Return of the Bad Girl (19 page)

Moriarty’s Custom Motorcycles

121 Main St.

Rock Canyon, Idaho

It seemed like fate kept giving her little pushes in Gabe’s direction. The question was, did she want to test her resolve?

G
ABE WAS SWEATING
like a fiend in the closed shell of the firehouse. Moving around the work benches he’d bought on craigslist and the office furniture in the back was getting to him, and he’d already taken off his shirt, which hadn’t helped as much as he’d hoped.

He wanted to be able to open the shop before his second rent check was due, and that meant working fast and hard. He’d have asked Chase for help, but his friend went to church with his wife, while Gabe hadn’t gone to church since . . . well, ever.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler, he took a few gulps and then poured the rest over his head and shoulders, rubbing the cold liquid across his skin. It felt amazing but did little to alleviate the heat.

Of course, it wasn’t just the stuffiness of the room that was getting to him. It also was sharing a small space with a woman he couldn’t get off his mind.

“Wow, now that’s something you’d see in a chick flick for sure.”

Gabe turned quickly and found Caroline standing in the doorway of his shop, as if his thoughts had brought her to him by force of will alone.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding harsher than he meant.

“I saw the flier design on the fridge, and I was bored,” she said, either oblivious of or ignoring his obvious irritation. He guessed it was the latter.

“So you just thought you would sneak up on me when I’m trying to work?”

“I thought maybe you could use some help moving things and setting up,” she said, her long ponytail flipping back as she shrugged. “But if you don’t need me, I’ll go do something else.” She spun around, her shapely legs walking away from him in dark jeans and knee-high boots. They did nothing to decrease his desire for her.

Eating up the floor between them, he reached out to touch her arm.

“What?” she said without turning around. “I know your first instinct is to be a complete asshole to everyone, but I am not in the mood to take your shit today.”

She turned to face him and for what felt much longer than a few moments, their gazes fused until he could have sworn sparks erupted.

Really? When did you turn into a fucking poet?

He could tell himself that what he felt for Caroline was just physical—his appreciation for a beautiful woman—but he’d be lying his ass off. He was protective of Caroline, wanting her safe and sound. Just being in such close quarters amped up those feelings—feelings he didn’t want or need.

Especially since she doesn’t even know who you really are.

“I know. I know I can be a dick—”

“You said it, not me,” she said.

“But I would appreciate the help.” She seemed to be waiting for something else, and he added, gritting his teeth, “Please.”

“Fine,” she said, heading over to one of the work stools. “Where do you want this?”

Chapter Sixteen

“Where have all the real men gone?”

—Miss Know It All

T
WO HOURS LATER
, Gabe had to hand it to her; for a short girl, Caroline was damn strong. She hadn’t balked at the weight of some of the steel benches or whined about being hot. She’d grunted, laughed, and groaned along with him as they’d lifted the last bench into place.

“I think I’m done for the day,” he said.

Her voice was breathless as she wiped her hand across her forehead. “I should probably get home to take care of the kittens anyway.”

He grabbed a water from the cooler and handed it to her. As he watched her hold the cold bottle to her neck, his eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts, shiny with sweat.

“I appreciate the help,” he said.

“No problem. I needed to work off some tension anyway,” she said, finally opening the bottle of water to take a long pull.

“Why are you tense?” he asked, his mind suddenly taking a dark turn. “Did something else happen with that guy who attacked you?”

“What? Oh, no, it’s just family stuff. My sister actually,” she said, setting her bottle down and walking around him. “By the way, who is HM?”

“What?” he said, surprised by her straightforward question.

“The painting you hung in the living room. It’s signed by an HM, and I was curious how you know him . . . or her.”

He took several gulps from another bottle of water and tossed the empty plastic in the trash. “HM stands for Honey Moriarty. My sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” she said.

“You never asked.”

“No, I guess I didn’t. I guess I didn’t feel it was appropriate, considering that you’ve said several times—if I stay out of your business, you’ll stay out of mine,” she said, taking a long draw of her water before continuing. “Although so far, you haven’t really done your part, have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no matter how many times I say I don’t need your help, you always seem to be there. It’s pretty heroic, actually. Besides, you aren’t really the sharing type anyway.”

He knew she had chosen “heroic” because it would needle him, but really, he was amused. Over the last week, he’d found that the walls between them were slowly being chipped away, at least on his side.

Though it was still killing him that she wouldn’t tell him about the man who’d attacked her or why.

“That’s interesting, because every time I ask you about your past or about the guy who assaulted you, you change the subject. Care to bare your soul and divulge all your secrets?”

Caroline sighed loudly. “Point taken.”

He waited for her to continue, but instead she said, “So show me some of these designs of yours.”

Apparently, sharing time was over. “You like motorcycles?”

“Sure. Had one for a while in Arizona. It was awesome.”

Just one more thing that made her amazing.

“What kind did you have?” he asked.

“I had a 2010 Ducati Streetfighter.”

He whistled. “What happened to it?”

“I sold it when I moved to Detroit. Too cold most of the year to have one,” she said, walking into what would be his office.

He grabbed some of his designs from his portfolio and came up alongside her. The sweet smell of her lotion or perfume mixed with her own scent had him leaning closer as he opened the large folder. “These are the first plans I drew up for my bike, so you can see how it changed,” he said.

“Why do you call your motorcycle Baby Blue?”

He shrugged. “My sister is a big George Strait fan.”

“Not you?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Your sister.”

He didn’t plan to go there with her, but when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were honest. “She’s in a private-care facility in Sun Valley.”

“Oh my God, why?”

He clenched his jaw, ashamed. Gabe didn’t want to answer and considered blowing her off, but what good would it do? All she had to do was Google his name, and all his dirty little secrets would be laid out for her to see.

