Rising Heat (18 page)

“What is it that you don’t get, Ash?” she demanded. Her breath rate accelerated, and her chest heaved with her growing ire. She brushed a shaking hand through her hair, her emotion high. “I have to make a living! In fact, if I lose either of my two jobs, I’m going to be up shit’s creek with a broken paddle. You get that, don’t you?”

“I already told you—”

She interrupted me with an angry slash of her hand. “If you tell me one more time that you’re going to take care of it, I swear I’m going to scream. Care to explain exactly how you’re going to
take care of it?”

I understood her frustration, her anger, and her emotions. I owed her an explanation and a detailed one at that. I decided that maybe blunt was best. “I’m rich, Kathy. I can make arrangements to have your rent paid next month, for three months, six months, or even a year. I may not have the power to get you your job back at Jolly Pets or the store, but you won’t be homeless. Your bills will be paid. I can give you enough money to make you comfortable while you find another job.”

She stared at me for several seconds and then laughed. It wasn’t a humorous laugh either. It was edged in anger. “You’re rich?” Her voice was filled with disbelief.

“Yes, I am.”

She continued to stare, her gaze searching me, looking for deceit. I tried to appear earnest, but she wasn’t buying it.

“You’re rich. I believe that about as much as I believe I could drive that Harley out of here right now.”

What could I say to that? I stiffened when I saw the sudden sheen in her eyes. Oh shit, she wasn’t going to cry again, was she? She was. A single tear fell from the corner of her eye. She brushed angrily at it.

“I wish I’d never met you,” she muttered.

That hurt more than I wanted to admit, but who could blame her? “I’m not lying to you, Kathy. I’m very wealthy. I can take care of your financial issues—”

“Even if you’re telling the truth, and I’m not sure I even believe you, I’m not your charity case! I’m not your mistress! I don’t expect you to…” She brushed at another tear. “What do you propose I do about school? I’ve got finals next week! I should be home studying, but no, I’m up here in the middle of nowhere with an ex-biker who’s just been shot. People are chasing us for God’s sake! Tell me what’s going on!”

Her voice rose until it grew strained. She wasn’t shrieking, wasn’t shouting, but I could sense her intense emotion. I wished I could get up and sit on the couch beside her, but I didn’t think she would welcome that.

“Bones will help—”

“And who in the hell is Bones? What kind of a name is that? What can he do—?”

“He’s my friend. I trust him with my life—”

“And mine?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

She sat back against the couch cushions, her knees pressed tightly together, arms crossed tightly over her chest. A self-conscious yet obviously defensive position. Damn. I hated that I was the one to make her feel this way.

“Let me start at the beginning, okay?”

She said nothing, merely continued to glare at me.

So I did. I started at the beginning. The very beginning. I told her about the accident. About Becca. The way my family had fallen apart in more ways than one. Feeling ostracized, blamed, and wallowing in my own grief and self-pity. How I’d left home, no direction in mind, just climbing onto my newly purchased bike and heading west.

“You just jumped on a motorcycle and left everything behind? Why?”

The question tossed me off-balance. “Why what? I told you why I left home.”

She scoffed. “If you’re not going to be completely honest, don’t bother.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Why a motorcycle?”

“Why a…?” I shook my head at the dumb question but answered it anyway. “What do you want me to say? It was cheaper? More rebellious? More daring? More foolish? All of the above.”

“All of them true, but I think you’re leaving one thing out.”

I stared at her. She didn’t know me. She thought she did? But her next statement took me off guard.

“After the accident, you didn’t want to get behind the wheel of a car again, did you?”

Her comment hit me in my solar plexus, nearly enough to take my breath away. I had avoided the truth for so long that it coming out of a near stranger’s lips left me stunned. She was right. I hadn’t driven a car since the accident. I looked at her, saw the tears still in her gaze. Not just for herself. Sympathy? Commiseration?

Dammit. It might be my turn to cry. I shook it off. “Anyway, I ended up here in Denver. Winter was coming on and like I told you earlier, it seemed like a good place to stop, at least for a while. But one winter turned into two, and then three…” I shrugged. “The rest, as they say, is history.”

