In Your Corner (7 page)

“You’re a dangerous man,” I say after we haggle through a few details. “First you convince me to leave my house and venture back out into the world. Then you convince me to start a business. And now, I’m renting the least likely place I ever expected to see myself running a law firm. What’s next?”

A slow, sensual smile curves his lips. “If I told you what I had planned, you’d run for the hills.” He closes the distance between us and runs his fingers through my hair, working out the tangle my fiddling has created as if he couldn’t bear to see it anymore. His touch is gentle, his breath sweet on my cheek. Maybe he doesn’t like tangles. Or maybe he needed to get that out of his system too.

***

“Move that ass, Westwood.”

Fuzzy bellows the order like a pumped-up drill sergeant and I join the class in yet another soul-destroying sprint across Redemption’s overly long warehouse.

Good as his word, Jake arranged with Max for the cost of my classes to be covered in exchange for my new role as Redemption’s unofficial attorney. Although Max already has a stable of attorneys at his beck and call to deal with his business matters, he spread the word in the gym that if anyone needs general advice, they can come to me.

And I already have one new client. Except now, instead of shuffling his feet and mumbling about needing an attorney because the bank is foreclosing on his parent’s house, Fuzzy is screaming abuse like he’s trying to get us ready for the front line instead of just getting us fit.

“Come on, ya buncha losers,” he screams. “Whaddya thinking? That we’re having an afternoon stroll with Grandpa? MOVE.”

My legs wobble as we turn and race across the mats. Foolishly, I slow my pace to catch my breath.

“Westwood. You’ve already had a warning. You need a kick in the ass too?”

“Gimme a break, Fuzz.” I whine a breath. “I’ve spent the last few years in a…”

“What did you call me?” His usually cheerful face turns an unusual shade of purple.

“Um…Fuzz?” A warning prickle creeps over my skin, and I look around for someone to tell me what I’ve done wrong. Curiously, the entire class is huddled down at the other end of the warehouse and looking in the other direction. A few fighters sparring on the mats smirk. Over by the free weights, a betraying Jake is talking to Obsidian when he’s supposed to be protecting me from Fuzzy’s wrath.

“In this class, you address me as Sir,” Fuzzy shouts.

Swallowing hard, I give him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

Fuzzy scowls. “Not funny. On the floor, gimme twenty-five push-ups. NOW.”

“Someone is suffering from delusions of grandeur.”

“FIFTY.”

With a loud sigh, I drop to my knees, lean forward, and place my hands on the mat. Fuzzy kneels beside me and hangs his head upside down in my line of vision.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s a woman’s push-up.” I grunt my annoyance. “We have a different center of gravity. It’s just as hard for me to do the push-up from my knees as it is for you to do a push-up with your toes on the mat.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Fuzzy clambers to his feet and hollers for Shilla the Killa. A few moments later she joins us, a grin plastered across her face.

“Amanda here thinks women need to do push-ups on their knees.” His derisory tone sends a shiver down my spine. “Gimme twenty…man style.”

Shayla snorts a laugh and drops her cut, muscular body down to the mat. Her thick, brown ponytail swings violently over her shoulder as she does twenty perfect, man-style push-ups without breaking a sweat.

“You want another set with me clapping my hands between each push-up?” She looks over at Fuzzy and grins. “Or maybe with one hand?”

“Nope. We’re good. Dismissed.” Fuzzy gives her a high five. Shayla’s cheeks glow pink and she bounds back to the fight ring. Fuzzy glares at me sitting back on my heels and points down.

“You gonna keep scowlin’ at me, or are you gonna do the push-ups? The class is called Get Fit or Die for a reason.”

I glare at Fuzzy. I don’t like him anymore. He’s mean, mean, mean. It’s like he had a personality transplant when he stepped into the gym. I wish I had never signed up for Get Fit or Die. I wish I had never set foot in Redemption. I wish I hadn’t had burritos for lunch. They’re weighing me down.

With a sigh, I drop to my knees. “I can do maybe five…
sir
.”

