Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (12 page)

Something flickered in his eyes, though she couldn’t tell what it was. “Don’t wanna keep talking?”

“Not really. Do you?”

He stared at her a second, then he reached out with one hand, his fingers sinking into her damp hair, exerting a gentle, relentless pressure, drawing her mouth down on his.

Her eyes closed, shivers racing through her as he parted her lips with his tongue, holding her in place as he kissed her, at first tentatively, lightly. Then, getting more demanding, exploring deeper into her mouth. She let him, sitting there in the bath with her eyes closed as he ate her up, devoured her, holding her completely still with a steady hand, as he nipped and bit and feasted on her.

Then at last he drew back, leaving her mouth tingling and almost bruised, the look in his eyes blazing. And slowly he exerted more pressure on the back of her head, easing her head down.

No prizes for guessing what he wanted.

Tamara shifted her position so she was lying between his thighs, her hands sliding up, reaching for the hard length of his cock. And when he pushed her head down, she opened her mouth and took him in, tasting water and salt and Zee.

She didn’t think about herself or her freedom or her choices. She listened to him, let the rough, guttural sounds of his pleasure be her guide. Let his hands in her hair set the pace, his fingers knotting into the damp strands, keeping her just where he wanted her.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of the water and the hard, muscular thighs on either side of her, the thrust of his hips and the slide of his cock in her mouth. He tasted good and she licked him like he was her favorite ice cream, curling one of her hands around the base of him, gripping his hip with the other. Then she looked up, circling the head of his cock with her tongue and his silver gaze met hers. So much heat and hunger in that look. It pierced her, sharp as a sword.

“Slower,” he ordered roughly, his fingers tightening in her hair, showing her what he wanted.

She shivered at the demand, slowing her movements, giving him long, languid strokes with her tongue, before closing her lips totally around him. Then she took him deep as she could, losing herself in the salty taste of him, in the musky, spicy scent of his body and the shift of the powerful muscles of his thighs.

He was pure physicality, raw and rough, and straight up. All power, all strength.

It changed something in her deep inside.

She wanted to drink him down, take some of that strength and rough physical honesty for herself. Cover herself in it until all the pain and the doubts had gone.

So she closed her eyes and lost herself completely, letting him guide her, take what he needed from her. Letting him fuck her mouth until the thrust of hips grew wild and the grip in her hair made her eyes water. Until he cursed and threw his head back, a low, gravelly roar escaping him, the sound of it echoing around the hard-tiled surfaces of the bathroom.

Afterward, the harsh sounds of his breathing filling her ears, he pulled her up for another soul-shattering kiss, his tongue in her mouth as if he wanted to taste himself on her.

She was panting by the time he released her. Then he scooped her up from the bath and dried her off himself, grabbing his wallet and pulling out a couple of condoms. She said nothing as he picked her up again and carried her into the bedroom, meeting him kiss for kiss as he put her on the bed.

Then he touched her, stroked her, took his time to caress her before protecting himself and pushing her back, sliding easily inside her. And she lost herself all over again, her legs around his waist, gripping on tight as he moved. Each stroke driving her further away from the person she’d made herself and closer to someone else. Someone new.

It was frightening and exhilarating and agonizing all at once.

She sobbed when she came, the pleasure tearing her apart, and all she could do was lie there as Zee buried his face in her neck, biting her as the pleasure took him, too.

For several minutes afterward neither of them moved or spoke. Then Zee eased from her, got off the bed, and left the room. He was gone for what seemed a long time and when he came back, he was fully dressed again.

Tamara lay on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she blinked at him, noting his clothes. “You’re going?”

He put a hand on the doorframe and leaned on it. “Gotta get up for work tomorrow.”

A creeping disappointment she didn’t want to acknowledge twisted in her gut. “You don’t have to leave,” she said before she could stop herself.

He looked at her a long moment. “Yeah, I do.”

She could hear it in his voice, the gentle reminder of the boundaries. The ones they’d both been reminding themselves of, her especially tonight. And part of her wanted to protest. Wanted to say no, he could stay. He could crawl in beside her and help her find herself again. Hold her in his arms, cradle her against that big, warm chest of his.

