Fighting for Flight (6 page)

Out of the few restorations I’ve done over the
years, this one is by far the best: high-end tools at my disposal,
clean working environment, great company . . . and the view. Like
the one I have right now.

Jonah is lying on his back across the front seat of
the car, his head underneath the dashboard. His t-shirt slid up,
exposing a few inches of his firm stomach. A strip of dark hair
trails from his belly button and disappears beneath his saggy
jeans. His strong legs are open in a V to brace his weight against
the floor.

“Ouch, gosh dang it!” I grab my bloody finger, more
worried about bleeding on Jonah’s stuff than the extent of my
injury.

“You okay?” Jonah rises from his sexy pose and
stands across the workbench from me, worry etched on his perfect
face.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Stupid rusty bracket.” I move to
stick my finger in my mouth when he grabs my hand.

“No, don’t do that. Germs.”

Heat rises up my neck and into my face. “Oh, you’re
right.” I rub my forehead, hoping that I can cover my embarrassment
with my free hand. “Mouths are dirty.”

He lifts his gaze from my wound, but I avoid his
eyes. “Not germs from your mouth. Germs from your hand. Who knows
what kind of shit is living on that thing.” He motions to the
offending bracket. I peek up at him and watch a smile tug at his
lips. “From what I can tell, you have a very clean mouth.” He
flashes one dimple, before his gaze drops to my lips.

I roll them together, wetting them with my tongue.
My chest rises and falls in erratic bursts and heat floods my
body.

“I’ve got something for that.” The deep timbre of
his voice draws me closer until I’m leaning toward him over the
workbench.

I swear the man could bed any woman with one look.
He releases my hand to walk to the nearby cabinets. I slump
forward, bolstering myself against the tabletop to keep
upright.

I’m no idiot when it comes to lust. I’ve seen it in
men before. But I’ve never felt it: The burning need pushing
against my chest; the building tension that coils in my belly; my
blood racing in my veins, flooding my head with visions of his
hands on my body. Desire fires my skin, flushing my cheeks. I look
around for something to use to fan myself.

“Here ya go.” His voice is right at my side, and I
push back the urge to rub up against him as Dog does when I’m
holding his food.

He lifts my hand sending delicious tingles down my
arm. With a quick squeeze of ointment, he wraps my finger in a
Band-Aid. His hands are surprisingly gentle for their size, and I
wonder how many women have felt their tenderness in better places
than their hands. Thousands would be my guess. My stomach twists
with painful jealousy.

“You’re good at this. I guess you’d have to be in
your profession.”

“Yeah, I get a lot of practice.” He finishes with my
hand and throws out the wrappers.

I want to thank him for taking care of my wound.
I’ve been on my own for so long I don’t remember the last time
someone took such care with me. The gratitude I feel for his
kindness makes me want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him.
Gratitude, yeah right, that’s what I’m feeling.
Instead, I
change the subject.

“What got you into fighting? Were you a wrestler in
high school?”

He clears his throat. “No, I started street fighting
first.”

With his knuckles on the workbench, he drops his
head for a moment before bringing his eyes back to mine. For the
first time, there’s sadness there.

“My dad died when I was twelve.” The words come out
forced, like he’s not used to the feeling of them on his lips. “I
became the man of the house way before I was ready. I started
getting in fights at school, getting in trouble all the time. My
mom,” he pauses to run both hands through his hair, “she was
destroyed when my Dad died. I just made things worse.”

His dark eyebrows furrow over his deep-set eyes as
he looks past me.

“At fifteen, I got busted while kicking some kid’s
ass at a park by my house. The cop pulled me aside and said that if
I didn’t get my shit together I’d end up in jail. He told me I
could use my anger to better my life.” He shakes his head with a
wistful smile. “It didn’t make sense at the time.” His last words
are said under his breath.

He’s next to me physically, but his eyes are far
away. “He gave me the address of a Boys’ Club, told me they taught
karate, jiu-jitsu, boxing—stuff like that. The way I saw it,
beating the shit out of people wasn’t doing anything but making my
mom cry. May as well take his advice.”

