GirlMostLikelyTo (11 page)

Adam thought he could have stood here forever in the warmth
of the bathroom, wrapped in each other and soft towels. He held Wren tight
against him, wanting to keep her safe and knowing he was years too late. He’d
had everything. Top schools, the latest toys, the best computers, a new car on
his seventeenth birthday, another on his eighteenth after he’d written off the
first, a flat to live in while he was at university. His parents had given him
everything except their time and love.

“Aren’t we a pair,” she whispered. “I suspect you had
everything but the one thing you wanted. And I had nothing and wanted the same
thing.”

“They’re dead,” he blurted. “Killed in a car crash.”

Wren bit her lip and nodded. “It’s sad they died not knowing
what they were missing, what they could have had. My birth mother’s still
alive, as far as I know. She was very cruel, and I still wanted her to love me.
When I was little, she used to lock me in a room while she went out for the
night. When I was eleven she left me alone for two weeks while she took a
vacation with a new boyfriend. I went to school every day, cooked my meals and
no one ever found out.”

The surge of fury at the way she’d been treated made his
throat thicken. He routinely donated to children’s charities, though he knew
money was no substitute for love. He was touched she’d share this with him.

Wren nestled against him. “My life started when I was
thirteen—lucky for me—though it took me a while to accept it wouldn’t be ripped
away from me. I’d had so many years of being promised things and never getting
them, I had to learn how to trust. My new mum and dad
never
let me down.
I sometimes think I trust too much now. But that’s better than not trusting at
all, even if I sometimes get hurt.”

His heart ached to the point of pain. And that’s what she
was doing now, trusting him with her secrets. He could guess how much it had
cost her to tell him all this.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Blow-up dolls don’t babble on and—”

“Shhh.” He kissed her. A soft brush of lips and she melted
against him.

He knelt and finished drying her, started at her toes and
followed each pass of the towel with a brush of his lips. Wren threaded her
fingers in his hair and sighed. He reached no higher than the junction of her
thighs. She was too tempting. He kissed and licked the folds of her sex, sucked
and nipped her clit, worked faster and harder when he heard her breathing
change and felt a thrill of delight when she came on his face, her wetness
coating his chin, filling his mouth. He’d never been with anyone so responsive.

The way she exhaled his name made his stomach lurch.

The way she slumped, boneless, to curl up at his side on the
bathroom floor made his pulse race.

The way she fit so perfectly in his arms made his heart
sing.

I mustn’t hurt her. I
cannot
hurt her.

He carried her limp body to the bed, pulled the duvet over
them and lay watching as her eyes fluttered closed. Adam felt he should say
something and he wanted to, but he couldn’t find the right words. It seemed
vitally important he used exactly the right words to tell her how he felt.

What do I feel?

Happy. Content. Wanted.

Secure?

Then, much as he tried to hold them at bay, because he
was
happy and content and secure, the doubts crept in. They always did. He might be
a strong, controlled guy, but he hid his insecurities well, albeit under the
flimsiest of covers. He
was
happy. At this moment, he felt wanted. But
secure? No. He was merely basking in the afterglow of blistering sex. This was
not reality. No matter how much he wanted her, Wren would never be enough for
him. He could try but he’d fail. She deserved better. She deserved more.

It was his fault.

Everything was always his fault. Memories of being told he
wasn’t good enough, hadn’t worked hard enough, that his exam marks were
unacceptable, his piano playing deplorable, his behavior abysmal—awareness he
could never get anything right made him a failure as a son.
A bitter
disappointment.
The exact words his father had used when he received a
report from Adam’s school about his attitude and poor marks. His heart clenched
at the memory and he felt a rush of anger his parents could still hurt him after
all this time.

He stroked Wren’s cheek and she didn’t stir. “We were both
abused,” he whispered. “But in totally different ways. Our parents were
assholes who should never have had a child.”

Adam had astounded his school and his parents by not only
getting top grades in all his exams but winning two national prizes. He didn’t
change his attitude. He was surly, rude and arrogant, but as far as he was
concerned, he could behave in whatever way he wanted. He looked and sounded
cocksure of himself when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I wonder what would have happened if we’d met when we were
teenagers?” he murmured.

A girlfriend might have helped an unhappy young man with his
self-esteem but even then, he’d known he was bi. He’d never kissed a guy until
he was nineteen but he’d lusted after them for years, tormented at school by
crushes on older boys. He’d slept with several girls when he was a teenager,
never the same one twice. Once he’d enticed them into bed and fucked them, he
lost interest. He knew he’d broken hearts. They sent letters to tell him. Why
should he give a fuck? He cringed at the memory of how he’d behaved. He cringed
because he’d have treated Wren like the others.

