Fighting for Flight (4 page)

Holy shit, Blake was right. I’ve turned into a
pussy.

I’m shoved from my thoughts by the sound of music
blaring. Is that . . . Johnny Cash?

I creep to the door and check through the side panel
window. A jet-black Chevy Nova with a white ragtop and white-wall
tires stops in the circle drive right in front of the door. Sweet
ride.
Sweeter driver.
Time for my game face.

Raven sits, gripping her steering wheel. Her mouth
hangs open as she stares at my house. One side of my mouth lifts
into a smile. She likes my place. A rush of warmth engulfs my
chest.
What in the hell is the matter with me?

Minutes pass before she moves out of her car. She
leans into her still-open door. I rake my eyes over the contours of
her perfectly round ass. She’s wearing hip hugging, low slung jeans
with a rip in the knee and a bright blue tank top. I smirk when my
eyes land on her shoes: black, low-top Chucks.

She’s sexy in a way that lacks self-awareness, which
only makes her sexier. Women in this town are overly aware of
themselves. I know there are exceptions. But what are the chances
that an exception who looks like a rule is about to push through my
walls?
Walls? I mean, house.
Dammit.

She walks toward the door in a fluid way, as if her
joints have been oiled. It’s the same way girls walk when they know
they’re being admired. But Raven does it with no one around. Is it
possible that she has no agenda? A slight breeze blows her long
dark hair, and, at the moment, I feel like the dorky math nerd
admiring the high school cheerleader from afar.

With my thoughts on her along with my eyes, I reach
for the door. I pull it open. She jumps back with a squeak, her arm
raised to knock.

“Wow, sorry about that,” I say lamely. “I didn’t
know you were here. I was just going to check the mail.” I make a
show of opening the mailbox.

“Oh, no problem.” She actually looks embarrassed,
which is funny considering the ass I just made of myself.

“Did you find the place okay?” I hold open the door
and motion for her to come in.

She lowers her head in an attempt to hide her face
with her hair. She doesn’t move fast enough, and I see a faint
blush kiss her cheeks as she moves past me. The same blush that had
me tenting my boxers all night.

“Yes, thank you.” Her eyes go wide as we walk into
the living room. “Oh, Jonah, your home is beautiful.”

My pulse quickens at the breathy way she said my
name.

Her head tilts as she peeks around the corner into
the kitchen. “Looks like fighting pays well.”

Ah-ha! There it is.

“You know who I am.” Not a question.

“Of course, I do.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling then
fix on mine. “You’re ‘The Assassin’.” She says my fighting name in
an exaggerated announcer’s voice.

Girls don’t usually tease me. And they hardly ever
look me in the eye. I try hard not to smile, but her easygoing
nature is infectious.

“You’re a local hero.”

My nose wrinkles at her overestimation of my status.
“I don’t know about hero.” My lips turn up in a half smile.
“Wouldn’t I need a cape for that?”

A cape?
Smooth. This girl makes me feel like
a love-sick schoolboy without even trying.

She quirks her lips and narrows her eyes in a way
most women reserve for the bedroom. “Well, this is Las Vegas,
Jonah.”

God, my name sounds good on her lips.

“In the City of Sin, we can use all the good guys we
can get, cape or not.”

She obviously doesn’t know my reputation. Many names
have shadowed Jonah Slade, but good guy isn’t one of them. Usually
I would think she was just trying to flatter me, but there’s a
sincerity in her eyes that steals my breath.

I stare into their blue-green depths. Her thick dark
lashes flutter before her gaze drops to my lips. I swallow hard,
resisting the urge to show her exactly what I could do to her with
my mouth. Blood races in my veins, shooting south with a
vengeance.

“Is everything okay?”

No, everything is absolutely not okay.

“Yeah, of course.” I force myself to turn away from
her piercing gaze. One more second locked in those eyes would have
me worshipping at her feet, begging for just the tiniest taste of
her perfect mouth.

I need to pull my shit together, and fast.

As much as my body craves her, I can’t seduce this
girl. Sleeping with her will no doubt work her out of my system.
But she’ll most likely get clingy and annoying like all the others.
Something deep down whispers that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Having a girl like this begging at my door might be fun. I shake
off the visual of Raven’s begging on her knees . . .

