In Your Corner (11 page)

For a long moment, he studies me, and then he gently brushes my hair away from my face. “You think I don’t want you?” His lips whisper over my forehead sending a firestorm of hope through my body. “You think I’m this hard because I don’t want you?” He grinds his pelvis against mine and the press of his steel-hard erection against my throbbing sex rips a moan from my throat. “I told you before, my life is just one fuckup after another. But I thought I’d finally got my life on track when I joined Redemption, started fighting…met you. And then it all went to hell. I lost you, Peter, my fight career, and my friends.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I blurt out. “It was me. I couldn’t commit so I used the excuse of being upset that you wouldn’t reveal Torment’s identity to get some distance. And then Drake…I didn’t leave you with any options.”

Jake shakes his head and his face softens. “Not letting you take all the blame, baby. Although after meeting your parents, I can see why it’s hard for you to get close to people.”

“Just people I’m afraid of disappointing.”

“You walked into that meeting room, and suddenly I got a second chance,” he says softly. “I’m back in Redemption, back on my game. But this time I’m doing things slow. I’m not fucking this up. Just once in my life, something is going to go right. I want you, baby, but first I need to know that you’ll let me in.”

He wants me. But how do I know what he’s saying is true if he doesn’t speak in a language my body understands?

With a groan, he leans down and kisses me. His lips are warm, firm, unyielding. His tongue breaches the seal of my lips and then he is everywhere, exploring, tasting, possessing. My body arches toward him and he slides one hand under my lower back and presses me tight against him.

Oh God. I don’t want this moment to end. I concentrate on every detail, committing them to memory: his body warm and hard on top of me, his lips soft and gentle, the steady beat of his heart, the fresh scent of his soap, the taste of coffee on his tongue…and the soft chuckle of Rampage as he joins us on the mats.

Damn.

“What the hell?” Rampage scratches his head from the far corner of the mat.

Jake looks up, totally unembarrassed, and smiles. “New submission. It’s called lip-lock.”

“I’d like to get me some of that.”

Jake curls his free hand possessively around my head. “I don’t think you do.”

“Not with ’manda.” Rampage rolls his eyes. This I can see because I have tilted my head backward.

“Something I can do for you?” Jake shifts his weight to his elbows, caging me with his body.

Rampage rubs his hand along his shorts. “Um…Fuzzy sent me to tell you that your next class is ready. They’re waiting for you on the mats.”

With a heavy sigh, Jake pushes himself back to his knees and then helps me up. “Later, baby. I’ll meet you after class.”

“Later.”

Jake teaches his class. Then he helps a new recruit with some grapple moves. Then he covers a class for a sick instructor. Then he jumps into the ring to coach some newbies.

He tells me he has a hard time saying no when people ask for help. Torment turned his life around, and he feels obligated to pay it forward. Some of his students can’t afford the fees for a private coach. Always, he is solicitous and apologetic, but he never gives me the impression there is anywhere he would rather be than in the ring helping out.

After a few hours of chatting with the fighters, practicing my moves, and working on my form, I finally find my self-respect and call a cab.

***

First thing in the morning, my phone buzzes on my desk. Jake’s name flashes on the screen. For a moment, I hesitate. Do I want to talk to him? Last night he promised me later but later never came. Maybe just as well.

My hand hovers over the phone, but finally curiosity overrides reticence, and I open the message.

about last night

I stare at the phone. Maybe I’ll forgive him. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll make him suffer like I suffered last night since my vibrator was a poor substitute for what he promised me on the mats.

**frowns**

Forgive me, baby. Need your help.

What help?

My phone buzzes again. This time he has sent pictures of clothing.

Which suit?

For what?

Board meeting

Gray

Which tie?

Blue stripes

Which shoes?

Shiny black

Hate suits

I’ve never seen you in a full suit

You want to see me in a suit?

In and out of suit

Bad girl. BEHAVE

No choice. Someone left me high and dry last night

Make it up to u. Have 4 tix to see nu metal band, Slugs.

Slugs
≠
sex. Take a friend

U

I’m not ur friend

True. I’ll come by 2nite and show u how unfriendly I can be

No can do. Working 2nite. Have to interview witness

At night?

Farnsworth case. Only time she is available

Alone?

