Pistol (9 page)

Steph drew her knees to her chest, and gripped her ankles with white-knuckled determination. His proximity left her uncomfortable, vulnerable, and a little unsettled.

“Do ya still want me to fuck ya?”

She
gagged on her next breath. He had to be kidding, right? What twisted world did he live in if discussions of stalking, and of moving to unknown destinations led to sex? She released her ankles, and planted her feet against his chest to push him off balance and out of her way. Steph stormed to the front door, and avoided his gaze. “I think you ought to leave, don’t you?”

“No.”

Great, now she’d have to call the police on his ass.
You know you won’t.
Fantastic. Her inner monologue doubted her sanity.

He picked up the bowl of popcorn, and plonked down on the couch. “What we watchin’?”

“
I
am watching a movie.
You
are about to leave.”

“Nah,” he twitched his
top lip in thought. “I’m not quite ready to.”

Frustration boiled over inside. She wanted to clench her fists, scream, and stomp a tantrum until
he went. He wasn’t being fair. How could somebody be so stubborn, and remain so nonchalant about it all? And why the hell was he so damn sexy when he did that?

He patted the seat next to him. “
Ya joinin’ me, then?” She growled, certain she had a shit-show of winning, and crossed the room to where he sat. He casually scrolled through the channels on her TV. “What station is it on?” he asked.

“Ten,” she answered as she gave out into the seat next to him. “Don’t eat all my popcorn, because I don’t have any more.”

“Ah, Cutie,” he said, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her in. “I wouldn’t dream of denyin’ me girl.”

His girl, huh?
We’ll see about that.

“
Ya want to have a quick one before it starts?” he glanced down at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Kiddin’.”

“Lucky for you.”
Steph remained stiff at his side, wary of exactly what he had planned. Her eyes roved the room for anything that could act as a weapon should he become dangerous.
When was he not?
That was the curious thing, though. If she felt uncomfortable, and threatened around him—why hadn’t her flight instinct kicked in?
Because the thrill of his unpredictability is what you need.
Need? Since when did she need instability? Or the sort of guy she had yet to decide belonged in an insane asylum, or not?

Whatever his intention, a girl scout should always be prepared. Steph wasn’t about to fast-track herself to the
lead role in a cheesy horror flick. She wasn’t going to be
that
girl who everyone yelled at to ‘run’. She wriggled into his side further, and slid her hand between the cushions of the sofa. Unbeknownst to him, her fingers roamed the gap behind the seat for the little surprise she remembered was in there.

The movie credits rolled, and her hand tightened around her
solution for the Possible Pete Problem. Yep, that’s right—she had named the conundrum in the course of the movie.

He sat relaxed, reclined into the back of the sofa
—not going anywhere.

“Comfortable?” she cooed.

“For now.” He traced a lazy line up her arm with a finger.

“You know, I’m kind of tired. I think I might—”

“Are ya tryin’ to blow me off, Cutie?” He twisted in the seat to face her better.

“I’ve already asked you to leave, and yet here you still are. Would you rather I got nasty about it?”

He chuckled, and she caught herself laugh with him. “Ya don’t know much about me, huh?”

“Don’t get the chance with you,” she retorted.

He soured. “Never heard ya complain.”

“So you’ve said.” Steph
gave him her best ‘I-mean-it’ glower. “So, are you leaving, or what?”

“Nah.”
He grinned.

Why did he have to look so
boyishly cute when he grinned? Such innocence almost had her go soft on him—almost. “For the last time, you’re making me uncomfortable. Please leave.”

Pete’s gaze dragged the length of her, and settled on her chest. “They don’t think so.”

She followed his line of sight to her breasts, and gasped. Heat flushed her cheeks when she saw what he referred to. Her nipples were hard enough to make soft peaks of her t-shirt.
Oh God, kill me now.

Pete laugh
ed, softly at first, but louder as her embarrassment grew.  “Yer body don’t lie, Love. It wants what it wants.”

Enough.
The guy wouldn’t leave when asked, and now he made a mockery of her situation ...
in her home.
Steph brought her hand wielding the weapon up, and rammed the fork into his thigh. He hollered a litany of curses, and grabbed at the handle which merrily sat upright from his leg. Acid roiled in her stomach at the sight, and she leapt off the seat. In no way had she intended to be so
brutal
. Still, she took the chance and bolted to her bedroom, slammed the door and snatched the phone from the nightstand. Her finger hovered over the third zero, when he called to her through the door.

