Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (11 page)

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with you. He’s been dancing around you ever since he got here. He’s willing to stand on his head, do whatever it takes, but he doesn’t have the first clue as to what that is. The problem as I see it is that I’m not sure you know what you want either.”

“I don’t want anything from Storm, except for him to leave me the heck alone.”

“If you’re going to lie, Bree, you’d better work on your body language, because from the male perspective, you’re saying the complete opposite.” Francis stood. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

He took Bree’s hand and muscled her off the barstool. What was it with men moving her around like a pawn on a chessboard? “I don’t want to dance.”

“No”—Francis dragged her to the dance floor—“you
just don’t want to dance with me or Daniel—who looks like he’s getting busy with the girl who was after Storm for most of the night while you were AWOL. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take care of your partner problem in a minute.”

“What are you talking about?”

Francis pulled her into his huge arms. “You’ll see. Just give it a few minutes.”

She and Francis became friends when Pete gave Francis an ultimatum—work at the bar to pay off the stiches Logan had to get due to the beating Francis inflicted on him or Pete would call the cops. Pete’s influence had ultimately helped Francis turn his life around.

Dancing with Francis was not new to her. Hell, he’d taken her to her senior prom; of course, he’d spent most of the night mooning over Patrice. It hadn’t bothered her—Francis had always been a good friend and nothing more. It took Patrice a while to figure out that under that cocky, muscled, rebel-without-a-cause exterior beat the heart of a gentle soul.

“I remember you crying on my shoulder after Storm left. I didn’t know it then, but you were in love with him.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not talking about it. I’m just stating the facts. Was he in love with you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The only one Storm has ever loved is himself.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

“Yeah, and why is that?”

“Because even though he’s dancing with my wife, he looks about ready to kill me. Look for yourself.”

Francis turned, and sure enough, Storm was scowling.
“Maybe Patrice is raking him over the coals. She’s not much for respecting a person’s privacy. She’ll dig and dig and dig to get what she wants out of someone.”

“Either way, I’m going to solve the problem.”

Before Bree knew it, she was in Storm’s arms, staring into angry eyes. She didn’t know how to disengage herself without making a scene. “Someone piss in your beer or something?”

“Or something.”

Rocki and Jake were singing about it being a quarter after one, which it was; about being a little drunk, which she was; and feeling all alone—she wasn’t even going there. Bree got sucked into Storm’s fathomless eyes just as Rocki belted out the words, “I need you now,” and the tension in his body became palpable.

“We’re leaving.”

“Why?” Bree pulled her gaze away from Storm and realized he’d danced her right to the door to the back stairway.

“You and I have things to settle before tomorrow if we’re going to make this work.”

“Make what work?”

“Upstairs.”

“We haven’t said good-bye to Francis, Patrice, and Dan—”

“Now.”

“But—” Bree’s feet left the floor; she let out a squeal and wrapped her arms and legs around Storm. He took the stairs two at a time. Bree held on; she was afraid of falling. “I’m not a piece of furniture you can put anywhere you want.”

“Don’t I know it.”

He set her down to open the door, and she slugged
him. The jerk didn’t even grunt. His stomach was as hard as his head.

The door yawned open. “Get inside.”

Bree crossed her arms. “No.”

 * * *

Storm had spent the entire night on a slow burn. The damn woman was driving him insane. “Move it, or I’ll move you myself.”

“You wouldn’t—”

He picked her up, carried her inside, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, and tossed her on the couch instead of where he wanted her—his bed. He scrubbed his hand over his face as she scrambled up and shoved him.

“I’m not going to take this crap from you, Daniel, or anyone else for that matter. Don’t ever pick me up again.”

“I never treated you like Daniel—don’t go there if you know what’s good for you. We need to talk. Alone. So stop arguing with me.” She looked about ready to blow. “I asked nicely—”

“You did not. You demanded. I don’t work for you. You work for me. And nobody manhandles me. Nobody kisses me—” Bree looked as if she shocked herself by admitting it. Tonight alone he’d counted no fewer than a dozen guys trying to pick her up—not including Dan. If no one but he was kissing her, it wasn’t for lack of interest on anyone’s part but hers.

