Lady Killer (Tangled Desires Book 2) (2 page)

Getting my bearings and finding suitable employment had taken a few days, and I’d honestly forgotten about that morning until now.

A cool breeze brushes over my skin from the overhead air-conditioning, chasing away the surprising heat of early fall. According to the snippet of news I’d managed to catch as I walked out of the vet’s after my shift, it will be another week before fall stops feeling like the middle of summer.

I step to the side of the door and drop my bag on the polished concrete floor so I can gather my mousy brown hair up into a high ponytail and secure it with the elastic I carry on my wrist whenever my hair’s down. My hairline’s damp, but quickly dries as I lift my bag again, fold up my sunglasses, and cross to the woman behind the desk. I need to be here almost as much as I need oxygen. The need for a physical release creeps along my nerves, making me irritable. “I’d like to use the gym.”

She glances up from the health magazine she’s flipping through and smiles. “You’re new here.”

It’s not so much a question as an observation, and she doesn’t give me time to answer before she gets up and disappears behind a half wall of filing cabinets. “So are you looking for a membership? We do monthly, six months, or yearly.”

She comes back with a manila folder, which she plops down in front of me and opens to reveal the usual forms, price list, and a schedule of boxing classes, self-defense classes, and in-gym competitions. I glance over it, but there isn’t much different from the usual paperwork I’ve seen at dozens of gyms across the country. I tap my fingers on the folder and lean a little closer. “I’ll pay per visit?”

I don’t like leaving a paper trail. I don’t like tying myself down to anything. I can’t afford that luxury as long as I’m being hunted by Santiago and his buddies.

“Sure.” She holds out a ballpoint pen with the name and number of the gym scribed on the side. “You’ll still need to sign the disclaimer.”

I fill in the details. Fake name, fake address, fake, fake, fake. My whole life is a lie to those on the outside. I scrawl my signature in the box and drop the pen on top. Just once I want to be able to sign my own name, my real name. But as long as Santiago’s on my tail, I’m going to switch out my hair color, phone number, and name with each new town. I pull out cash, the only currency I trade in, and toss it on top of the paper. “Can I go through now?”

She waves me away, and I step into the main room. Noise washes over me. The sharp quick smack of fists against speed bags, and the heavier thudding bass of powerful punches and kicks on heavy bags. Oomphs and grunts accompany the blur of movement, soaks into me as my gaze tracks two guys in the ring. I inhale deeply, slowly, dragging the scent of dirty, sweaty fighters into my lungs. Licking my lips, I can almost taste the salt in the air. It’s a bittersweet tang that has me throwing my shoulders back and marching over to an empty blue mat where a lone speed bag calls my name.

Adonis bodies pepper the gym, their muscles contracting and releasing, shimmering under fluorescent light and a sheen of sweat. Muscle shirts cling to lean abs and bulky shoulders and forearms. It’s the perfect setting for a deodorant commercial, or a modern day Jane Fonda workout video. I’m not sure which, and I don’t care.

Fight gym is an addiction. A way to center myself in a world of constant running. The only place I feel safe, even though I’m not. Even though I never am. It shouldn’t make a difference to my constant edginess, but it does. In amongst all these people with their guard up, I can allow mine to drop. But only ever a little. Santiago was a boxer, too. Competitive, driven, full of fight and stamina. He’d been amazing, and I’d almost fallen for his act. Pretty words, flowers, romance, but it had all been bullshit with a side order of pass the fucking crazy and a large helping of criminal psychopathy.

“You’re new here?” I hear him before I see him. His deep baritone sliding into my ears has the same effect it did the first time, as he comes up behind me. “Interested in learning or new in town?”

I dump my bag at the edge of the mat and turn to face him. Mostly guys don’t bother me. Don’t even notice me. It’s intentional. My look is constructed to draw little attention.

But some of them don’t get the message. Like the man who stands in front of me. Instinctively my arms cross my chest. Protection of a sort against him getting the wrong idea about what I will tolerate. “New in town.”

“Pleasure to meet you…” His gaze dips to my chest while he waits for my name, holding out a large paw, and I stare at it before running my gaze up that arm to his face.