In his early twenties, he found a man
and
a woman.
Except it turned out he wasn’t good enough for Bella outside the bedroom. He
thought he loved them both but the other guy was older, richer, with a booming
business. Steven had been happy to kick Adam out and the bastard offered to
marry Bella. The marriage lasted less than a year. Adam had checked. Steven’s
business didn’t go so well either. Adam had interfered. He sucked in a breath
at the rush of guilt. Bella walked out when Steven’s money dwindled, but she
hadn’t come looking for Adam.

While he was still stinging from Bella and Steven’s
rejection, his parents had died. He was forced to accept he’d never hear them
say they loved him, or that they were proud of him. Though he wasn’t proud of
himself.

He started his own company, using his parents’ money and the
computer skills he’d acquired at university, and made more money. He’d learned
not to care about anyone but himself and the money kept pouring in. He’d
learned to grab his pleasure where he could and not expect it to last. He
disappointed himself constantly.

Adam stared at Wren’s long lashes, curled on her cheek.
“After my parents died nine years ago, I tried to make myself a new man. Maybe
I’d have succeeded if I’d been thirteen years old and had your heart and
courage. I’m glad you found happiness.”

Making himself a new man was still an ongoing process,
though Caspar and Ally had worked their own little kick-start miracle. At least
he treated people with respect now. He’d always known he’d never find anyone to
really love him. But then he hadn’t thought he could… He looked down at Wren
and kissed her hair.

Was this merely hot sex or something more? Caspar had found
his soul mate in Ally. Adam had always thought the concept was a crock of shit,
but was Wren right for him? Was it more than pure chance she’d come back into
his life? From the moment he’d seen her staring up at him from the floor in
Ezispeke, he’d thought of little else. Except Tomas, who’d gotten right under
his skin. So did Wren fill his mind because he was shocked to see her again?
Because it reminded him of the time he’d lost his head in an Italian garden?

I am thirty years old, a millionaire several times over,
in control of my life, my work, but not my dick. What has she done to me?

He had to tell her. “I want to fuck you again. I want your
long legs wrapped around me. I want to watch the changes in your face as you
climax: need, anticipation, joy and release. I want to look into your eyes as I
make you come, not hide behind your back.”

He
needed
her in a way he’d not experienced before,
and he
had
to understand why. How could this be more than lust?

Twice in two days he’d been rocked by his reaction to
another person. Tomas’ features swam into his head, dark eyes pinning him, and
it unsettled Adam. A reminder he was bi and doomed to a life of quick fucks
with men and women because he couldn’t settle for one or the other. He’d tried
before and failed. If he carried on with this, Wren would be hurt. She’d read
erotic romances and fantasized, that was all. Big difference between hot dreams
and reality. He stared at her pale face and a fist clamped around his heart.

So what was he going to do? Ask Tomas if he fancied a
threesome? The guy couldn’t even follow through on what he’d started with Adam.
How could he subject Wren to that?

The ache in his chest worsened and he rubbed his ribs. He’d
already hurt her.

“I need to think, sweetheart. I need to leave before I pull
you into my arms and fuck you again and again until it loses all meaning. And I
need to leave because I’ll never be the man you deserve.”

He had to do the right thing, and waking a sweet and naïve
woman to tell her he didn’t know what he was doing, was definitely not the
right thing. He needed his head on straight before he talked to her.

But as Adam slipped out of bed, dressed and crept out of her
flat, he knew he’d let not just Wren down, but himself.

Wren opened her eyes when she heard the door of the
apartment quietly close. She swallowed hard and blinked. Tears trickled down
her cheeks, feeling as cold as icy fingers. He’d lain next to her—thinking, whispering—and
then he’d gone. Why?

He’d said he wanted her but that he didn’t deserve her. What
did that mean?

She’d watched his face, seen his pleasure, thrilled she’d
made him come so hard.

She’d made him laugh and her heart swelled when his face
creased in a smile.

She understood the shadow of pain in his eyes when he talked
of his childhood.
Really
understood.

She’d told him her secrets. Oh God, she never told anyone
any of that, but she’d opened her heart to him.

But it wasn’t enough. The connection wasn’t there. The sex
meant nothing. All his words meant nothing.

