CHAPTER THREE
MERISSA LOVED HER BROTHER. She’d always seen him as Superman, larger than life, a rock whenever she’d needed one. He was only a couple of years older than her, but for as long as she could remember he’d seemed grown-up.
Right now, Superman was in her kitchen, insisting on getting her a drink when all she really wanted was the time alone to let go. She knew if she fell apart in front of him, Cannon would never leave her.
He didn’t need to be a savior, not right now.
“Here.” He returned with a cola over ice, urging her to the couch. He smoothed back her hair, his gaze drawn to the bruise. Yes, it hurt. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the fear.
And here she’d promised herself, long ago, that she’d never again let herself be that type of victim.
But this fear—it was more about Armie standing in front of her, using himself as a shield. Risking his own life.
Willing to die.
“Take these.” Cannon handed her two aspirin.
She tried a teasing smile. “This feels so familiar.”
He stalled, then shook his head. “Don’t think about that.”
She couldn’t help herself. They’d lost their dad when she was only sixteen. As the owner of a neighborhood bar he’d resisted the extortion of local thugs, refusing to pay their demanded fees for “protection.” Late one night when he’d been closing, men had come in and beaten him to death.
Devastated but determined, their mom had nearly worked herself into her own grave trying to keep them afloat. Merissa could remember it all like yesterday. The goons wanted her mother to sell but she’d refused.
Until some of those goons had cornered Merissa on her way home from school.
“It’s all the same. You coddling me, being the strong one for both of us.”
“You were a kid then.”
“You’re only two years older than me,” she reminded him with a shoulder bump. “You were a kid then, too.”
“Maybe. I remember feeling so damned helpless.”
“Like you feel now?” She knew her brother, knew he wanted to make things right for her when that wasn’t his responsibility. “I’m not a kid anymore, Cannon. I can handle it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do,” she told him gently. “Because I don’t want my big brother stuck taking care of me again.”
He folded her hand into his own. “You know I enjoy it, right?”
Her laugh sounded pitiful. But she still remembered how her mother had given in because of her. Cannon had found those men, and even at eighteen he’d made them pay with his fists—because of her.
She’d influenced him into becoming a fighter.
And it was because of her that he’d formed the neighborhood watch. Everyone loved Cannon, but no one could love him more than she did.
“Superman,” she teased. “This time, I promise I can take care of myself.”
A slight knock on the door made her jump.
“It’s just Armie,” Cannon said with a squeeze to her shoulder. “I’ll let him in.”
Nodding, she again thought of the way Armie had stood in front of her, willing to block bullets if necessary.
Emotion welled up, choking her, killing her.
She quickly took the aspirin and tried to get herself together.
Armie peeked in cautiously, saw her on the couch and came in farther. “She okay?”
“Yes,” Merissa and Cannon said at the same time.
Armie gave a slight, tilted smile. “Hey, Stretch.” He came over to her, laid her keys on the coffee table, then winced at the darkening discoloration on her jaw.
“I bruise easily,” she explained. “By tomorrow it’s going to look worse, believe me. But it was just a slap. I doubt you guys would have even noticed.”
Armie crouched down in front of her. “Hey, you’re not a fighter, hon.”
She liked it when he called her something other than Stretch. Something affectionate. “No kidding.” She hadn’t fought at all; fear and the furious beating of her heart had kept her malleable and weak. It infuriated her. “I may be big, but I lack muscle.” And guts.
“Tall,” Armie corrected. “You’re tall, but far from big. More like...”
“What?”
He thought about it. “Delicate.”
A genuine smile took her by surprise. So Armie Jacobson saw her as delicate? Huh.
Knowing she needed to get this over with, Merissa took another drink, then set her glass aside and stood.
Armie slowly did the same, his cautious gaze never leaving her. Cannon stood near him, strangely quiet. They both watched her as if expecting her to lose it at any second.
And maybe she would—if she didn’t have an audience.
She moved a few feet away, needing the distance to get it said. “I think that man just wanted to toy with me. I mean, no matter what he said, there wasn’t time to...to...”
Armie and Cannon both went so still, they seemed frozen. She wasn’t helping by dragging it out.