Oh. I should have known.
You daft idiot.
Of course his voice is comforting. I’ve heard it before. Heard it when I needed someone to help me the most. Not that it worked out in my favor, or his. I should probably pick up my bag and walk out. Actually, there’s no probably about it, not where Tom Hadley’s concerned.

He’s still standing in front of me, his hand outstretched. As if he expects me to take it when he’s blatantly ogling my assets. As if I’m going to offer him my name and my body at the wicked half smile he throws me. Like I’m an alley mutt, starving for a bone, er… maybe I am. Heat rushes through me as he takes his sweet ass time running that cocksure blue-eyed gaze over me.

“We’ve met before,” I say, shrugging him off. “When you were on the circuit.”

He has the prettiest face. It seems weird to say that about a man, especially a boxer, but he does. It’s not pretty in the classic sense of the word. I can see the faint scars, the crookedness of his nose, and the slight bump from where it has been broken multiple times, but they only add character. He doesn’t look like a thug, not like some. He’s just a really pretty package.

His eyes crinkle around the corner. “Don’t think so. I would remember that. A pretty girl like you isn’t easily forgettable.”

Yeah right.
“You use that line a lot, don’t you?”

I expect him to refute it. To say he’s not the type of man I know him to be. Instead he chuckles. “You think you have me pegged.”

“I know I do.” After all, he's undoubtedly seen my body a thousand times while I held up numbers between boxing rounds. We’d been in the ring together a few times, but he's never looked at my face. Not even the night he bounced from the ring, grabbed me up into his arms, and planted his tongue firmly in my mouth. He was on a high, celebrating his victory, still worked up from going twelve rounds, and he would have devoured the first girl he encountered. It hadn’t mattered that it was me.

That was Tom
Harbinger
Hadley’s reputation. Woman after woman after woman. And I never intended to be one of his numbers, but the Tom Hadley standing in front of me isn't the
death bringer
anymore. Not since he quit the circuit. But he’s still the
Lady Killer
. That much is painfully obvious.

I turn away, dismissing him, but he doesn’t seem to get the point since he moves further into my space. “So what’s your name?”

I shouldn’t have to tell him. He should remember me, but he’s flawed in the worst way. I’ve seen him in action both in the ring and out. He can destroy an opponent with his fists, and he can slay a woman in 3.6 seconds flat. I don’t think he even has to try. A blind woman could see the temptation he presents. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw one or two of them
accidentally
throw themselves in his path. Reaching into my bag I take out my wraps and start to wind each one around my hands. “Not interested.”

“I’m Tom. Tom Hadley.” He steps around me, getting between me and my mission, the speed bag.

I consider punching him, but he’ll probably assume it’s foreplay, and the last thing I want to do is give him an in. I’m no more immune to his potent charm, which rolls out of his pores like some kind of pheromone-enhanced sex cologne, than any of his conquests, but I don’t do men, or complications of any kind. Especially not boxers, and definitely not ones from my past.

“Gem,” I say and immediately want to bite down on my tongue. I change my name in every new town. I’ve gotten it down to an art. Yet for some stupid reason I’ve practically told him my real name. It’s close enough, anyway. Too close. Like he is right now. “Now if you don’t mind.”

I glance over his shoulder at the bag. My muscles are tight, aching to let loose in the mind numbing rhythm of jabs. His gaze burns into me even though I avoid making eye contact, and I have the feeling that like a bear he’ll maul me if I look him directly in the eye. Not that the visual is terrifying. It’s actually rather erotic. His big body wrapped around me, his hands taking what they want while his mouth slides over my throat.

Oh, hell no. So not cool.
I check my wrapping, averting my gaze completely to concentrate on my hands. There are so many reasons to hide my face, the least being the blush in my cheeks, the most being he’ll be able to tell who I am when I’ve worked too damn hard to hide my identity for so long. And yet I can’t seem to keep my freaking mouth shut around him.

"Well, welcome to my gym. Let me know if you need anything.”

"Yours?" My gaze shoots back to his face.
Goddamn it. I should have known.

He gives me a nod and grins, all white teeth, like a shark. He’s read my body language, the way I tilt forward, gravity pulling me toward him. The heat in my face. If he winks at me I am fucked, and I don’t just mean in the metaphoric sense of the word. I glance about with trepidation. Trust me to walk into
his
gym, when the reason I’m here is to get away from men like him. Well not him exactly. He’s not a bad guy. He’s just dangerous, used to getting whatever he wants, sleeping with whoever he wants. And I’m not interested. There are so many reasons why I’m not interested.