The pain in Wren’s chest made it hard to breathe. What had
she told herself? No more charming guys. No more
trusting
charming guys.
She curled into a ball and hugged her knees. She thought Adam would be
different and he was. He was worse because she wanted him more.

It stopped now. Right this moment. Because if she let it
carry on, and how easy it would be to do just that, in three weeks there would
be nothing left of her heart.

Wren rolled out of bed. She’d never sleep now. She picked up
the wet towels and took them into the bathroom. Her attention was drawn to a
box on top of the cabinet and she grabbed it. Something to keep her busy.

Only after she’d finished slathering on the hair dye did she
remember they’d used all the hot water.

Chapter Eleven

Tomas grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. Marco had told
him he could leave even though the club wasn’t yet closed. He slipped out of a
rear door into the alley that ran down the back of Cirque, his mind occupied by
Marco’s interest in Ezispeke. Was it as simple as the guy needing to find
someone to teach English to the women he trafficked into the UK? Why would he
care if their English was bad? Tomas didn’t want Wren working for Marco.
Tomorrow he’d try some of the other classes and find a guy to recommend. He
didn’t want to recommend anyone, but too late now to get a cop in undercover,
though—

The hard blow across the back of his knees sent Tomas
crashing to the ground. He thrust out his hands and managed to save his face
from kissing concrete but landed heavily and jarred his body. Aware only speed
would save him, he rolled, but a foot caught his ribs under his heart and
shunted him into the curb.
Ah shit, that hurt.
The sharp pain flashed
straight through to his back and locked his lungs. He glanced up at his
attacker, saw the glint of a blade in the dim light and adrenaline poured into
his bloodstream. He rolled again and pushed himself into a crouch, readying to
throw himself at the guy’s legs, only to hear the knife clatter to the ground.
Someone had beat him to it.

A well-built man in a zipper-and-stud-covered leather jacket
held Sanjay in a chokehold, his fist wrapped around the formerly knife-wielding
hand. Tomas stumbled to his feet, breathing heavily, his ribs aching, relieved
nothing appeared broken. Even more relieved he didn’t have a knife in his
chest.
Fuck, that was close.

“He’s mine,” the guy said to Sanjay. “Understand?”

Oh shit.
And Tomas’ relief turned sour.
Get out of
there.

Sanjay struggled but the man kept squeezing and squeezing
and Tomas couldn’t move. When Sanjay’s gasps fell away and he lost
consciousness, his body going limp in powerful arms, Tomas finally took a step
back, panting as his heart played leapfrog with his lungs.
Why didn’t I run?
The guy let Sanjay fall and bent to pocket the knife Tomas should have grabbed.
I’m an idiot.
Had he lost one problem and found another? The man
unzipped the top part of his jacket and showed him a glimpse of what was pinned
there before he zipped up again.
Thank God.
Julia had ignored him and
sent backup.

“You can do better than that.” The cop kicked Sanjay’s inert
butt.

Tomas wasn’t sure whether that was a comment about his
fighting skills or for the benefit of anyone listening. Probably both.

“I not interested in either of you.” Tomas rubbed his cheek
and his fingers came away wet, the earlier graze bleeding again.

“Then don’t use this alley as a shortcut.”

“Thanks for advice.”

He stumbled toward the brighter lights of the city. He should
have been able to handle Sanjay on his own but he’d allowed himself to be
distracted. It would never have gotten as far as rape but that wasn’t the first
time he’d been threatened and attacked for sex, and memory of that hit like a
fist to the gut.

Last time he’d been young and stupid. Blown off by his
friends, he’d gone to Voyager, a gay bar with a reputation for badass guys, and
within minutes he’d been cruised by several men. Tomas understood the rules,
the gazes that met his for the right length of time, smiles that lured, heads
that beckoned him toward the back rooms where anything could happen. Or so he’d
heard. What he didn’t understand was not everyone obeyed the rules.

A teenage Tomas hadn’t been tempted until he saw a guy who
looked like sex on legs leaning against the bar. Sharp creases in his chinos,
white shirt, salt-and-pepper hair, square chin and a smiling mouth. Tomas
didn’t spot the cruel streak in Pearson’s eyes. If he had, it probably wouldn’t
have made any difference. The man stood out like a beacon of color in a
monochromatic world.
Christ, I had it bad.

His heart cramped when he thought of him, and he walked
faster, trying to ignore his aching ribs, though they were nothing to the pain
he’d been in after the bastard finished with him. That night there hadn’t even
been a single glance his way by the handsome guy at the bar, but Tomas knew
he’d been noticed. And even though he understood on some level this man would
only be interested for as long as it took him to come, Tomas wanted to be
irresistible to someone like him.