She frowned at me. I could just imagine what she was thinking. I was pathetic. Lame. Putting on a front for everyone, afraid to face reality. And maybe she was right. “What do you want me to say, Kathy? That I’ve made mistakes? You bet I have. A hell of a lot of mistakes. But I’m trying to turn things around. Better late than never, right?”

She said nothing. Bones and I had said the same thing just a few days ago. Better late than never. Well, sometimes late was as good as never. Sometimes late was just too late.

“So what are you going to do now?”

Her question jolted me back to the present. “For tonight, we should get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll meet up with Bones. We’ll figure something out.”

“What do they think you know, Ash?”

“I don’t know anything for sure,” I replied honestly. “It’s not like I had the ear of any of the gang leaders—”

“So what do they want? Why do they want to hurt you? To kill you?”

I hated being interrogated, but I kept telling myself that she had every right to ask. While I hadn’t known this bullshit was going to happen, I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve known better.

“I think we should go to the police.”

I shook my head. “Bones will help. He has a cousin in Fort Collins… a cop he can trust.”

She frowned. “Can’t you trust all the cops?”

The laugh was out of me before I could stop it. “Unfortunately, no. Most are good and hard-working, but the few bad ones can be really bad.”

“You sound like you know that from experience.”

I leaned my head back on the chair. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“One of the reasons those guys are after me could be because I passed along information I’d learned to stop a crime about a year ago.”

“You snitched? Like an informant?”

“No!” My entire body went cold. I sat up, then pushed to my feet, pacing over to the window. “It wasn’t like that. They needed to be stopped from hurting people. At the time, it felt…” I ran my hand through my hair, trying to think about what it was like at the time. “Shit. It was the right thing to do. But if they now know I did turn on them, it could only have been a cop who told them.”

Kathy unfolded her arms and leaned forward on the couch, her elbows now on her knees, her hands gripping the edge of the coffee table. “What did you tell them?”

I sighed. “The gang’s possible involvement with the Mexican cartel—”

Her low groan turned into a sound of frustrated rage. She stood, shaking her head, flinging her arms out to her sides. “Are you crazy? You snitched on a gang
and
the Mexican cartel? Do you have a death wish or something? Maybe want to take a few innocent bystanders down with you?”

“I’m sorry, and no, I—”

“Quit telling me how sorry you are! I know you’re sorry. I know you didn’t do this on purpose. But it doesn’t change the facts, does it? Look at you! You’ve been shot! I could’ve been shot! These guys aren’t messing around.”

She paused, her face turning pale, her hand moving to her mouth. “I feel like I have to throw up again.”

I was in front of her in an instant. “Bathroom’s down the hall—”

“I know where the bathroom is, dammit!” she ground out.

But she didn’t head in that direction, just began to pace, back and forth, back and forth. I stepped toward her, and she whirled on me.

“Don’t touch me.”

I froze. Stared down at her as she stared back up at me, her gaze filled with a myriad of emotions, none of them good. Then she flung herself at me, wrapped her arms around me, the side of her cheek pressed against my chest and began to cry.

Ever so slowly, I pulled her closer. I didn’t say a word, just let her get it out. I closed my eyes and shook my head, cursing myself for a fool. I had done this. I had put her in this position.

“I’ll make it up to you. Somehow. I promise.”

She continued to cry, her small fists twisting into the fabric of my t-shirt. I wanted to comfort her, to offer her a sense of protection. Without asking for permission, I lifted her into my arms, ignoring the pain from my wound. She didn’t protest.

Carrying her to the couch, I sat down, cradling her as I would a child. I stroked her back, her arms, her hair, rocking her gently as she trembled in my arms. Saying nothing, I just held her for the longest while. As I held her, I silently promised to make things right.

I don’t know how much time passed. The clock on the wall had frozen in time. Kathy cried herself out and then snuggled quietly against me. For a while, I thought she’d fallen asleep. I had just begun to shift my position, thinking to carry her into one of the upstairs bedrooms when she spoke.

