Bailey

Yeah, I knew I was pushing him. No full-blooded male could watch a woman prance around practically naked and not be affected by it.

I couldn't help myself though. He was such an ass. Throwing out demands and expecting me to just fall in line. Hell no. I didn't put up with that shit. I pushed back. And I threw out sass left and right. If he didn't like it, he shouldn't have provoked me.

When I came back in the room with my robe on, I was already pissed that I'd acquiesced to his demand and covered up. The anger turned to panic when I saw him looking at two of the jackets I'd bought the other day. I didn't like him snooping around in any of the shadier things I was involved in, nor did I want to tell him about my charity work. It was none of his damn business.

So I did what I always do when pushed in a corner: I got cheeky and I got flirty. Hey, I'm a lover and a fighter.

When he stalked across the room, his face a solid wall of granite, I admit to a slight fluttering inside, whether from fear or anticipation, I wasn't sure. I knew that walk was sexy as hell though. His body was like a panther, smooth at all times, while radiating this masculine power and danger that had a direct line to my girlie parts.

Next thing I knew he'd pulled me up against that hard body, laying those plump lips on mine, plucking at them like he was going to take his time devouring me. Hands slid over my silk covered body, grabbing my ass and pulling my hips into a hard length that had magical powers to clear my brain of everything but sex. Like zero to sixty. I wanted him in every position I'd ever tried or imagined.

The kiss exploded as tongues clashed, tasted and licked. My back hit the wall, and I vaguely realized he'd turned me, taking away any retreat. Normally I'd protest, but I had absolutely no problem being pressed up against him if he continued that thing with his lips. And the thumb stroking across my nipple, shooting electric jolts to every part of my body. He was lighting me up like a Christmas tree and I was still fully clothed.

I made sure to indulge in my recurring fantasy by sucking on that lower lip of his, tucking away the experience in my brain to relive over and over in privacy. The hand on my ass traveled lower, ducking under the robe and sending chills down my leg. Rough, calloused fingers slowly traced up my thigh, heading to the junction between my legs.

A moan came out of my mouth, my anticipation was so great. Just a millimeter before he touched me right where I wanted him. The sound seemed to break the trance he was in because in the next moment, he was backing away, his hands leaving my body. Leaving me cold and confused.

I was breathing fast, my eyes not quite focused as I stared him down. He put a foot of space between us, then two. Then he spun around and marched right out of my house, slamming the door behind him.

I was stunned.

And more than a little sexually frustrated.

What just happened? How did he learn to kiss like that? How could I get him to do it again? And why did he leave right when it was getting good?

I sank onto the couch, pulling my robe around me tighter, needing the warmth. I waited till my breathing returned to normal and then I went through each part of the evening, trying to figure out what had happened. No longer under the spell of his lips, I could see the way he looked at me when he backed off.

He'd looked stunned. As stunned as I felt when he finally gave in and put his lips on mine. He hadn't looked angry anymore, or cocky, or any of the other expressions I'd seen on him over the last few months. He'd just looked absolutely flabbergasted that we actually kissed.

I didn't know what to do with that information. Was he horrified? Did he not know if he liked me?

I sat for quite awhile going over all these questions and then it hit me like a lightning bolt.

Who the hell cares what he was thinking!

Why was I putting in all this mental drama over what I thought he might be thinking? All I should be caring about was what I thought! Did I like him? Was I horrified by the sudden change in our back-and-forth status?

I jumped up off the couch and turned off all the lights. I couldn't help the smug smile as I went off to bed. I was damn happy about the kiss. It was hands down the best one I'd ever had. And if he was lucky, I'd let him do it again. We'd have to see if his attitude changed. Maybe then I'd allow it. Ha!

In the meantime, I'd get out my old vibrating friends and relive that kiss.

A week later...

That egotistical, bat shit for brains, leave me high and dry (actually wet, if I'm being honest), fan-fucking-tastic kisser ignored me all week.

Seriously.

No calls, no texts, no visits to my house or place of work. It was like he was pretending that the best kiss in the whole wide world didn't even take place. Which was bullshit. My lips still felt buzzed from the electric current that ran between us.

To say I was pissed would be an understatement.

I'd plotted at least ten ways to kill him without detection. I'd googled dismemberment articles, before clearing my computer and hoping I wasn't on some FBI list.

Which reminds me. I found some very interesting information regarding Hessa's little problem. I turned over a name, an address, and even screenshots of online conversation showing I found the guy behind the online dares. What she did with that was out of my control.

But I hoped she'd take it to Jack and rub his gorgeous face in it. I'd found his criminal before he did. If only I could take credit for my hacking skills, just to see his face when I bested him.

So back to being pissed. I'd called Esa to meet me at this new bar at Pacific City that she said was the place to be seen. I needed to come clean and share all my flirting, fighting and fucking (I wish on the fucking part, but the alliteration sounded good) with my bestie. I wanted her to agree with me on what a dick Jack was being. Esa and I had a history of finding alternative names for asshole men and I'd decided Jack's was Dick, to which he'd be referred to from here on out. Unless he came crawling back with apologies and then he'd revert to just Jack, none the wiser.

But as luck would have it, she was meeting with her wedding planner that night to go over wedding details. I didn't feel right guilting her into cancelling something important just so I could bitch about men. So I did the next best thing and put on a tight, short, red dress paired with black stilettos, the ones with the red soles to match my dress. I took extra time with my hair and make-up and then off I went to the bar.

