Last Chance Rebel (9 page)

What she didn't like was this. This longing that worked in direct opposition to reality. She didn't... There were a lot of reasons that she had never been with a man. Valid reasons. The last time she'd gone out with a guy, he had assumed that because of her scars she should be grateful for the attention. He had assumed that she would be easy.

She wasn't going to be anyone's pity lay, ever. That guy, at least, had been something of a difference in contrast with a couple of the other men she had tried to date who had treated her like she was made of glass. They had treated her like an invalid, like there was something wrong with her. And that really wasn't any more appealing to her than being treated like a sexual charity case.

Plus, whenever she went on a date with a guy, he was always asking questions about her. And she didn't like that either. Basically, she hated dating. But, dammit all, she liked men. Their bodies, anyway. At least, she was pretty sure she did. Would like a chance to explore that a little more.

She growled, reaching down and taking hold of the remote, turning the TV off. She didn't need to watch other people make out when all she could think of was making out with the last man on earth she should ever want to touch.

This just made her hate him even more. The fact that this man who had already had such a profound, indelible effect on her body was reaching inside of her and changing her yet again.

She grabbed her pie, holding it close to her chest and marching back into the kitchen. She stood at the counter and finished it, not taking any more chances with the TV.

When she finished, she walked into the bathroom, stripping her clothes off as she went. She started to run water in the tub, turning and looking at herself in the mirror as she waited for it to fill. She pinned her hair up slowly, examining the woman looking back at her. She was... Well, she was used to her reflection. To the patches of skin that were puckered on her face, that tugged at the corner of her mouth and made her smile asymmetrical. To the little crease by her left eye that pulled it tight and made it slightly more catlike than the right.

To the large depression of skin by her rib cage, and the patch that had been surgically removed from her stomach to be placed on her leg, where it had been most badly damaged.

It was her body. She didn't know it any other way. She had been young enough when it had happened—barely pubescent—that her body hadn't really begun to change into a woman's shape yet. So, along with her curves, these scars were a signal of growth and change.

It was just her.

It wasn't beautiful, but it was all she knew.

She sighed heavily, turning in the small space and walking across the stone floor to the claw-foot tub in the corner. She stepped inside, her muscles relaxing as she sank into the warm water. Finally she felt some of the day's tension begin to fade.

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back, and something about resting her head against the hard surface brought her thoughts back to that moment in her shop earlier today. When she had been braced against the hard wall with Gage in front of her, so unyielding, uncompromising.

So hot. And so very masculine.

Her breath hitched, her breasts rising up out of the water, the cold air making contact with her wet skin, causing her nipples to tighten. At least, that's why she told herself her nipples tightened. It couldn't have anything to do with him. Certainly not.

Except, the memory of what she had just seen on TV superimposed itself over the memory of what had actually happened today, and she was powerless to stop herself from imagining what his face would feel like beneath her fingertips. Rough, from the dark stubble, hot like the rest of him.

Her heart was thundering in her chest, so hard and so loud she was almost sure she could hear it echoing in the small space. For just a moment, she forgot that it was a bad idea to let herself think of him like that. For just a moment, she forgot everything except for how wonderfully compelling his face was.

He wasn't beautiful. He was too hard for that. Too uncompromising. But that was what made him so fascinating, at least for her. He was so raw, so undeniably male, and that was outside of her sphere of experience.

What would have happened if she had leaned in? If she had touched the tip of her tongue to his bottom lip. What would he taste like? What would he sound like?

Her heart rate quickened even more and an answering pulse began to beat at the apex of her thighs. She was tempted then, so tempted to slip her hand between them, to try and ease the ache that was building there.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip as she let herself do it. Just for a moment. Her fingertips grazing her sensitized flesh as she gave herself over to the image of his lips pressing against hers.

“Gage,” she gasped.

And it was that, his name, that hard slap of reality, that saw her removing her hand and launching herself straight out of the tub.