The resulting groan has Raven’s narrowed eyes on
mine. No, I can do this. She’s here to help me restore my car.
Surely I can handle being around her without throwing her to the
floor and ravishing every inch of her beautiful body. Or at least,
that’s what I tell myself.

~*~

Raven

“How about a tour?”

Yes, please.
Anything to distract me from his
eyes. They’re hazel, but not like any hazel I’ve ever seen. The
brown is so light I can make out shards of deep green toward the
pupils. The dramatic contrast makes it hard not to stare. “That’d
be great.”

It’s taking everything I’ve got to keep my voice
level and my hands from shaking. Even my grin feels off. My only
hope is that he’s used to people being nervous around him and
doesn’t notice that I’m about to jump out of my skin.

While he gives me a guided tour of his home, I take
an unguided tour of his body. As extraordinary as his house is, my
gaze is repeatedly drawn back to him. His towering frame is even
taller than I remember. His thick arms are round in all the right
places: t-shirt sleeves pulled taut around his biceps. As if it
were sculpted from marble, his body is all muscle cuts and hard
edges. His smooth sun-tanned skin is without blemish, except for
the glorious bursts of colors that coat his arms from his wrists to
beneath his shirt. I wonder how far they go? Over the bulk of his
shoulders to his corded back to—

“Raven?” The sound of my name pulls my
attention.

“Hmm?”

He’s standing at a huge sliding glass door, smiling
as if he’s in on a joke I missed. “I lost you for a minute. Am I
that boring?” His rugged physique is all man, but his boyish
dimples and bright smile make my head swim.

“What? Oh, no, it’s just I’ve never been in a house
this big before.” I make a show of casting my eyes to the rafters.
Wow, this place is huge.
I should have paid more attention.
“It’s a lot to take in.”

A tiny grimace touches his face for a moment before
it disappears. What did I say? I’m grateful to see his easy grin
return.

“Oh, well then, let’s get to the best part.” He
holds his hand out for me to take. “Shall we?”

I stare at it before my own lifts from my side. And
like the bug that flies helplessly, drawn by the bright blue light
that is Jonah Slade, I place my hand into his.

Not giving me a moment to soak in the contact, he
turns and walks out the door. I’m not used to being touched,
especially by someone like him, and it takes me a second to find my
legs. I stumble once, thankful to catch myself before he
notices.

We pass through his huge backyard. I see a pool in
my peripheral vision. I would look directly at it, but I’m unable
to drag my eyes away from our clasped hands. His hand is huge. Mine
seems so small in comparison. His touch is strong and gentle at the
same time. He could crush my bones with a flex of his fingers, but
there’s a security in his hold that feels safe. I’m smiling like an
idiot.
Great.

We stop at a large building off to the side of his
house.

“Here we are.” He swings open the door and leads me
in.

There’s no light, but the smell has my eyes roaming
the dark. He drops my hand. I pout at the loss of his touch until
he flicks on the lights.

I suck air on a quick gasp. “Oh my goodness,
Jonah.”

Raven

My mouth hangs open. I breathe in deep. The familiar
smells of gasoline, oil, and rubber calm my nervous stomach. I’m in
my sanctuary.

Jonah’s garage looks like something out of
Car
and Driver
magazine: The diamond-plated chrome and black metal
cabinetry polished to a shine. Rows upon rows of drawers in
different widths probably hold every tool imaginable. The floors
are covered in a slick, gray coating that is so clean I could eat
off it. He wasn’t kidding when he said I’d have all the tools I
need. There’s even a BendPak hydraulic car lift.

“This is amazing,” I whisper to myself, feeling
completely relaxed and at ease. “Why do you have all this stuff?”
My eyes continue to take in the surroundings.

“Hobby. I like fast cars, like to fuck around in
here. Problem is I don’t have time to learn the ins and outs.”

“I could teach you.” The words fly on a knee-jerk
reaction. I scrunch up my face and sink into my shoulders, fighting
my chagrin. I glance over my shoulder and find him staring at
me.