Penny is coming with me

Not pleased **frowns**

Get over it **laughs**

Will text venue address for concert. Meet u there

I haven’t said yes

Say it

Bossy

Say it

Yes

One more thing…

What?

Don’t wear panties

I’M NOT LIKING THIS BOSSY NEW YOU

“Quesada Street. There it is!”

“This is so exciting.” Penny bounces in her seat as I pull the car over to the side of the road. “I’ve never been to the bad end of town.”

“There are many bad areas of town. This isn’t anywhere near the worst. A lot of families live here and parts of the area have been transformed with community gardens.”

Penny raises an eyebrow when I secure my vehicle with two clubs. Even though we are in the “good part” and things are slowly improving, Hunter’s Point still has one of the highest crime rates in San Francisco.

After double-checking the address on my phone, I grab my briefcase. First step in collecting evidence against Farnsworth is to establish he propositioned other women at the firm and I remembered hearing rumors about Jill Jackson, an intern who left the firm abruptly last year. She’s agreed to one interview and my heart thrums in anticipation. If I can establish a pattern of harassment, we won’t ever get to trial. Farnsworth will be begging me to settle.

We walk past a patchwork of small plots with a sandbox and rope swing, surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Jill’s house is at the edge of the garden, and a few minutes later we are settled at her kitchen table.

“She’s a mini you,” Penny whispers as Jill leaves to get the coffee. “Same long, blond hair. Same big blue eyes. Same creamy skin. Only difference is you have about two inches on her and bigger baps.” She squeezes her breasts by way of translation.

“Thanks, Penny. Good to know you notice these things.”

“How can I not? I seethe with jealousy any time you wear anything tight.”

I am saved from further sarcastic retorts when Jill returns with three coffee cups and a plate of cookies. Penny records our meeting, takes notes, and eats the cookies while I ask questions.

Yes, Jill worked closely with Farnsworth. Yes, Farnsworth was overly touchy. Yes, she often found herself alone with him. He wined and dined her on the pretense of discussing cases. He took her with him on business trips. On one of these trips he came on to her, but she had a boyfriend she loved dearly. She turned Farnsworth down. He threatened to fire her and make sure she never worked in the area again. She told him to do his worst. He did. Now, she is keeping up her skills at the community legal aid clinic and still looking for a job.

After leaving Jill’s house, Penny and I decide to celebrate the damning evidence against Farnsworth with a visit to a wine bar in the Marina District, but when we return to the vehicle, we have unexpected company.

“Hi,” I say to the two scowling males who bear a suspicious resemblance to Jake and Ray. “How did you know we were here?”

Penny grimaces. “In my excitement, I might have mentioned our interview to Ray when he called to say he wouldn’t make it back to the office this afternoon. Then he might have casually tossed out a ‘No way in fucking hell are you two going to Hunter’s Point.’ After that, I might have said we were going anyway because we didn’t need his damn consent. Then he might have tossed out a few choice swear words and muttered something about waiting for him to get back to the office so he could come with us. To which I might have replied we were two grown women and didn’t need a babysitter. So who’s up for a drink?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Ray turns to Jake and growls. “And did they listen? No. They went on their own. Left the car on the street. Good thing I was in the office when Jake came by. Do you have any idea how dangerous this area is?”

With no apparent thought for her safety, Penny shrugs. “No. How dangerous is it to visit a house on the good end of the street beside a garden with swings and slides, especially when Amanda has pepper spray and takes fight classes?”

Ray clenches his jaw. “I’ll take Penny home and tomorrow we’re all gonna have a little discussion about taking me with you when you go to dangerous areas of town.”

Penny frowns. “Does this mean the wine bar is out?”

“You don’t have to look out for us, Ray.” I fold my arms, matching Jake’s posture, although without the rippling muscles, fierce scowl, or twitching biceps. “But I forgive your stomping and growling because I know this is your way of saying you care.”

“My job is to look out for you when your man’s not around.” Ray reaches into the car and grabs Penny’s handbag. “I’m sure he’ll be lining you up soon as we’re gone.”

“How about we stop at the wine bar first?” Penny says. “I’m kinda thirsty.”

“I thought you were a PI, not a bodyguard. And, he’s not my man. He’s…a friend. Like you.”