No. This was too much. There was crazy—which, agreeing to work for him to pay off the debt she hadn't even wanted, possibly was—and then there was just insanity. Fantasizing about the man who had caused her accident, who was responsible for each and every scar on her body was insanity.

She looked at herself in the mirror again, allowed her fingertips to trace the ruined skin, rather than that lying, treacherous part of herself that was so needy for a man it would even allow her to fantasize about the man who had harmed her. This was what she needed to remember. That he was responsible for this pain. Not just the scars, but everything that had come after it.

Her mother leaving. Jonathan being put in the position where he had to assume the responsibility of raising her.

He had come in and accused her of being guarded. Of pushing people away.

She did it because of these. These scars. She moved her fingertips over a particularly ugly one just beneath her breast. That did it. It cooled her arousal.

She wouldn't think of him like that again. And if he ever laid a hand on her again, she would remove it.

She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, nodding once at her reflection and walking out of the bathroom. Gage West was already far too big in her existence. She would not allow him to loom any larger.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
T
WAS
STARTING
to get dark outside, and Gage entertained the momentary thought of sending a search party out for Rebecca. Then, he imagined the indignity that she would feel if he did. The idea made him smile.

A little bit perverse, sure, but Rebecca Bear was a hellcat. It kind of amused him. He had definitely expected her to be slightly more downtrodden than she was. But she was all fight. Which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't the best thing for her. In his opinion, she would be better served fighting against actual enemies, instead of just being angry. Particularly at people who were trying to help.

Just as he was seriously thinking he was going to have to make sure she was okay, he heard footsteps on his porch. Followed by a knock that was incredibly surly.

There she was.

He crossed the expansive space and went to the door, pulling it open and looking at the small, indignant woman standing there. Her arms were crossed tightly across her midsection, her dark eyebrows lowered, her lips set into a frown.

“Hi,” he said, standing to the side.

She glowered, not offering him a greeting in return, as she walked into the house. She unzipped her jacket, taking it off and holding it out. He took it from her, hanging it on the peg that was just behind her.

He didn't see any point in commenting on her bad attitude. First of all, because it was kind of funny to watch her behave like an unhappy teenager. Second of all, because she was more than entitled.

“Why don't you come upstairs with me,” he said, turning and heading toward the staircase. He did not hear her footsteps behind him. He turned slightly. “I'm not going to bite you.”

Her lip curled and she arched her neck to the side, dragging a fingertip over a perforated line of flesh. “Too late.”

His stomach tightened. “Fair enough.”

He walked up the stairs, and this time, he heard her following behind. He paused at the top, looking down at her, part way up the stairs, and at the view of the rest of the house. It was nothing like his childhood home, not glossy or marbled in the least. But, it was also completely different to the motels he had spent the past seventeen years inhabiting.

The high ceilings, large windows that overlooked the view of the lake and the natural wood beams were a happy marriage between the moneyed lifestyle he had grown up in, and the more rustic accommodation he had grown accustomed to.

He pushed open the door to his office, a slight smile curving his lips as he realized that this one room, containing a computer, a desk, a chair and a couch had more space than the entirety of his typical living situation.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch.

She gave him a sharp bit of side eye, clearly considering defying him for the sake of it. But, seeing as there was nowhere else for her to sit, she clearly decided against it. Instead, she took up a position on the couch that managed to look both furious and inconvenienced.

Her shoulders were stiff, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her knees locked together.

“That's a very comfortable couch,” he said. “And yet, you seem determined to make it feel very uncomfortable.”

“I couldn't be comfortable in your house no matter how I sat. That's like trying to be comfortable in a bear's den.”

He lifted his lip, touching his tongue to the bottom of one of his canine teeth. “My teeth aren't quite that sharp.”

He watched as the color rose in her cheeks, as her body tensed even further, a feat he wouldn't have imagined was possible, since she was already wound so tight he figured a stiff breeze could snap her in half.

“Let's just get to the work farce,” she said, her tone hard, brittle.