His answering grin sends my gaze across the garage.
I can’t look at him when he’s smiling at me like that.

It’s then that I notice the truck he drove to the
shop yesterday. I take a closer look. Walking around it, I study
each component from the Pro Comp forty-inch tires to the RBP custom
grille. I swear the thing looks like it’ll growl.

Stepping deeper into what’s at least a ten car
garage, I see a gunmetal gray beast that makes my heart rate kick
double time.

“That’s a ’68 Camaro.” I tell the car. Jonah steps
to my side from behind me.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he nods. “I didn’t
fix her up. Bought her from a guy in Arizona.”

I walk around, trailing my finger along her flawless
gray paint. “What’s she running?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and his eyes are dark
in a way that I feel deep in my belly. “572 big block.”

I whistle low. “That’s freaking spectacular.” I’d do
almost anything to get under the hood and fire this baby up. I bet
she roars like—

Something sinister demands my attention. My arm
shoots towards it, my finger pointing in accusation. “Harley
Blackline!” My voice echoes through the space, allowing me to hear
the embarrassing high pitch of my outburst. I’d care if I weren’t
so utterly beside myself with Jonah’s collection.

“You into bikes too?”

“I’m into Harleys. I don’t know how to ride them,
but the power behind these babies deserves anyone’s
admiration.”

He chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I’ll take you for a ride sometime.”

Go for a ride on the back of a Harley with Jonah
Slade? His magnificent body between my knees, hands resting against
his six-pack abs?

Yes, please. “Okay.”

He hits me with his megawatt smile that has me
fighting to breathe. “Come on. The Impala’s over here.”

I follow behind Jonah, my eyes firmly planted on the
way his jeans move with every stride of his long legs as he leads
me to the back of the garage. He stops and I almost slam into his
back.

I step around him and there she is: the ’61 Impala.
Her classic blue paint still shimmers in places, like an old woman
who insists on wearing her red lipstick. This old girl isn’t going
down without a fight. I study every inch of her frame, and assess
how much work needs to be done. There’s surprisingly very little
bodywork outside of a couple rust spots and a dent.

“Oh, Jonah, she’s beautiful.” I check out the wheel
wells, notice the window rubbers all need to be replaced, and make
a note to order new taillight covers.

I pop the hood and lean in to take a peek. The
engine needs new motor mounts, all new belts, and a good cleaning.
It could be replaced with something bigger, but this isn’t a muscle
car. This car is for cruising. I need to take it apart piece by
piece to see what can be salvaged and rebuilt. A moan from behind
me cuts through my thoughts.

With a twist, I squint over my shoulder at Jonah
standing a few feet from my back. My position, bent beneath the
hood and reaching into the back, has my bottom out and up and right
in Jonah’s line of sight. His eyes are firmly planted and my face
ignites.

With a speed I didn’t know I was capable of, I
straighten up and look to the floor, hoping to hide my
embarrassment. Being in this place, my mind focused on the project,
I almost forgot he was there. Almost.

“Sorry, I um . . .” I have no words. The heat from
my cheeks crawls down my neck.

“Do you like rap?” He turns to nearby
countertop.

“Huh?”

“Music.” Jonah plugs his iPod to a space-age-looking
dock and hip-hop beats fill the room.

I nod to his back. I’m not a rap music fan, but, at
this point, I’d agree to anything that takes the focus off of
me.

“Come over here and I’ll show you where everything’s
at.”

I exhale a breath. Thank goodness he didn’t make
that more awkward than it was.

After a short guide to his available tools, we get
to work. I get into a zone and concentrate on the build. He asks
questions, eager to learn the process. We talk about our jobs and
friends, falling into comfortable conversation.

A few hours into breaking down the engine, we take a
break. Jonah grabs a bottled water for me from the mini fridge. Its
diamond-plated chrome covering matches the cabinetry. Fanciest
garage I’ve ever been in, no doubt.

I work to unscrew the cap from my water. “So let me
get this straight. You’ve been working out every day, letting your
friends kick your butt, and taking any fight you can get, all for a
big ugly belt?” I attempt to summarize the UFL 101 lesson Jonah
gave me.