He folds his arms and then gestures to someone behind me. “Gotta girl here with a lotta attitude. Needs to do fifty push-ups before she rejoins the class. Can you watch her for me?”

“I dunno.” Jake joins Fuzzy, a smile curling his lips. “That scowl on her face is kind of scary. What if she attacks me?”

Fuzzy laughs. “Don’t think you have to worry about that any more than you’d worry about getting scratched by a declawed kitten.”

As I open my mouth to protest, Fuzzy holds up one finger. “One more word outta you, and you’ll be doing the push-ups with Renegade on your back.”

Mmmm. I picture Jake lying on top of me—naked—as I struggle and strain to push myself off the mat, my body slick with sweat, my ass rubbing up against…

“So…fifty push-ups?” Jake stands in front of me arms folded, legs spread. My kneeling position puts my eyes directly in line with the bulge beneath his fight shorts.

Oh
God. So big. Look away. Look away.

My cheeks burn and I stare at the mat. But maybe it’s not all him. Fighters usually wear a cup. He must be wearing a cup. Of course, he’s wearing a cup. I look up just as he squats down beside me. Now I am treated to a close-up view of his lean, ripped body glistening with sweat and tight thigh muscles bunched under red fight shorts and…

Nope. He’s not wearing a cup. That’s all him. How could I have forgotten an important detail like that?

“Buncha deadbeats,” Fuzzy yells at the cowering class across the gym. “Did I tell you to stop running? MOVE.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” they chant.

Ah. That’s why Fuzzy was still pissed off after I said “sir.” I only said it once. Nice of no one to tell me.

“Amanda. Push-ups.” Jake’s voice drops low with warning and I immediately drop into position.

After five man-style push-ups, I collapse on the mat and moan. “Kill me now.”

Jake laughs. “I’ll let you take a break because I’m such a nice guy.”

“Gee, thanks.” I rest my chin in my hands and look up at him. “You’ll be here all night if you have to wait for me to do fifty push-ups. I thought you had classes to teach.”

He brushes a finger over his bottom lip, considering. “True. I only have half an hour. Maybe it’s your form.” He leaves the weight bench and stands over me. “Here, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need help…”

But before I can finish my sentence, his feet are on either side of me and his hands are firm around my hips. “Yes you do. Up we go.”

I push myself into the torturous push-up position and Jake holds me in place, his fingers pressed tight against my hips. My body goes from hot to boiling in a heartbeat.

Jake gives me pointers about hand and foot placement, weight distribution, and elbow angle. He is thorough and patient. A good teacher. I go down. I go up. He takes most of my weight, his hands tightening when I wobble. The most erotic form of torture I have ever experienced is so delicious I don’t want it to end. But my body has other ideas.

“Keep going. You’re up to twenty,” he murmurs when I begin to shake.

Oh God. That voice. Deep and warm, his voice wraps around me like a blanket, reminding me of dark sultry nights, twisted sheets, and…oh. My chest tightens and a rush of emotion sucks away the last of my strength. But before I can collapse on the mat, Jake slides his hands around me and pulls me up off the floor and against his bare chest.

For a long moment we don’t move. Fuzzy glances over, raises an eyebrow, and then crooks his finger gesturing me back to the class. But I can’t tear myself away. Longing suffuses every pore of my body bringing with it the deep ache of desire.

Curiously, Jake doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to let me go. His hands tighten around my rib cage, his thumbs only an inch below my breasts. I tilt my head back and look up at him. His sensuous lips are only a whisper away. What would it be like if I had a little lick?

As if he can read my mind, his eyes darken to an azure blue and his body stiffens. So warm. So hard. I feel so safe in his arms.

“Amanda…” His voice is low, husky, and so damn sexy. Heart pounding, I lick my lips and strain up the tiniest bit.

“Is this a new kind of push-up?” I murmur, unable to resist teasing him. “I’m not sure where to push.”

He growls deep in this throat. “You started pushing when you walked into the gym dressed to leave little to the imagination.”

Sweat trickles down my spine. Whether from his hard, hot body pressed up against me or the exertion of the push-ups, I don’t know. “Sports bra and gym shorts? I’m dressed like all the other women.”