“There's nothing farcical about the amount of work I have to do. Sadly.”

He reached over to the desk, pulling a large stack of papers off of it and depositing it on the couch next to her.

“Go ahead,” he said, “have a look.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Why are you letting me look at your family finances?”

He shrugged, sitting down in the office chair, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head. “We already know each other's secrets, what's a few more?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she said, sounding completely unconvinced. She started to leaf through the papers. “I'm not a financial analyst by any stretch of the imagination but even I can see that there are negative numbers where you would rather have positive ones.”

“True.”

“So, what is this?” She set one of the papers aside. “Your version of a white flag? Show me the soft underbelly of your family and... What? Do you want me to tell everybody? Do you want me to stab you with a broadsword?”

“I'd rather you didn't do either of those things. But, now you see what I'm contending with.”

“And you want my input on...what to do with the stores?” She looked back at of the papers. “You need to sell off everything you can.”

“The thing is, I don't want to destroy the main street. I don't want someone to take ownership of those buildings who doesn't care about the town. For all of my father's sins he does seem to love Copper Ridge. I'm not sure he much loves anything else. But this town has been his kingdom for a long damn time, so if he has ever protected anything, it's this place.”

“Like I said before, Lane will buy from you happily.”

“I think I want to put some covert feelers out for people who might be interested in the empty block of buildings at the end of the street.”

“You suddenly care about the town?”

His chest tightened. “For once I just want to leave a place a little bit better than when I first got there, instead of a little bit worse.”

She didn't say anything to that. “Well, I'm not completely against what you're saying. And as somebody who has an investment in the businesses on Main Street I prefer this to just selling to a big property management company or something.”

“You haven't mentioned anything about eliminating your competition or making sure that another knickknack store doesn't open up.”

“Frankly, whatever brings people to Copper Ridge is good. In a small town it doesn't benefit us to look at each other as competition. At least, not from my point of view. We want people to know they have options, to know there's a reason to walk down Main Street. Ample reason. That means that I want every business on that street healthy, and every building full.”

“Not very many people would feel that way. Most people prefer to cut the throat out of their competition.”

She lifted her shoulder. “People aren't going to come to town once. They aren't going to buy one thing. They're going to want to eat at more than one restaurant, make sure that they have exhausted the full selection of driftwood-based paraphernalia.”

He smiled, enjoying this more animated version of her that wasn't simply glaring daggers at him. “Your store is a lot more than driftwood paraphernalia. I mean, granted, scented candles and ceramic woodland animals aren't exactly to my taste, but I imagine it appeals to a lot of people.”

“It gives me an excuse to buy endless seasonal decorations for the shop. And I can constantly refresh them.”

He shook his head. “To each his own.”

“Well, I was mostly raised by my brother. It isn't like I ever had anything pretty in my house.” Her tone was light, but he could tell that the moment she said that, she regretted it. That she was irritated with herself for saying anything to him that wasn't hostile.

“What happened to your mother?” She had referenced being without her a few times now, and he was curious. It wasn't fair, the way that all of the shitty things in life seemed to happen in concentrated doses right above certain people. But, it seemed to be the way life worked.

“She left. She took that big fat payoff from your dad and she left.”

Her words settled hard in the room. “How long after?”

“About a year,” she responded, her tone flat. “Honestly, I guess it wasn't very appealing to take care of a daughter who was in and out of different reconstructive surgeries.”

“She left you? She left you when you were going through all that?” Pressure built in his chest, rage, hot and completely inappropriate roaring inside of him. He had caused this, he had no right to be angry about the fallout. He had left—how could he be angry about what she'd been subjected to when he'd never made a move to protect her?

He had never had the right.

He didn't have the right now. But that wasn't what this was about. This was just about giving her something. But he hadn't fully realized everything that he owed her. Just how impossible it would be to make a dent in this mess.