Pasting on a smirk, she said, “He claimed he wanted to rape me, but we all know he wouldn’t have. Not in the middle of a robbery, right? Instead he tried to grope me a little.” The words strangled in her throat; she touched the front of her sweater with the missing button and made herself continue. “He slapped me when I pushed away from him. That’s the mark on my jaw. I stumbled and some stuff fell off my desk. He was coming after me again but then Armie... Armie saved me.” Hands locked together, she looked at the two people who were most important to her. She loved them both but in very, very different ways. “That’s it, guys. I promise. I got hit once, felt up a little, but nothing worse than that.”
“Rissy.”
That single whispered word from Armie almost made gelatin of her knees.
“Now you need to go,” she insisted urgently. “Both of you.” An invisible clamp tightened around her lungs. “Please.”
Looking tortured, Cannon said, “You’ll call me if you need anything?”
She nodded fast. “Yes.”
“And you’ll check in just so I know—”
“I’ll text you a couple of times tonight and tomorrow morning before work, too, I promise.” Please, please just go before I come undone.
Armie jammed a hand through his hair, then cursed low.
“Problem?” Cannon asked.
“No.”
Merissa looked at the dried blood in his hair, on his shirt. In her mind, over and over, she kept seeing how he’d shielded her. “Cannon should be fussing over you because you’re in far worse shape than I am. Go home and do whatever it is you do to make yourself feel better.”
Which probably meant he’d find a willing woman—or three—and lose himself in an orgy of pleasure. Damn it, she couldn’t let that bother her.
His nostrils flared, but Armie nodded. As if he’d just lost an internal battle, he flexed his hands. “If you want to talk...” He did more flexing, almost agonized. “Just let me know.”
She whispered, “You might be busy.”
He gave one shake of his head. “No.” He pulled her in for another hug that was so gentle it nearly demolished her resolve.
After the soft, warm press of his mouth to her forehead, he headed for the door. “I’ll wait outside.”
Merissa watched him walk away, his stride long, his step hurried.
It almost looked like he was running away.
Even after the door closed quietly behind him, she stared. Concern for Armie made her forget her own uneasiness.
“Rissy.”
She jumped, and her gaze shifted to her brother.
“You know I love you—”
“Yes.” Never in her entire life had she ever doubted that.
“I also love Armie. In a lot of ways, he’s like a brother to me.”
Despite everything, her lips shifted into a smile. “I know.”
Cannon let out a big breath, then took her hands. “He’s not a brother to you. Not even close. I would never betray either of you, but...”
When he trailed off, Merissa got alarmed. “What?” She squeezed his hands. “What’s the matter?”
“He’d deny it till hell freezes over, but Armie’s hurting. Not physically. I don’t mean that.”
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, so she just waited.
“Maybe you should give him comfort, and it would give you comfort in return.”
Her jaw loosened. She didn’t know how to comfort Armie. He’d rejected her. Though they hadn’t discussed it, Cannon had to know that she had a thing for Armie. Their circle was small and everyone seemed to share everything that happened.
She shook her head, but Cannon smiled at her. “There’s something about Armie you should probably know.”
Oh wow. Her own situation faded as a million scenarios ran through her mind. Would she learn the reason Armie had avoided the SBC for so long? Would she find out why he refused to commit to a woman, why he avoided “nice” girls? Heart thrumming furiously, she whispered, “What?”
“Armie won’t be busy tonight.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know?”
“Because for weeks now, he’s been celibate.” She was stunned stupid as Cannon bent and kissed her forehead. “Something to think about, okay?”
He didn’t wait for an answer; he just headed to the stairs to the door. On his way, he said, “I’ve locked the door, but reset the alarm, and don’t forget to check in.” And then he was gone.
And Merissa, still reeling, dropped to sit on the couch.
Armie Jacobson, hedonist extraordinaire—celibate. For weeks?
Yep, that certainly gave her a lot to think about.
* * *
AFTER A LONG, steamy shower, where he lingered for far too long, Armie pulled on boxers, fixed a drink and crashed on the couch. He turned on the TV but didn’t really focus on anything. His internal battle kept him too wired.
A few drinks later, more than a little tipsy, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Merissa home alone, maybe upset. She hadn’t wanted to call him. That had been as plain as the bruise on her jaw.