Jake leans down and presses a kiss to my neck that sends all sorts of wrong messages to the right parts of my body. “You don’t look like the other women. You’re all soft and sexy and fucking cute when you’re frowning at Fuzz behind his back. And none of the other women needed my hands.” He caresses my bare midriff while his thumbs move higher to trace the underside of my sports-bra-squashed breasts.

“Your hands were very…helpful.” Moisture pools between my thighs and I swallow hard and look over my shoulder, unable to stop myself from pushing him. “Now…not so much, unless you’re planning on getting me down on the mat for something other than push-ups.”

Jake groans. “God, don’t tempt me. When I saw you on your knees in front of Fuzz, and then doing your push-ups all wrong with your sexy little ass in the air…” He draws in a ragged breath. “I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you, but when I saw you needed help…”

“I still need help.” I lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

His breath catches and he freezes, his fingers digging into my waist as a pained expression crosses his face.

“You’re off the hook for the last thirty. I’ll tell Fuzzy you gave it your best shot.” He lets me go so abruptly I stagger back.

And suddenly I’m alone on the mat, heart pounding, mouth dry, masochistic streak glowing like a beacon in the night. I only have myself to blame.

Fuzzy says nothing when I rejoin the class. For the next half hour, he tortures us with circuit training, weight lifting, and yet more running. I throw myself into every exercise as I try to exorcise the memory of Jake’s arms around me. By the time Fuzzy calls it quits, the entire class is groaning on the floor. Sex is the furthest thing from my mind.

Shayla and Sandy laugh as they stop beside me to refill their water bottles from the cooler.

“He went easy on you today.” Shayla’s gaze darts over to Fuzzy and then back to me. “But he’ll get you in shape. I thought I was fit until I took one of his advanced classes. The next day I couldn’t get out of bed. But now look at me.” She flexes both arms and her biceps bulge.

“He’s a sadist,” I mutter. “I think he enjoys seeing us suffer in class.”

Shayla holds out a hand to help me up off the mat. “Maybe, but he’s a hot sadist.”

“I’ll tell you who’s hot,” Sandy sighs. “Renegade. He’s so sexy when he’s teaching. Patient but demanding.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and smirks. “Too bad he has a new girlfriend, some cute little brunette, or so I heard.”

My already bruised heart sinks into my stomach. Oh God. No wonder he pushed me away. He has a girlfriend. Of course he has a girlfriend. He’s the hottest guy in Redemption. He must have women falling at his feet.

“Hey, Amanda!” Fuzzy jogs up to us, a smile on his evil face. “Good class today. I know it was your first time and you put in a great effort. You’ll be in that fight ring in no time.”

Totally disconcerted by his encouragement and warm smile, I mock a puzzled frown. “Sorry, do I know you? You look just like the evil drill sergeant from my Get Fit or Die class. Or maybe you are you but you have a split personality.”

Fuzzy snorts a laugh and then slaps Shayla on the back. “Shill. Thanks for helping out today.”

“No problem.” Her face brightens.

“Later, girls. Got another class to teach.”

Shayla’s face falls as he walks away. “He thinks I’m one of the guys,” she says morosely. “He treats me the same as he treats Blade Saw or Hammer Fist. A punch in the arm. A slap on the back. The occasional thumbs-up. Sandy suggested I wear this pink sports bra today, but it obviously didn’t work. I’ll bet if I showed up naked, he wouldn’t even notice.”

Pushing my own troubles aside, I give her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe he doesn’t know you’re interested. Guys can be shy about making a move if they don’t get any signals from you. No one wants to be shot down.”

She gives me a look of pure dejection. “It goes both ways.”

“Yeah. But sometimes if you want something bad enough, you have to take a risk.”

I LIKE HOLES IN SWEATS

“Beer me, babe.”

Fuzzy holds up his hand and I toss a cold beer through the air. Instantly, a dozen hands go up.

“You’re supposed to be renovating,” I yell over the deafening sounds of AC/DC as the sea of hopeful Redemption fighters, spread out over the main floor of Jake’s Haight house, waggle their hands for a beer. “The party starts after.”