"That's right." He taps the speed bag above my head and winks. "So sorry, but I’m not leaving."

Shit. Fuck. Back away, carefully so as not to alert him to your movements.

"Never mind." Not bothering to take off my wraps, I move to pick up my bag. "I’ll go. There has to be somewhere you won’t hit on me."

His hand snaps out to take mine, engulfs it while his thumb rubs over my knuckles, sending a corresponding delicious shiver up the bumps of my spine. "You don't need to do that. I'm not hitting on you. I don't..." he suddenly glances down at where we're touching. His hand so warm over mine, slightly rough. Then he pulls away. "I don't do that anymore."

Before I can open my mouth to ask why, he's prowling across the room. There's something in the way he moves. It draws the eye. Every eye, men and women alike, but for different reasons. Men used to want to be him. Women want to be with him. That cocky swagger, that animal grace, and the power of it. It's like every move he makes is controlled, determined, executed for maximum outcome. The slight limp doesn't help either. The way his leg rolls out to the side a little before he puts it down in front. It's almost as if what he totes between his legs makes it impossible to walk normally, like God and his momma designed him as a gift to women. I still remember how he got that limp. How can I not? After all it was my fault.

Tom

The girl has some serious moves. There’s a quiet fluidity behind the way she pummels the speed ball. Her technique is smooth, uncomplicated, and precise. I get the feeling she goes through life with the same style, and it’s fascinating.

I move around the gym, talking to the regulars and helping a few of the newer members with their moves, but I can’t keep my gaze from straying back to her. She seems to think I should know her. That we’ve run across each other before. But I would remember her. I’m sure of it.

She stays for a while, moves from the speed bag to a jump rope, as other clients come and go, and I finally have time to pull on gloves and work over a heavy bag.

I feel her gaze land on me from time to time, but I never catch her staring. Each time I catch a glimpse she ducks her head. I can’t place her. I rack my brain, but this is a girl I’ve never slept with. In fact on first impression, she isn’t even a girl who would normally catch my eye. There’s something about her, though, that makes me want to get beneath the prickly exterior. Most women are either scared of me or want to be fucking under me, and she’s neither. It’s refreshing and more than a little fascinating.

I bet she’s got a warm gooey center. There’s no way she could possibly be as frigid as she comes across. Not that it matters. The mousy girl with attitude flashing in her gaze made it pretty clear she isn’t into being hit on.

Well, she’s perfectly fucking safe around me. I’m not interested in her, either. I’m not interested in anything to do with who I was before my career ended with the accident. I was so close to achieving my dreams until the night that car came out of nowhere. The reminder she brings is a punch to the guts that has me clenching my teeth. So no, I’m not interested in having anything to do with her. Besides, I’m not supposed to be interested in anyone except the woman who currently has my balls in a squirrel grip. She, I am very interested in. The woman supposedly, probably, who is the mother of my child. That’s who I should be focusing on. Not Miss I’m Not Interested’s tight backside.

I shake my head when she saunters past me, but I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face when she glares daggers at me. The urge to get under that prickly exterior is almost too tempting to ignore.

***

Chelsea’s sitting on the hood of her car when I walk out of work, ready to hunt down another woman on my list. “How was it?”

“It’s started,” I say. Not that she’s asking. “Kate must have said something. This new girl showed up today. Nearly bit my head off over hitting on her.”

“Sounds like something you’d deserve.” Chelsea chuckles.

I glare at her. “You know I wasn’t. I was simply asking whether she was new to boxing.”

“Your reputation has always preceded you. Not much you can do about that.” She slips off the hood and strides around to the driver’s side door.

“Yeah. Well now I might give a damn.”

“Oh sure.” She tugs her sunglasses down on her nose and rolls her eyes. “Now you give a damn when you can’t get into some woman’s pants.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” I yank the door open and slip inside at the same time she does. “I can’t even make small talk with a client anymore. Harbinger’s the worst thing that ever happened to me. God help me if I wanted to be friends with a woman.”

“You’re a douchebag.” She motions to herself. “What do you call me?”

“You’re not a girl.”

“I have some body parts that beg to differ.” She deliberately gestures at her breasts.

