Bad Girl Bill (Atlantic Divide) (12 page)

Arms back to a defense position, she flicked his ear with a rapid straight-arm punch from her left and brought the heel of her right hand toward his jaw. She controlled her movements. Her kicks had been hard and fast, but she pulled in the punches, snapped them back, never quite hitting with full force, allowing him to dodge and avoid. He countered her movements with defensive ones of his own, never getting the chance to go on the attack himself. He was good but not as good as her.

He kept up with her but didn’t appear to be able to move fast enough to do anything but defend himself. She pushed him backward across the room. She was going to kick his ass into next week. Blood sang through her veins, and adrenaline launched the same blood around her body. Throwing back her head, she let out a wicked laugh.

“C’mon, tiger, you can do better than that.”

She skipped forward, closed the gap between them, confidence making her arrogant. She hooked her leg between his and flipped him.

He should have ended up flat on his back with her on top, but something went wrong, and he grabbed her, rolled as he went, and landed on top. Her breath slammed out of her lungs and left her gasping beneath him. His hard, lean body covered every inch of hers.

“Well now, Bill, I just need the soap.” He gave an evil grin straight down into her face.

Embarrassed and furious, she grit her teeth and stared up at him. The volcano in her stomach went from simmer to boil in a split second and though he had her pinned flat on her back, she bucked and thrashed underneath him, frantic to escape, forgetting everything she’d ever been taught, losing her form. Panic set in as she lurched underneath him, powerless to dislodge his body from hers.

*

Laughter rolled off him as he bent his head toward hers. She lunged forward and smacked her forehead on the bridge of his nose, bringing tears to his eyes. They both yelped in pain, and for the first time, his temper unleashed.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and rapped them into the mat, her head jerked backward as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers in a savage, passionate, punishment. He pinned her arms, forced them above her head, holding her wrists with one hand, his other squeezed her neck gently so she could not repeat the same move.

“You like it rough, Bill?” He panted in her ear. “I can do rough.”

His body pressed its weight on top of her, his legs tangled in hers. His mouth descended to grind against her lips. He forced his tongue into her mouth; scraped his teeth over her lips. The animal sound that escaped her throat was echoed by his own deep guttural groan.

He felt her body go limp underneath him, and for a moment she was submissive, utterly still. He moved his hips into hers, lifted his head, and looked into her wide brown eyes. His heartbeat still pounded in his ears, but the quick backlash of his anger was already over. He dipped in, licked her lips, nibbled, cajoled until she responded.

Her mouth returned his kisses as completely and brutally as his own just had, kicking his aggression back up a notch.

She bit his lip. He sucked on her tongue. He released her wrists. She fisted one hand in his hair, dragged him closer. Her other hand hugged his shoulders, pulling him in tight, nails digging into his flesh. Her body squirmed under his, seeking more, demanding more. Her hips undulated under him, making him wild with want.

His mouth left hers to travel down her jawline, nipping, sucking, licking down her neck, tracing the bead of sweat just as he had imagined. He heard her soft gasp as she turned her head, nipped his ear and shot his senses into riot. His mouth blazed across her shoulders, sucking in her soft, sweet, flesh. Desperate, he was oblivious to whether she was keeping up or not. Grasping her T-shirt in both hands, he hauled it over her head and flung it on the crash mat, quickly followed by her pretty pink bra. He settled his mouth on her nipple and suckled. Her back bowed as she gasped out his name and pressed his head closer with her hand, writhing underneath him, her body telling his she wanted more.

Breath rasped through his lungs as he worshipped her body. Her breasts, small and perfect, fit into his hand as he squeezed, pinching her nipple roughly while devouring the other with his mouth, his teeth nipping. Her taste drove him crazy.

He couldn’t wait. He had to have her now. He was hot and hungry and beyond caring.

She was in ecstasy, he knew she was, her body squirmed beneath him inviting him to take more, and her desperate whimpers goaded him on. As his mouth tugged on her taut dark nipple, his hand pulled at her shorts and he slid his fingers inside and groaned with pleasure as he found her wet, swollen heat between her thighs. Knowing she was ready for him, he plunged two fingers deep inside her…and felt her body go rigid with shock as a yelp burst from her lips. She pushed frantically at his shoulders, and her voice was pitiful as she cried out.

