Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel) (2 page)

TWO

Marissa

Nash stops kissing me just as I was about to lose myself to him. That would’ve been a disaster.

Wouldn’t it?

I hold my breath as he stares down at me. Even in the low light, I can see the awareness come back into his black eyes. Something else had hold of him. And something in me liked it, which is totally
not
like me at all. But, then again, nothing seems to be the same since I was abducted. Why should I expect this to be any different?

I wonder absently if my life will ever be the same again. And if I even want it to be.

I feel slightly bereft when Nash moves off me and flops back onto the bed, flinging his arm over his eyes.

“You should probably stay away from me.” His voice is a low rumble in the quiet darkness.

“I know,” I reply in a moment of bald honesty. And I
do
know. He’s right. I
should
stay away from him. But I also know, deep down in some newly unearthed part of me, that I won’t. That I can’t. I’m drawn to him like I’m drawn to water or air. I don’t know why and I’m not entirely comfortable with it, but I’m smart enough and rational enough to admit it, to recognize and to realize that I need to deal with it. The question is: How?

After a few seconds of silence, Nash jerks his arm away from his face and turns his head to glare at me. “Then what the hell are you still doing here?”

I stare into the fiery, furious depths of his eyes and still, despite the danger I
know
lurks within them, within
him
, I can’t bring myself to get up and walk away. To distance myself from him. I can’t. Not just yet.

“Because I need you,” I say simply. And I do. To make me feel protected. Safe.

Nash opens his mouth as if he’s going to reply, but no words come out. He just looks at me, looks
into me
with those cold-and-hot-at-the-same-time eyes of his. They’re so much like Cash’s, like the Nash I thought I knew, but they’re also nothing like them. Nothing like anything I’ve ever seen before.

Seen or felt.

After a long pause, he finally speaks. “I’m trouble.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

“You’ll probably get hurt.”

I gulp. I know it’s true, but hearing the words, out loud, acknowledging them, is something else entirely. “I know,” I admit.

“Then you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I know,” I say again, wondering if I’ve lost my mind as well as my vocabulary.

After a few more seconds of staring at me, Nash turns gingerly onto his unwounded side. “Roll over,” he says gruffly.

I’m not sure why, but I do as he says without asking questions. It makes me pretty certain that yes, I
have
lost my mind.

On my side, facing away from him, I fold my hands under my cheek. My mind races with questions that have no answers and images that haunt me from the darkness. Just as a sense of panic starts to creep up from my chest and lodge in my throat, Nash drapes his arm over my waist, pulling me toward him, snugging me up into the curve of his body. He does it roughly, almost grudgingly. I don’t get the feeling that he’s giving me comfort so much as giving in and getting some for himself. It’s almost as though he resists the help, the emotion of other people. He’s a loner, stranded on an island of anger and bitterness. He needs rescuing. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Regardless of his motives, the effect is still the same. In fact, the thought that he might need me as much as I feel like I need him intensifies it. Instantly, my mind stills and the panic quiets. That’s the moment I realize that yes, he
is
trouble. And that no, it won’t keep me away from him. Nothing will.

And I don’t know why.

* * *

When next I open my eyes, I can see streaks of daylight peeking beneath the edge of my curtains. I listen to the sounds around me.

Nash’s breathing is deep and even where it fans the side of my neck. A chill runs through me at the feel of his hard body pressed against my back.

I don’t know what has gotten into me. I’ve never reacted to a man this way. Not even close. And I dated his brother, for God’s sake! But it was nothing like this. This is something more, something wild. Something . . . different.

I hear the click of a door shutting. It sounded like it came from Olivia’s room. One of them must be up.

Olivia.

Guilt washes through me when I think of her. How in the world she could be so kind to me, to risk so much to save me when I’ve treated her so badly, is truly beyond my comprehension. It makes me want to be worthy of that generosity and sincerity, although I doubt I ever could be.

An idea strikes me, so I move slowly away from Nash and slip out of the bed, padding quietly to the kitchen. I’m pleased to see that Olivia kept the fridge stocked while I was gone. Pulling eggs from the cubby inside the door, I open the freezer, too, taking out sausage patties and hash browns and laying it all on the counter. I grab a bowl and three skillets of varying sizes from the cabinet and set them on the stove. Looking proudly at my progress thus far, I push up my sleeves, ready to dig in and make a great breakfast for everyone. I jump, startled, when I hear a throat clear behind me.

