Thirty Nights with a Dirty Boy: Part 3: A Heroes and Heartbreakers Serial (2 page)

I tensed.

I went to shove at his shoulders, cursing at him.

He kissed me again and I bit his lip.

He growled and shoved a hand into my hair, twisting it and pulling my head back. “Ella…”

The rough purr washed over me. He shifted the angle of his body and I broke.

Just like that.

He’d spent the past several weeks studying me, learning me, and for a man like Sean, sex was an art. He was a master at it.

He brought me to a blistering, blinding climax.

And I hated him a little bit for it.

*   *   *

My legs wobbled when I took a step away. Tears blurred my eyes.

I stumbled and slammed into the narrow table, banging my hip. Pain flared but I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

I had to get out of here.

Sean reached out to steady me, and I saw the gesture through a haze of tears. Smacking his hand away, I backed up a few steps, needing to put some distance between us. I thought maybe a state or two might work for now.

Or maybe an ocean.

Knuckling the tears from my face, I stared at the ground, searching for my pants and panties. The pants were easy. The panties … not so much. I gave up. They didn’t matter. Wobbling my way into the simple black trousers, I fought the sobs trying to choke me. If I could just get out to my car …

I stumbled again when I tried to put my shoes on, so instead of risking a broken neck, I grabbed them.

“Ella, wait.”

Sean caught my arm.

I punched him.

It was ineffectual and nothing like the punches my tae kwon do instructor had taught me—it hit his chest, off center, and he didn’t even stumble. “Oi! Ella, would you just—”

“Leave me alone!” I shouted. “Just leave—”

The next words were lost in a sob. I dropped my shoes and clapped my hands over my face.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were those awful sobs. They hurt my throat as they tore out of me, and I couldn’t stop them.

“Ella, please…”

His hands touched my arms, and I tried to shrug him off, but this time, it didn’t work.

When I tried to tear away from him, he just swept me up into his arms. We ended up on the couch—again—and I fought the painful, humiliating tears. After far too long, I managed to get them under control.

I heard him talking.

He was murmuring to me under his breath as I hiccuped and tried to steady my breathing.

The words connected, finally.

Stiffening, I bolted off his lap and shot him a dark look.

“You didn’t want to hear my apology. Guess what. I don’t want to hear yours. You can shove it up your
arse,
Sean.” I mimicked his accent as I spun toward the door. My purse was on the table there, likely the only reason I remembered it.

I was on the sidewalk before I realized I didn’t have my shoes. The street was busted and pitted, littered with cigarette butts and bottles. Too bad. I wasn’t going back in there. He was angry, fine. He didn’t love me, fine. He didn’t want to be around me, fine. He wanted to throw my feelings in my face?
Not
fine.

“For fuck’s sake, woman. You’re not wearing your bloody—Ella,
shite.
Your shirt isn’t even buttoned.”

A cold wind blasted through me at that very moment, and I looked down, saw my shirt flapping. Blood rushed up to stain my cheeks red. Sean cut in front of me, reaching for the buttons of my blouse. I backed away, keys clutched in one hand while I used the other to hold my shirt closed. “My shirt. My tits. What do you care if they’re hanging out?”

He gaped at me.

I shot around him.

My counselor was always telling me to let emotion out—not healthy to hold it in. Maybe he was right. I felt like letting
everything
out. Right now.

“Fuck this,” Sean muttered behind me.

I relaxed a bit. Good, he was going—

To pick me up. Again.

I slammed my elbow into his chest as he strode toward my car. He grunted. That was all he did. My elbow throbbed and he just grunts.

“Ya don’t want to come back inside and put on your bloody shoes or your coat, fine. But you’re not walking down the sidewalk like that,” he said, his voice calm. “We’ll talk in the car.”

“We’re done talking.”

“I don’t think we are.”

“
I
think we are.” I jerked, trying to twist out of his arms, but he was made of stone, it seemed. He didn’t say anything else, just lowered me to the ground on the passenger side and took my keys, then opened the door.

I gave him a withering look and climbed in. It didn’t dawn on me just why he’d put me in on this side until the driver’s door opened. I glared at him. “Would you just leave me alone?”

