Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) (10 page)

“Again, that’s good, though perhaps I should feel a little insulted she has no clue who I am. I’ve actually met her before. I don’t remember why exactly, but her husband introduced us. Isn’t that hilarious?”

Yeah, it’s a fucking riot, I think, but I say nothing. My entire body is suddenly vibrating with tension at the knowledge King has actually met Rose. That he might have been close enough to touch her. That he might have even shook her hand.

“Now you see why I was a little concerned about everything. I didn’t know what he told her afterward about who I am. Apparently, he didn’t tell her anything.” He sounds pleased.

“That’s right. So you can call your associates off now,” I tell him.

“I’ll see what I can do. You know, we still have to find a way to collect our money.”

“You never told me how much he owed you.” I’m betting a lot, but hell, if it will get King off Rose’s back completely, I’ll fucking pay it off.

“You don’t need to worry about it. You just make sure the next time you take her out on your motorcycle, you don’t tell her quite so much. Mentioning Thornbridge and Street’s situation could have been enough to connect her to me. Not smart, Slate. Not smart at all.” He disconnects the line.

My blood turns to ice. How does he know we went out on the motorcycle unless he has people following me? How does he fucking know what we talked about? In an instant, I’m back at bike, running my hands over it and doing the same with the helmets. When I find the small transistor, I bite off a curse and crush the thing under my boot. I’m fucking pissed at the knowledge that somehow, King had been able to penetrate the security of my home to plant it.

I’ve been too fucking cocky, I realize. This is why King is so dangerous. He comes off as fatherly and benevolent sometimes, but that’s when he strikes—when you’re least expecting it. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Not yet. It’s not that I think King will put a hit out on me, because as far as I know, his criminality hasn’t extended to bodily violence, at least not the kind that’s permanent. But he’s obviously “associating” with people of a different sort now. He’s making some kind of move to establish his presence on the streets even deeper. Furthermore, the fact remains he’s committed enough crimes to land him multiple life sentences in prison. Eventually, if I went to law enforcement and squealed about King, my connection to him will end up getting exposed, ruining everything, starting with my legal career. And I could very well wind up in prison right along with him.

I see now I’m going to have to be more careful as we proceed. I still have a job to do, to defend Rose in court and take care of her in the meantime. I’m going to have to start with getting us out of the house again, long enough to bring in my crew so they can fucking search everything, find any other bugs King had planted, and make damn sure he’s not able to infiltrate my security again.

I walk into the house to find Rose waiting for me with a glass of wine in the kitchen.

“Sorry,” she says. “I need something to calm my nerves after that ride.”

“That’s fine,” I tell her. I need something to calm my nerves after talking to King, so I grab a beer out of the fridge. “It’s quite a rush, isn’t it?”

She laughs. “If by rush, you mean anxious and a little terrified, but excited and exhilarated at the same time, then yes.”

“Kind of sounds like living to me. So maybe you’ve changed your mind about giving up on things from here on out?”

“What?”

“I’m referring back to our previous conversation about how you’re giving up on men,” I remind her, not sure why I’m brining it up. But suddenly, the idea that she plans on being alone forever, resigning herself to a life of getting herself off like she did last night, doesn’t sit well with me. I’d given her her space and enjoyed the show, but suddenly I want to strip her and put my hands on her simply to prove no matter how good she felt last night at her own hands, the pleasure was miniscule compared to how a man, how
I
, can make her feel.

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.” I put down my beer and walk slowly up to her. Her eyes spark with fear and excitement again, exactly how she’d felt about the motorcycle ride, and desire rushes through me. I want her to straddle me. I want her to ride me while I stare into her eyes and watch the excitement overcome the fear. I want to feel her clenching around my dick and hear her screaming my name as she comes.

“I don’t know why it matters to you,” she says, licking her lips nervously when I stop in front of her.

I reach out a hand to stroke her hair. “Don’t you, Rose?”

She tilts her chin in defiance. “No. I’m your client. A client you fucked once, but you told me you want nothing to do with me, remember. No relationship. Hell, except for what happened last night, you haven’t had any trouble keeping your hands to yourself.”

“Ah, but I’m not keeping my hands to myself now, am I?” I cup her cheek, then caress her her throat. Her shoulder. My hand skirts her breast and lingers there, causing her nipples to tighten. Her breath is rushing in and out of her now, and she’s practically vibrating beneath my touch.

“No, you’re not. And I’m wondering why. Does it have something to do with the phone call you took?”

Before I can stop myself, I drop my hand and step back, once again amazed at her perceptiveness. I hadn’t even realized what was happening, but she’s right. My phone call with King had made me feel several things. Frustrated and powerless, sure, and walking the dangerous tightrope of the pull between Rose and I made that dissipate. But the protectiveness I’m feeling toward her right now is different. King has threatened her safety more than once now, and I’m feeling the need to claim her. To make her mine in a way that the whole world, but more importantly Rose herself, accedes to my ownership of her.

I don’t just want to fuck her, I want to tie her to me forever, I realize.

That’s why I hate hearing her say she’s never going to let a man into her life again.

Because I want to be that man.

And the notion I can feel that, when I’ve only known this woman a few days, shatters my world.

I take several more steps back and lean against the counter, crossing my arms and trying desperately to look at ease when part of me wants to run from the room. “I want you to admit that your life is far from over, Rose.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Because in the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve come to care about you.” My voice is steady and rings with truth, a truth she can obviously hear.