“You’re my best friend, and you have balls bigger than my brother.” I snort. “Maybe if you didn’t we could have gotten to be more than friends, and I wouldn’t have so many fucking problems.” I’m joking. I love her as much as I love my sister, but I could never think of Chelsea in that way.

“Eww, gross.” She slaps my arm. “Just no, okay? Besides, you only have two problems. Finding your baby mamma, and not getting laid.”

“It’s a fucking crisis.” I roll my eyes. As terrifying as my unknown future is, it’s also a relief. None of my family get that, because I’ve never explained it to them. How all these women wanting a piece of me isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Pulling out the ever-present list, I check over the names not yet crossed out.

Madeline’s next. Fucking Madeline. She was one hell of a crazy night, and most of the next day. God help me if she’s the one. And if she isn’t, I’m prepared to duck like a girl. This one had a fiery side and a killer hook, which I helped her perfect. I find her address and show Claire. “You’re going to protect me from getting hit by another girl aren’t you, bestie?”

“Fat fucking chance.” Her laughter fills the car. “Man up. We’ve only got a half dozen to go.”

When we pull up in front of Madeline’s, she’s arriving home. I don’t even need to get out of the car while we watch her waddle up the front steps. It looks like she’s about to pop, she’s so big. Far too big for her to be pregnant with my child. Even if she’s carrying sextuplets. How I hadn’t noticed when we were naked and locked together is beyond me, except I learned years ago not to pay too much attention to detail, basically keeping it to names, but in this town it isn’t hard to find people anyway. Everyone knows everyone by some level of association. Except Gem. I wonder if any of the other women who come for classes at the gym know her.

I don’t understand why she pops into my head at this moment, while I am face to face with what could have been my future. The last thing I should be doing is delving into the parts of my life I try so hard to forget, and losing focus over a girl who very clearly stated how uninterested she was. I was happy with my life the way it was, before pee-stick Cindy, before Gem wandered into my gym, bringing painful reminders of who I was before that future was stolen from me. Hunching down in my seat in case Madeline notices us, I flash Chelsea a thankful grin. “Let’s go. This is so not my screw up.”

Gem

I swipe at my brow with the back of my wrist and get back to making sure the animals are fed and have enough water for the night. I’ve already wiped down the operating room and exam rooms and freshened up the office. But it’s been hot as hades today, and even though the vet’s center is air-conditioned, no one will be back to check on the animals until the morning.

I place the last feed bowl in the cage with the puppies and stroke my hand over the scruffy neck of the smallest one. The fluffy little mutt rolls on his back so I can tickle his tummy. Animals are so much better than people. They don’t hide who they are; they simply are. A rabid dog is a rabid dog. It doesn’t hide inside a squirming puppy. I like that about them. You know what you’re going to get, and what you can work with. Plus they’re smarter than people. Well, smarter than me, anyway. They aren’t tricked by people, like I am.

After I check the locks I make my way to the front. There’s still ten minutes before I can punch out, so I slink under the vents and let the chilled air breeze over me, knowing I’m going to be sweltering once I leave, since I’m still living in my car. I pull the band from the messy ponytail that’s no longer keeping my hair out of my face and drag my fingers through the snags.

The buzzer sounds as the doors whoosh open, and pull me back to attention. Tom Hadley stands inside the doorway, shirtless and with his arms full of dog. It has to weigh one hundred pounds at least, and he’s carrying… I take a quick peek. Her. He’s carrying her like she’s a baby. God, he looks every inch a saint thanks to the dog. I glide across to them, stroke my hands over the animal’s ears. “Who have we got here?”

“This is Lucky.” He shifts from foot to foot, his biceps tensing while he adjusts her weight.

I bet she is. I bet anywhere he goes with her in tow he gets ogled by women. I bet he runs with her, shirtless. All his chiselled muscles on display, like some living Greek sculpture. Watching him move is mesmerising.
Shake it off, woman. Deal with the dog.
“So what’s going on with Lucky?”

“We were running. I think she got something in her paw, but I can’t see it to pull it out.”

Seriously? It’s as if he read my mind. Knows I’m imagining him running in slow motion, glistening with sweat and the fuck me vibe that seems to encompass him. I massage along the leg he nods at, and all the while she lays there, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, like she’s grinning at the attention. At first I can’t see anything, but she yanks back when I press lightly on the pad to inspect it. “Why don’t you bring her in the examination room, so I can get a better look?”