“No, Michael…no. Please let me go…please.”

He heard the panic. The desperation in her voice as it screamed through his head.

He flung himself backward off her, and pain pulsed through him as he landed on his backside on the floor. He took in her shocked, horrified expression.

He tried to move forward again, to comfort her, reaching out with one hand, but she scrambled back away from him, awkwardly trying to cover herself up with her abandoned T-shirt. She was breathing quickly, short, shallow breaths. Her eyes, huge and frightened, stared at him from across the gap between them.

His lungs felt as though they might explode as he gasped in air. He thought of his sister, Lydia, who had been raped by her ex-husband, and the fear and horror she had felt at anyone coming near her until Sam.

“Oh God. Oh God, Bill. I didn’t know, I’m sorry, someone hurt you before?” He lifted his hand toward her again in supplication. “Did something happen to you?”

“No, no.” She denied, her voice panicked and breathless. “I just didn’t realize we’d gone so far, I didn’t want you to…” She paused.

Confusion rolled like fog through his slow, lust-thickened brain. For a long moment they simply stared at each other. No more words came from her mouth, and she no longer appeared horrified, but embarrassed. Her gaze slid away from his. She stared at the floor.

Panting in frustration, he felt his vision darken. She wasn’t hurt. She hadn’t been raped. She just hadn’t meant for him to make love to her. It had been a game. Probably because he had rejected her. Lead him on, tease him, and make him want. Get him back for distancing himself. Well he had wanted. He wanted still.

She wasn’t a child. She knew the stakes. She’d known when she took him on what was going to happen, and still, she sat there looking down at the floor as though her world had fallen apart.

His had. His body hadn’t caught up with his brain, and his erection still strained, hot and painful.

He stood up, straightened his clothes. White-hot fury consumed him. His jaw ached as he ground his teeth and tried to muster some dignity while she sat huddled on the floor, the T-shirt pressed against her breasts, her bra abandoned next to her.

*

She peered up and knew she had ruined everything. She could see by the set of his jaw, the light in his stormy, sea-green eyes. The disgust on his face said it all. He wouldn’t come back. He must think she was just a cockteaser, as her brothers called women like her. Lead them on, make them want, and then drop them like a ton of bricks.

That wasn’t the way it had been. She wanted to cry out, tell him, but his cold, hard stare froze her to the spot.

She’d known when they had started the sparring where it would end up. Her stupid romantic image of sensuous, gentle lovemaking had exploded.

She’d been so lost in her own passion she really hadn’t realized how far they had gone.

Feeling his fingers thrust into her, stretch her, hurt her, she’d known she had to stop him before he went any further. Panicked, she’d reacted on impulse, instinctively shying away from such savage intimacy.

If he had plunged himself into her in the same way, he would have ripped her apart. She knew that, she’d heard the guys talking about the first time for women, how much it hurt, how much they bled.

She wanted to make love with him, she knew that, couldn’t deny it. She had wanted him to be her first, but not like this, not without care and respect and tenderness. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, naively hoped he wouldn’t notice. Well it had been a stupid idea. She hitched in a breath and started to explain.

“I’m sorry, I…it’s just that…” She stared at the floor for a minute…how to tell him that at her age she had never done it before. Never had sex. He was going to laugh in her face. She drew in a shaky breath, squinted into his still, cold, angry face and tried again, “I’ve never done this type of thing before.” Her voice whispered out of her restricted throat as she peeked back up at him from beneath her lashes waiting for his reaction as soon as he realized his mistake.

But the fury in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. She could say no more, and she lowered her head onto her knees.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” Her voice faded out on her last word, pride stopped her from continuing.

“Yeah, well there’s a name for women like you, and I’m damn sure it’s the same in America as it is in England.” He rubbed the back of his neck and seemed like he wanted to say more. He drew in a long breath, glared down at her huddled figure, turned on his heel, and walked out.