Her eyes widen slightly and she looks away, as if not to deny my words, but possibly the fact she’s coming to care for me, as well.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that the best parts of my life
are
over. I mean, I thought I had it all. Oh, not money and fame like you have, but a quiet yet real joy. I thought I’d achieved my happily ever after a long time ago, and it was all an illusion. Why try again when chances are it’s all going to end up the same anyway.”

“So because life threw you a mighty big curveball, you’re going to throw in the towel? You’re too young and beautiful and vibrant to let your past control you.”

“Hmm. Is that right? Because so are you, Slate. Yet for all your wealth, and for all your talk about not letting your tragic past affect you, you’re hiding out in your castle, aren’t you? Sure, you venture outside every once in a while. For work. On your bike. But I’m betting the reason you think you need to stay away from your friends, and the reason you were so clear about not wanting a relationship, has a little something to do with your past.”

I stare at her for several seconds, and the longer I do, I can see the flush overtaking her body. “You know what? I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” She’s still not looking at me. “Boy, that sounded awfully arrogant didn’t it? You don’t want a relationship because I’m
me
. Plain Rose Carter. Kindergarten teacher. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For my nightmare. For the nightmare that is my life. I should go. Let the police protect me. I should—”

I stride up to her during her panicked rambling and gently cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Stop it,” I snap. “You are not plain. You’re a good and beautiful woman, and if you knew the things I’ve done in my life, you’d never have left that jail with me. That’s why I can’t have a relationship with you.”

I realize I’m practically shouting at her now and drop my hands and step back. I don’t know what’s taken hold of me. My desire for her has turned to yearning and I’m angry because I know it doesn’t matter how much I yearn for a future with Rose, I can’t have it.

My dad was an angry man. An abusive angry man. And I don’t want to become that man, but he’s there, always there, under the surface. He beat my mother to death, which is how I ended up in Thornbridge, and no matter how much I tried to escape it, King’s had his claws in me ever since. She deserves better than a man who can’t even stay straight. Technically, the way I’m working her case is even criminal, and I’ve lied to her from the day we met.

My fists clench and I have to fight myself to keep from touching her. From spinning her around, pulling down her jeans, and fucking her from behind even as I bite her shoulder to mark her as mine. I want to do that so bad that I abruptly turn and walk out of the room. I walk, but I know both us see me running. From her. From the fucked up choices I made in my life that will keep her out my reach forever.

* * *

Rose

I’m not sure what happened downstairs but I can’t stop thinking about it as I lie in bed later that night. Slate disappeared into his office and hadn’t come out even to eat, and I’d been too shaken by what he’d said to protest. I’d spent the day in the library, trying to read but unable to focus on the words.

I’d been scared by the bike ride we’d went on, but I’d been turned on too. By the time we’d arrived home, my panties had been soaked. Part of it had been because of the vibration between my legs and the fact I’d been pressed so tightly against Slate, but part of it had been the adrenaline and freedom of navigating the open road. There’s something romantic about breaking away from the mainstream, the status quo, and living by your own rules. And that’s what Slate does.

Most of all, however, I’d been turned on by the way he opened up to me. By the revelations he’d provided about his past. There’s something wild about him, despite his sophisticated veneer, and he’d confirmed he used to live by fewer rules than he does now.

The idea excited me.

It obviously had excited me too much. Because why else would I have dared say what I’d said in the kitchen?

But more importantly, why had he said what he did? Why had he said he wasn’t good enough for me, when anyone can see that’s not true? But then again, I don’t know him. Not really. And I don’t know what he did in the past.

What frightens me is the notion I might not care. If I had a shot at being Slate’s woman, I’m not sure anything he could reveal about his past would dissuade me. That hadn’t been true with Josh. I hadn’t been willing to forgive my own husband for his downward spiral.

And that makes me feel like a horrible, horrible person.

I turn on my side.

And for the first time since I shot my husband, I cry.

Somehow I know, I’m not just crying for Josh or for myself.

I’m crying for Slate, and everything he’s gone through that could possibly make him think he doesn’t deserve a woman like me.

Chapter Twelve

Rose

When I go downstairs the next day, it’s like yesterday never happened. Slate greets me easily, making me breakfast and teasing me. I’m not sure how to handle it, so after breakfast, I grab a book from the library and head up to my room. I stay there for hours until it’s late afternoon and hunger again drives me back downstairs. I’m hoping Slate will be locked in his office, but no such luck. He’s standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms folded as if he had been waiting patiently for me to appear.

“Hi,” I say quietly, stopping by the living room couch.

“Hi, Rose.”

“You been working?”

He smiles softly. “Yeah.”

I nod but don’t move. Looking down, I smooth my fingertips on the couch cushion. From the corner of my eye, I see him walk toward me until he’s right in front of me, but still I don’t look up.

He sighs. “Rose, look at me.”

When I refuse, afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes—of what I’ll say or do now that I’m this close to him again—he puts the crook of his finger under my jaw and gently lifts my face until our gazes meet.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I’ve got a lot going on right now. There’s a lot weighing on my mind but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

I nod my head but tamp down my desire to ask him if what he’d said was true. That he doesn’t think he’s good enough to have a relationship with me. And whether that means he does want more than sex.

Finally, I break the taut silence between us. “It’s okay. We all have those days, when the stress in our head spills over and we can’t do anything about it. I understand.”

He smiles, and rubs the pad of his thumb against my mouth, making me gasp. His eyes narrow and he drops his hand and takes a step back.