I’m no idiot when it comes to lust. I’ve seen it in men before. But I’ve never felt it: The burning need pushing against my chest; the building tension that coils in my belly; my blood racing in my veins, flooding my head with visions of his hands on my body. Desire fires my skin, flushing my cheeks. I look around for something to use to fan myself.
“Here ya go.” His voice is right at my side, and I push back the urge to rub up against him as Dog does when I’m holding his food.
He lifts my hand sending delicious tingles down my arm. With a quick squeeze of ointment, he wraps my finger in a Band-Aid. His hands are surprisingly gentle for their size, and I wonder how many women have felt their tenderness in better places than their hands. Thousands would be my guess. My stomach twists with painful jealousy.
“You’re good at this. I guess you’d have to be in your profession.”
“Yeah, I get a lot of practice.” He finishes with my hand and throws out the wrappers.
I want to thank him for taking care of my wound. I’ve been on my own for so long I don’t remember the last time someone took such care with me. The gratitude I feel for his kindness makes me want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him. Gratitude, yeah right, that’s what I’m feeling. Instead, I change the subject.
“What got you into fighting? Were you a wrestler in high school?”
He clears his throat. “No, I started street fighting first.”
With his knuckles on the workbench, he drops his head for a moment before bringing his eyes back to mine. For the first time, there’s sadness there.
“My dad died when I was twelve.” The words come out forced, like he’s not used to the feeling of them on his lips. “I became the man of the house way before I was ready. I started getting in fights at school, getting in trouble all the time. My mom,” he pauses to run both hands through his hair, “she was destroyed when my Dad died. I just made things worse.”
His dark eyebrows furrow over his deep-set eyes as he looks past me.
“At fifteen, I got busted while kicking some kid’s ass at a park by my house. The cop pulled me aside and said that if I didn’t get my shit together I’d end up in jail. He told me I could use my anger to better my life.” He shakes his head with a wistful smile. “It didn’t make sense at the time.” His last words are said under his breath.
He’s next to me physically, but his eyes are far away. “He gave me the address of a Boys’ Club, told me they taught karate, jiu-jitsu, boxing—stuff like that. The way I saw it, beating the shit out of people wasn’t doing anything but making my mom cry. May as well take his advice.”
He shrugs and his eyes meet mine, no longer troubled. He studies my face
“I’m sorry about your dad. You must really miss him.” I know the feeling. Although, how can I miss what I never had? I banish the thought as soon as it forms.
“Yeah, he was cool. He worked hard, but found time to throw the ball with me or get down on the floor with my sister and play Barbies.” His lips upturn warmly and his eyes go soft. “He was a big guy as you can imagine, so that was no small task.”
My heart swells with appreciation that Jonah was able to experience a good dad, even if only for twelve years. The fact that he has good memories to carry with him is more than I could hope for. “He sounds amazing.”
“He was.”
“How did he die?” The question is airborne before I realize the boldness of my intrusion. I drop my gaze, immediately wanting to take it back.
Silence fills the space between us, sucking the oxygen from my lungs. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question. Knowing someone for three days hardly constitutes this type of soul exposing confession.
“I’m sorry, it’s none of my—”
“Hit by a drunk driver.”
I meet his gaze and almost stumble backwards at the agony in his eyes. He’s not angry. He’s heart broken. My eyes burn and I swallow hard.
“He was killed instantly. I was so pissed off. It seemed so unfair. I thought if I could beat the shit out of someone, make them hurt as badly as I was hurting, I’d feel better.” Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath. “Didn’t work.”
My hands itch to soothe him with my touch, even if only to grab his hand and let him know I’m here and that I understand.
According to the local media, he’s a private guy. He never exposes information about his family or personal life. Sharing that with me took a lot of courage. For all he knows, I could run out and sell his story to the papers. But he trusted me. And the best way to pay him back is to trust him in return.
“My mom moved here from Colombia with her parents when she was eight.” I clear my throat. I’m nervous. I’ve only told this story to Eve and Guy. My palms sweat and I busy my hands picking at a shop towel. “I guess they came here for the job opportunities that Las Vegas had to offer. My grandparents were working at the MGM when a fire broke out in one of the restaurants. Back then, there were no sprinklers in that part of the casino. Eighty-five people died, including them.”
“I’ve heard about that fire. They call it the worst disaster in Las Vegas history.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. My mom was fifteen. She had no family here and wasn’t a legal adult so she had to go live in a group home. At eighteen she had to leave and find a job and somewhere to live.” I take a deep breath as I prepare for the final blow.