He’d been thinking blowjob and that maybe he’d get back what
he gave, but Pearson had something else in mind. Tomas had stood at the other
end of the bar and stared. Eventually Pearson looked straight at him, and it
felt as if the guy had slid a hand down his pants and squeezed his cock. Blood
rushed south, unfortunately leaving his brain shortchanged, and his dick surged
against his zipper.

One nod toward the rear of the club and Tomas had put down
his half-drunk, extremely expensive bottle of ordinary beer he’d intended to
last him an hour, and made his way to a corridor at the back. Rooms lined the
sides, all with solid doors and large glass windows that might or might not be
covered by heavy drapes. Tomas didn’t know the rules but he could guess. Door
open, he could go in. No drapes over the glass and door closed, he could watch.
Door and drapes closed, what went on inside was private.

Recalling that night made him uneasy, and Tomas hurried
under the railway bridge toward Dock Street and safety only a few minutes away.
Thinking about something that happened sixteen years ago shouldn’t make him
anxious, but it did.

He’d shifted a few feet along the club’s corridor, his
attention snagged by a four-guy daisy chain in the first room, when he felt
Pearson come up behind him. The man had bulldozed him into a room, slammed the
door and closed the curtain.

I don’t want to remember this.
He told himself he
hadn’t thought about it in years but it wasn’t true. Every now and again flashbacks
reared in his head like some pernicious weed. Pearson had kept his clothes on
but wanted Tomas naked, and stupid naïve boy that he was, he’d complied. Until
that night, he’d done nothing more than give and take handjobs or blowjobs from
other guys. Hell, he’d had the same from women. He assumed he’d come down on
one side or the other eventually. Why not enjoy himself in the meantime?

He didn’t enjoy himself that night. He’d thought he couldn’t
call it rape because he’d let it happen. He knew better now. Pearson had forced
him. He hadn’t even used a condom. He’d walked out and left Tomas bleeding on
the floor from his mouth and ass. It had been a year before he’d even touched
another person, and that didn’t mean sexually. He hadn’t even been able to stand
shaking hands.
The fucking bastard.

Tomas hadn’t unwound by the time he pushed open the gate of
his apartment block. Banishing thoughts of Pearson, he wondered if Marco had
been behind this evening’s attack, told him to leave early and then informed Sanjay.
It hurt when he sucked in a breath. Maybe he’d broken a rib. He should have
taken a roundabout route home in case he was being followed, but if Marco was
behind the attack, it didn’t matter because he knew where he lived. His hand
shook as he keyed in the code. He entered the wrong numbers and had to do it
again. Was his cover compromised? Tomas pushed the gate closed and headed
across the parking garage.

The sound of the gate clicking open behind him sent his
heart rate soaring and he spun round, fists ready, but it was Adam and Tomas
sagged with relief. He should have been more careful walking back here. Adam
had his laptop bag over his shoulder, which suggested he’d not been back since
he left Ezispeke. Where the hell had he been until this time in the morning?

Wren.

A pool of acid churned in Tomas’ gut as he waited for Adam
to catch up. He was filled with unreasonable fury at the idea of Adam enjoying
his evening while he could have died.

“She good fuck?” he asked.

Adam bristled. “Piss off, you wanker.”

He passed Tomas, unlocked the door of the building and
though Tomas hadn’t expected him to, he held it open. When Tomas stepped into
the light, Adam’s eyes widened.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He lifted his hand to his face. “Argued with concrete.”

“You fell?”

He could have lied but he wanted Adam to feel guilty, even
though it wasn’t his fault. He wanted the guy to know someone else fancied him,
even though Sanjay was a fucking lunatic.

“Pushed. Asshole wanted my asshole.”

The moment the words were out, Tomas wanted them back. What
had that gained him? He didn’t want kind words or sympathy for a stupid
mistake.

Adam’s jaw tightened. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged.
No, I’m not. I should be. I’m an undercover
cop. I’m supposed to be big, tough and strong, but I was fucking scared.

“Want a coffee?” Adam asked.

I want to forget.

Adam pressed the button for the elevator. “Something
stronger?”

“Want to fuck.”

“Anyone in mind?”

Tomas gave a short laugh. “Yeah.”

Adam smiled. “What’s changed your mind?”

“Life looked short.”