What happened to keeping the past under wraps? To a fresh start?

Gabe realized that if he’d learned one thing about Caroline, it was that she knew how it felt to have people judge you based on your past. And if he couldn’t tell her about his, then how could he expect her to be honest with him about her problems? It all came down to trust. And though it had been a long time since he’d given his to anyone, for some reason, he felt like this woman could handle it.

“She was in an accident and suffered a brain injury. She has good days and bad, but she needs constant care.”

Caroline said nothing, but to his surprise, she pressed her warm hand against his shoulder, branding him with her touch. “I’m so sorry.”

Her pity, the last thing he needed from her, had him jerking his shoulder out from under her palm. “Don’t be. It’s my fault she’s in there.”

By the surprised intake of breath, he figured she wasn’t prepared for that. Turning, he showed her his other arm. “I got this scar from the same accident. And along with the scar, I got a five-year sentence in the Nevada State Prison System for driving under the influence and being involved in an accident that caused significant bodily harm.”

He caught the guarded look on her face, and it pissed him off. “I told you. I’m not a good guy. I’m a selfish fuck who drove drunk because I caught my baby sister kissing my best friend. I shoved her on the back of my bike without making sure her helmet was fastened and on the way home, I overcorrected and skidded across the pavement. I don’t remember much—except waking up in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed, and being told my sister would never be the same. I should have gotten longer in prison, but with good behavior, they let me out early. I’ve been trying like hell to make it up to her, but I’ll never be able to. I am a damaged fucking individual, princess.”

Turning away from her, he slapped the portfolio closed and took a deep, shaky breath. “I wasn’t going to tell you any of that. I just figured you would find out somehow anyway, so why not get it out of the way? I feel like you keep looking for something more to me, but what you know about me is it. There’s no deep down, no mistaking my true character. I am bad news.”

He waited, listening for the tap of her retreating feet or the slam of the door, but only silence met his ears and then the soft sound of shoes on the cement floor—only they got closer to him instead of farther away.

Fingers trailed feather-light touches over his lower back. “This scar on your back? Is that from the accident?”

Her caress made his skin tingle as he shook his head. “I was knocked down by one of my mother’s boyfriends and landed on a glass table.”

“What about here?” Her hand had moved to his right shoulder.

“It was a tattoo I had removed. In prison, you’re safer if you belong, so—”

“I understand,” she said, cutting him off.

Had she heard the pain in his voice, or did she really understand? He turned around before she could point out any more scars. “What are you doing?”

She looked him in the eye and touched the side of his neck, where his tattoo began and spread all the way down, past his shoulder and over his chest. “You say you’re damaged. That you’re bad news and won’t ever change.”

“Yeah?”

To his surprise, she dropped her hand to his and brought it up to her collarbone, where his finger felt a rough, puckered line.

“This is a knife wound—just a scratch, really—that I got from a man who used to come see me dance at the strip club. He was constantly asking me out, and I always let him down easy. But one night, after I’d had a shitty day, I told him I would never go out with an old, ugly fuck like him. He was waiting by my car when I got off work.”

His rage blazed at this phantom from her past. “What happened?”

“I pulled a move I’d learned from one of the bouncers. Even though he still cut me, I was able to pick up a handful of gravel and throw it in his face. I made it to the front door of the club, and he took off. They arrested him on assault charges, and it turned out he had an outstanding warrant. I never saw him again.”

Caroline pulled him closer, lifting her arm for him to see a jagged scar along her forearm. “This was from a broken beer bottle I got sliced with when a woman came into my bar in San Antonio, looking for her husband. She didn’t take it well when she found out he had a girlfriend on the side, and when I stepped in to stop her from attacking him, she sliced me.”

He couldn’t stop his hand from sliding up over her soft skin until it rested on the back of her neck, his fingers pressing into her flesh until she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

“What’s your point with all the show-and-tell, Caroline?”

She reached out and smoothed his chest with her hand. “I don’t care how damaged you are, because I am just as broken, maybe more so.”

Her words tore at him, twisting him up inside as his other hand cupped the back of her head. “You don’t want to go here with me, princess. I’m only going to break your heart.”

The laugh that passed those beautiful lips was bitter and sad. “Trust me, my heart was shattered long before I ever met you.”

Gabe wanted her, wanted to believe that he could find comfort in her body without the complications that would inevitably come, but he’d seen her heart firsthand. She had one. It might be wrapped up in a mile-thick layer of cowhide, but a part of Caroline Willis was still open to new emotions. New love.

And he wasn’t.

But he wanted to kiss her anyway.

He dropped his head until his lips hovered above hers, and he watched as they parted, the closer he came. Her hot breath teased his mouth, and he couldn’t stop while she was warm and willing. He might not get another chance to taste her, and while a better man would have walked away, he wasn’t that guy.

So he took her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue inside, savoring the sweet and salty taste of her. His fingers slid up into her ponytail, and he knew he was being rough, that he should slow down, but the way her hands gripped his shoulders told him she didn’t mind. He took her soft moan into his mouth and, slipping one hand out of her hair and down her body, he did what he’d been dreaming of for weeks. Gripping one of her lush ass cheeks, he lifted her onto his desk and stepped between her legs.

Damn, but his cock did love pressing against her.

Her legs hooked around him, bringing him closer as he dragged up her tank top. Gripping the fabric in his hands, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers, his breath coming fast and hard.

“You have exactly three seconds to get out of here before I do everything I’ve been thinking about since the first day I saw you. You decide. Now.”

Her hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans and, gripping his ass, brought him back into her body, giving him her answer.

Using both hands, he pulled her tank up and over, tossing it across the room as he took in her lush breasts, curving above the cups of her bra. Covering them with his hands, he squeezed them, molding them into his palms until the gasps and moans escaping her were too much.