He shrugs and his eyes meet mine, no longer
troubled. He studies my face

“I’m sorry about your dad. You must really miss
him.”
I know the feeling.
Although, how can I miss what I
never had? I banish the thought as soon as it forms.

“Yeah, he was cool. He worked hard, but found time
to throw the ball with me or get down on the floor with my sister
and play Barbies.” His lips upturn warmly and his eyes go soft. “He
was a big guy as you can imagine, so that was no small task.”

My heart swells with appreciation that Jonah was
able to experience a good dad, even if only for twelve years. The
fact that he has good memories to carry with him is more than I
could hope for. “He sounds amazing.”

“He was.”

“How did he die?” The question is airborne before I
realize the boldness of my intrusion. I drop my gaze, immediately
wanting to take it back.

Silence fills the space between us, sucking the
oxygen from my lungs. I shouldn’t have asked such a personal
question. Knowing someone for three days hardly constitutes this
type of soul exposing confession.

“I’m sorry, it’s none of my—”

“Hit by a drunk driver.”

I meet his gaze and almost stumble backwards at the
agony in his eyes. He’s not angry. He’s heart broken. My eyes burn
and I swallow hard.

“He was killed instantly. I was so pissed off. It
seemed so unfair. I thought if I could beat the shit out of
someone, make them hurt as badly as I was hurting, I’d feel
better.” Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath. “Didn’t
work.”

My hands itch to soothe him with my touch, even if
only to grab his hand and let him know I’m here and that I
understand.

According to the local media, he’s a private guy. He
never exposes information about his family or personal life.
Sharing that with me took a lot of courage. For all he knows, I
could run out and sell his story to the papers. But he trusted me.
And the best way to pay him back is to trust him in return.

“My mom moved here from Colombia with her parents
when she was eight.” I clear my throat. I’m nervous. I’ve only told
this story to Eve and Guy. My palms sweat and I busy my hands
picking at a shop towel. “I guess they came here for the job
opportunities that Las Vegas had to offer. My grandparents were
working at the MGM when a fire broke out in one of the restaurants.
Back then, there were no sprinklers in that part of the casino.
Eighty-five people died, including them.”

“I’ve heard about that fire. They call it the worst
disaster in Las Vegas history.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. My mom was fifteen. She had
no family here and wasn’t a legal adult so she had to go live in a
group home. At eighteen she had to leave and find a job and
somewhere to live.” I take a deep breath as I prepare for the final
blow.

“That’s when she met…” I’m afraid to say his name.
If Jonah knew whose blood runs through my veins, he’d probably
never speak to me again. Deep down I know that our working
relationship will end someday, but I’m not ready to give it up yet.
“She took the first opportunity she could find.”

“Oh, did she get a casino job like—”

“My mom’s a prostitute.” Hearing the words out loud
sound so much worse than they did in my head. I drop my gaze to the
floor, afraid to look up and see the disappointment—or worse,
disgust—in Jonah’s eyes.

Seconds pass. He’s completely silent. So much for
not losing his friendship.

~*~

Jonah

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just throw it out there like
that.” She laughs uncomfortably and studies the ends of her
hair.

Hearing
those
words come from
this
girl? I’m in shock.

Living in Las Vegas, prostitution is fairly common.
It’s illegal outside of a licensed brothel, but that doesn’t stop a
few key players from maintaining the business. But to think that
this beautiful woman, so innocent and unaffected, was raised in
that world.

I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about
it. I understand. You probably shouldn’t be associating with people
like me, what with your big fight coming up.” She turns away from
the workbench and grabs her backpack.
Is she leaving?

My mind scrambles for the right thing to say, but a
frantic need to keep her here moves my body first.

She heads for the door and I grab her arm. “No,
wait. Don’t go.”

She’s silent, her back to me, head drooping between
her shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or ashamed. I’m
just surprised that someone as innocent and open as you could have
been raised—”

“By a hooker.” She tugs against my hold, but I don’t
let go. Her head drops even lower. “Just say it, Jonah.”

