Good, Bad...Better

Mingled hurt and anger tasted bitter in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry. What did he say, exactly?”

“He said he didn’t want you to have anything to do with a loser like me.”

The words were sharp and painful as a slap. “How dare he call you a loser!”

“I don’t know. By his standards, that’s exactly what I am.” He turned away, walking faster.

She ran to catch up to him and grabbed his hand. “Stop.”

He slowed, then halted and turned to face her. “What? You don’t have to apologize or make excuses for your father. I just wanted you to know what he did.”

“I know.” She kept hold of his hand, half-afraid at any moment he’d leave her here, before she could do or say everything she wanted. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of his shadowed face, his dark eyes fixed on her, stole her words away. All she could do was let feeling take over. Standing on tiptoe, she slipped her arms around him and put her mouth on his.

For a man who looked so hard, his lips were soft. Soft and warm and skillful. For one-hundredth of a second, he froze, absolutely still. Then his arms went around her, crushing her to him. His mouth was firm and insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, claiming her the way an explorer claims new territory.

She felt seared by that kiss, all trivialities burned away, reduced to elemental need and longing. She arched against him and he nudged her legs apart, guiding his thigh between hers.

It was all she could do not to rub shamelessly against him, to ease the ache building inside her. And all the while, he continued to make love to her with his mouth, building the fire inside her.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, lost to passion and need. He was the first to break away. He raised his head and shook it, like a man recovering from a blow. Looking dazed, he stared down at her. She sagged in his arms, the taste of him still in her mouth, the feel of his beard stubble still rough on her skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He stepped back, but kept hold of her. Otherwise, she might have slid to the ground, her trembling legs too weak to hold her up.

She managed a shaky smile. “I’m doing what I want. Being selfish for a change.”

He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” She reached for him again, but he stepped back.

“Why? Let’s face it, I’m not really your type.”

She frowned. “What do you think is my type?”

“I don’t know. Some guy who wears a suit and works in an office and drives a Beemer.”

She made a face. “Somebody boring.”

“Somebody safe.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being safe!” She shoved him back, away from her. Couldn’t he, of all people, understand that? “Maybe I want a little danger in my life.”

“Then take up skydiving.”

She didn’t even realize she’d put her hand up to cover her tattoo until she noticed him staring at it. She flushed.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re still trying to get your old man to take off the cuffs and let you go to Chicago to join that dance troupe.” He nodded. “If he thinks we’re together, he might decide sending you away is better than having you stay here with me.”

She raised her chin. “That’s one possibility. Another is that he’ll realize I’m determined to live my own life, whether or not I have his approval.”

“Then maybe he’s mad enough to see to it you’re kicked out of the dance troupe.”

She shoved down the doubt that threatened to overtake her. “I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Right.” His voice was scornful. “I can tell you’re a big risk taker.”

His eyes burned into her, daring her to deny the truth. That was the trouble with truth, though—everyone had their own version. Her father had his and Zach had his. And then there was her version—different because she didn’t necessarily believe she had to be, or act, the way they saw her.

Fine. If he wanted truth, she’d give it to him. “There’s another reason I want to…to be with you. A more personal reason.”

He was silent, waiting, so she took a deep breath and continued. “That first day in your shop, when I said I wasn’t a virgin, that wasn’t exactly true.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” He turned and started to walk away.

She lunged forward and caught his arm. “No, wait. I mean, I’m not really a virgin. I have had sex. Just not great sex.”

Was that a trick of light, or was he trying not to smile? “You think with me you’ll have great sex? I’m flattered.”