“You really think you can fix this?”

Her voice was soft, shaky, and yet filled with hope. My chin rested against the top of her head; her hair smelled like apples. “I can and I will.”

With a trembling sigh, she nodded and readjusted her position slightly. The fingers of one hand still tightly clutched my t-shirt, the other pressed between her chest and mine.

“You need to get some sleep. We need to be up early in the morning.” I stood, again, ignoring the pain in my arm as I carried her up the brief flight of stairs, careful not to bump her head as I turned and walked down the short hallway toward the south-facing bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and I kicked it open with my boot.

Nothing had changed. The room was still furnished the way it had been the last time I was here, over a decade ago, when Becca had been alive. In fact, this had been her room. My twin sister had slept in the room across the hall. My parents stayed downstairs, and I slept on the pullout sofa in the living room. Happier times.

I pulled back the fluffy white comforter and laid Kathy down, pulling the covers up to her chin. It was so tempting to climb in with her, to curl around her warm body and protect her all through the night. Instead, I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be in the room across the hall.”

Before I could turn to leave, she grabbed my hand. “Don’t go.”

I knew she was still afraid. Afraid to be alone. Afraid to think of what tomorrow might bring. Still recovering from the scare she’d received this evening. But I didn’t think it was a good idea.

“Stay, Ash. Please.”

It would be a perfect opportunity to take advantage of her. She was vulnerable. But I wasn’t about to make that mistake. I had no desire to use her that way. Not long ago, I might have, but not now. Not with her.

“Please.”

Without a word, I walked to the other side of the bed and sat down, smiling as the familiar creak protested my weight. Bending over to take off my boots, I left the rest of my clothes on and laid down on top of the covers.

The bed creaked again as she moved, then her hand was on mine. I turned toward her and closed my hands around those cold fingers, warming them, holding them tight.

I wanted more than anything to sweep her into my arms, to kiss those full lips, to make her forget everything but the two of us. I didn’t. I had done quite enough to Kathy Mason for one day.

I don’t know how long we lay in the darkness and quiet of the room, but eventually, her breathing deepened. Good. She was asleep. Now if only I could do the same.

*

Something warm brushed gently against my jaw line. Fingers traced along the skin of my neck, near the base of my shoulder. My dick came to life, desire running through my veins. And then I realized I wasn’t dreaming. Without moving, I opened my eyes and looked up into darkness. I don’t know what time it was. It felt late. The air had cooled. But I was hot, each stroke of her fingertips making me hotter.

I lay quietly, keeping my breathing deep and even, but could do nothing about the blood flowing into my cock. She was exploring, I realized. Her fingertips as light as the wings of a butterfly. Shit, I sounded like a girl. But the feelings and sensations those fingers evoked weren’t girlish at all. They were all testosterone-fueled.

The bed shifted, and the sensation changed, became warmer on my cheek. Her lips? Her fingertips? No, definitely her lips. Soft, lilting touches of her lips, lingering, warm. My dick hardened further, becoming uncomfortable in my jeans.

Was she awake? Was she dreaming? Reaching out in her sleep for some sense of comfort? If so, I hoped she felt comforted, because all I felt was pure torture.

God, I wanted her. Had wanted her from the moment I first opened that door. Wanted to feel her body beneath mine, her pussy opening up for me. Feel that sweet moment when I sank into her warmth.

I wanted to make love to this woman. Not sex. Not fucking. I wanted to make love to her. Gently, slowly, and passionately.

When her tongue flicked out and traced my earlobe, I nearly exploded in my jeans and couldn’t stop the moan from grinding out of my throat. She froze. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, turning toward her.

“Good.”

She pressed her lips against mine. It really didn’t take much more than that. A meeting of our mouths. Heat. Life. We fused together, the connection as powerful and strong as the moments we shared on the mountain. Even more so now, because now, I didn’t just want her. I needed her.

Maybe this was what they called survivor sex. The affinity human beings had to cling to one another in times of danger. To emphasize the fact that they were alive.

Maybe this would be our only chance to be together. A hello and goodbye in one.