All the Way (15 page)

“We don’t have to take what you hand over.”

“Did you know there are thirty eight bones in the human hand? I will break them all one by one if you try to take what belongs to me.”

“When you wake up in the hospital—
if
you wake up—remember this was the day you crossed a Mad Dog.” The biker hauled back and launched a fist at Blake, who fielded the punch with his palm.

On impact, a jolt seared through his arm. But that was nothing compared to the agony contorting the biker’s face as Blake brought him to his knees.

The man howled for help. Blake knew exactly how much pressure it took to snap a wrist, and stopped just short of it. The others lunged toward him.

“Come any closer, and you’ll hear what thirty eight bones sound like when they break at the same time.”

The biker spluttered and groaned. The men shrank back.

“That’s what I thought.”

Blake didn’t have time to issue any more threats. The sound of a police siren wailed in the distance. He shot a glance at the bar and saw the bartender drop the phone in the cradle and wipe sweaty hands down his leather vest.

Three curses rose up from the gang members. Strangely, all three stared at the man in the cowboy hat at the end of the counter, as if waiting for a set of orders. When they went unacknowledged, the gangsters tore out of the bar, leaped on their Harleys and roared off.

*

No, no, no!
Damn their worthless hides. D
idn’t the idiots know with one look that Desanto wasn’t the kind of guy you take down barehanded? A man had to be more cunning. More vicious. More like Jack.

He tilted his head down, put his hand to his cowboy hat, and crushed the smooth, worn-in brim with his fist. Smoke from his cigarette curled up and stung his eyes. He let the sting fuel him, let his mind run until he came up with another plan.

Obviously he couldn’t count on a couple of pissants to do the work for him. He needed to step it up. Get Blake out of his way for a good long while.

Jack plucked the cigarette from his mouth, where the beginnings of a smile curled his upper lip. The sweet deal about fake busts wasn’t just about the cash he siphoned—he always carried a decent stash of his own blow. Whatever he had left over from the last bust, he’d use it to frame Desanto. Jack believed had enough on him to get someone in serious trouble. Someone like Blake, who’d never see this coming.

Keeping his head down, he slowly raised his sights
to peer beyond the brim of his hat. Vengeance spewed like poison from his hateful gaze. Nobody took his girl to a filthy motel room. Nobody messed around with Layla and then put her on the end of a bet like some cheap whore.

Desanto was about to find that out. The hard way.
Jack would put a call into the local force, plant the suspicion in their minds. They’d confront Blake on his motorcycle, check Blake’s saddlebags for suspicious contents, and haul him away in handcuffs for possession of cocaine.

He could almost taste the sweetness of that long-awaited moment.

Victory, at last.

*

Blake didn’t wait around to see the fallout. He followed the bikers out the door of Larry’s Lounge and raced across the street. He almost caught up with Layla, before she slipped
behind a block of motel rooms. Theirs sat on the other side, hidden from view of the bar. It would hopefully prevent another run-in. Unless those bikers felt like tasting Blake’s fist if they tried to attack him again.
Or Layla.

He
slowed his pace after he ducked behind
the first row of buildings. He
crossed the newly paved blacktop, the scent of tar still pungent. The surface shone like a still, black lake, reflecting the neon-lit palm tree and parrot motif
above the check-in window of the Paradise Motel. He scanned the area to make sure they weren’t followed, and that the grounds were secure, before he met her outside their motel room door.

She fumbled with the key as the sound of his boots signaled his approach. Tone dripping with disdain, she asked, “Here so soon?”

“Aw, you missed me?”
A derisive scoff came in reply.
“If you care to know, I was defending your honor.”

“How can someone defend honor who
has none?”

“Okay, hold up.”

She whirled to him. “What do you want, my gratitude?”

“Layla, you’re trying to put the key in upside down. Here, give it to me.”

An irritated noise rose from her throat. She thrust the key
into his hand. His fingers closed around hers. When she tried to tug free, his grip firmed.

She went still.
His thumb stroked her hand, an intimate, soothing gesture that heightened her confusion.

“You were trying to get rid of me back there,” she accused.
Cutting deeper than abandonment, it hacked at her self-worth. She was better than a stupid bet.

