Rev It Up (19 page)

Because
this
was what he was built for. Fighting. Protecting. Defending. And maybe if Shell began to see him as less like the man he used to be—the one who’d treated her so terribly—and more like the man he was now—the one who’d lay down his life for her and her son—he’d be able to charm his way into that invitation for a sleepover. If the heat of those kisses was anything to go by,
yo,
mama
, she was closer to inviting him upstairs than she knew.

Of course, first he had to deal with whoever the hell was lurking around out here. And there
was
someone lurking. He could feel eyes on the back of his head as surely as he felt the cold, damp ground beneath his feet.

Just like back in BKI’s courtyard, a tidal wave of anger washed through him at the thought of someone hurting Shell or Franklin. But now, the sensation was much more acute. Because back there, Shell would’ve simply been collateral damage for whoever was gunning for Boss. But here? Whoever had come
here
, to the sanctity of her home, was aiming specifically for her.

For the first time in a long time, the monster inside him reared its head and blinked red eyes, stretching its claws.

Who
are
you, you bastard.
Where
are
you?

There. By the trash cans. Movement.

Heart pounding in hungry anticipation, monster inside him growling and scratching to be free, he slowly stalked in the direction of his prey.

***

What
the
hell?

Johnny had ducked back into the prickly hedgerow when a large man with an even larger gun stealthily emerged from the back door of Michelle’s brownstone.

This wasn’t what he’d planned for…

Last night, when he scouted out the place, he was gratified to learn that Michelle and her son lived alone. And though she was more suspicious than most women and had a security system to match the Pentagon’s, he knew just how get around that. All he had to do was cause a little racket. And when Michelle came to investigate, and she
would
come to investigate—humans were intrinsically curious which, in his experience, also made them intrinsically stupid—he’d simply grab her and drag her back inside before forcing her to rearm her system.

Yeah, that was the idea. But this dickhead, the one wearing the ridiculous boxer shorts, screwed everything up. Johnny wasn’t prepared to take on a full-grown man, especially one handling a very deadly weapon. He hadn’t brought the correct tools with him.

Shit!

Fury mixed with disappointment to sit like a bitter pill, burning his gut.

He’d
so
been looking forward to this. Dreaming about it all day, in fact. Especially after he’d heard the sound of her smooth, sexy voice when she told him to leave the roses.

But he hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by being careless.

So…he’d wait. Again. Go back to the hotel and regroup. Again.

And tomorrow night when he visited them? Well, he’d be ready for
all
possible scenarios, now wouldn’t he?

Silently he slid back through the bushes and disappeared into the neighbor’s yard. He hadn’t gone more than twenty feet when he heard a clearly disgruntled meow followed by a string of curses.

Ah, perfect…

***

Michelle blew out a relieved breath when she heard Jake close the kitchen door and reset the alarm. Tucking the pistol in the pocket of her robe, she waited for him to mount the steps.

Oh, why did her heart jump into her throat at the mere thought of seeing him in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts?

Because
it’s a silly organ, that’s why. A silly, forgetful, forgiving organ. And, let’s be fair, Jake
can
fill
out
a
pair
of
underwear
like
nobody’s business…

“What was it?” she asked once he climbed to the landing, fighting not to let her gaze drift down the delicious tan expanse of his naked chest.

“That’s the second time today I nearly shot a cat,” he mused, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Black with white paws?”

“Yep, and chowing down on your garbage like it was chock-full of tuna fish. He must’ve knocked the lid off the can, and that’s what caused the racket.”

“That would be Seymour, the neighbor’s cat, and he’s obviously getting a lot more resourceful. I thought I’d finally bested him with these new garbage cans. Apparently they only foiled him for a little while.”

Jake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to massage away the tension, and she took the opportunity to sneak the
teeniest
little peek at his chest.

Unfortunately, even in the dim hall, she must not have been all that stealthy, because no sooner had she allowed her eyes to drift down to the corrugated muscles of his stomach than she felt it happen.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere…

When he lowered his arm, his gaze zeroed in on her cleavage, revealed by the deep V of her nightgown and her hastily donned robe. She grabbed the robe’s satin lapels and jerked the two halves tightly together.

Okay, and turn about was fair play, but it could also get a woman in a crap-ton of trouble.

One corner of his too-sexy mouth hitched at the sight of her nervousness before he cleared his throat and took a step toward her, pinning her with his too-green gaze. “I, uh, I want to apologize for the way I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” she interrupted, taking two hasty steps back toward the safety of her bedroom. “You shouldn’t have. But it’s fine. Just as long as it doesn’t happen again.”