Ray snorts a laugh and glances over at Jake. “A friend does not go fucking crazy when he thinks his woman is in danger. A friend does not need to be physically restrained from tackling any warm-bodied male within a one-mile radius of his woman’s vehicle. A friend gets irritated, worried, and mildly annoyed. Like me.”

I look up and catch Jake’s gaze. He appears calm, cool, and collected if not mildly annoyed. Definitely a friend.

As soon as they’re gone, Jake opens the passenger door and gestures me inside. “Get in.”

“Hello to you too.” I pause on the sidewalk. “But this is my car. I’ll drive.”

Jake clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m driving.”

“Oh come on.” I wiggle free and take a step away. “We’re a long way from the eighteenth century.”

“Don’t push me right now.”

For the first time since we arrived to find him at my vehicle, I look at him. Really look at him. Pulse pounding in his neck, body tense, mouth drawn into a thin line, eyes narrow. Maybe more than mildly annoyed. Definitely not in a mood to be pushed.

“Okay.” I give an exaggerated sigh and slide into the passenger seat. A few minutes later, we are speeding through the city streets in the wrong direction.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t talk.”

A chill forms in the air between us and a sliver of resentment works its way into my chest.

“I’m not liking this bossy new you.” I twist my bracelet around my wrist. “First, you crash my interview. Then, you commandeer my vehicle. Now, you’re telling me to shut up.”

“Please, baby…” His voice cracks, and I can see from the white knuckles gripping my steering wheel and the firm set of his jaw, he is right on the edge. Resentment shifts to wariness and I shrink back in my seat.

“Okay. I get it. You’re angry. Although I think you’re totally overreacting.”

We drive in silence for another five minutes. Suddenly, Jake makes a sharp turn and pulls into a dark, narrow alley.

“Get out.”

My heart goes into overdrive. The alley is barely wide enough to allow us to open our car doors and the only light comes from the street behind us, a dim, yellow glow that stretches the car’s shadow far into the darkness. An empty Dumpster clings to the slimy brick wall and the ground is littered with debris.

“I don’t want to be here.”

He exits the vehicle, then stalks around the hood and tugs open my door. “Out.”

“Jake…”

“Last time, baby.”

His term of endearment gives me the courage to get out of the car. I tell myself he’s not really angry. Maybe just concerned and, perhaps a tad worried. The sweet, sensitive part of him is still there—the part that helped me fix up the house and finish my push-ups, the part that has sacrificed everything to help his family.

After I step out of the vehicle, he slams the door closed and stalks up and down the alley. Finally he thumps his fist on the Dumpster lid, sending a boom of thunder through the dank space. As he closes the distance between us, I fight the urge to pull out my cell phone and call for help. This is Jake. He would never hurt me.

“Why didn’t you wait for Ray?” He looms over me. “Or call me?”

“Families live on that street, Jake, and we weren’t planning on taking a long walk through the neighborhood. We went in, interviewed the witness, and came out. And I had my pepper spray. I didn’t go unprepared.”

“It isn’t a safe area of town. You could have been hurt.”

My stomach clenches. “It’s no more dangerous than Ghost Town, and I’ve been alone there lots of times.”

“And look what happened the last time you were there…”

Tensing, I hold up my hand. “Don’t go there. Not right now, when we’re both annoyed and liable to say the wrong thing.”

“Fuck.” He pounds his fist on the brick wall. “Fuck. The thought of you in danger…it was too fucking much.”

“Jake…” I touch his forearm and he jerks his hand away.

“I thought you were going to die in that alley outside Hellhole.” His voice rises to a shout and he leans in toward me. “I thought I would lose you without really ever having had you at all.”

“I understand you were worried, but you don’t need to be so angry.” I press my hands against his chest and push, but he’s too big and too heavy, and if he even notices my efforts, he gives no sign. Instead, he continues to rant, and finally, I snap.

“Stop.” I raise my voice loud enough for him to hear. “Back away. You’re scaring me.” This time when I push, I put all my effort into it. This time Jake takes a step back, and suddenly I can breathe again.

“I’m scaring you?”

“Yes. You’re bigger than me, stronger than me, louder than me, and angrier than me. Not only that, you’re a professional fighter and—”

“You think I’m going to hurt you?” He cuts me off and his voice rises to a disbelieving growl.