I turn around, a big smile in place, fully expecting to see Olivia standing in the doorway. The voltage of the gesture, as well as the sincerity, dims considerably when I see Cash poised there instead.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast,” I respond, trying hard to rid my tone of sarcasm as I turn back to the food. “What’s it look like?”

“You don’t cook,” Cash says flatly.

“It’s never too late to start.” I don’t bother to look at him; I keep my attention focused on the eggs I’m cracking into a mixing bowl.

“You can drop the act, Marissa. It’s just us. You don’t have to pretend for me. You forget, I
know
you.”

“Maybe you
used to
know me, as much as two people like us could’ve known each other, but that’s in the past. Things are different now.”

“Oh really?” There’s no doubt he feels that’s completely impossible. And that makes me angry.

I whirl to face him, pointing my whisk like an accusing weapon. “Don’t act like you were any better than me. You lied to everyone in your life, everyone you called a friend or coworker. You used me for my position, to get close to my father, to keep your job at the firm. You were more than happy to do whatever you had to do to achieve your goals. Don’t you dare get all pious and spit your righteous indignation at me. Don’t
you
forget that I know
you
, too.”

It only makes me angrier that he looks completely unflustered. “True. But that wasn’t the real me. You never knew the real me. Only the person I let you see, the act I put on for everyone else’s benefit.”

“Judge all you want. Justify your actions all you want. I don’t really care what you think, and I don’t have to prove anything to you. I owe Olivia. As long as I can prove myself to her, I don’t give a damn what you think.”

With that, I turn back to my bowl full of raw eggs, diving in with my whisk and beating the crap out of them.

The thing that makes me angriest is that Cash is right. I don’t deserve a second chance. I don’t deserve anybody’s trust or confidence. They’ve all seen what I was like. I’ve made an impression that I may well never be able to live down.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. At this point, there are few opinions I actually care about. I’ll just have to focus on those and put the rest out of my mind.

I hear the shuffle of Cash’s bare feet as he leaves the kitchen. They stop at the last minute, so I stop whisking to listen.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Marissa. Not even someone like you deserved to be dragged into the shitstorm of my life.”

I say nothing, just listen to the quiet as he waits for a response, gets none, and then walks away. I try to ignore how his obvious distaste for me stings. I don’t really care what he thinks, but it’s disturbing to think anyone feels that way about me. Was I really that bad?

Before I can start down the horrible road of self-loathing, I hear another voice.

“Ignore him, Marissa.” This time it
is
Olivia standing in the doorway when I turn. She looks tousled and sleepy and sweet, as always. I’m a little embarrassed that she heard what he said. “He’s like a bear with a thorn in his paw this morning. I don’t know what his problem is.” Her grin is kind. I know she’s trying to excuse his behavior, but somehow that just makes me feel worse. Has she always come to my defense this way? And have I always been this undeserving of it?

My stomach curls into a sick knot. I know the answer to that question.

Yes.

“You don’t have to cover for him, Liv. I can only imagine how hard it would be to believe someone can have a change of heart overnight.”

She eases on into the kitchen and perches on one of the bar stools at the island. “That might be true if something so . . . drastic weren’t involved. But Marissa, you were kidnapped. I mean, you had no idea what was going on, that you were even in danger. None of us did. No one thought you might get hurt. Or grabbed. That’s enough to change anyone’s perspective.”

I smile at her before I turn back to the eggs. I give them a few more strokes before pouring them into the hot, buttery skillet. “I guess it’s one of those things that I’ll have to prove with time.”

She says nothing at first, but then she appears at my side, leaning over the stove until I meet her eyes. “You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. You’ve been through a lot. You should be concentrating on getting your life back in order.”

“It’s not out of order.”

“You came home early from a trip, then disappeared for a couple of days. Um, yeah. I’m pretty sure you’ll have some questions to answer.”

I shrug. “Maybe. But I don’t owe anyone answers. Not one of the people in my life really cares about me. Not really.” Just saying the words aloud is like holding a searing hot branding iron to my heart. Because it’s true. “Besides, I’m still supposed to be out of town, so . . .”