He shook his head.
“I was doing no such thing.”

“You made me feel like I was no better than a stupid game, the kind you play for one night and then trade up at the end once you’re tired of me.”
She folded an arm across her stomach, holding a queasy feeling at bay.

“Is that really what you think?” he asked in a quiet
voice.

“Yes—no. I don’t know what to think. The more time I spend with you, the more confusing everything gets.”

“I know the feeling.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t mock me.”

“Want me to prove how serious I am?” His eyelids lowered halfway, enshrouding her in his smoky stare.

“Stop it right there. That’s exactly what started this fiasco. Lust.
This craving we have for each other that never seems to go away.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It isn’t real.” She snatched the key back, shoved it in the lock and pushed the door open.
Blake slipped in after her, shut it, and slid her up against it the way he had earlier. Except this time darkness smothered them. Her senses heightened.

Remembering what he had done to her made her knees weak. She knew what would happen next, what always happened in Blake’s arms.

Heaven help her, she wanted so much to bury the past under the thick blanket of their attraction, their chemistry and undeniable need for each other that went far beyond physical satisfaction. Like their souls needed to touch, meld, become one to ease this eternal restlessness that plagued them when they were together. And even apart.
At least for her.

As if the only way to get close enough was to make love. Join their bodies in the physical act to quench this soul-deep need. She feared it would never fade until she felt him inside her, moving over her, driving them both the edge, where fact and reality blurred, then melted into timeless essence, the aching beauty of bliss.

Oh yes, she knew what would happen next. It’d been inevitable since the moment they agreed to go on this journey.

One question rose to her mind. Its anxious stab throbbed like an unhealed wound inside her. Could she let it…without regretting it?

Blake’s lips found the base of her neck as if he knew the spot by heart. Coating her skin with a trail of steam that made her shiver, he slid his mouth up her neck to her earlobe. His tongue flicked inside. Her knees weakened, and her resistance followed.

The backs of his fingers traced the other side of her neck, underneath her chin, where her pulse pounded furiously. He paused.

Whispering in a sexy drawl, he said, “This,” smoothing his thumb over her rapid pulse, “isn’t real?”

Her head fell back, and she tried to stifle a moan. She reveled in the sensation of her neck and jaw ravished with his kisses.

Coasting his hands down her chest, his palms massaging her tight nipples, he whispered, “This isn’t real?”

He seized her lips, a
feral kiss that ignited her with exactly what she’d accused lust of being—uncontrollable hunger.
“This,” he murmured, slipping his fingers under layers of jeans and panties to touch her intimate wetness, “isn’t real?” He found her hand and held it to the front of his pants, molding it to his arousal. “Or this?”

Layla’s eyes flew open. Panting to ease her racing heart, she grabbed fistfuls of his T-shirt, felt the layers of muscle underneath. She tried to grasp how one man—this man—could throw her so off balance, make her lose control, when she kept everything else in her life under tight rein.

“It’s real,” she blurted out. “But what if it isn’t right?”

“What’s wrong about feeling so good?”

“I…I can’t think with you on top of me.”

“That’s the point. Don’t think. Just feel. I want to get lost in this incredible thing we have, this amazing place where nothing matters but being lost with you. And I don’t want to be found.”

Her heart constricted with longing to lose herself to him. But before she traveled that path, she needed to scrape away whatever brambles remained that would trip them up. “Blake, wait…please. I have something I need to say.”

It was the hardest decision she’d ever made. But it seemed right.

She needed to stand her ground, needed to know everything—the entire truth of the past. No matter how badly she wanted him to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bed. And lose themselves in each other.

A rough sigh came from deep in his chest. He stepped back. Layla found the light switch. The room brightened with a wash of lamplight.

She kept her post by the door as he sat facing her on the bed. The guarded look on his face made her glance away. This had to stop—this game of chase, capture, release. It took its toll on them both.

Stupid games
, she thought bitterly.

“Why did you put me on the end of that bet tonight?” she asked.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“Why don’t you respect me?”

“I respect you more than anyone.” The sincerity in his eyes validated the words.

“It made me feel like a cheap, worthless nobody, to be put up for grabs like that.
Whether you meant it or not, I don’t care. Whether you won or not, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” Blake straightened, his posture revealing the argument to come. “I—”
Then, to her surprise, he closed his mouth and backed down. His glance dropped to the floor.
“I guess I see your point.”