Bill didn’t cry. As she’d told him the day before she hadn’t cried since she was eight, and she wasn’t going to allow herself the luxury of tears now. But her heart broke…just a little.

She sat staring at nothing, mind empty, until the sweat dried cold on her back and the room darkened to evening. Sighing she got up, pulled her T-shirt back on, and dragged her body upstairs into the shower.

It was poker night with the boys.

The same feeling of ease and camaraderie exuded from the room as it had since she was a kid, warm and inviting, safe and familiar. Bill took her place at the poker table with a bottle of beer in her hand and misery in her heart.

This was what poker night was about though, pushing worries aside. Crude comments and loud laughter. Beer and cigars. She could sit here all evening and listen to the guys complain about their love lives, lack of loves, girlfriends, mothers, kids, and nothing was ever expected of her. She could speak; she could remain quiet. She was just a part of them, and she took comfort in their unquestioning acceptance of her, these men who were her brothers, cousins, and friends.

She leaned back in her seat and allowed her long legs to stretch out in front of her as she studied her hand of cards, finding it hard to concentrate.

She knew the very moment Michael arrived. Her senses were so attuned to him she felt him, smelled him, tasted him, and she raised her eyes to him over the heads of the boys.

“Bill.” He nodded once.

The guys all grunted at him and kept their eyes on their cards.

She lifted her eyebrows briefly and returned to contemplate her hand once more, staring blankly at the cards in front of her. She hoped it wasn’t her turn.

“Bill, I’d like to speak with you. Now.” Michael persisted.

She glanced up at him again with a steady gaze. His feet were planted apart, and he studied her intently. “Well?” she drawled, knowing she was safe if she stayed where she was. The protection she had been fighting lately surrounded her like a comfort blanket.

“I don’t think here is the place, but if you insist…” He pulled up a chair, turned it around backward, and straddled it. Resting his chin on his hands, he stared at her, quirking his mouth in amusement.

She felt her cheeks heat and gave a furtive glance around at the other faces at the table. There was a pretense of complete disinterest, poker faces studied their cards intently, which meant they were listening to every word, inflection, and tone of the conversation between them.

“I fold. I’m going for some fresh air. Pass me another beer, Ethan.” She swaggered outside as if she hadn’t a care in the world, a bottle of beer dangling from her fingertips. Michael followed, long-limbed and leisurely.

“Well?” She couldn’t keep the ungracious and surly tone out of her voice as she leaned back against the wall of the building.

“I wanted to talk about this afternoon.” Quiet and serious, he met her eyes with his own. She felt a chill tingle up her spine. Keeping her voice low, she gave a furtive glance at the back door.

“Well, I thought we dealt with that earlier, I’m a cockteaser. You were frustrated you hadn’t got your rocks off, so you’re pissed at me.” She swiped her hand defiantly across her nose and sniffed, tried to ignore his steady gaze.

“I apologized to you, but you didn’t want to accept. I’m a teasing bitch. I think that about sums it up. Do you think I haven’t heard that kind of talk before, back there in that room?” She kept the words arrogantly casual, her body loose. “I have no more to say on the matter, so fuck off”

“Good, then you can be quiet while I talk.” He paused a moment as she sucked in her breath. She watched as his eyes dropped to her hip and got the impression he was checking she didn’t have her gun strapped on. A wild thrill shot unwelcome through her system.

“Your language is filthy, Bill. You need to look at that. I hope to God you don’t speak like that in front of my sisters and their kids.”

Affronted, she opened her mouth to blast him with some more of the same, and then stopped. What did it matter what he thought of her? He wouldn’t be there much longer. So what if he didn’t believe she was good enough for his sisters and their kids? She felt the sharp slap of his insult and consoled herself with the fact she knew they liked her. There wasn’t a moment she was with them she felt inadequate or inferior. Aside from that, she never would swear in front of those kids—well, there had been a couple of occasions.

Irritated, she straightened up.

“Is that what you came for? To let me know what you think of my foul mouth? I thought we dealt with that this afternoon, too. You won. I still have a shitty mouth, though.”