“Fine.
Have it yer way. I’m leavin’.” The metallic ting as the fork hit the tiles echoed through her unit, before the dull thud of the front door punctuated his exit.

Her head spun with the craziness of what happened. Since when did she take to stabbing people who refused to leave? Had she been too
rash? Acted on impulse? Perhaps he wasn’t as dangerous as she thought? Guilt buzzed in her temple as she thought it over. Maybe she
had
been a bit rough. Steph placed her phone down on the bed, and got to her feet. She paused by the door, and listened for movement. All that responded was the dull hum of ads on her TV. She inched the door open, and listened again. Still nothing. A little braver, she pushed it wide and stepped out into the short hallway. As she rounded the corner into the lounge, a hand clamped down over her mouth.

“Jes
us, you’re gullible.” She caught the amusement in Pete’s words.

She tried to scream, kick, thrash her way free, but he held on. He wrapped his arm about her middle and pulled her into his body. Warmth spread across the back of her thigh where the blood from his
wound soaked into her trackies. He crushed her to him to shush her, calm her.

“It’s okay. I’m not
gonna hurt ya.”

She let o
ff a string of profanities which lost all effect under the dampener of his hand.

“I’ll take
me hand away, but if ya scream again, I’ll fuckin’ tape yer mouth shut until I’m done.”

Oh my God—he’s going to rape me.
What the fuck else did he mean by ‘done’? His hand fell from her mouth, but he kept her pressed to his hard chest. She stuttered out her words before the sickness in her gut took their place. “What are you going to do to me?” Oh, God. How could she have let him into her home the first time if this is how nutty he truly was?

“Nothin’,” he s
aid. “I want to talk to ya, and have ya bloody-well hear me out.” His words vibrated where her back still rested against him.

“Some way of convincing me to listen you have there.”

“Some aim ya have with a fork,” he replied.

She hung her head,
and her chin rested on top of the hand which pressed against her chest. “Sorry about that.”

Pete
let her go, and limped around where she stood to the couch. “I would have done the same. What bothers me more is that ya keep forks in yer couch for such occasions.”

She
forced a laugh. “Not quite. It dropped there the other night. I just hadn’t remembered to fish it out yet.”

“Oh well,” he shrugged.
“Lucky for ya, then.”

Steph looked to the floor, unsure what she should do. Bolt? Or hear him out? Somehow, he had managed to make her more at ease around him in a short few minutes. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“I want to try and explain why I’m such an asshole. Maybe ya’ll understand why I got so heated last weekend.”

“Charming.
” She frowned. “Are you going to include what brought you to the conclusion that you needed to keep me prisoner in my own home to do it?”

“Perhaps.
Depends how well ya listen.”

“What does it matter?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, and stopped to flick his lip ring before he spoke. “Because, Cutie, if ya hear me out and choose to let me stick around, I’ll know you’re the girl for me.”

****

Pete eyed her where she stood. She still shook like a new born lamb, but at least the colour had returned to her face. For a moment there he was convinced the woman was about to hurl all over him.

Steph took a few deep sighs,
and rubbed her fingers over her eyebrow as she thought. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, the tension in his chest was a direct result of waiting on her answer. Would she hear him out? Fuck, did they have a chance after tonight? The woman thought he was psychotic.
Hold on, she’s the one who stabbed ya, remember?

“Okay,” she whispered. “But first, let me fix your leg.”

“It’s fine.” He brushed her off.

She threw her hands on her hips, and frowned. “It’s not. And besides, it’s the least I can do since it was me who did it to you.”

He dropped his shoulders, and nodded. She was determined—that cute little crinkle in her nose said so. She turned and headed for the bathroom, and he dropped his head back on the sofa. The puncture in his thigh had numbed after the initial pain, but his leg could still do with the dressing. He just wasn’t sure if he could handle her hands on his skin. When he held her to his chest moments before, a torrent of erotic images had surged into his mind. What he’d do to hold her in the same position—naked. She fit. Perfectly.

Steph reappeared
with a small, first-aid bag, and perched on the couch next to him. “You’re going to have to take your pants off, you know.”