“She was never going to win an award for being the world's greatest mother, Gage,” Rebecca continued. “Really, she thought of us as a burden most of the time before the accident. But after that? Yeah, after that any maternal instinct really seemed to go out the window.” She looked away from him, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the back wall. “Hell, if I could have escaped my body I would have. Too damn bad I was stuck with it. But, feeling that way, it makes it difficult to be all that angry. Who wants to deal with that? Nobody.” She looked back at him, her dark eyes glittering. “I was a burden before, but I was a damaged burden after that.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Bullshit,” he repeated, harder, louder.

“Right. Because you know. Because you would have treated someone in your life differently? Because you really would have been there for your family.”

He gritted his teeth, her words hitting their target. They broke through his skin, burning beneath the muscle, painful in their accuracy. “I wouldn't have left a child alone in a hospital.”

“But you did,” she said. “You left me. You damaged me and then you left me. You left me in a state my own mother didn't want to deal with.” She stood, her voice rising as she did. “You know everybody feels sorry for me. Just desperately sad for everything I might have been. I could have been beautiful, at least that's what I've been told. But I'm not.”

“That's not true,” he said, his voice rough. And as soon as he said that, he realized that she was beautiful. She really was.

Her long, dark hair was perfect for a man to wrap around his hand so he could draw her forward. Her lips were full and dusky. Captivating.

And, looking at her like she was a woman was a step too far. He had done enough. He didn't need to be a perverted asshat on top of it.

“That's all you have to say?” She took a step toward him, challenge lighting her dark eyes. “You wanted to share secrets. So, you show me your horrible family finances, and I show you what my scars really mean to me. Or is that a little bit too real for you? Did you want to come back and lift the downtrodden, artfully damaged princess from the muck you left her in? Has it been terribly confronting for you to come back and see that you left behind a bulletproof bitch that doesn't need you to come in and fix her?”

“If you don't need to be fixed, then why are you so angry?”

She launched herself at him then, one small fist pounding against his chest. “You can't fix it. The fact you're even here trying is insulting. Everything I've been through. I hate you.” She hit him again, harder this time. “Everything in my life was going fine. At least, it went in a routine. And then you came back. And you're just here, acting like you could be some kind of benevolent savior, but you never asked if I wanted to be saved.”

She hit him again, just for good measure, he had a feeling. And he grabbed hold of her elbows, holding her steady, not doing anything to keep her from beating on him. She wrenched herself partly away, pounding against him again. “How dare you?” she asked. “How dare you change things, again? I was fine. Everything was going well. You just... You came here for you. It's for you, because it sure as hell isn't for me.”

“I wanted to give you the shop and then leave.”

“You could take my pride with you. Forgive me, but it's in short supply, and I'm not handing bits and pieces of it out at random.”

“Then maybe stop running your mouth at me.” He felt something in his chest, something more than anger. Something that felt raw and wounded. Just plain bad. And he didn't like it. Didn't like that growing sense of tenderness that was just plain painful, not to mention misplaced. He tightened his hold on her, looking down into her molten brown eyes. “The way I see it, you either take the handout or you stop fighting me every step of the way. The simple fact is, our lives have collided again. And there's no sense pretending they didn't in the past. That we don't have a connection. Whether you like it or not, we do. Whether you think it's fair that I was affected by this or not, I was. But you can't have it both ways. You can have me be absent and eternally punish me. You can't want nothing from me, but need something that I own. It doesn't work that way.”

Something in her expression changed, the light in her eyes sharpening, turning feral. “You want to make things right? You want to get back something that was taken from me?”

“I already told you that I'm here to fix things. As best as I can.”

There was only a breath between those words and what happened next, and he didn't have time to react. She leaned forward, using the hold he had on her to her advantage, pressing her lips against his.

And they ignited.

* * *

R
EBECCA
HAD
NO
idea what she was doing. In about every way that phrase could be applied, she had no idea what she was doing. She had been kissed before, but it hadn't felt like this. Maybe it had to do with all of the anger that was coursing through her veins. She could honestly say she'd never kissed a man whom she also wanted to kill.