“Marissa, I care about you. I hope you know that. And your father cares about you. Your mother. I’m sure you have friends who care about what happens to you. It might not seem like it right now, but—”

“Liv, you’re so sweet for trying to make me feel better, but you’ve seen the people I’ve surrounded myself with. You went to that art exhibition. I know and work with and spend time with most of the people there. And they’re horrible, Liv. Horrible! You saw that.”

I see her start to say something, see her
want
to say something, but there’s nothing to say. She knows I’m right.

“Look, Marissa. You’re in the unique position of getting a second chance, a chance to make different choices and live life in a better way. Everybody has . . . unsavory people they have to deal with, but you can’t hide from them. You just have to tolerate them the best you can.”

“I know I can’t hide. Not forever, anyway. But I don’t think I’m ready to get back out there just yet. Maybe in a few days . . .”

“So you’re not going to work today?”

“Nah. I think I’ll call and let them know I’m taking a couple of weeks off. I am sort of in between projects, too. Daddy was ‘grooming me,’” I say, holding up air quotes and rolling my eyes.

“I thought you liked that?”

I feel the frown pinch my eyebrows together as I give the eggs a stir. “I did. But I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

That’s not entirely true. There is something that I want, something that’s been plaguing me since I was drugged, manhandled, and kept against my will. But it’s something that would mean a huge life change for me, something that would be frowned on by practically everyone I know. Everyone except Liv. And probably Nash. The thing is, I’m just not sure I’m that brave yet. But I’m also not sure there’s another way forward. It certainly doesn’t
feel
like I have a choice.

THREE

Nash

The smell of cooking meat wakes me. I’m nothing if not a ravenous carnivore.

I open my eyes to an empty bed, which is probably best. Even though I wouldn’t mind losing myself in Marissa for a little while, now’s not the time. Her tenderness last night made me feel comforted, and that’s a very dangerous place to find myself. I have no desire to get involved with a woman. Any woman. That’s why I can say that her absence is a good thing all the way around.

I roll onto my back and feel a twinge of pain in my side. It’s not nearly as bad as it could be, but I don’t like that it still hurts
at all
. I’m sure the doc’s medicines helped, but I’m an extremely fast healer, so even the small amount of pain I’m feeling now is a surprise. A very unwelcome one.

Ignoring it as though there weren’t a gash in my side, I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the bed. My head swims a little and I stay put until it settles.

What the hell did that bastard have on that knife? Did he dip it in just enough poison to piss me off, but not kill me?

Standing, I make my way unsteadily to the bathroom to take a piss before facing a house full of people I don’t trust. I need to be at my best, and it irritates the shit out of me that I’m still hurting and that I’m dizzy. That means weakness, and weakness of any kind is something I don’t tolerate. At all.

I feel a little more like myself after I splash some water on my face and let my body adjust to being in an upright position. As I meet the reflection of my eyes in the mirror, I will myself to feel better. I don’t have time to be sick or hurt or sore. Therefore I will not. Still, the dull ache in my side ensures that I’m as surly as ever when my nose leads me to the kitchen.

I feel like growling when I see Marissa in front of the stove, putting pieces of sausage on a paper towel to drain. She’s so damn sexy, even doing something as mundane and domestic as cooking. But that’s not what bothers me. It’s the fact that I
like
seeing her doing such a simple caretaking activity. I’ve been away for a long time—away from civilization as I always knew it, away from home and love and life as I knew it. I learned not to miss it.

Until now.

I steel myself against feeling anything other than the desire to tear her pants off, put her up on the counter, and eat
her
for breakfast before the toast pops up. I remind myself that Marissa’s obvious interest in me is all fine and good as long as it stays purely physical. On my end, anyway. I don’t care what happens on her end. I can’t.

But me? I have to care about how involved I get. And the instant I start feeling anything . . . deeper, I’m out the door. I haven’t needed a woman in my life for years. Other than in the most physical, carnal way possible, that is. And I don’t ever plan to let one drag me into feeling
anything
other than lust.

She looks over her shoulder and laughs at something, and I notice Olivia sitting at the island. As Marissa turns back toward the stove, her eyes stumble to a stop on me. Her smile climbs a notch on the brilliance scale and she greets me. “Good morning.”

I grunt at her and walk to the fridge. I open it and make a show of looking around inside before I close it. Channeling everything into anger, like I’ve done for the last seven years, I lean my hip against the counter and give Marissa my full attention.

“So why the ass-kissing?”

