A HAND RUNNING UP MY thigh has me waking from a deep sleep and kicking at the intruder, before reaching under my pillow for the knife I keep hidden there. The room is pitch black, so it’s not until I hear James groan out in pain that I realize the asshole somehow found his way into the house.
I must have passed out hard after leaving the bar last night, because when I look over to check the time it’s already close to two in the afternoon. I hardly ever have a solid sleep unless I’m completely obliterated, and after the bartender decided to point out my scars I needed an escape and turned to whiskey to do the trick.
I flip the knife in my hand around and stab it into the mattress, angry with James for appearing in my room uninvited. “What the fuck, James? Don’t ever do that shit again.” I fight to catch my breath, while focusing on his figure in the darkness. I watch as he holds his ribs in pain. “I could’ve killed you. How did you get into the house?”
“Shit, woman, that hurt.” He walks over and yanks the dark curtain open, the brightness causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. “I climbed through the damn living room window since you wouldn’t answer your phone. I’ve been texting since last night. Got some shit from Jasper.”
The mention of him getting supply from his new dealer has me wanting with everything in me to accept whatever he has to offer.
Fighting the need is so hard that it hurts, yet a part of me wants to be sober enough to go find the bartender and tell him to piss off.
He had no goddamn right.
He doesn’t know what I’ve been through. No one does.
“Do us both a favor, James, and don’t climb through any more windows. It’s not your place to just let yourself in when you want to.”
Biting his bottom lip in an attempt to look sexy—which he does, as much as I hate to admit—he takes a seat on the edge of my bed and moves his hand under the blanket and over my bare thigh. “Or you can jump on my dick like we both know you want to do.”
“Aren’t you quite the fucking comedian . . .” Giving him a stern look, I throw the blanket off, grab his hand, and pry it from my thigh. “That would be doing no one but yourself a favor, James, and I’m not in the favor-giving mood. Now give me some space. I’ve got a lot of crap going on in my head that I can’t deal with when you’re riding my ass. If I wanted you here I would’ve answered the phone.”
He shrugs and watches me reach into the drawer for a joint. A grin spreads across his face as he watches me light it. “I brought you a little gift, so how about you give me a break, Alex.”
I look down at my thigh as a plastic bag with a handful of pills hits it. I barely give myself time to look at them, not wanting the temptation, before I toss them into the drawer and close it.
“I’ve got to shower and get to work.” I lie. The truth is, I need some time alone to think. My head is all over the place from last night and I’m not sure what to do. I’m not even sure why I care so much, when usually I don’t care about much of anything. But this guy . . . ugh. He has ways of getting under my skin and I don’t even know his name.
“I know I sound like a cunt every time I tell you this, but don’t come over unannounced anymore. You know how much I hate it.”
A crooked smile crosses his face as he crawls over me to grab the joint from my hand, before lying beside me on the mattress. “Yeah, but you’re missing the point that I like cunts. Especially yours.”
My eyes are closed, due to the massive headache I have, so it’s not until he slides his hand down my panties and quickly shoves a finger inside me that I’m able to stop him from touching me, unwantedly.
“Fucking hell, James.” I turn around and kick him off the bed, before I rush to my feet to grab some clothes. “Be gone by the time I get out of the shower. I mean it, bastard.”
He looks up at me from the floor, a pissed off expression on his face. “This is bullshit, Alex. You still won’t let me touch you when I want to. I could be with any girl I want to and she’d let me touch her whenever I want to.”
“Like I said before . . . I’m not like most girls.”
Before I can go completely manic on James, I rush into the bathroom and slam the door closed behind me, my breath coming out in heavy bursts. I’m so angry at him for thinking he can touch me sexually whenever he damn well pleases that it’s hard for me to calm down.
I take what feels like the longest shower of my life before getting out and forcing myself to eat something.
Hours go by and still I can’t get the guy at Savage & Ink out of my head. He’s getting to me, whether he’s trying to or not.
He’s the first person to point out my scars, acting as if he actually gives a shit enough to want to help me.
Screw that. No one has truly ever cared other than Jaxon.
He’s no Jaxon and never will be.
I’ve been sitting in the parking lot staring at that damn sexy bike for a while now; trying to think of what to say once I get inside.
I hate that he challenges me unlike anyone else.
What am I doing out here? This is stupid.
But even after telling myself that, I can’t bring myself to leave, so I throw my seatbelt off and climb out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me.