“I think you’re out of control.”

He takes a step forward and I flinch, turning my head away, bracing myself for the inevitable, but the inevitable never comes.

“I am always in control,” he says through gritted teeth. “And I would rather cut off my arm than hurt you. But when I went to your office and Ray said you were at Hunter’s Point…fuck, Amanda. I didn’t know what to do.”

Swallowing past my fear, I meet his furious gaze. “Shouting and pounding your fists and trapping me against the car sends me a different message. I understand you were concerned and worried, and if I didn’t think it was coming from a good place, I’d walk…maybe even run away right now.”

Jake bristles and opens his mouth, but I press on. He needs to hear what I have to say.

“You have to understand,” I continue. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I rarely ask for help. And I’ve never had anyone worry about me. I’m not someone who needs to be protected and looked after. This is why I don’t get close to people. If I’d known you were going to react like this…that you would care this much…I would have handled it differently.”

“Would you?” His cold, bitter tone takes my breath away.

“Yes.”

For a long moment, we stare at each other in a mini-standoff, chests heaving, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. Finally, his tension eases—a slight drop of his shoulders, a loosening of his fists. “Next time, you ask me for help.”

“Next time, you try to deal with the situation without using violence and anger, and you don’t scare me.” I smooth my hands over the heaving chest of the sweaty, pumped up alpha-male glowering in front of me and whisper, “And you accept I can handle some dangerous situations that aren’t really dangerous situations on my own.”

He grunts and suddenly I am hyperaware of his body so close to mine, the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt into my palms, the rapid beat of the pulse in his neck, and the full, sensuous lips only inches away from my mouth. Fueled by adrenaline and emotion, electricity sparks between us, igniting the flame of my desire.

Through half-lidded eyes, his gaze follows my fingers as they drift down over his tight abs to his belt buckle. When I tug on his belt, he grabs my hand and draws it away.

“You’re heading for a dangerous situation right now.”

“I like to live on the edge.” I lean up and nuzzle the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne and the unmistakable musk of arousal. Does he want me as much as I want him? I hope so. Fear and anger and lust make for an intoxicating cocktail, and right now I want to get drunk.

Jake groans but doesn’t move. “Stop, baby. I’m barely keeping the lid on my control as it is.”

“So let it go.” I lean up to nibble on his earlobe. “There’s no one around.”

“Fuck.” He grabs my wrists and brackets them behind my lower back with his hand. My back arches, pressing my breasts against his hard chest. My nipples tighten painfully. If this is his way of stopping me, it’s not going to work.

“Don’t you understand? If I lose control, you’ll get hurt, and hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A pained look crosses his face. “You don’t really know me, Amanda. And that’s my fault as much as it is yours. The more I let you in, the further you drew away, until I was afraid to be totally honest with you about what I needed.”

“What do you need?” I know what I need. I need him inside me. Touching me. Stroking me. Showing me he wants me.

With a low growl, he tightens his grip on my wrists, pressing them against my lower back while his other hand tangles in my hair. He kicks my legs apart and presses his thigh against the curve of my sex. Holding me immobile, on the threshold of pleasure and pain, he kisses me so hard and rough and dirty, a moan tears out of my throat.

“This is what I need, baby. I want all of you. I won’t settle for anything less, and until you can give that to me, this is as far as I’m willing to go and as close as I’m willing to get.”

***

“Thanks for inviting me for lunch, but we could have had our meeting at the office.”

I slide into the booth across from Ray and pull out my notebook. The little Italian café in the SOMA District is packed, and the waiters have to run an obstacle course of briefcases, backpacks, chairs, and feet between the kitchen and the tables. My mouth waters at the rich, spicy scent of tomato sauce laced with the yeasty fragrance of baking bread from the brick pizza oven.

“Shhhh.” Ray puts a finger to his lips and I frown. The restaurant is a cacophony of sound, from the ring of cell phones to the clang of cookware, from the shouts of the cooks in the open kitchen to the very loud buzz of the crowd.

“Why shhhh? No one will be able to hear us.”

He lifts his chin toward a table in the corner. I follow his gaze and freeze. Farnsworth and Evil Reid.