She walked past him, staring out the window at the darkness as she spoke.
“Especially after what we shared right before that pool game.
It sounded like you were ready to get rid of me, because I wouldn’t have sex with you.”

He inhaled sharply. “I’d never treat you like that. God, Layla, you mean more to me than anything. You have to know that.”

“Do I?” She faced him.

“Don’t you?”
He looked shocked to her core, so wounded she almost wanted to take it back. But uncertainty still plagued her, their past a tangle of misunderstandings and confusion. He whispered her name like it was his dying breath. “Layla?”

“What reason do I have to trust you with my heart again?” she asked, immediately hating how her words put hurt in his eyes, a level of agony that surprised her and spoke to her own remembered pain. Why didn’t he understand? They’d hurt each other the last time their emotions ventured into the deep, uncharted waters of intimacy. She couldn’t simply sail back into his arms.
“Blake, I’m not trying to be cruel, and I appreciate you coming on this trip with me, proving that you can be there for me when I need you.
It’s something I never thought to hope for—from anyone. But before I can trust you the way we deserve to trust each other, I need to know.”

She paused, took a deep breath, and pressed into the shadowy realm of their past.

“Why did you leave me that night?”

His startled glance flew to her. He asked quietly, “Finally ready to unpack that, huh?”

“I am. All I’ve known up to this point is what Jack told me. Now I want to hear your side.”

“You have no idea what that means to me.” Emotions gathered in his eyes. He stood, reaching out to her like he was about to pull her into his arms.

But she held a hand up to stop him. “Blake, please. Just talk to me. I want the truth, and then I want the chance to deal with my feelings after you tell me. That doesn’t happen when I’m in your arms.”

Letting his hands drop to his sides, he looked away. His jaw hardened. “Okay, then. Let’s get it over with.”

He turned away. He went to the door and walked outside. She blinked, then followed him. “Blake?”

“You want to leave your clothes in these saddlebags all night?” He leaned over his motorcycle, unlatching the compartments. He removed his duffel. When she approached hesitantly, he tossed her overnight bag to her. “Since the mood is totally gone, we might as well use this time productively.”

She blinked.
“All right.”

Following him back into the room, she closed the door, preparing herself to hear him unveil his version of the story as they unpacked their things. Layla paused as she pulled out the roll of her soft cotton pajama pants. Blake was right. The sense of warm intimacy they’d achieved had evaporated. In her fear of uncovering the truth of the past, she’d pushed him away. Again.

Disappointment tightened in her chest and stuck in her throat like wishes that had no words. But she’d asked for this. If he could see it through, so could she.

“I’ll make it short and sweet,” he said. The room filled with a sharp, snapping sound as he whipped one of his T-shirts like a rug that hadn’t been aired in years. “You said you knew Jack Johnson before you and I dated. Well, I knew him, too. Johnson and I have been enemies for years. I wish I’d known he had a thing for you. Then it would’ve made more sense when he blackmailed me into leaving you that night.”

Layla froze with a hanger in her hand. “Blackmailed?”

“That’s right. He told me if I didn’t leave that night, he’d call Rob’s juvie officer and report the curfew break.”

She gasped. “He didn’t!”

“Hey, are you telling this story, or am I?”

She swallowed, nodded.

Blake continued. “I knew Jack would do it, too. He’s ruthless. He saw a way to kill two birds with one stone and get away with double murder.” Blake’s body tensed, his hands clenched like a man suppressing powerful rage as he muttered in aside, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What do you mean he—?”

“He used Rob to get rid of me and take my place your life. There. The truth.
For whatever that’s worth to you.”

“That’s why you left?”

“Protecting Rob was the only thing equal to my feelings for you. I chose Rob—like you would have, in my position. I know that kid’s everything to you. Anything you treasure that much shoots to number one on my list. That’s just the way I am.”

That was absolutely something Blake would do. Hadn’t she known that? Why hadn’t his version of the story ever occurred to her? She suddenly felt sick inside, the kind of stomach-squeezing sickness that she felt when she learned of a disaster that could’ve been—or should’ve been—prevented. Like Kenny’s death.