Her smile wavers for a second before she returns to the sausage. It’s so quiet in the kitchen, the sizzle of the last few pieces of sausage in the still-hot skillet is almost deafening.

“Nash, that’s completely unfair. You—”

Marissa cuts Olivia off. “Olivia, it’s all right.”

After a long pause, during which Olivia obviously has to swallow some angry comments she was about to foist on me, she clears her throat. “Well, I guess I’ll go change and get Cash, then I’ll come set the table, ’kay?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer; she just gets up and walks out. She’s stiff as a board when she passes me and I imagine if she looked up, I’d see sparks shooting from her eyes.

Fiery little thing.

And I like fiery. To a point.

Fiery can be irrational and unstable, though, which really does nothing for me in a woman. I guess that’s one of the few things I’ve retained of my former self. I value an intelligent woman who knows what she wants. Except in bed. I like fiery in bed. Fiery and willing. There’s nothing better than a woman who’s game for anything.

The clatter of the spatula draws my attention back to Marissa. Her lips are set into a thin, tight line, which makes me think she’s got something to say.

And I’m right.

“You don’t know the kind of person I used to be,” she states quietly. “You don’t know what was expected of me, who and how my father expected me to be.”

“You don’t think I kept an eye on my brother when I came into town? I know
exactly
the kind of person you were.”

She glances up at me and I see a multitude of emotions play across her face, the last one being shame.

“Then you know I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“And you think kissing ass will accomplish that?”

“No, I . . . I . . . I guess I feel the need to make amends, especially to Olivia.”

“And that’ll make it all better? The way you treated her? The way you treated everyone?”

She whips her head toward me, a little temper flashing in her bright blue eyes. “Of course not! But consistently showing her that I care can’t hurt.”

I nod. I guess she’s right. “Why go to that much trouble? Who cares what she thinks? Who cares what
anybody
thinks?”

She looks me square in the eye and her chin tips up a notch. “I do. Very much.”

“But, then again, you always have, right? Isn’t that your Achilles’ heel? Perception? Gotta keep up appearances?”

Her mouth opens and closes like she wants to argue. Only she doesn’t. She can’t. Because I’m right.

Much faster than I would’ve liked, Olivia chooses this moment to return with Cash.

“We’ll see how long that lasts after you get back in the real world,” I whisper to Marissa.

“It smells wonderful, Marissa. And I’m starving, so I know these big cavemen are, too,” Olivia says a little too brightly. I watch Marissa collect herself and return Olivia’s overly ambitious smile. It’s starting to look like I’m in a room of many pretenders. Until my eyes meet Cash’s. He looks bothered. And he should. With guys like Duffy out there running loose, violent men and murderers, none of us are safe. The sooner Cash realizes that, the sooner he’ll agree with me that we have to take care of some business.

My way.

We stare silently at each other as the women get breakfast on the table. When we sit and I look around at everyone putting napkins in their lap and keeping their elbows off the table, I feel even further removed from civilization. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a meal with people who aren’t in a band of high seas criminals. I haven’t forgotten how to comport myself; it’s just an unwelcome reminder of the life I’ve missed out on. The life that Cash has been living in my absence.

“So, Nash, what are your plans now that you’re back in the land of the living?” Olivia asks me in a conversational tone.

“Apparently I’ve got a really nice condo uptown. I was thinking of moving back in,” I say pointedly, daring Cash to challenge me.

“Really? I thought you might stay here for a little while. At least until all this is resolved. I mean, Marissa could still be in danger. I thought . . .”

“You thought because she was stupid enough to date my brother, who was masquerading as me, and get herself into trouble, that I ought to stay and clean up the mess?”

I know nobody likes my comment, but it’s true and no one can argue it. I think that pisses them off more than anything. I don’t lie. I don’t pretend. I don’t treat them with kid gloves. I tell it like it is. It’s not my fault they don’t like hearing the harsh truth. But they’d better get used to it when I’m around. I’ve had to live with that razor-sharp bitch called reality for a lot of years. Yeah, it sucked. Hell yeah, it sucked! But at least I was always prepared. Nothing good ever comes from hiding from the truth. Nothing. Ever.

“I’m fine by myself,” Marissa chimes in before the tension can ratchet up any higher.

I look at her stunning face, at the tightness of her features, at the obvious discomfort reflected there, and I feel bad for being so . . . blunt when she’s trying so hard to be considerate.

