FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (32 page)

Emmy

I don't know what I was picturing when Rosie mentioned a clubhouse.  But this was something else entirely.

The building looked like it had begun its life as a brick rowhouse.  But it had metastasized from there, pieced together like Frankenstein's monster.  The rest of the rowhomes on the block must have been knocked down ages ago, leaving it to stand as a lone sentinel on an entire city block.  A metal dome rose behind it, giving it the look of a huge beetle spread across the too-large parking lot that was surrounded by chainlink fence topped ominously with barbed wire.  There were no buildings around, no signs of life anywhere though the noise of cars and trucks were everywhere above us.  The effect was eerie. 

The faded sign out front read "Steel Cycles."  J. led me through the front door, into a cramped little shop filled with pieces of chrome and metal that I didn't understand.  And old black man leaned against the counter leafing through a catalog.  I recognized him from the bar.  J. had called him Teach.

"She a customer?" Teach asked, though I thought it was painfully clear that I didn't know the first thing about motorcycles.

"Teach, this is Emmy."  J. ducked his head.  I could tell he respected the old man and was choosing his words carefully.  "Emmy, this is Teach.  He used to, ah, teach my class."

"Oh are you a professor?" I asked, extending my hand.

He clasped my hand in his.  It was dry and warm and rough with callouses.  His eyes were tinged with yellow in the corners but looked at me with sharp interest.  "No, I'm just a man who knows things," he replied.  He set my hand down carefully on the glass counter.  "What brings you to Steel Cycles, Emmy?"  His tone was measured and polite, but I heard the note of suspicion as clear as day.

J. cleared his throat as I opened my mouth.  I snapped it back shut again as he spoke.  "Emmy needs a place to stay.  She's on me."

Teach looked at J. sharply.  I couldn't read his expression.  "On you?"

J. nodded seriously. "On me."

The tension suddenly left the room.  Teach smiled and gestured towards the back door.  "Welcome Emmy.  I'm just going to say "I'm sorry" right now and let it stand for the rest of your time here, okay?"

I chuckled nervously and followed J. through the door into the huge metal expanse of what I now realized was a domed garage.  Motorcycles lined the walls, all in various states of completion.  Off to the left, low partitions sectioned off a portion of the huge room, leaving the top open to the ceiling.  I followed J. as he opened the wobbly, makeshift door and gestured in explanation. 

"So uh, here's the garage.  And in here, this is where we bunk."  I scanned the cramped quarters, amazed that a huge man like J. could fit onto one of those tiny, sagging cots.  "Bathroom is over to the right, though I would recommend going in there as little as possible.  Kitchen area's over there, though we kind just ignore that until Teach's old lady comes by and yells at us for making it a mess."  He paused, scanning the space, looking everywhere but directly into my eyes. "And that's pretty much it."

I looked around me.  I had pictured something so much...more. "You all live here?"

"A few of us do, yeah." He sat down on the cot and it squeaked in protest.  "It's not exactly homey, but it's home. 

I sat gingerly down next to him, grimacing at the protesting shriek.  "What do you do here?"

"Well I work here, mainly.  Steel Cycles, you saw the sign.  We do custom work, me and Teach, mainly, but a few of the other guys know basic wrenching."

I realized that I knew almost nothing about him.  In all the limited time we'd had together, all I had done was talk about myself.  I felt suddenly guilty for presuming to sit here next to him when I never even knew his last name. "Thank you for letting me stay," I whispered, swinging my legs awkwardly. 

His warm hand closed around my leg.  My heart jumped and began thumping so loudly I was sure he could hear it.  "I'm glad you came." His voice was warm but his expression was serious.  "I'm glad you got out." 

His fingers clutched into my thigh, gripping me tightly.  I sucked in my breath at the feel of his touch and the sudden realization of what I had done flooded me with panic.  My heart threatened to jump right out of my throat.  Robert would look for me.  Robert would find me.  I needed to mail the letter, to get him off of my trail. 

"Is there a mailbox around here?"  I jumped to my feet.

His expression was unreadable.  "You want to mail something?"