She might anyway.
She probably wouldn’t.
She had Cannon to comfort her.
But did she want Armie?
On and on it went, circling in his brain, making him nuts, and no amount of liquor would blunt the torment. For the tenth time he checked his cell. Had he reminded her to use the emergency cell? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he should text her and let her know...
No.
What he should do is leave her alone, stop lusting after her.
Stop needing her.
He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. His temples throbbed and his back ached. He couldn’t believe he’d let that putz catch him twice. Luckily no one wielded metal posts in cage fights.
Also, he didn’t have an innocent audience, guns or Merissa Colter in danger during cage fights.
He flexed a shoulder and looked toward the dark window. It was—what? Nine-thirty? Still early. Maybe he needed to get back in the saddle and ride. He wanted to snicker at his own wit, but even for a drunk guy that was a shitty analogy.
If only he had even the smallest interest—
The knock on his door had him bolting upright. He stared toward it as his heartbeat ratcheted up and desire kick-started a slow burn in his gut.
Standing, he set aside his drink and, still wearing only boxers, went to the door and opened it. Disappointment hurt worse than that metal post had. “Shit.”
“Well, hello to you, too.” She winced at the damage to his face. “What happened to you?”
Armie stared at the brunette he’d brushed off at the bar the other night. “Just a misunderstanding.” To discourage her from trying to come in, he stepped out and pulled the door partially closed behind him. “C’mon, Cass. You know better than to show up without an invite.”
“I called your cell but you didn’t answer.” Her hungry gaze went over him, caught on his crotch and stayed there. He recognized that particular smile curling her lush lips.
“My cell got broken,” he explained. “But seriously, hon, you didn’t get the message at Rowdy’s?”
“No one treats me like you do, Armie.”
“I’m an asshole and I know it. You should steer clear.”
She put a hand to his abs and started teasing her fingers downward. “I didn’t mean that weird rudeness at the bar. I meant in bed.”
He caught her wrist. “Not happening.”
She seemed to puff up with determination. “I’m getting married in a month.”
“Yeah?” He put her hand back at her side. “Congrats.”
“I love him.”
“Glad to hear it.”
This time her smile looked genuine. “He’s a great guy, Armie. Smart, sweet, but macho enough that even you’d like him.”
With no idea where she was going with that, Armie just cocked a brow.
“But in bed...” She sighed. “He’s not you.”
Armie laughed, turned it into a groan and rubbed his face. “Let me guess. You haven’t told him what you like?”
Now sounding desperate, she asked, “How can I? He’s so nice and he’s not like you and me.”
He stepped away from the door and, feeling indulgent, said, “Hon, I’m not like you. But between what you told me and how you reacted to stuff, I figured it out. Most guys like hot sex. It’s hotter when the chick is into it. So just tell him what you want. Trust me on this, he’ll be into it.”
“But what if he’s not?” Uncertainty shadowed her eyes. “What if he thinks I’m...weird or something?”
“You’re healthy, not weird. And if he doesn’t dig it, then do you really want to be married to him for the long haul?”
“I don’t know.”
“A lifetime of mediocre sex? I’d vote no.”
Her heavily made-up eyes studied him. “You don’t like the stuff we do?”
She looked vulnerable, and because of that, Armie kept his tone gentle and reassuring. “If you have to ask that, then you weren’t paying attention.”
“But you just said—”
“It’s your thing, honey, not mine. But I’m always happy to oblige.”
She leaned closer, and her voice went lower. “Now?”
Half smiling, he said, “Except for now.” Her pout was cute, but had no real effect on him. “If you’re getting married, you should be saving all those looks for him.”
“Like you’d ever be faithful.”
“If I got married, damn right I would. Now go.” He turned her, swatted her on the ass and said, “All things considered, you shouldn’t contact me again.”
Face flushed and eyes dreamy, she rubbed her tush. “I guess.”
“And you’ll talk to the fiancé?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’ll tell him. But if you’re wrong, I will come back here just to smack you.”
Armie grinned. “You can try.”
As soon as she headed down the steps, he went in and shut the door, strode to the couch and fell facedown onto the cushions.