“Sounds like a personal problem. And if you remember, I wasn’t the only one doing the kissing.” Damn, he wanted her. He took a step closer, invading her personal space, and got a whiff of her scent, citrus and scotch. “You kissed me back.”

She sputtered and then clapped her mouth shut. She seemed to be counting to ten, trying to rein in that vicious temper of hers. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Us.”

“There is no us.” Her spine stiffened, and every muscle in her face and neck did too. So much for counting to ten. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Could have fooled me. If there’s nothing to talk about, why did you go out on a revenge date with that asshole Dickerbocker, and why have you been avoiding me ever since you returned?”

“I went to a benefit with Daniel. We were not on a date, and it had absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Right, try selling that somewhere else, Breezy. Too bad it backfired on you.”

“News flash, Storm. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Daniel and I are—”

“Finished. If he ever lays a hand on you again, I’ll break it off and mail it back to him via China.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting myself. I thought you learned that lesson last night.”

“Just remember who ended up on top. But that’s not the point here. The point is that we”—he pointed to her and then to himself—“meaning you and I—the two of us have to figure out how to work together before Pete comes home tomorrow. We’re not going to do it by you sniping at me, avoiding me, parading Dan-the-man or some other sorry excuse for a date in front of me, or by telling me to pack up and go back to Auckland.”

“I don’t snipe—”

“Liar.” He tried very hard not to smile. But damn, it was difficult. He didn’t think there was anything more attractive than a pissed-off Breezy Collins.

“Fine.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and stepped back, avoiding him again. “You want to get along? Just do what I tell you to do from now on and leave me alone the rest of the time.” She crossed her arms, which only showed off her cleavage, and his mouth went dry. “There, it’s all settled. I’m done. Good night.”

She spun around so quickly, he almost missed when he reached for her. “Not so fast. I’m not good at following orders, and I don’t work for you.” He didn’t mention that the last thing he wanted to do was leave her alone. No, he wanted to leave her screaming his name, begging for more.

“You do when you’re in my bar—”

“Pete’s bar—”

“I’m the manager. I run it. I’m the boss.”

“Do you think I’m going to ditch my career and steal your job?”

She took a deep breath, as if the thought that he might scared the hell out of her. “No.”

“Good, because there’s no way in hell I’d ever work the bar again. So, if you’re not afraid of me taking over your territory, why are you having such a problem with this?”

“It’s not this, Storm. It’s you. I don’t like you, I don’t want you here, and I don’t trust you as far as I can toss the Statue of Liberty, one handed.”

“Because of what happened between us—”

“I told you. There is no us. There never was.”

“Bullshit. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t tell me that you don’t like me, don’t trust me, and don’t want me here because I left, and then deny that my leaving hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I let it get out of hand. I’m so sorry I left like I did.”

“You didn’t leave; you ran.” For a moment he saw the look that had haunted him for the last eleven years; it was the same look he saw on her face when she realized he was taking off. Then she blinked and it was gone, replaced by a pissed-off woman.

“I…” Fuck, he’d panicked. He’d run when he realized she was a virgin. “I was afraid.” What must that have done to a seventeen-year-old girl? He didn’t have much of a code of honor back then, but he’d never taken anyone’s virginity. “I had to leave. I couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t take you with me. And Pop—if he thought I ever…I couldn’t do that to him.”

“You ran away from me because of Pete?”

“No. Not because of Pop. This is coming out all wrong.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and remembered the fear. The enormity of the emotions being with Bree had brought to the surface. She wasn’t just another fuck, and that was all he’d ever had, all he wanted to have. Until Breezy. “If I had stayed with you, if we had made love, I would have been trapped here.” He would never have been able to leave her. Hell, if the ship hadn’t set sail that next morning, if there hadn’t been miles of ocean between them, and if he hadn’t been ten stories above the surface, he would have jumped off the damn boat and swum back to her. Losing her almost killed him. “In the end, it was better for both of us that I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me.” She stared at him with hard, cold emerald green eyes. “You threw me away.”