By myself. A single woman. On the prowl. Eat your fucking heart out, Dick.

I made my way through the packed crowd at the front of the bar, finding a spot to wedge myself in and get the bartender's attention. The men on either side of me gave me the once-over and struck up a conversation.

"Whatcha drinkin' tonight, beautiful?" This from the man to my right, who was a little on the older side, yet quite attractive with his greying hair and stylish suit. I didn't have a problem with dating older men, but only if I was truly attracted to them. I wouldn't date a guy for his bank account or his paid off house. That just felt like one step away from a paid whore. No thanks.

"White wine, please. Pinot grigio if you have it," I spoke loudly to the bartender, then swiveled to the older man to acknowledge his attempt at starting a conversation with me, while also demonstrating that I didn't want him ordering for me or buying me a drink.

"You here with anyone else or can I try to convince you to stay here and chat with me?" He smiled, giving off a genuine air of friendliness, not creepiness.

I shook my head, matching his grin. I was ready to get my flirt on. "Let's hear your pitch."

He set down his glass on the bar and leaned in, giving me a subtle whiff of cologne, spicy and woodsy. I shifted closer, enjoying the attention from a good-looking male.

"You look like the type who can hold her own. So I won't try to entice you with paid-for drinks or sleazy one-liners. I can tell by the way you present yourself that you have an eye for details, so I'll give that in return. I'll pay attention, hear you when you speak, let you take the lead. Up to a point." He stopped there, giving me a chance to truly decide whether I cared to stay and get to know him better. The choice was nice.

I tilted my head, intrigued by a man that could read me so well, or at least make a damn good guess. Plus, having a man not order me around, but instead, listen to me? Like really listen? That sounded heavenly.

I was in.

With hand outstretched, I said, "I'm Bailey."

His hand grabbed hold of mine, soft, warm skin that seemed strong yet delicate at the same time. He opened his mouth to give me his name in return when he was rudely interrupted by the guy behind him.

"Smith. Like Smith and Wesson." The voice came out a little garbled and overly loud, like the owner was already well into his night of drinking.

Unfortunately, it wasn't garbled enough to confuse me as to who the owner was.

"Dick!" I shouted the name, startled that he was even here, of all places, of all nights.

My handsome, older suitor stepped back to see who'd spoken, giving me direct line of sight to Jack, sitting at the bar, swirling his drink, ever-present smirk firmly in place.

"No, it's Jack, sweetheart. You should know...you said it enough last weekend at your place." He laughed at his own joke while I gasped.

I stared at him in disbelief and horror. What the hell?

The man stepped back, hands held out in peace. "Hey, I'll let you two figure this out. I'm not looking for drama." He nodded his head to me. "Lovely to meet you, Bailey."

Then he spun around and left the bar, taking with him any last bits of sanity I possessed where Jack was concerned.

"What the hell, Jack!" I took the spot my mystery man just vacated, the warmth of his seat the only thing I had to remember him by. I was not happy.

Jack guffawed and toasted the air with his drink. He looked totally shit-faced, drinking all by himself in a crowded bar. "That guy was a total douche. 'I'll let you take the lead.'" He mimicked a high pitched voice, which for the record, the guy did not sound like at all. "You don't want a guy like that, Bae. You need a guy who'll be just as strong as you. Otherwise, you'll run right over him. Am I right?"

I got right in his drunk little face, words flying from my mouth. "How the fuck would you know what I need, Dick? You haven't bothered to spend any time with me, other than to interrogate me about things that are none of your goddamn business, or you're kissing the hell out of me against the wall. You. Don't. Know. Me."

His eyes finally focused on mine, letting me know he wasn't completely drunk off his ass. There was a small part of him still in control. He leaned in close, his mouth just a few inches from my lips.

"I want to know you. I want to kiss you up against a wall again. I want to ask you all the questions just so I can hear your voice. I interrogate you, because I want to get to know you, Bae."

Then he turned back to the bar and sipped his alcohol, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on me.

I blinked repeatedly, taking the time to take apart that confession, each thought like a soothing balm to my bruised heart. He was calling me by some pet name now like it was a natural thing. He wanted to know me. He wanted to kiss me. He liked my voice.

I blurted out, "Then why the silent treatment?" I didn't understand the disconnect. If he really felt all those things then why did he distance himself from me?

He set his glass back down, forehead creased like he was deep in thought about something dark and unhappy. The lines on his face were always there, deeply etched into his skin, making me think he made that expression often.

Talking straight ahead to the wall behind the bar, he laid it out for me in a way that finally made sense. "I keep backing off, because I know what kind of woman I need in my life. I have a stressful job, working long hours. I see horrific things. I want a woman that I can come home to and lose myself in her softness. A woman that can bring joy back into my day. Be the one easy thing in my crazy life."

Then he turned to me, pinning me with his gaze. "You're not easy. You're not soft. You're bright and happy, yes, but you're also fire and sass. You wouldn't let me run right over you. You'd put up a fight and I would engage, like you were my own personal catnip I couldn't walk away from." He stroked his hand down my arm, his expression turning to one of regret as much as desire.

"And as much as I can imagine the sex would be explosive, I know I need more. Getting involved with you would sidetrack me from finding the one I need to settle down with. It might sidetrack me for life."

His hand fell from my arm the same time my heart fell out of my chest, hitting a rock bottom I didn't know existed. He stood from his barstool, turned his back on me, and walked away into the crowd, his gait uncoordinated, the alcohol finally taking full control.