Pain twists in my chest at the demoralized sound in
her voice. She sat and listened to me talk about my family and
share my pain, but the second she opens up, I treat her like a
leper.

“Look, Raven, I’m not good at this . . . relating to
people and sharing.
Fuck
.” I breathe deep and search for the
right words to keep her from pushing me away. “I think you’re
amazing.” Her muscles tense beneath my hand. “It doesn’t matter how
you were raised or who you were raised by. All that matters is who
you are now.”

She turns toward me, her eyebrows pinched and her
mouth in a flat line.

I release her arm and shove my hands in my pockets
to keep from grabbing her and kissing that look off her face. “The
woman I see right now, she’s something special.”

Her pinched eyebrows dissolve into wide eyes, and a
dazzling smile threatens to send me to my knees.

“Thank you.” Her words are said in that breathy way
that I want to feel against my lips.

We stand only a foot apart, lost in the intensity of
what we’ve just shared, giving each other a little piece of
ourselves. I’m balancing on the edge of something huge. I try to
push back, clawing my way to solid ground, when everything in me
screams to swan dive off the precipice.

My emotions swirl in a cocktail of confusion, desire
warring with self-preservation. But through this, one thing is
clear. There is no working this girl out of my system. From the
moment she walked out of Guy’s Garage, she burrowed in deep. This
whole time I’ve been kicking and fighting against her pull. What if
I just let go?

I’ve been avoiding this since the day I left home,
not wanting to be responsible for another person’s happiness and
wellbeing. But locked into the aquamarine eyes of the woman in
front of me, I realize I’d give up everything for the chance to
take care of her.

I have a choice to make, and screwing her out of my
system isn’t one of them: face my fears and take a shot at a
relationship or let her go. She’ll go on living her life until
someone worthy of her love comes along.

Oh, hell no!

My teeth clench and possessive fury twists my gut.
The thought of her loving some piece of shit with her gorgeous
body, some other guy’s hands tangled in her hair as he devours her
mouth, brings a growl from my chest.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Raven?”

“What? No!” Her response comes out fast and
defensive.

Well, thank fuck for that.

My lips curl so hard my cheeks ache. Decision
made.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She chews on her lip and looks to the floor. “Um . .
. tomorrow is Saturday. I’m off.”

I step closer—so close that I can feel the heat
coming off her body. Her breath catches and I detect the
unmistakable lust in her eyes. “Jonah?”

The way she says my name saturates my blood with
arousal, and I fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my
head.

“Come over tomorrow. I’m having a barbeque. I want
you there.” My voice sounds deep and gravelly in my own ears. I’m
not taking no for an answer. I can’t. I want her, and now that I’ve
stopped fighting it, I can’t get her soon enough.

“Okay.”

I grin at her simple answer to what wasn’t a
question. I cup her face then slide my hand back to fork my fingers
into her hair at her nape. Her eyes flutter closed. Warmth explodes
in my chest, flooding my veins and making my heart race. As much as
I want to kiss her, I force myself to step back.

“Let’s get back to work.” I turn back to the
Impala.

The tiny whimper from her gives me hope. She’s just
as wound up as I am. If the sexual tension is already this high,
what will the sex be like?

I freeze as dread drops in my stomach, heavy and
unwelcome. I’ve never slept with the same girl more than once. I
lose interest seconds after I orgasm. What if I lose interest in
Raven?

I turn to look at her over my shoulder. She’s at the
workbench, sorting through engine parts. Her eyes look up from
beneath the canopy of her dark lashes and she gives me a shy
smile.

I’m completely fucked.

Raven

“Whoa, Rave, that’s the one. Get that one.” Eve
points to the coral-colored string bikini. “That color will
compliment your skin and make your eyes totally pop.”

I’m grateful to have Eve with me on this last minute
shopping trip. Jonah’s barbeque is today. After his impromptu
invite that left me grinning like an idiot, he told me to bring a
bathing suit. I thought, and Eve agreed, that the possibility of
swimming at a celebrity’s house called for a new suit.