“Chill, ’manda. This is the party.” Rampage grabs the last beer from the cooler and downs it without taking a breath. I take a step back, awaiting the inevitable. Rampage courteously delivers the inevitable in Hammer Fist’s face. Hammer Fist slaps him on the head. Rampage grabs the paintbrush from Hammer Fist’s hand and paints a line across the floor. Blade Saw shouts encouragement as Hammer Fist makes a big show of stepping over the line and screaming abuse at Rampage. He delivers his signature blows to Rampage’s stomach. Rampage belches again, louder this time and in Hammer Fist’s ear. Fists fly. Paint cans spill. Fighters cheer.

Max steps into the room and lifts an eyebrow. Almost immediately, everything is back to normal. As Max’s second-in-command, Fuzzy keeps everyone on a tight leash, but he doesn’t wield even a fraction of Max’s power. The only fighter who comes close is Jake. Not for the first time do I envy my best friend.

But hey, this is definitely a party. Beers all around.

“Your new office is going to look great.” Makayla gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I can’t believe how much they’ve done in twelve hours or that thirty guys showed up. I wish Max and I weren’t going away tomorrow. I would have loved to help you shop for furniture and decorate.”

“Don’t remind me.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Who does Max think he is, dragging you on a month-long holiday across the world? Maybe you have better things to do than hang out on exotic beaches or in fancy hotels. What if there is a major accident and the city needs every paramedic to help out? Or what if Drake can’t cover your shifts at Redemption? He should be thinking about the people who need you instead of taking you away when they need you the most.”

“Awww, honey.” She hugs me so hard tears leak from my eyes. “It’s not like I won’t have my phone. We can still text, and you know you can call me anytime. I’m always here for you. I’ve helped you avoid Jake all day…”

“By agreeing with him that I should work alone in the kitchen?”

Makayla takes one end of the empty cooler and motions for me to take the other. “By keeping him away from the kitchen when he wanted to check up on you. You don’t even appreciate all I do for you.” We lug the cooler into the kitchen for a refill.

“I do appreciate you, which is why it’ll be so hard when you’re gone.”

Someone turns up the music and the house vibrates to the nu metal version of “Ice, Ice, Baby” as we load up the cooler and spend a few minutes chatting about her upcoming holiday.

Over the pounding bass of Disturbed, I hear the slam of the front door, greetings and cheers, and then Jake’s voice rises above the buzz of power tools. “Quitting time. Everyone out back for the barbecue.” Damn. He’s back from his supply run way too soon.

The door bursts open and fighters stampede through the kitchen, pausing long enough to pick up the refilled cooler and empty the fridge of barbecue fixings.

“You coming?” Makayla grabs a box of hamburger buns and heads for the door. “It’s supposed to be our bon voyage barbecue. I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I know you’re still working.”

“I think I’ll just finish up here and then go home.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “This is really about Jake, isn’t it? You’ve been avoiding him all day. Max said he hadn’t heard about a girlfriend, so why don’t you talk to him? Or are you planning to sabotage this relationship like you did last time, except you haven’t even given this one a chance?”

Frowning, I grab a can of paint and a stir stick. “We don’t have a relationship, and I almost ruined whatever fledgling friendship we’d started to build by pushing too hard and forcing him to make it clear he’s not interested. And no wonder. I haven’t changed. I couldn’t give myself to him before, and I won’t be able to give myself now.”

Makayla shakes her head and then pushes herself to her feet. “You’re dressed in torn sweats, covered in dirt, and painting cupboards in a dilapidated Victorian house that is soon to be your own law firm. We’ve been friends since kindergarten. I didn’t even know you owned sweats or would even contemplate working anywhere other than a big law firm. So don’t tell me you haven’t changed.”

“He’s brushed me off. Twice.”

“I know,” Makayla says softly. “But did it occur to you he might just want to be cautious? You can’t blame him for trying to protect himself. I can tell you from my experience with Max: he may be a tough fighter on the outside, but inside he’s just as vulnerable as we are.”