I make my way through the parking lot, unable to resist running my hand over bossy bartender’s precious motorcycle on the way to the door and I hate that I can’t help but to remember just how hot he looked on it.
The moment I step into the crowded bar and my gaze lands on him—looking sexier than sin behind the bar—I have to convince myself I’m only here to let him know how pissed I am about last night.
Nothing else. Especially not sex.
But damn if he wouldn’t be nice to test drive.
The heavy pounding of my heels on the floor as I head straight for him has everyone’s attention on me, including the person I came here to see.
But the moment the tattooed, bearded beast cracks his neck and flexes his arms, most of the room goes back to minding their own damn business.
Just like I pointed out before, people know not to mess with him and that power he has draws me straight to him for some unknown reason.
“You owe me an apology for last night,” I say, looking up at him once I stop right in front of his huge frame. “You can either do it here or outside. Your choice.”
He tilts his head and looks down at me as if amused. His amber gaze stays locked on me, despite me shooting angry daggers his way. “Why outside? So you can sit on my bike without permission again? Maybe you’re the one that owes me an apology.”
“Maybe I already sat on it on the way in. Want to run and see if I left any scratches?” I say, hoping to agitate him like he’s done to me.
It doesn’t work, because he just turns and walks away. He doesn’t bother saying anything as he opens the cooler and reaches inside.
I stand here, mouth clenched tightly as I watch him reach for two beers and then lean against the bar, looking chilled and relaxed as if me coming here to yell at him hasn’t fazed him one bit. “Who says I’m staying long enough for a drink?” I ask bitterly.
He lets out a half laugh half grunt and pops the cap off both bottles, setting one of them down behind him. “Who said one of these is for you?” He tilts the bottle in his hand back, taking a swig, before wiping his arm over his wet lips. “Maybe seeing you requires two of these.”
“Me?” I point at my chest, annoyed. “You know nothing about me. You had no right to say what you did last night. It’s none of your damn business what I’ve been through. You don’t know what kind of shit you’ve stirred up inside my head.”
His jaw tightens, before he tilts back the bottle again, downing almost the entire thing in one gulp. “Yeah, well it’s always been hard not to make shit like that my business. You don’t know me either. Trust me.”
I definitely need a beer now, so I reach out to grab the other one, about to bring it to my lips, but he stops me before I can.
His harsh gaze stays on me as he snatches the bottle out of my hand, before tossing the now empty bottle he was holding in the trash. He grunts, before bringing it to his perfect, annoying lips and takes a drink.
My entire body heats with need the moment he pushes away from the bar and moves in close to me, his body pressed up against mine. He’s so warm and hard against me that it’s difficult not to picture wrapping my fingers into his long, thick hair and riding him for hours. I’ve never craved a man sexually so much before, but holy hell, this man is something else entirely.
“It’s my nature to protect women from abusive assholes that can’t keep their hands to themselves. Don’t like it . . .” The muscles in his arms flex against me, drawing my attention to the tattooed bulges when he tilts the bottle back again, almost finishing it off this time. “then you’re going to hate being around me, love.”
He takes a step closer and bows his head. His eyes are so intimidating as he looks down at me that I swallow and take a step back. Usually, a man being so close makes me want to push him away, but him being close has me wanting to do the opposite.
Maybe coming here wasn’t the best idea after all. I came here with every intention of giving him a piece of my mind, but the look in his eyes is making it hard not to hate-fuck him.
“Screw the beer. Give me a shot,” I say, walking behind the bar.
I almost think he’s not going to follow me, but when I look back, he’s shaking his head and stalking toward the cooler to grab a beer.
When he turns to face me, the protective look in his eyes makes my damn heart skip a beat.
What is it about this guy?
He’s a stranger; yet being around him feels so familiar. Staying might be a mistake, but I’m full of them, so why change that now?
“Did you come back here to put me in my place or to get back at me by making sure I’ll be on edge for the rest of the night?” He holds the beer out for me to grab. “No shots for you. One beer and that’s it.”
“Does it really matter?” I grab the bottle from his reach and take a desperate swig. “And I will be having more than one of these.”
He runs his hand through his dark hair in frustration, watching me as I turn and walk toward the pool table.
I hope bartender doesn’t believe I’ll be leaving anytime soon, because pissing him off is already starting to make me feel better.
Not to mention that messing with him seems to be keeping my thoughts in the present and away from the last place I want them to be.
Maybe hating him is the medicine I need right now . . .