I felt silly. Here I had run to him, sat down on his cot, let him touch me and now I was acting like a nervous virgin.  The throbbing inside of me flared to life, reminding me. Reminding me of what could happen, what would happen again if I didn't make sure Robert was gone from my life forever.  I tried to slow my heartbeat, to make sure my words made sense. 

"I wrote him a letter."  I unzipped my backpack and pulled it out.  "I don't want him looking for me.  I want him to know it's over."  The envelope felt thin and unsubstantial given the weight of what it contained.

J.'s mouth twitched and I thought I saw relief in his eyes.  "You can put that in the outgoing mail behind the desk, Emmy. Mailman'll be here tomorrow morning."

I was so keyed up that it took me a second to hear what he said.  "Tomorrow?"

"Saturday," J nodded.  "Usually comes around eleven.  Teach'll be up, even if the rest of us aren't."

I looked at his warm brown eyes. The emerald shards were muted in the dim light of the bunkhouse, but their magic still held me close.  I was filled with sudden gratitude.  He saw how I was frozen in place and stood up and plucked the envelope from my trembling fingers. 

"Here, I know where it is," he said soothingly and walked over to the entrance to the store. 

His broad shoulders looked wide and strong enough to carry any burden.  He looked like he could lift me easily.  The painful throbbing inside of me gave way to a different throbbing.  Something much more pleasurable.  I clenched my fists, wavering inside of my head.  I wanted to kiss him, but I also wanted to run away.  I wanted him to touch me, to hold me.  I wanted to scream and sigh.  I looked down at my feet and saw that I was bouncing on my toes. 

He came back into the room and saw me there, bouncing like an excited child.  "You okay?" he asked, suppressing a smile.

I bounced again.  "I don't...know. I don't know what's wrong with me.  It's like I can't stop moving."

He set a hand on my shoulder, pressing down firmly until his strength overwhelmed mine and I had to stop bouncing.  "I get it," he nodded.  "You're still panicking.  You're safe now, Emmy.  Ain't nobody gonna mess with you when you're here."

"I believe you," I ventured, then held up a trembling hand.  "But my body doesn't."

He grabbed my hand and I was suddenly pressed against his chest.  "I know how to fix that," he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face. 

When his lips crashed into mine, my eager hands suddenly had something real to grab onto.  I clutched at him, feeling the strength under his skin.  His tongue met mine and we danced a frantic dance, crashing into the thin walls and banging into the metal cots.  His arm shot out, slamming the flimsy door shut and shooting the bolt.  The whole partitioned wall vibrated loudly, masking the sound of the moans I only just realized were coming from me. 

I swear I've been kissed before.  But never like this.  I have never felt the world come crashing down to a pinpoint.  I have never had the cacophony of thoughts that always tumble through my head be silenced like this.  I have never felt my insides dissolve and melt away.  I have never felt the spreading warmth course through me, turning me to a ragdoll, robbing me of my ability to do anything but yield to his lips on mine. 

I pressed into him, eager to melt myself away.  He pulled me closer and I felt the rising urgency of his need. 

My stomach lurched and I pulled away, cheeks flaming. 

"Hey," he whispered.  His mouth was open, panting and gasping, but his brows were furrowing in concern.  "What's wrong?"

I couldn't say.  It was too humiliating.  "I'm sorry," I shuddered, and sat on the edge of the cot.  I felt the lump of nausea rise to my throat, and the pain flared to life in my core.  "I'm sorry, I don't want to lead you on, I'm sorry," I realized I was babbling and clamped my mouth shut. 

He tensed his shoulders, balling his hands into fists.  I was momentarily terrified to see the anger rise on his face.  "That fucker," he hissed.

I was confused.  "What?"

He stalked away, his back to me, pacing like an animal in a cage in the small space of the bunkhouse.  Exhaling loudly, he turned back to me and his face was composed.  "Okay.  I get it Emmy.  I won't go too fast." He sat down next to me, near, but not touching me.  I could feel the heat rising from his skin. 

I swallowed.   "I'm sorry," I repeated.  "I don't know why I did that.  You didn't have to stop."

He looked at me, the anger flooding back into his face.  "Of course I stopped.  What do you think I am?"