“I guess I could stay here for a few days. You never know. If they come after you, I might get a chance to right a few wrongs without Dear Brother here’s permission.”

I slide a smug smile over at Cash. I know he doesn’t like the thought of me taking matters into my own hands any more than I like the thought of letting these psychopaths live. But, regardless of preference, we see who’s making the compromise. They’re not dead yet and I’m still here, playing by Cash’s rules. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe there’s some small part of the nice guy I used to be left inside me, some tiny wedge that’s holding me back. But that won’t always be the case. I’ll play along for a little while longer, but Cash is crazy if he thinks I won’t have my revenge. Because I will. Duffy, as well as the bastards who commissioned him to blow up my family’s boat, will pay dearly for what they cost me. It’s just a matter of time.

“Hopefully that won’t happen until we can talk to Dad and get some more information, get another plan together.”

“I’ve got a gash in my side that says they’re far from patient and far from finished, so you’d better make it fast,” I remind him, rubbing lightly over my aching wound.

“Then we need to get to Dad fast.”

“Agreed. So what are we waiting for? Let’s go today, get the ball rolling.”

“I’ve got a few things to do this morning, but my early afternoon is free. I just need to be back in time to pick up Olivia from school.”

“I told you I’m—” Olivia begins to argue, but Cash cuts her off.

“I know what you said, but I told you there’s nothing more important than making sure you’re safe. You better be glad I’m not going to class with you.”

He leans over to kiss the side of her neck and she grins. “I wouldn’t learn a thing if you were in my class.”

“I could make up for that later. I’m sure I could teach you a few things.”

She giggles and he nips playfully at her ear. Again, it gnaws at me that he’s been living this perfect life while I’ve been in exile. I’ve missed out on . . . everything.

Biting back all the snide comments I could make, I clear my throat and continue as if they’re not practically devouring each other in their heads.

“Obviously, I’m wide open, so . . .” I happen to glance over at Marissa and see that she looks more than a little uncomfortable. I’m not sure if it’s because her ex-boyfriend is gushing all over her cousin or if it’s something else. “Unless you have something you need to do today, Marissa. I can tag along and keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” she says graciously. Her expression still appears . . . bothered, though. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, anyway.”

“What, no work?”

“Everyone but my father thinks I’m still out of town, so I still have a few days off.”

“And do what?”

I’ve never been a fan of idle time.

She shrugs. “Maybe do a little research.”

“On . . .” I prompt.

Marissa clears her throat. For whatever reason, I get the feeling she’s uncomfortable with my questioning. “Criminal law.”

“Ahh,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “So I’m not the only one who wants revenge, then.”

She looks up at me. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Like Cash, I think there’s a way to do it legally and achieve all our goals.”

“All
our
goals?”

Twin pink spots appear on the apples of her cheeks. “Like it or not, we’re all in this together.”

“Exactly!” Olivia says emphatically. “Which is why we need to stick together.”

“Believe it or not, Nash is actually the brains in the family. He could probably be a huge help with research. Of course, you’d have to explain that to all the people at your father’s law firm.”

“I was thinking of going to the county library. You know, avoid . . . everybody.”

Oh yeah, Marissa’s definitely hiding from something. Or someone. For whatever reason, that intrigues me. She doesn’t seem like the type to run or hide. And, from what little I saw of her with my brother, she always seemed in control, so it surprises me to see her at such a loss. Of course, she
did
just get kidnapped. And dumped. All in a couple days’ time.

Damn, that’s one shitty week!

“Even better,” Cash says. “They’ll probably think Nash is some kind of criminal working on his case. No offense, man, but you do look kinda rough.”

He cringes and I laugh. “Luckily, I have no desire to please or deceive anyone about who and what I am, so . . .”

Cash sobers at my blatant reminder of the life of lies he’s lived. I know that was a low blow, but my temper is on a short fuse. Has been for about seven years.

After the last couple of days, my mood seems to be even darker than usual. Maybe I just need some tension relief.

I need to get laid.

My eyes and my thoughts go straight to Marissa. I’ll have her before it’s over with. And she’ll be begging me for it before I’m through. I just hope she can keep it physical. She’s been through enough without adding heartbreak to the mix. But then again, that’s not my problem.

Cash is right. You really are an asshole, man.

The problem is, I just can’t seem to find a reason to care.