Hard as You Can (8 page)

C
rystal was down the hall and through Jenna’s bedroom door in an instant. After years of dealing with this, her body reacted instinctively anytime Jenna needed help. Sure enough, Jenna had fallen out of bed and now lay disoriented and struggling to untangle herself from her covers.

“Hold on, Jen, I’m here,” she said, easing the blankets from her body. Jenna looked up at her with a confused stare that made Crystal’s chest ache. The disorientation was normal after one of her seizures. Sometimes she even had memory lapses. She’d been having them more frequently the past few months, but it had been a long time since she’d had one this bad. What in the world had triggered it?

Crystal didn’t know the answer, though she intended to question Jenna about her recent activities when she was well enough. Certain things could bring on an epileptic attack, and Jenna wasn’t always as strict about avoiding those as she needed to be. All Crystal knew was she absolutely hated not being able to do more for her sister when the seizures hit.

“Can I help?” Pretty Boy asked from behind her.

Twin reactions coursed through Crystal. A knee-jerk desire to tell him she’d love his help because,
God
, it would be
so nice
to have someone to lean on now and then. And he was a freaking doctor, for God’s sake. Or, medic. Whatever. Given Jenna’s condition, his skills would’ve been at the top of a perfect-man wish list. If she’d ever made such a thing. Which she hadn’t because dreams were for other people. She’d well learned
that
lesson.

But alongside that yearning for help came the soul-deep certainty that giving in to such a feeling was a one-way ticket to all kinds of trouble. Because this man and her boyfriend were obviously enemies, and Bruno wouldn’t tolerate her being friends with—or, hell, even talking to—this guy even if they weren’t.

Still, she did need to get Jenna in bed. And he
was
already here . . .

Clearing her throat, Crystal nodded without looking at him. “Would you help me get her back in bed, please?”

He was immediately beside her, heat and strength radiating off of him. “Of course.”

Crystal chanced a glance at him and instantly regretted it. Because his expression was filled with pure earnest desire to help her. To help
them.
And, no, she hadn’t forgotten that he was hoping for some sort of help from her, too. But he’d never once suggested any of this was a
quid pro quo.
She rose and gave him room to pick up Jenna.

He lifted her sister and, just like earlier, the gentleness and care with which he handled Jenna almost tempted Crystal to give in . . . to open up . . . One knee braced on the mattress, he leaned forward so he could place Jenna closer to the wall. So she wouldn’t fall out of bed again, so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Crystal didn’t need him to explain why he’d done it because it was exactly what she would’ve done. And there was that temptation again. Causing her stomach to flutter and her heart to race.

Without asking, the man retrieved the blanket from the floor and laid it over Jenna like she was a baby he didn’t want to wake. He was a big guy—tall, broad-shouldered, muscular—and the gun holstered under his arm said he was dangerous, too. But he was also the most gentle, kind man she’d ever met.

God, I need to get him out of here.

Holding a pile of books so it wouldn’t topple, he eased the nightstand a few inches away from the side of Jenna’s bed.

Crystal didn’t know whether to scream or throw herself at him—an odd thought for someone who’d lived through what she had.

“Come on,” she whispered. Not wanting to chance seeing him do one more thoughtful thing, she turned and marched to the door, then glared at him as he crossed the room.

The moment he registered her annoyance was clear because the concerned expression slid off his face in exchange for a confused one. “What?” he whispered, closing the door without making a sound.

And that was when she realized. She’d been on the verge of cursing him out and tossing his unfairly sexy butt out the front door. But she didn’t know who it was she’d be cursing or tossing.

All this time he’d been in her house, and she’d never asked his name.

Smart, Crystal. Real smart.

And as much as she needed to stick with Plan A and make him
go,
that wasn’t what came out of her mouth. “I don’t even know your name,” she bit out.

He smiled.

Oh, my God, did he smile.

It was a smile that made her think of lazy summer afternoons spent lying in the sun. Warm and sweet and reassuring.

“Well, pardon my manners, darlin’.” He extended his big hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m Shane.”