Adam stepped into the elevator and gave him a concerned
stare. “Sure you’re okay?”

He nodded.
I don’t care about the fucking, but I don’t
want to be alone.

Oh shit, yes I do care about the fucking.

They went up in silence. Tomas unlocked his door and waited.
He wouldn’t beg.

Adam leaned on the frame. “Like me to clean up your cheek?”

The offer to take care of him thickened Tomas’ throat to the
point that he couldn’t speak. He beckoned him in. Adam put his bag on the floor
in the hallway, hung up his coat and followed him into the kitchen.

“Aren’t you going to take off your coat?” he asked.

Tomas stumbled to a halt.
Shit.
He’d forgotten what
he was wearing. “I clean up blood. You go.”

Adam glared. “What the hell is the matter with you? I’m not
going to fucking rape you.”

Tomas turned his back. He couldn’t risk Adam seeing his
face. “Get out.” If Adam touched him, he’d hit him.

“Take your bloody coat off and sit down,” Adam snapped.

And harsh words worked when kind ones would have failed. He
gritted his teeth and stomped to fling himself on a couch.
Mistake. Shit,
shit, that hurt.

Adam came over with a bowl of warm water, paper towels and a
bottle of Jack Daniels. “Found this in the cupboard.” He offered it to Tomas.
“Take your damn coat off.”

“I keep on.” He held his hand out for the bottle and Adam
held it back.

“Coat off.”

Tomas sighed. “Tonight I work in club. Behind bar. Not my
clothes.”

“Okay. I get it. You’re not wearing your gear.”

Why the hell was he embarrassed about showing Adam what he
wore when he’d already as good as told him a guy had tried to rape him? Tomas
stood and unfastened the buttons of his coat. He winced as he shrugged it off.
A bruise was forming over his grazed ribs. Adam’s jaw dropped as he stared at
the harness, then his mouth curved in a slow smile. If the guy made one
sarcastic comment, Tomas would hit him. He fumbled for the buckle and Adam
caught his hand.

“Don’t.”

He spotted the slow smolder in Adam’s eyes and sat.
Okay,
so he likes the look.
And
that
made Tomas’ cock stir. Adam handed
him the bottle, perched next to him and dipped a sheet of paper towel into the
water.

Tomas took a swig and exhaled. “Feel like soldier about to
have leg amputated.” He flinched as Adam wiped his cheek.

“It’s just a nasty graze. You’ll live.”

“Guy had knife.”

“Jesus.” Adam froze and water from the towel dripped onto
Tomas’ chest. “Would you recognize him? Did you tell the police?”

“Yes, police know.”
In a way.

Adam continued cleaning his face. “Is it a gay club?”

“Cirque mix of BDSM and fetish. Some gay, some het, some bi.
Some have no fucking idea.”

“And which are you?” Adam asked.

“Same as you.”

“Klingon?”

Tomas laughed and then winced from the pain in his ribs.

“You know who the Klingons are?” Adam asked.

“I’m from other country not other planet.”

They both chuckled then.

“Maybe I’m the ‘no fucking idea’,” Tomas said.

Adam’s fingers lingered on his cheek. “No, you’re not. You
know what you are.”

And he suddenly couldn’t take sympathy, caring. He’d managed
without it so far in his life, he didn’t want to start relying on someone
worrying about him. That wasn’t what this was about. He wanted to prove to
himself he was still in control. “Was she good fuck?”

Adam scowled. “Leave it.”

“How you know her?”

“I said leave it.”

“I can smell her on you.”

“Shut up.”

Tomas smirked. “Make me.”

Fuck. What am I doing?
Trying to provoke Adam into a
fight? Or something else?

Adam stared at him for a few seconds and then put the bowl
down. Tomas expected him to walk out but he didn’t move. He had to fight to
stop himself reaching for Adam, stroking his face. He could feel Adam fighting
too. They stared at each other, not moving, hardly breathing. It came down to
will.

Who was stronger?

Adam shifted and Tomas thought again he was going to leave,
but instead he climbed onto his lap, planting his knees either side of Tomas’
hips. The bulge in Adam’s pants matched the one in his own.

“I’m not leaving. I’m not fighting,” Adam said and leaned
in. “But I’m going to win.”

The kiss was soft and sweet and gentle, and more than Tomas
deserved. Adam ran his tongue along the seam of his mouth until he parted his
lips and let him in. He detected a faint, underlying tang of pussy and moaned
into Adam’s throat, his cock growing to full hardness so fast it made his gut
ache.