She grabs the box and pushes open the door. The faint sound of someone yelling “Hey, Makayla, lemme grab your buns” is cut off by Max’s low growl, the thud of a fist hitting flesh, and Makayla’s high-pitched shriek telling Max that Homicide was just joking around.

Fifteen minutes pass and then the door squeaks open.

“Don’t move.”

Totally immersed in painting the cupboard, I freeze mid–paint stroke as Jake’s deep voice rings out behind me.

“What? Am I doing something wrong?”

He closes the distance between us and runs his finger along the waistband of my gym pants, sending delicious tingles up my spine. Then he slides his hands around my waist, bared by the rise of my T-shirt as I stretch to reach the top of the cupboard with my paintbrush.

“Yes. You look too damn sexy. Do you know what it does to a man when he catches a glimpse of something he isn’t meant to see?”

“I hope it makes him tell the woman she can call off the panic attack and drop her arm.” I boldly do just that. “I also hope it makes him decide his hands might be of better use somewhere other than around her waist.”

Jake slides his fingers over my hips, resting them just above my mound and his voice drops to a low growl. “I could make use of them here.”

“So says the man who turned down a good offer just the other night at Redemption.” I remove his hands and turn to face him, putting on a brave face while inside I seethe. Who does he think he is coming on to me after brushing me off?

“No games, Jake. You made your position clear. I got that. I’m not interested in being screwed around.”

He presses his hands against the cupboards on either side of my head, caging me with his body. “What are you interested in?”

“Moving on,” I say honestly.

His pulse throbs in his neck and his eyes harden. “With whom?”

“No one right now.”

He gives a satisfied grunt as if I had just cleared up a question in his mind. “Everyone is out back having a good time. You should be there too.”

“There’s a lot of work to do. I want to get it done. The faster I open shop, the faster I can start my lawsuit against Farnsworth.” I slip under his arm and edge along the counter.

“You’ve been working since six o’clock this morning.”

Grabbing a clean cloth from the counter, I make an effort to wipe the dirt off my face. “I’m used to working long hours. I’m not afraid of hard work.” But I am afraid of mercurial fighters who run hot one minute and cold the next.

His face softens, and he takes the cloth from my hand and holds it under the tap. The pipes gurgle when he turns the rusty faucet and water gushes out, skimming over the cloth and trickling into the sink below. Without warning, he lifts me and settles me on the counter.

“You don’t have to work like that anymore.” His voice is calm, soothing. I am momentarily lulled out of work mode and into heat mode as he eases his hips between my legs and reaches to turn off the faucet. “It’s Saturday night. Time to relax and have fun.” With a firm hand, he cups my jaw and then wipes the cloth gently over my nose, forehead, and cheeks.

His gentle touch, the warmth of his hand, his breath, minty and sweet, and his hard body nestled between my thighs all converge in an unbearable rush of sensation. I grab his wrist, forcing his hand away.

“Jake…I’m good. Really. There’s so much to do. I’ll come out when I’m done and I’ve cleaned myself up.”

“I like you this way,” he murmurs. “You look…cute. Real.”

“Real?”

He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Amanda without the armor. Your clothes, hair, makeup…nothing is perfect. It’s just the real you. I never got to see the real you before.”

Torn between being mortified and pleased, I reach for another cloth. “Real Amanda is covered in dirt and has holes in her sweats.”

He traces a finger down my neck to rest in the hollow at the base of my throat. The room heats to one hundred degrees, and if I’m not mistaken, I hear the sound of my blood boiling.

“I like holes in sweats.” His voice drops, husky and low, and his finger continues its downward journey into the vee of my shirt.

“Jake…”

He traces lightly over the crescent of my breast. “I like dirty girls,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “I can’t stay away.”

Oh God. Every bit of warmth rushes to my center as his deep, sensual voice ignites one of my dark fantasies. Jake, straddling my bound body, growling commands, telling me what he’s going to do to me in the filthiest language I know. A soft moan escapes my lips and we’re back on the roller coaster again.