“Shane, huh?” she said, dropping her gaze to his hand as he lowered it to his side again. Because the combination of the Southern lilt to his voice with that smile and that face was too much to take in all at once. “
Just
Shane?” She peered up under her lashes.

For an instant, those gray eyes narrowed. Assessing. Weighing. No way he was going to tell her his real name. Not after—

“Shane McCallan.” He said it in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone but her to hear.

And Crystal nearly gasped. If he’d have hit her, she would’ve been less surprised. Because her gut said he was telling the truth. And,
God,
that meant he’d just given her all kinds of power. And the intense cast of his gaze told her he was well aware of that, too.

“Shane McCallan,” she murmured, needing to try the name out on her tongue. Shaking away the sensation that the floor might be moving, she gestured him toward the living room.

“Wait,” he said, a thumb pointing over his shoulder. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

She couldn’t stop the eye roll. Because,
suuure,
why the hell not? He might as well just kick his shoes off and stay for dinner at this point.

He winked and turned for the door.

“Light switch is on the left,” she said.

He closed the door—quietly again—and Crystal stood there for a moment. When she realized she was staring at the door, like maybe she could will him out, she whirled and made a straight shot for the living room. Where she stood again, not knowing what to do with herself.

All at once, she became conscious of the apartment. When her father went to prison, they’d lost the house she and Jenna had lived in their whole lives to legal fees and their father’s debts to Church. And, with Bruno’s help, they’d landed at this inexpensive and not very nice apartment complex with a handful of their belongings they’d managed to hang on to. She’d been damn proud of every one of her garage-sale finds at the time, but now she wondered what Shane saw when he looked around. And would he wonder how a woman with a houseful of obvious hand-me-downs had afforded all the high-end media equipment? The flat-screen TV, various components, and stereo were all Bruno’s doing. His patience with her no-bells-and-whistles TV had lasted about five minutes.

Crystal fought the urge to plump the throw pillows, put her running shoes away, and try to make the yellowed blinds hang straight. She kept the place neat and homey for her and Jenna, but Crystal never worried about what others might think because she never had visitors. She paced into the galley-style kitchen and had to resist washing the breakfast dishes.

Gah! Whatever!

The only person who ever saw the inside of the place besides her and Jenna was Bruno. On a few rare instances, one of his guys had stopped by to see him on business. But Crystal could count the number of times that had happened on one hand.

Speaking of Bruno . . . Crystal tore her cell phone from her pocket and woke up the LED screen. Her shoulders sank in relief. She hadn’t missed any calls or texts while she’d been dealing with Jenna . . . and Shane. Bruno was obsessive about her responding immediately when he contacted her. A missed message could have him showing up at her door.

And that would be really, really bad right now.

Good thing he’d made it clear he wouldn’t be over tonight. And she felt confident in that. Because not only did he have a crisis to handle for Church, but he often stayed away for a day or two after he’d beat her. Like he didn’t want to see the evidence of his handiwork on her skin.

Frowning, she slipped her phone back into her jeans and wondered what the hell was taking Pretty Boy so long. Even though she now knew his name, she suspected the nickname wouldn’t disappear anytime soon from her thoughts.

Not that she’d be thinking about him or anything.

She rounded the doorway of the kitchen in time to see Shane turning out the bathroom light and striding up the short hallway toward her.

Guy had to be over six feet tall. And man, he moved in ways that made her
curious
about things she had no business being curious about. Like what someone so gentle and so kind and so mind-bogglingly sexy would be like in bed . . .

Heat immediately flooded her cheeks, the curse of her pale skin. At the same time, her stomach went on a roller-coaster ride. The thought of trying to be with someone else after what’d happened to her was like free-falling off the edge of a cliff—freeing and terrifying at the same time.

Shane lifted a single eyebrow, and it was like he
knew
she found him attractive. He was probably used to women throwing themselves at him, pretty as he was. His gaze trailed a quick but unmistakable path up and down her body, and she felt it like a physical caress. Her nipples pebbled under the thin cotton T-shirt, and arousal stirred through her blood in a way she hadn’t felt in
years.
Maybe not ever.