But those were stupid thoughts. Stupid wants. Because soon enough she’d have a husband to do that for her. A husband she knew better than a tattooed mechanic from Royal Road.

So all she said was, “Good night, then.”

He pushed away from the doorframe. “Good night, pretty girl.” And turned.

“Can I text you?” God, she hated the desperate sound of her voice.

He didn’t turn back. “Yeah.”

And then just like that he was gone.

G
ideon gave Zee a dark look as Zee stalked into the garage the next morning and headed over to the lockers to get his overalls.

“You’re late,” Gideon said, eyeing him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Slept in,” he replied curtly, getting his overalls out and starting to pull them on. Jesus, the last thing he felt like now was questions.

Gideon, who was standing by the Honda he’d spent the better part of two weeks rebuilding, put the wrench in his hand down and lifted an eyebrow. “You never sleep in.”

“Yeah, well I did this morning.” Zee slammed his locker closed with more force than was strictly necessary and moved over to the Chevy currently taking up space in the workshop.

There was a pause. “So what crawled up your butt?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He gave the Chevy’s engine a cursory look-over, then went to the workbench, trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing and what tool he needed. Except his foul temper got in the way and he couldn’t concentrate.

Fuck it. What the hell was he so pissed about? He’d spent a couple of hours with a hot woman, had three incredible orgasms, and now he was slamming doors and throwing tools around for reasons he couldn’t even begin to guess at himself.

“Okay. Don’t give me that shit, Zee.” Gideon leaned his hip against his bench and folded his arms. “You look like you could grind rocks with your fucking teeth.”

Goddamn Gideon. The guy took his role as parent/big brother figure way too seriously, especially given Zee wasn’t seventeen anymore. “It’s nothing.” Where the fuck was the wrench he wanted?

“Yeah, it is.” Gideon folded his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me about it, that’s fine, but I don’t want your fucking bad temper in the workshop. You know that. We got enough problems to deal with as it is let alone fielding any mistakes you might make because you’re too angry to do a proper job.”

Zee let out a breath. Gideon was strict about making sure any personal difficulties stayed out of the workshop, and that was part of why Zee liked working with him. There was something peaceful, something calm about working with engines. Making sure everything fit together, that it worked and if it didn’t, then you had to figure out why not. He liked that. It was easy to immerse himself in it, let the past and its demons lie.

At least, it had been easy. But today his head was full of Tamara, and not just her delicious body and carnal mouth. He couldn’t seem to forget what she’d told him about her brother, the vulnerable note in her voice making his protective instincts go crazy. Making him want to fix her too, just like he fixed an engine that wouldn’t work.

Obviously something had happened to her brother, because she’d been angry with him when he’d asked. Angry enough to rip him a new one with a few choice words.

He didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of Royal Road or the fact that he was a mechanic; he had his reasons for being here and they were good ones and none of anyone else’s business. Yet her words needled him. As if even though he didn’t care about anyone else, he cared about what
she
thought, which was just insane. He’d even felt the need to justify himself, which he never did.

And then, to make matters even worse, she’d apologized, then turned in his arms and asked him what he wanted. No one did that. No one just fucking asked him.

Then she’d gone down on him like a goddess, as if his pleasure were the only important thing in the entire world, and even though he knew it was only an apology, even though he knew not to read anything more into it, he’d felt a surge of possessiveness that was a fucking bad sign if ever there was one.

He didn’t get possessive over women and he didn’t get curious either. He made sure he kept his emotional distance. So why the hell he should be feeling that way about Tamara Goddamn Lennox he had no idea. Somehow she was getting under his skin and he didn’t like it.

She’d asked him to stay the night before and God help him, but some part of him had wanted to even though sleeping over wasn’t exactly the point of their encounters.

As if he’d forget. He’d promised her he’d live a good life, be a good person, and he was pretty sure that didn’t include screwing rich girls about to be engaged to be married.

Fuck, what the hell was he doing?