“You’re the one who came to me.” He shrugged as he shoved the key into the ignition and searched for the heater. Frowning, he messed with the controls, shooting me a look.

I figured out why a moment later as the seat beneath me started to warm. I wouldn’t, in a million years, admit how good it felt.

“Yes, I did. To apologize and…” I looked out the window. “You don’t need to throw it back in my face. I didn’t expect you to feel the same way. But you don’t need to tell me what I feel or don’t feel. You don’t need to mock me.”

He muttered something under his breath. It was a little too colorful for me to fully make sense of it. “Ella … aw, would ya look at me?”

“What’s the point? To any of this?” Sighing, I turned my head, forcing myself to meet his eyes. His gaze was … hollow. The hard set to his features was gone, but so was the glint of humor I was so used to seeing in his eyes. “We can’t go back. I can’t undo what I said. I can’t undo what I feel—and I
do
feel it. You don’t want to hear it. There’s no point to any of this.”

Sean closed his eyes, his head falling back to the padded rest behind him. His jaw clenched.

Taut moments passed, and I became aware of a number of things.

Namely …

“
Shit,
” I muttered under my breath.

My panties were still in his house, along with my coat and shoes. The big thing about the panties … it made a certain detail almost painfully clear. He hadn’t used a condom.

“Ella, look. This is … what?”

“You didn’t wear a rubber.”

The look on his face was almost comical. If I wasn’t having a momentary panic attack, I might have started laughing. But just then, his wide eyes and sudden pallor were more than I could handle. “Are you … is there…”

Sean started to curse, interrupting me.

“Damn it, would you talk to me?” I shouted at him.

His eyes came back to mine, and he stopped in mid-sentence. I couldn’t even translate what he’d been saying just then. It was either a different language altogether or one of those euphemisms so completely Scottish, it made no sense to anybody else.

“We didn’t use anything,” I said again.

“So you said.” He shoved the heel of his hand against his eye, as if he had a pounding headache he had to drive back.

I could sympathize. But my headache was rapidly developing a
name.
“I’ve never been with anybody,” I said, my voice shaking. “Do I need to…”

“Ella, I’m clean.” He sounded tired. He shot me a narrow look. “Trust me, I’m clean.”

My breath expelled out of my lungs in a sudden rush, jump-starting that crucial process of delivering oxygen to my body, and I swallowed. “Okay. Um … okay, there’s … ah…”

“I’m clean,” he said again, voice edgy. “I never forget to glove up. I get tested every bloody month. It’s pretty much survival in my … line of work. Last test was two days before I signed your fucking contract, and I hadn’t been with another client for a few days. There’s only one other thing to worry about.”

“You
never
forget to glove up? You can’t really say
never
here.”

Sean’s pale eyes flashed.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Just … just give me a minute.” Shaken, I took a deep breath and forced the panic down. It wasn’t that hard. Compared to everything else I had to panic over, this was … well, minor. I wouldn’t get pregnant. I’d been on the pill since I was sixteen. My periods hadn’t started until I was fifteen, and even then, they’d been irregular. Forcing myself to breathe, I said quietly, “I’m … I have to take the pill. But—” I stopped and sniffled, my throat going thick as the emotion and weight of the past few hours caught up to me.

He brushed his fingers down my arm. “Ella, it will be okay.” I didn’t want soft, kind words from him.
Okay?
Nothing about this felt
okay.
But I could feel him watching me with all too aware eyes, and I gave him a halting nod. Whatever was necessary to get him out of here.

His phone started to ring. The tune was “Brown-Eyed Girl,” and it came out sounding too cheery and out of place. He shot me a look as he pulled his phone out. “It’s the hospital,” he said, his voice tight. “That’s … it’s the ring I use for the hospital … for…”

“Darla,” I whispered. “I know about your sister.”

“Yeah.” He hit the answer button. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

I didn’t bother to ask how. Darla must have said something. As he took the call, I sat there in silence, excruciatingly aware of the dampness between my thighs and so many other things.