And then he was right in front of her.

She wanted to retreat. She wanted to press herself against all that hard, male heat.

“So, what is it you want?” she asked instead, anxiety making the words come out more harshly than she’d intended.

Eyes like liquid silver, he stared at her so intently, she would’ve sworn he could see right into her soul. Then he shook his head, stepped to the bookshelf under the TV, and flicked a series of buttons on the stereo. Not so loud that it should disturb Jenna, a sexy, soulful song filled the air around them. “Do you like to dance, Crystal?” he asked in a low voice.

“Uh, what? Why?”

His smile was crooked, playful. “ ’Cause dancing’s something people do when they’re getting to know each other.”

“Really?” Maybe where he was from. Then again, she worked in a strip club. Dancing was something people did to make money. So, okay, maybe her view of dancing
was
a bit jaded.

“Absolutely. Ask anybody.” The song faded away, followed by the announcement of a Southern rock station’s call sign. A new song started, and Shane turned to her with a smile. “Dance with me.”

Crystal peered up at him without the slightest idea how to respond. Because her body was saying
hell, yes!,
while her brain was screaming
bad idea, really, really bad idea.

He stepped closer, arms raised, expression full of all kinds of invitation.

The next thing she knew, her right hand was in his and her left had slipped around his neck.
Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,
ran over and over in her mind.
What am I doing?

But then he tucked her hand against his chest and tugged her against him with the hand that settled at her lower back. And the closeness stole her breath.

He moved them to the beat of the song, a slow, sexy, bluesy number she didn’t know but would never forget. Some songs carried memories like the images were imprinted upon the very lyrics themselves, and she had no doubt this would be one of them.

All of a sudden, the air in the room felt ten degrees warmer. As they swayed to the beat, Shane’s body pressed against hers from thighs to chest. With every step and move and turn, Crystal’s breasts rubbed against the hard plane of his chest. Strong hands held and guided her body, making her want to feel them explore her everywhere. Arousal rose like a waking dragon inside her. Cautious. Curious. Dangerous.

This was wrong and stupid on so many levels. But, scary as it was, it
felt
so freaking good that she couldn’t force herself to pull away.

One song. It’s just a dance. Just a dance just a dance just a dance.

And, holy crap, she wasn’t the only one aroused.

Against her belly, Shane hardened.

Crystal sucked in a breath, and he pressed his lips close to her ear. “We’re just dancing here. That’s all. I promise,” he said.

But the adrenaline was already in her blood, setting her to a trembling she couldn’t control. Part curious interest and part instinctive fear.

“Sshh,” he almost cooed. “Just dancing.”

The echo of her own thoughts from a moment before allowed her to draw a breath that almost calmed. They turned and swayed to the music, moving closer, pressing tighter, Shane’s lips so close to her face that she could feel his breath shudder across her cheekbone.

He was a fire she had no business playing with. She knew that even as she leaned her face against his . . . and got exactly what she’d hoped for.

He kissed her.

Just a brush of his lips against her cheek, but a kiss all the same.

And as much as it made her head spin, it was the little catch of breath in the back of his throat that sent a jolt of electricity down her spine to settle low in her belly. Light as a feather, he caressed her cheek, her temple, her ear with his lips. With him, always such gentleness, so different from almost every other sexual experience she’d ever had. It made her feel safe to allow this to continue.

Between them, his erection was firm, long, totally unyielding. She shivered, caught between interest and fear, desire a river moving faster and faster inside her. The whole experience was a revelation—that her body had the capacity to respond this way, that a person existed who could pull these reactions from her.

For a moment, she gave herself over to the dizzying sensations. In her mind’s eye, she saw them undressing, fumbling their way back the hall, falling naked and wanting on the bed. What would it be like, just once, to take something that she wanted without worrying about anyone else, without being afraid? Just one wild, secret night, all for her? What would
Shane
be like?