“That’s when she met…” I’m afraid to say his name. If Jonah knew whose blood runs through my veins, he’d probably never speak to me again. Deep down I know that our working relationship will end someday, but I’m not ready to give it up yet. “She took the first opportunity she could find.”
“Oh, did she get a casino job like—”
“My mom’s a prostitute.” Hearing the words out loud sound so much worse than they did in my head. I drop my gaze to the floor, afraid to look up and see the disappointment—or worse, disgust—in Jonah’s eyes.
Seconds pass. He’s completely silent. So much for not losing his friendship.
Jonah
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just throw it out there like that.” She laughs uncomfortably and studies the ends of her hair.
Hearing those words come from this girl? I’m in shock.
Living in Las Vegas, prostitution is fairly common. It’s illegal outside of a licensed brothel, but that doesn’t stop a few key players from maintaining the business. But to think that this beautiful woman, so innocent and unaffected, was raised in that world.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I understand. You probably shouldn’t be associating with people like me, what with your big fight coming up.” She turns away from the workbench and grabs her backpack. Is she leaving?
My mind scrambles for the right thing to say, but a frantic need to keep her here moves my body first.
She heads for the door and I grab her arm. “No, wait. Don’t go.”
She’s silent, her back to me, head drooping between her shoulders.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or ashamed. I’m just surprised that someone as innocent and open as you could have been raised—”
“By a hooker.” She tugs against my hold, but I don’t let go. Her head drops even lower. “Just say it, Jonah.”
Pain twists in my chest at the demoralized sound in her voice. She sat and listened to me talk about my family and share my pain, but the second she opens up, I treat her like a leper.
“Look, Raven, I’m not good at this . . . relating to people and sharing. Fuck.” I breathe deep and search for the right words to keep her from pushing me away. “I think you’re amazing.” Her muscles tense beneath my hand. “It doesn’t matter how you were raised or who you were raised by. All that matters is who you are now.”
She turns toward me, her eyebrows pinched and her mouth in a flat line.
I release her arm and shove my hands in my pockets to keep from grabbing her and kissing that look off her face. “The woman I see right now, she’s something special.”
Her pinched eyebrows dissolve into wide eyes, and a dazzling smile threatens to send me to my knees.
“Thank you.” Her words are said in that breathy way that I want to feel against my lips.
We stand only a foot apart, lost in the intensity of what we’ve just shared, giving each other a little piece of ourselves. I’m balancing on the edge of something huge. I try to push back, clawing my way to solid ground, when everything in me screams to swan dive off the precipice.
My emotions swirl in a cocktail of confusion, desire warring with self-preservation. But through this, one thing is clear. There is no working this girl out of my system. From the moment she walked out of Guy’s Garage, she burrowed in deep. This whole time I’ve been kicking and fighting against her pull. What if I just let go?
I’ve been avoiding this since the day I left home, not wanting to be responsible for another person’s happiness and wellbeing. But locked into the aquamarine eyes of the woman in front of me, I realize I’d give up everything for the chance to take care of her.
I have a choice to make, and screwing her out of my system isn’t one of them: face my fears and take a shot at a relationship or let her go. She’ll go on living her life until someone worthy of her love comes along.
Oh, hell no!
My teeth clench and possessive fury twists my gut. The thought of her loving some piece of shit with her gorgeous body, some other guy’s hands tangled in her hair as he devours her mouth, brings a growl from my chest.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Raven?”
“What? No!” Her response comes out fast and defensive.
Well, thank f**k for that.
My lips curl so hard my cheeks ache. Decision made.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
She chews on her lip and looks to the floor. “Um . . . tomorrow is Saturday. I’m off.”
I step closer—so close that I can feel the heat coming off her body. Her breath catches and I detect the unmistakable lust in her eyes. “Jonah?”
The way she says my name saturates my blood with arousal, and I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head.
“Come over tomorrow. I’m having a barbeque. I want you there.” My voice sounds deep and gravelly in my own ears. I’m not taking no for an answer. I can’t. I want her, and now that I’ve stopped fighting it, I can’t get her soon enough.
“Okay.”
I grin at her simple answer to what wasn’t a question. I cup her face then slide my hand back to fork my fingers into her hair at her nape. Her eyes flutter closed. Warmth explodes in my chest, flooding my veins and making my heart race. As much as I want to kiss her, I force myself to step back.
“Let’s get back to work.” I turn back to the Impala.
The tiny whimper from her gives me hope. She’s just as wound up as I am. If the sexual tension is already this high, what will the sex be like?