“I did you a favor.”

“Well, thanks for nothing.” She turned on her heel, went into her room, and slammed the door behind her.

 * * *

Bree was trapped in her room, planning her escape as she hugged the pillow to her chest.

It would have been nice if she’d thought to use the bathroom before she made her door-slamming, thanks-for-nothing exit. She’d waited hours and couldn’t hold it any longer. It was three in the morning. The coast had to be clear—heck, she hadn’t heard a sound since she’d stopped crying hours ago. Right now, her teeth were floating, and she could really use a handful of aspirin to combat the headache she got every time she spent more than a few minutes crying. She hated to cry. Worse yet, she wasn’t one of those pretty criers. No, her face got all blotchy, her eyes swelled, and her makeup ran like a racehorse. With her, there was no such thing as waterproof mascara.

She wasn’t sure which emotion had been stronger, anger or sadness tinged with regret. Not that it really mattered—both made her cry. She was the only person she knew who teared up when spitting mad. Now, she was angrier with herself than with anyone else. Years ago, she’d sworn she’d shed the last tear over Storm Decker. She’d been wrong.

Bree rolled out of bed and blew her nose. Talking about it, something she’d always refused to do, hadn’t helped like everyone had said it would. No, it just hurt more. It was much easier to take all that nastiness and lock it in the deep recesses of her mind. After all, it wasn’t as if she wanted to forget; she just wanted to survive. Remembering should keep her from making the same stupid mistake. As she fought through the anger and tears, she’d made a very important decision. She was going to take whatever Storm had to offer. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down around him; she wouldn’t fall in love with him again. But then, sex had nothing to
do with love—that she’d learned from experience. She was a grown woman, in control of her own emotions, and she couldn’t think of one good reason not to have her way with the man. She threw on a ratty old T-shirt and boxer shorts, then crept to the bathroom. She’d talk to him in the morning and tell him exactly what she wanted. She wanted him, no illusions, no strings, just sex. Maybe then she’d figure out what all the fuss was about and get him out of her system.

Bree took care of her near-bursting bladder, brushed her teeth, and washed her face. She turned off the bathroom light and snuck out, patting her blotchy, wet face with a towel on the way to the kitchen and the Excedrin. She turned into the dark living room and ran into Storm Decker’s naked chest.

Stepping back, he hit the lights. From the way his 501s were buttoned halfway, he wore nothing else. Damn him.

“It’s about time you came out. I was worried about you.”

“Hate to break it to you, Storm, but I’m hardly the suicidal type. I have too many people depending on me.”

“I heard you crying.”

She stepped around him and slipped into the kitchen, opened the cabinet to the left of the sink, and grabbed the Excedrin bottle. It gave her something other than Storm to wrestle with. “I cry when I’m pissed, and believe me, I’m as pissed as you are arrogant.” She popped the childproof top and threw four into her mouth, turned on the spigot, and drank right from the tap before swiping her mouth with the towel.

“Arrogant?”

She turned, avoiding his eyes and stared over his shoulder. “Did it ever occur to you that I knew you were
leaving back then? I mean, everyone knew you were going into the merchant marines—you might as well have put it on a billboard. Did you think I planned to trap you?”

“Not consciously, no. But that’s how it would have turned out.”

Bree didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “God, you’re such a conceited ass.”

He crossed his arms over his gorgeous chest, looking at her as though she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had.

“I never wanted you.”

His eyes just about bugged out, and streaks of red, either from anger or embarrassment, slashed across his well-defined cheekbones.

“Okay”—she patted his chest—“I wanted you, but not for more than a month or two. Not for more than sex. Believe me when I say I’ve never named our future children.”

“What?” He took a giant step back, as if the thought might be enough to send him packing—it probably was. That was so not her problem. As a matter of fact, she enjoyed knowing she could scare him.

“I was seventeen, madly in love with you, and I wanted you in every way my dirty little mind could imagine. I may have been young, but I was never delusional. I knew you were leaving. I had plans for a life and a future for myself without you.” Okay, so she made them the night he walked out on her. “I didn’t wait around for you. I put an end to that.”