He tilted his head and smiled as he advanced on her retreat. Those blasted dimples taunted her. “That’s one of the main reasons I fell in love with you, you know.”

Why did he insist on using that word when he didn’t truly understand its meaning?

She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “What are you talking about?” she asked from the relative safety of her bedroom’s doorway.

“Your sweet, forgiving nature. I’ve never met anyone as thoughtful and caring and quick to give everyone the benefit of the doubt as you.”

Oh, God.
And any sexual heat she’d been feeling was instantly doused.

“I’m not as sweet and thoughtful as you think,” she admitted, suddenly fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to cry.

Okay, and maybe she should seek some pharmacological intervention. Because it wasn’t normal to feel randy as a teenage boy one second and sad as a circus clown the next, was it?

Of course, she figured she could blame some of her hot/cold emotional seesawing on the fact that about a hundred tons of fear and worry and adrenaline had poured through her system at some point that night. Then again, she knew that was only part of it. Because even under the best of circumstances, she wouldn’t have been able to listen to Jake make a list of all her redeeming qualities without suffering a sharp, dizzying stab of guilt.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, and she could only shake her head helplessly. “Anyway,” he went on, “I wanted to call a truce, okay? I’m supposed to be here as your bullet-catcher, and that’s all I’ll be until this thing with Boss is over. There won’t be any more shenanigans. You have my word on that.”

She couldn’t help but notice he made no promises about how he’d behave when it
was
over. Of course, by then she hoped to have convinced him that he didn’t really want her, didn’t
really
love her.

“Thank you,” she whispered and took the hand he offered.

A jolt of awareness passed from his large palm into hers, but she chose to ignore it as she quickly withdrew her fingers. Ignoring the hard glint of desire in his eyes was impossible, however, as she quickly and quietly shut the door on his damnably handsome face.

***

The
next
day…

Jake watched Franklin working with the industry of a three-year-old, tongue held between his teeth, little brow beetled in concentration as he rolled a huge wad of mismatched Play-Doh into a giant, multicolored snake on the coffee table in Shell’s cozy living room.

He’d never before thought of himself as the kind of guy who’d enjoy having kids around. But after spending the day with Franklin, following Shell from one appointment to the next, he had to admit, he could get used to the idea.

He actually liked reading those silly Dr. Seuss books over and over again. Playing Transformers was surprisingly fun, especially since Franklin seemed to get such a kick out of his Optimus Prime impression—not to mention all those questions he’d forgotten to contemplate as an adult, but that occurred with regularity in mind of a child.

Why
is
the
sky
blue?

Why
does
the
sun
follow
us
when
we’re driving?

Why
do
the
birds
sing?

He’d marveled at Shell’s ability to answer each question patiently and honestly and with just the right amount of complexity for a three-year-old to grasp. If he planned to stick around, which he most certainly did—despite the anxious, uncertain looks Shell had sent him all day long,
God
love
her
—he’d have to learn her technique.

The only time Franklin turned to him with a question,
Why
does
the
Tooth
Fairy
want
so
many
teeth?
, he’d sputtered and looked around the doctor’s office they’d been waiting in, and was saved from having to come up with an answer—thank the Big Kahuna—when another little boy came over to play.

“Yo, little dude,” he said now, ruffling Franklin’s soft hair, “where’d your mama run off to?”

“She’s putting on whipstick,” Franklin replied, concentrating on getting the snake’s tail just right.

Whipstick? What the hell is whipstick?

“But you can’t have any,” Franklin continued, turning to him seriously. “It’s not s’posed to be used to color, and it’s only for girls anyway. And even though it smells good, you’re not s’posed to eat it either.”

“Do you mean lipstick?” He gestured to his lips, smiling when he realized how Franklin must have reached the conclusion about the non-edibility of lipstick.

The kid was a handful, no doubt.

Franklin ignored him as he grinned, flashing those sweet little boy dimples, and pointed at the clay snake. “Look. It’s like your tattoos.”

“Just exactly like,” he said, pushing up his sleeves to once more show Franklin the twin vipers curled around each of his biceps. The boy had been fascinated by them all day long, constantly shoving up his sleeves and tracing them with a pudgy finger—that is when he wasn’t coloring, jabbering, or crashing toy cars into one another.

“When can I get tattoos?” Franklin asked, his big gray eyes, so much like his mother’s, staring up at Jake hopefully.

“When you’re eighteen,” Jake replied, hoping that was the right answer.

Where’s Shell when I need her?

Franklin sighed heavily and made a face that said Jake might as well have told him he’d have to wait until he was 150. Then he turned back, frustration worrying his little brow, as he attempted to refine the colorful Play-Doh serpent.