I shrank back.  "I don't think you're anything.  I think you're amazing.  I shouldn't have led you on like that...."

He caught my arm, the emerald in his eyes blazing at me.  I bit my tongue.  "Emmy stop it.  Listen to me right now.  You don't owe me anything.  Least of all that, you understand?"

It was the conviction of his voice that convinced me more than his words.  Something inside of me shifted.  "Can we start again?" I heard myself say. I placed my hand on his thigh, lightly.  Just resting it there for the moment to register how my body would react.  He looked at my hand and deliberately leaned back on the cot, propping himself up with his hands, letting me take control.  I shifted closer to him, pressing my shoulder into his. He looked up at the high ceiling and exhaled, but he didn't move.  I pulled my legs up under me and knelt up on the cot. 

Taking a deep breath, I swung my leg over him so that I was straddling him, and settled into his lap.  He remained motionless, though I could feel the tension ripple through his taut abdomen. 

"Hi there," I whispered, and bent my lips to his neck.  He sucked air in through his teeth as I brushed my lips down the strong muscles of his neck and buried my face where it met his shoulder.  Inhaling his sun-warmed scent, I kissed him lightly, easing my hands up his back.  He vibrated slightly, a little hitch in his breath, and the feeling captivated me.  Taking one of his hands into my own, I placed it deliberately at my waist.

He raised his eyebrows in a mute question that I silenced with a gentle kiss.  His full lips met mine.  I deepened the kiss, circling his tongue with mine, tasting him slowly and on my terms.  I heard a soft noise that could have come from either of us.  He lifted himself a little, snaking his hands up to my shoulders . Holding me gently.  Cradling me.  Letting me explore every inch of his mouth with my tongue.  As I tasted him, my hunger grew.

The gentle insistence that had prodded me into his lap now buzzed wildly.  My hips moved on their own, pushing against him, wanting more, needing to feel his body against mine.

He must have read my mind, because he yanked his shirt off with a sudden violence, revealing the tattooed landscape of his deeply muscled chest.  I put a small hand against his warm chest, feeling his heart beat strongly beneath the muscle.  My skin on his skin made me gasp slightly.

"What?" he wondered, following my gaze.

"I'm so pale," I smiled, brushing my hand across the warm chocolate skin.

"You need some color in those cheeks," he agreed and I was suddenly on my back looking up into his eyes.  "I'll stop if you want me to," he promised, his lips inches from mine.

I pressed myself upward.

"I don't want you to," I murmured, and pulled his face down to mine.  But he had other ideas.  His fingers slipped below my waistband.  I gasped in surprise, but his lips on my neck turned it into a gasp of pleasure.  A low growling sound emanated from his throat, and he delved his exploring finger deeper.  I closed my eyes, pressing myself into his hand, letting him closer and closer to the part of me he sought.

The brush of his finger met the ragged wound Robert had left me with. I tried to hide the pain, but the hiss escaped my lips.  I sat up suddenly as the searing pain flared to life again, robbing me of the release I so craved.

J. jumped back like I had scalded him.  Hot, furious tears burned my eyes and I knuckled them away hastily, before he could see me and think it was anything he had done.

But I was too late.  "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean, I shouldn't have...." His face was a contorted mask of hurt and confusion, while his desire pressed futilely against his jeans.  Heat flamed ferociously in my cheeks and I turned away from him.  Away from his concerned eyes.  Away from the humiliation.  Away from the frustration of having to stop when it was the last thing in the world that I wanted.

I heard a noise behind me.  The creaking of the door and the rush of cool air let me know that he had left.  I studied the wall through my tears.  It was plywood, hastily painted.  I could still see the streaks and brushstrokes.  A long drip mark was right at my eye line.  I knuckled away a tear angrily and focused on that drip.  It bothered me.  Someone should have noticed it by now.  It shouldn't still be hanging there, frozen in mid-tumble down the wall.  I pressed my index finger to it, pushing in.  It was still soft in the bead.  By pressing in, I saw I could smash it in with the rest of the paint.  Pulling my finger away, I saw that my fingerprint was now indelibly marked into the wall.