Huddling against the door, I listened to a one-sided conversation—well, two-sided, since I heard most of what was being said. I even recognized the voice. It was Judith, the social worker from the hospital. We’d smacked heads before. We’d done it over Sean’s sister, even.

“You … no, listen, you
can’t
do that. Her immune system … fu … please. Will ya just wait?” Sean’s voice was pleading.

I shifted my gaze to him from under my lashes. A clenched fist rested on the steering wheel, his jaw tight. “Yeah, yeah … look, I’ll be there soon. Yes, I know. Just … please, ma’am. If you’d do what you can. I know, I know…”

He ended the call and shot me a look. “I need to get to the hospital. It will take a good hour or more on my own.”

He wouldn’t ask.

“Go ahead,” I said quietly, reaching for my seat belt. “It’s about Darla, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He glanced at me. “You two, right friends, aren’t you?”

I looked out the window as he peeled away from the curb.

“She kept talking about this fine lady she’d met. Brought her some nice things.” His voice was thick with something I couldn’t understand. “Never even thought … how could I? Plenty of rich ladies in Chicago, aren’t there?”

Instead of responding, I dug my phone out of my purse and sent a text to the house.

Chapter 2

“Stable.” Sean said the word slowly, as if he didn’t entirely understand what it meant. After a moment, he asked, “Does that mean she’s in remission? I’m thinking not. She’s not even close, is she? How many rounds of chemo does she have left? She gets sick every damn time.”

I stood off to the side and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Considering I was texting one of the lawyers I’d hired to help with Nora’s Door pretty much nonstop, I don’t know how unobtrusive I actually was. At least I had clean clothes. I’d managed to wash up before the doctor got here, thanks to the bag Paul, my driver, had brought me. I’d texted him as we pulled away from Sean’s apartment, and Paul had been here waiting for me.

I still had the scent of Sean’s body clinging to mine, but changing into clean, unwrinkled clothes and putting a rag to judicious use made me feel a little more focused.

There’s a doctor here. The girl is sick, in the care of the state.

I sent the text as I looked up at the doctor, waiting for his answer.

“No.” The doctor gave Sean a polite smile. He hadn’t even looked at me. Judith Davidson, the social worker I’d met the same day Darla and I had almost knocked each other over, was there as well, and she kept shooting Sean and me speculative glances. Feeling her eyes again, I turned my head and stared at her—hard—until she busied herself with her tablet.

She has cancer …

I kept it short, summing up what I thought was going on, and sent the text just in time to see Judith studying Sean and me again.

I guess there were rumors abounding about just what Sean did.

I shouldn’t be surprised.

“So she will keep coming in for treatment,” Sean said, “while she’s staying in the group home? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Of course.” The doctor checked his watch. “Look, I understand you’re concerned, but I’ve managed cases like your sister’s often. She’ll do fine outside of the hospital.”

They’re discharging her. She’s stable, but she has to keep getting chemo. She lives in a group home. She’s going to be around so many germs. What if she gets sick again?

“She’s in a group
home.
Surrounded by people. Her immune system is shot. How likely is she to stay healthy there?”

My phone buzzed as the lawyer sent several answers back in a row.

Why is she with the state?

Any family?

If the doctor is thinking she is stable, there might not be much to do—what kind of cancer?

“We can’t continue to keep her in the hospital when she doesn’t require that level of care.” The doctor looked over at Judith and arched a brow.

She gave Sean a polite smile. “We’ve got an excellent plan of care worked out, and I’ve been in contact with your sister’s social worker.”

I continued my conversation with the lawyer and tried to keep up with theirs.

“Nobody’s been in contact with
me.
” Sean jabbed a thumb at his chest.

The girl’s brother is very strongly against this. It doesn’t seem wise to me, either.

“You’re not your sister’s guardian.”

I grimaced as the predicted questions started. —Why wasn’t the brother the guardian? What were the circumstances …

“I damn well ought to be,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t be havin’ her in a place where she’ll be surrounded by people who don’t even wash their hands half of the time. I’ve been to see her at the home, and it’s a bloody mess.”

“Arrangements will be made—”