“Zee,” Gideon said firmly, “take the afternoon off. Come back when you’re feeling in a better goddamn mood.”

Zee glowered at his friend, but Gideon just looked back, unimpressed.

“It’s Tamara,” Zee said, because there was a lot he owed the guy, the truth being the least of it. But since he couldn’t tell Gideon that truth, not if he wanted to protect what he had here, he gave him something else instead. “The chick who came to the garage the other night.”

Gideon didn’t look especially surprised. “Oh, you mean the one you banged out back? That one?”

Oh, fucking wonderful.
“You heard that?”

“It was difficult not to.”

Zee cursed under his breath. Gideon hadn’t said anything to him afterward, but it wasn’t as if he or Tamara had been quiet that night. “Yeah, her.”

“So what’s the problem? She wanting more or something?”

“She’s a fucking financial intern from a big-deal family, living in a downtown loft the size of the entire gym. She’s not what I want.”

“Uh-huh. So you’re the one wanting more then?”

Zee gave the other man a belligerent look. “It’s just sex. That’s all it is.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re so pissed. Because it’s just sex.”

Zee cursed, shoving himself away from the workbench, the inexplicable anger burning a hole in his gut. “You know you’re right, I should just take the fucking afternoon off.”

Gideon shook his head. “Jesus, between you and Rachel, I’ve nearly got the full complement of assholes today. All I need is Zoe to get pissy and I’ll have the whole goddamn lot. Thank God Levi isn’t arriving till next month is all I can say.”

Zee flipped him the bird, then stalked over to the lockers and got out of his stupid damn overalls.

Gideon merely shrugged and went back to the Honda.

Once he was out of the garage, Zee shoved his hands in his pockets, that restless, antsy feeling mixing with his anger to become something more volatile, dangerous.

He turned toward Sugar Ink, Rachel’s tattoo parlor, wondering if he shouldn’t get a few more feathers for his phoenix, but then decided against it. Ever since Gideon had told Rachel about Levi getting out of jail, she’d been even pricklier than she normally was and he didn’t particularly feel like trading barbs with her right now.

Instead he called into the Royal Road Outreach Center to go over the program he’d sent them and see if they wanted any changes. They were more than happy with it, which eased his mood a little. Then he fell into conversation with some of the kids and that helped too, because it was clear some of them desperately needed some kind of direction, some kind of discipline.

Just like he had when he’d washed up there, a broken, grief-stricken seventeen-year-old with a huge chip on his shoulder and an anger management problem. Back then, he’d had Gideon to pull him out and set him on the right path, but these kids weren’t so lucky.

Or maybe they were, since they had him.

“
You’re a good person, Damian,
” Madison had said to him that night. “
You can make a difference to this world, no matter what your father says.
”

He’d clung to those words for a long time after she’d died and they guided him still. And he hoped that in turn, he could pass them on to these kids, help them find the better life that he now had.

He got back to the gym afterward feeling calmer, then spent the rest of the afternoon working out, trying to get rid of his remaining anger with a punching bag.

By the time the evening rolled around, he was good, ready for his fight at Gino’s that night. Calm and in control as usual.

The bar was packed out by the time he’d got there, with lots of newcomers come to try their luck up against the local champion. Money was already changing hands when he stepped into the circle chalked on the ground that marked the ring, the shouts of the onlookers echoing off the concrete surfaces of the bar’s basement, where they always held the fights.

Fuck, he loved the raw emotion of the crowds, the pumping energy that crackled through them. Here he could channel it, focus it. Let it touch the dark anger inside him and allow him to release it, transform it into a pure, controlled violence in a place where there were rules. Where every opponent knew them and went in with their eyes open, no surprises.

Madison probably wouldn’t have approved, but shit, he had to let out his dark side somewhere and this was the safest way he knew how to do it.

As the first guy stepped into the ring, Zee tried to get his head into the fight, gathering all the energy and focusing it, tuning out the sounds of the crowd, concentrating only on the man circling him, watching the expression on his face and the betraying flicker of his eyes. Waiting for the moves that everyone telegraphed sooner or later.