He shoved his T-shirts onto the top drawer of the dresser. “I left for Sturgis, hoping that when I got back Johnson would’ve forgotten the whole thing
and moved on.” Blake shook his head. “I had no idea he’d stick around. Or that you’d let him.”

The insinuation in his tone, like she’d deliberately wronged him, slashed across her pride. She marched toward him, hung up her shirts in the closet next to the dresser
and whirled to face him. “How dare you make it sound like I wanted Jack more than you—”

He spread his hands. “Hey, I’m not here to argue. Believe what you want. I’m tired of trying to be everything you need and never being enough.”

“Why would you say that?” Hurt echoed in her words.

His eyes shone with incredible intensity. His voice softened to a whisper. “Is it enough?”

She stared at him blankly. “For what?”

“For you. Could I ever be enough for you? Be what you need?”

The question wrapped around her chest, constricting her breath. “I’m not sure how to answer that. Am I supposed to welcome you back into my life after a year of not speaking to each other? I mean, just ten minutes ago you turned me into a lousy bet.”

A desolate look crept into his eyes, like his insides had been laid to waste. Then he blinked. A mask descended over his features, devoid of expression.

He angled himself away and dumped the contents of his duffel on the bed. With his back to her, he spoke in a strained monotone. “Tonight I found out who your brother is riding with. That helps,” he explained,
“because the group is distinctive. We can spot them easily, even with the thousands of bikers who’ll be swarming Sturgis.”

“You learned that tonight.” She stared at him.
“When?
How?”

“I traded for it. Over a pool game.
But they wouldn’t take money. They wanted you.
I humored those guys, using the game to protect you, find out about your brother, and defend your honor. I guess that makes me an unforgivable demon from hell.”

“I…I didn’t know.”
Her lack of trust seeped into her awareness and soaked her conscience with regret.

“Seems we don’t do that communication thing well, do we? Too busy jumping to conclusions about each other, instead of going on a little faith.”

He’s right
, a
small voice said in her mind. To distract herself from the tears that kept rising up behind her eyes, Layla pointed out a bright spot. “At least this time we didn’t scream at each other or throw things or slam doors.”

“What progress.” He managed a smile, forced, fleeting.

After he put away the contents of his duffel, Layla glanced at the expanse of bed awaiting them. Since it was the last room available, they had to settle for one queen-size bed, instead of two. She thrust her hand in the direction of what she suspected would become a place of torturous temptation. “Will the sleeping arrangements…bother you?”

He lifted a shoulder and said mildly, “No, you?”

She shook her head, recognizing a side of Blake she’d never seen.
Accommodating, overly polite, he treated her like a stranger, a roommate for the night and nothing more.

She’d hurt him deeply. She hadn’t realized that her opinion of his honor would affect this much. Then again, she’d recently discovered men were sensitive about that. There were times still stuck in her memory of when Jack flew off the handle if she didn’t believe his hyped-up stories of his heroic rescues—

Layla flinched. Where had that thought come from? Why would she think about Jack at a time like this?

Uneasiness swept through her.

Blake gave her a sidelong glance. “Want me to go outside while you change for bed?”

“No, it’s fine.” She sent him a peculiar look. “I’ll just be in the bathroom for a few minutes.”
Swiping her overnight bag, she slipped into the bathroom, completed her routine, and slid into comfy pajamas—striped cotton pants and a loose sky-blue tank top that matched. She emerged to find Blake in sweatpants. And nothing else.

Don’t look.
Don’t tempt yourself
.
But she did.

All her suspicions were confirmed. He was gorgeous shirtless. Better than her imagination had predicted.

The muscles in his torso and arms stood out in relief. Warm shadows and soft light caressed every contour. His long dark hair splayed over a set of shoulders that invited her hands to stroke those firm ridges.

She shut her eyes and moved blindly toward the bed. She got under the covers. Blake followed. Only he stayed way over on his side.

How nice of him
, she thought
glumly. She’d killed this mood, she reminded herself. With her doubt and fear and cynicism.
Three old friends that had once been her allies were cold comfort. She’d
holed up inside
their false protection for so long, and now all she
wanted to do was let Blake in.