He
noted the slight curl in the corner of her lips as she spoke.
The thought amused her too, huh?
Pete stood, and flicked the catch on his belt buckle. Her keen eyes followed the movement. He popped the button, and edged the zip down, then paused for effect. She ran her top lip through her bite, and popped the lush pink skin out. His little fella stirred.

Not now.
For fuck’s sake.

He played still shots of
cute animals through his head to distract from the thought. Puppies, chickens, baby tigers, and elephants … s
hit. Not elephants, ya eejit.

Pete drew
his eyes shut, and hooked a thumb in each side of the denim. He shoved them over his hips to his knees. The subtlest of gasps pierced the silence, and his skin broke out in goose bumps. What the fuck was wrong with him? Here he was, a man who successfully portrayed indifference and a lack of compassion since he walked out of his parent’s house, and now a woman made him lose control of his body.

He dropped
onto the couch, and draped an arm over his groin to hide any possible embarrassment that may ...
arise
. Pete watched her as she looked at the wound with concern.

“I didn’t realise I’d pushed so deep.”

“Ya pretty much put yer full weight on it, Love.”

She huffed, and turned to the kit at her side. He looked over the punctures in his thigh as she unzipped the bag, and pulled out the necessities. Steph was right—she had pushed deep. Angry purple circles ringed the red
dened prong holes. The flesh around the entire wound had swollen into a puffy, red patch.

“This will sting.”
She placed a swab over the area; her palm wrapped over the contour of his leg.

He sucked a harsh breath th
rough his teeth, glad for the pain to detract from the sensational feel of her palm on his skin. She removed the swab of gauze, and applied antiseptic cream, then finished off with a fabric plaster. He studied her face the whole time, and noted how her eyebrows twitched with her concentration.

“Feel free to
start telling me whatever it is you think will scare me off,” Steph said as she placed the kit back together.

Pete stood once more, and pulled his jeans b
ack on. “I don’t think it will—I know it will.”

She levelled him with a stare as she stood to return the kit. “Do you think I’m that precious?”

“Not at all. I think you’re that sensible.”

“Great,” she muttered as she left the room again.

What was that about?
Didn’t girls like being told they were smart?
I give up.
He settled back into the couch, and rubbed where the plaster was under his jeans. Steph returned, and took a seat opposite him in the only armchair.

“
Ya need to stop assumin’ people think the worst of ya,” he started. “Perhaps it’s a compliment to ya that I think ya would be too smart to stick around me.”

“I’ll make up my own mind, thanks.”

He smiled, amused at her optimism. “I have few friends, ya know. Mostly I keep to meself.”

“Why am I not surprised?
”

“Shush.” He held a finger to his lips. “No talk
in’. Just listenin’.”

She nodded, obviously pissed off.

He closed his eyes to expel the alluring sight of her on the armchair; legs tucked under, her oversized t-shirt strangely sexy. “I don’t tell anybody who I was before I came to Australia, because not many people can understand it. Most people look at me with pity in their eyes. I don’t want fuckin’ pity.”

She opened her mouth to ask a question, then stilled.

“I’m tellin’ ya this, Cutie, because I see somethin’ different in you—potential. Yer not like the usual hook-ups I get. Yer ...
interested.
Ya want more than casual sex.”

Her lips pressed into a firm line. The need to talk kill
ed her.

“I don’t take partners easily. I’m tired of women who think they can throw themselves at me for an easy
night with a dangerous man. Yea, sure, I’m fucked up. I’m the first to admit it. But it still grates me that most of the tarts who try it on, want to drag me around like its fuckin’ show-and-tell. They want to parade me in front of their friends like I’m some sort of designer accessory. I’m not.” He punched a fist to his chest. “I’m a fuckin’ person.”

Steph fidgeted in the seat, dying to speak. He needed a moment to gather his train of thought anyway, so he nodded approval.

“Do you mean to tell me, that nobody—and I mean nobody—has cared for you. Ever.”

He shook his head. “Caring, and
me lifestyle don’t get along that well.”

“What is your ‘lifestyle’?”

The nerves which crackled in his limbs relaxed.
This
was a subject he was comfortable enough to discuss. “I’m not one to operate within the confines of socially acceptable rule. Some people would say the things I’ve done are illegal, immoral, or downright moronic. Me? I say they were necessary.”