Did Merissa have any fetishes?
God, he’d love to find out.
Turning his head to the side, he checked his cell phone one more time, and there it was. A text message that read, Rissy was here.
* * *
SITTING ON THE STEP, smothering in indecision, Merissa avoided looking at the brunette who went past her with a polite nod. The woman was smiling, happy and on her way out.
Merissa wasn’t a natural-born eavesdropper, but when she’d gotten to the top of the stairs and heard Armie speaking to the woman, she’d frozen.
Once she caught the conversation she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Her feet had turned to lead blocks and her ears had been attuned to every single word they shared.
Sure enough, Armie had turned the woman down.
But the things they’d discussed... What did the woman like?
Merissa held her phone, waiting, hoping, and the text message dinged an alert.
Licking her lips, she read: You okay? Need to talk?
Yup. Yup, she did. She texted back, Busy?
No.
Wow, that was fast. She twisted to look up at the landing, saw the still-closed door, and turned back to her phone. He was so close. In person?
Seconds ticked by. She compressed her mouth, held her breath, tapped her foot rapidly on the step.
Finally the message appeared: You shouldn’t drive.
Merissa thumbed in the reply, hesitated, hesitated some more, then hit Send. Already have.
* * *
ARMIE STARED AT the message. Already have. What did that mean? Was she out tooling around?
Bad idea.
He typed in: Where are you? If he needed to, he’d go get her. Somehow. But hell, he was drunk and he knew it.
A cab. He’d take a cab—
Here.
His eyes went wide. Here? Stupidly, he looked around his apartment, then sent another text. Here?
Yes.
Here-where?
A very soft, single knock sounded on his door.
He went still, then everything accelerated. His heartbeat, his breathing.
The rush of blood through his system.
Coming to his feet, Armie crossed the room and jerked the door open and—ah, hell. He didn’t blink. “Hey, Stretch.”
One brow shot up. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” Definitely. And because of that, he felt sluggish and pretty damned unsure how to welcome her.
Or should he send her on her way? He knew he wouldn’t, wise as it might be, so maybe he should call Cannon—
She came in uninvited.
His back still to her, his thoughts struggling to catch up, Armie stood there.
“You’re in your underwear.”
Oh shit. He’d forgotten. Leaving the door open, he faced her. Damn, she was close. Like kissing close.
Like fucking close.
“They’re cute.”
“They’re absurd,” he corrected. The boxers sported two arrows—one that pointed up and said, The Man, and another that pointed to his junk and said, The Legend.
“I like them.” She leaned in—nearly stopping his heart—and gave the door a push to close it. Then she stayed right there, letting him breathe her in and feel the heat of her slender body and smell the scent of her skin.
She touched his head as if to check the butterfly bandage. “You showered.”
“Yeah.” And jerked off while he was in there. Not that his dick seemed to remember it now.
“This isn’t as tight as it should be.” She prodded gently at the special bandage, securing it again.
Taking her wrist, he pressed her palm to his jaw and closed his eyes.
“Armie?”
Get it together, he warned himself. “Come here.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he walked her to the couch and got her to sit. “Want a drink?”
She lifted his glass and sniffed, took a tiny sip and made a face. “Whatever you’re drinking would be fine.”
He tucked in his chin. “You don’t drink whiskey.” Except she’d just sipped it straight from his glass.
“Today is a good day to start, don’t you think?”
Yeah, probably. “One.” He glanced at her slim jeans, flat-heeled boots and the oversize hoodie, but didn’t allow himself as long a look as he’d have liked. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
On his way to the kitchen he felt her gaze on his ass. Literally felt it. He needed some jeans, only that’d look chicken shit. Or maybe modest.
He wasn’t either.
After getting another glass he poured her a shot of whiskey and went back to find her sitting cross-legged, a pillow hugged to her chest, her head down.
Softly, he said, “Hey.”
She looked up, those sparkling blue eyes sad but filled with so much pride and strength. “Will you sit with me?”
Armie clenched all over. She might as well have asked, “Will you rub your naked body over mine?” because his body reacted as if she had.
But damn it, he had control and somehow he’d find it. “Sure.” He lowered himself to the couch about a foot from her. “Here.”
