naked and cowering.

All kinds of humiliation roils through me
now.

I’m not sure if my discomfort registers with
Trent, but he takes a few steps back, his hand pushing back through
his hair. “Well, I’ll see you guys around.” He winks at me. “Need
to wash off all this soap. I hope my shower isn’t as eventful.”

“Yeah …” I mumble, feeling stupid, following
his body move, quickly plotting how I can plant something in his
shower so I have an excuse to bust down his door and jump in to
save him.
Not a snake. He doesn’t seem to be afraid of snakes.
Maybe a gator. Yeah, there’re lots of those in Florida. Just a
quick trip to the Everglades, I’ll find one, trap it, bring it
back
—

“Kacey?”

I snap back to the present with Storm’s
voice, her brow arched as she looks at me, smirking. I’ve obviously
missed a question. “What?”

“I’m sure Trent would love to have dinner
with us as a thank you.” I see the gleam in her eye. She’s playing
match maker.

I don’t like it.

Trent doesn’t want this mess.

“Do whatever you want. I’ll be at the gym,” I
answer and my tone is an arctic breeze, freezing any mirth in the
room. I spin on my heels and stalk back into my room before anyone
can get a word in edgewise.

And I hate myself.

***

The Breaking Point is quieter than usual for
late-afternoon, but I’m okay with that. I’m still reeling from
today’s snake excitement. And Trent. I need my nice, quiet routine.
I quickly stretch and get ready to start my rounds on the bag.

“Hey, Red!” Ben’s voice booms from
behind.

Dammit.
I turn to catch him just as
his attention shifts up from my ass. “Ben.”

He strides around and grabs my bag for me.
“You need a spotter?”

“I guess I’m getting one either way, aren’t
I?” I grumble. But then his sly smirk makes me laugh for some
reason, releasing the tension in my body. “Do you know what you’re
doing?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure you can teach me.” Then
he flashes that grin again, as he adds, “I prefer being in control
but for you I can …”

Ben’s jabbering away with layers of innuendos
and I stop listening. Just to teach him a lesson, I surprise him
with a roundhouse kick. He grunts as the bag slams into his hip.
“Consider that your first lesson. Shut up. Don’t talk to me while
I’m working out.”

For the next fifteen minutes, I pound away at
the bag with jabs and kicks and Ben does a half-decent job of
shifting with the impact. If he talks, I don’t hear him. I’m zoned
in on the sequence that propels me forward, hammering again and
again, releasing all that anger with each hit.

Three idiots getting drunk one night.

Three murderers taking my life from me.

One. Two. Three.

Finally spent, I lean forward and support
myself against my knees with my hands to catch my breath.