For some reason it took him longer than usual to find that still, quiet place inside him, the one Crazy Dave, his mentor, had taught him back when he’d been a fucked-up, angry teenager, though when his opponent finally came for him, it took Zee all of thirty seconds to end the fight once and for all.

The crowd roared, more money changing hands.

The next opponent came. Then the next. The fights beginning to blend, as they always did, into a round of circling, waiting, watching, looking for weaknesses, a chess game in earnest.

Then his last opponent went down and Zee leapt on him, his arm across the back of the guy’s neck, his knee in the small of the other man’s back. The man groaned and struggled, but Zee kept up the pressure. Eventually, his opponent cursed and conceded the fight, and Zee released him, rising to his feet and standing back.

That’s when he saw the man in the suit.

The guy wasn’t like the others, all roaring and shouting, but rather merely standing there in the middle of the crowd with his arms folded, staring at Zee. He wore a black three-piece suit like an undertaker, but unlike an undertaker he was smiling.

And even though Zee was a few feet away, the crowd between them, he felt like he’d been sucker-punched. Because he knew the man. It had been years, ten of them to be exact, but there was no mistaking those cold, dark eyes. That mirthless, menacing smile.

It was Victor Krupin, his father’s henchman.

Everything in him went on high alert, his muscles tensing, his hands coming up, his body automatically readying itself for another fight.

But Krupin only smiled that still familiar smile of his, as out of place and wrong as a smile on the face of a torturer. Then he casually turned around and strolled out of the basement without any hurry at all.

Zee’s heartbeat thundered in his head, the sound of the crowd becoming distorted and muffled, his blood slowly but surely turning to ice in his veins.

It had taken him a long time to stop looking over his shoulder. To stop glancing into the face of every stranger he passed, wondering if the person was one of his father’s minions out looking for him. To stop leaving threads taped carefully over his doors and windows in case his apartment had been broken into. To stop carrying the handgun he kept in the top drawer of his dresser.

But it was all for nothing.

Somehow, his father had finally found him.

* * *

Tamara stared at the phone ringing noisily on her desk. She knew who it was and really didn’t want to answer it, in no mood to speak to her mother today. Then again, her mother would just keep on calling until she answered so ignoring it wouldn’t work either.

Cursing under her breath, she reached out, picked up the offending piece of technology, and hit the answer button. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“Hi, honey.” Cassandra Lennox’s voice was full of her usual solicitousness. “Just checking up on you this morning, seeing if you’re feeling any better.”

Tamara looked at the spreadsheet open on her computer. Scott wanted all the data entered into it by the end of the day and it was already three
P.M.
She didn’t really have time to chat since she was only halfway through, but she knew her mother. Cassandra wouldn’t leave it alone until she’d been reassured. “Oh, I’m feeling much better today, Mom.”

She really wasn’t. She felt tired and gritty-eyed, and the raw places on her body ached.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about Zee. About the things he’d told her and the way he’d held her. And the secret she’d told him.

She had a sudden vision of confessing to her mother.
By the way, Mom. I told this mechanic from Royal Road about Will. About how he probably had schizophrenia even though you insisted everything was fine. No, I didn’t tell him anything else, but maybe if he’d stayed, I would have....

“Okay, that’s great to hear, honey.” There was a pause, but Tamara knew her mother wasn’t quite done, that there was another question she wanted to ask.

For some reason it made her stomach give a nervous flutter. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I can hear the ‘but.’ ”

Her mother gave a soft laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing really. Just . . . You know your boss was at the function last night, don’t you?”

Something cold wound down Tamara’s spine. She’d seen Scott across the room, had known he was going to be there, but she hadn’t spoken to him. “Yes, of course. And?”

There was a small silence.

“He was outside having a cigarette and he . . . saw you getting into a car with someone.”

The cold began to spread out, sending tendrils of ice through her chest, and she had to take a small silent breath to calm herself. “What someone?” Thankfully the question came out sounding much less sharp than she’d anticipated.