She took the glass, sipped, made another face, then licked her lips.
Blindly he reached for his own glass and downed it.
Merissa studied him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” Clearly. Because all he could think about was pulling her close, kissing her, laying her down on the couch.
Under him.
Her lashes lowered. “Are you still thinking about it, too?”
Sex? “Yeah.”
“I keep remembering...”
Not sex. Letting out a breath, Armie took her hand. “Maybe you should have spent the night with Cannon.” He could still get her there, either by calling a cab, or Cannon himself—
“No.” She snuggled in, her arms around his waist, her head on his shoulder. Her long hair teased his skin and the rest of her teased his libido. He wanted to put his hands all over her, but instead kept them on her shoulders.
Until she said, “I’m sorry, Armie, but I’d really rather stay here with you.”
He lurched back so fast he almost fell off the couch.
They stared at each other.
Usually, when he balked at her suggestions, Rissy’s feelings got hurt, which in turn made her pissy. Not this time.
This time she smiled gently and slid over to sit closer again. “Is that asking too much?”
He croaked, “No.” Nothing was too much for her, but how the hell would he handle it?
“Good.” Sighing, she hugged him. “Thank you.”
Um... “Welcome.”
“You really are drunk, aren’t you?”
He shook his head—which made the room spin. Lethargy and lust battled. “I’ll take the couch.”
Instead of arguing, she again snagged her drink, settled back against him and sipped. “What are we watching?”
He glanced at the TV. “I don’t know.”
She picked up the remote. “Do you mind?”
Against him, away from him, against him, away from him. Her bouncing back and forth made him more than a little nuts.
A hand in his hair, Armie shook his head. “Help yourself.” As she flipped through the channels, he wondered what the hell had happened. One minute he’d been sitting alone worrying about her, and now she’d put on an old movie and was tugging off her boots.
Drink in hand, she made herself comfortable—back against him again. After a second, she readjusted, taking his arm and looping it around her shoulders, then wiggling in closer. “Is this okay?”
He had a boner, his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, and every muscle on his body contracted, but whatever. “Sure.” He dropped a throw pillow over his lap.
“I saw before that you’ve got a terrible raised welt on your back. Does it hurt?”
Sexual need muddled his brain further. “No.” Though tomorrow he’d probably be feeling it.
After a half hour or so of blessed silence, where he’d finally gotten his gonads to calm down, Merissa turned up her face to look at him. He felt even drunker now, but some of that might be overwhelming need blunting his brainpower.
He tried to resist, but finally glanced at her—and got caught.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
All his concentration went to her mouth, and he had to fight the urge to give her a long, hot, wet kiss. Think, Armie. An idea occurred to him. “You tell Cannon you were coming here?” He already knew she hadn’t because if Cannon knew his baby sis was hanging out at his apartment he’d have already come to collect her. No guy in his right mind would want a female relative slumming with Armie, but Cannon was more protective than most. “He needs to know—”
“You’re right.” She got her phone from her purse, thumbed in a message, then put the phone on the coffee table. “All done.”
Armie stared at that phone, willing Cannon to reply, and when it finally dinged he released a tense breath of both relief and disappointment. She needed to leave, true. But damn, it was so nice having her close.
She leaned forward, looked at the screen and smiled.
Smiled?
Suspicious with a vague sense of dread, Armie asked, “He coming to get you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“What’dya mean, no?”
She held the phone for him to see the message.
He read: Good. I’m glad you’re not alone. Now I can stop worrying.
Confusion nearly crossed his eyes. “You told him you were with me?”
“Yes.”
Tunneling a hand into his hair again, Armie wondered what the hell Cannon was thinking.
When the room went quiet his heart stalled. Wide-eyed, he realized that Merissa had turned off the television. He tracked her every move as she replaced the throw pillow in the corner of the couch, then stood and carried her boots over by the door. The finality of the lock clicking into place jump-started his heart again.
He shifted around and watched her remove her socks and peel off the hoodie. Scalding heat washed over him. She tucked the socks into the boots and left the folded sweatshirt on top.
Now wearing only skinny jeans and a big SBC T-shirt, she came back to him and held out a hand. “Come on, Armie. I’m ready for bed.”