“So you’re a vet? That’s pretty cool.” He follows me into the closest room.

It would be if I was, but that would require having gone to college. Something I never got the chance to do. I’d planned to go. Then I’d snuck out to a boxing match with some girls from school. Next thing I knew I was a ring girl, and a little while after that Jimmy Santiago was literally charming the pants off me. College could wait. There’d be time later, and I was having too much fun.

Jimmy will never let me go now. College is a pipedream.

I quickly pull my hair back in a ponytail and find a magnifying glass. “Just an assistant. If I can’t find what’s wrong with Lucky, I’ll call the vet.”

“Okay, thanks.” He lays her down on the metal surface, and now there’s nothing covering his naked chest, those gloriously perfect abs, all those dips and ridges leading into the V that starts above the waist of his shorts. There’s nothing soft about him. He might have lost his career, but he’s still in peak condition. The room gets warmer with him in it, and I want to throw him a shirt to cover up so he isn’t distracting me. I shake my head and bend over Lucky for a closer inspection.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“What was what about?” He’s right that she got something in her paw. A tiny shard of glass nestles inside the cut.

“Why’d you shake your head?”

I glance up to find him smiling at me. Damn it, he’s so good at reading women. The dog threw me for a minute. The theory that animals can tell a good person from a bad one obviously doesn’t extend to a man’s ability to get into a woman’s panties. That makes him dangerous. “You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you? Too sexy for shirts.”

His grin gets wider. “I can’t help it if you like what you see.”

“I didn’t say I like it. Can you hold her still so I can get this shard of glass out?”

He leans over, settling his hands on her shoulder and rump. “She’s pretty placid.”

His chest is practically in my face. I can see the little metal loop through one nipple, as I’m surrounded by that clean sweat smell; the one that’s all masculine bullshit mixed with come over here and fuck me pheromones. I can’t freaking breathe with him this close, let alone concentrate. Gritting my teeth, I bend lower, trying to ignore him, while I focus on extracting the offending object.

“She’s beautiful. How long have you had her?” I ask as I dump the sliver in the empty trashcan.

“Got her from a shelter. She was still a puppy.”

“A lot of people won’t rescue big dogs.” I wash her paw to make sure it doesn’t get infected.

“Yeah, I mean, she was a massive fucking puppy, but how could I say no to these big brown eyes?” He scrubs his hands over her face as she rolls onto her belly.

If I weren’t so jaded, I’d be swooning over his puppy love. The way she obviously adores her owner speaks volumes about the kind of man he is. Or at least that he doesn’t take his violence home.

Scooping her up, he sets her on the floor. She’s still limping, but the fact she can put weight on it bodes well.

“She should be back to normal in a couple days,” I say, walking them out.

“Thanks.” He offers his hand, furrowing his brow. “It was Gem, right?”

“Right.” I’m momentarily surprised that he recalls our earlier altercation, before I slip my hand into his. His palm is warm and rough, his fingers strong. There’s an electricity to his charisma. A jolt of something hot and sinful that flows between us. It makes my pulse pick up, but at the same time there’s a comfortableness to it, like slipping on a favorite coat. I have to snatch my hand back and wipe it down my leg to shake it off.

“So how much do I owe you?” He pulls his wallet out and flips it open, watching me expectantly.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I’m trapped in his gaze, and I need him to leave. I need him to go before things get more complicated than they already are. Because I’m struggling to remember why I absolutely cannot give the Lady Killer a chance to charm me.

“How about coffee? Or something?” He shrugs, stowing his wallet back in his pocket.

I snap out of the haze he’s pulled me into. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“I’m not hitting on you.”

He’d told me he’d changed his stripes, but I have no reason to believe him. I run my gaze the length of his body. “No, really, I’m not interested in
anything
you have to offer.”

“Good,” he says. “So there should be no reason why we can’t take a walk and get a drink.”

I feel like I need to repeat myself, like he isn’t getting that I mean it when I say I’m not going to fall for his tight, sculpted body, or his sexy as sin smile.
Oh the reasons for why that isn’t a good idea. Let me count the fucking ways.