“This game you’re playing confuses me,” I say. His heart beats strong against my palm when I lay my hand over his chest.

“Me too.”

“Then what are you doing?”

His eyes take on a feral gleam and my breasts tingle.

“Playing dirty.” Tangling his hand in my hair, he tugs my head back, exposing my throat to the heated slide of his lips. “Sometimes you have to stop thinking too much and just go with it.”

My breath comes in short pants as he sucks gently on the pulse at the base of my throat. Barely able to form a coherent thought for the pounding of blood in my temples, I scramble for sanity. “There’s too much between us to just go with it. We need to talk…”

His hand closes in my hair, twisting roughly. “Lawyers talk. You don’t look like a lawyer now. You look fucking sexy, and your mouth is all lush and pink and needing to be kissed. You want to talk, Amanda, or you want that kiss?” He nips the sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder blade.

Pleasure and pain meld together and I whimper as a heated rush of sensation floods my veins. “Kiss.”

Jake smiles. “My dirty girl wants a dirty kiss.” Holding my face, he slants his mouth over mine and kisses me.

Soft kiss. Sweet kiss. Warm, firm lips tasting faintly of coffee. His five o’clock shadow brushes my chin as his tongue eases my lips open to stroke against mine. My body melts against him as he explores my mouth, leaving nothing untouched. Tongues wind and tangle. Two years of fantasies coalesce in a single rasping breath.

“’S not so dirty,” I mumble against his lips.

“Oh, you don’t know how dirty I can be.” Jake grips my hair and tugs my head back with a firm, hard yank, sending little bolts of lightning straight to my core. Then he kisses me hard and fast. Rough. His teeth scrape my bottom lip as his tongue dives deep, filling me, taking what I have to give and demanding more. The pounding of my heart shifts from lust to fear as he consumes me, and for a moment I worry he has forgotten I need to breathe.

When he breaks the kiss, I draw in a long, ragged breath. “You never kissed me like that before.”

“You were never like this before.” His fingers ease up my shirt, his thumb tracing over the crescent of my breasts. “Raw and open, vulnerable, needing my help. So fucking real.”

My breath catches in my throat as he explores, cupping and squeezing my breasts and then teasing my nipples through my lace bra until they are tight, aching peaks.

“My clothes. Take them off.”

Jake’s sensual growl is the only warning I get before his hands slide around my rib cage to unhook my bra. Moments later, I am bared to him, my clothing a soft puddle on the counter, my skin on fire despite the cool night air whispering through the cracks in the window.

“Beautiful,” he whispers as he palms my breasts. Then he bends down to tease my nipples with his clever mouth, nipping and sucking until I am panting and grinding against his erection, pressing against my throbbing sex.

“Fuck, baby. Tighten your legs around me and give me what you’ve got. You get off before I get into your pants, I’ll give you a special treat.”

“I hope that special treat is big and hard and lickable.” I tighten my legs until he is nestled exactly where I need him to be and rock my hips against the bulge in his jeans. He loved my mouth on him before. I only had to lick my lips to find myself on my knees, his hand fisting my hair, his cock hot and heavy in my mouth.

Jake’s nostrils flare and darken and he reaches for his belt. “Change of plans.”

Before we can indulge in the change of plans, a door slams. My heart kicks into overdrive at the sound of heels clicking across the floor in the main reception room. Jake helps me tug on my clothes just before the door swings open.

“Jake, honey? Are you coming back out? Everyone is wondering what happened to you.” The slender brunette who joins us in the kitchen is exactly who I pictured as Jake’s perfect woman when I tortured myself night after night imagining who he was with. She has a tiny pixie face, porcelain skin, and high cheekbones. Gazing up at Jake with liquid brown eyes, she parts her ruby lips and leans up to kiss his cheek.

My blood turns to ice and my stomach clenches so tight I can barely breathe.

All cool and calm, Jake gives her a warm smile. “We’ll be out in a sec. This is Amanda. She’s my new tenant.”

New tenant. Not friend or lover or even ex. I’m the new tenant. And she’s…

“I’m Sia.” She slides an arm around his bicep and leans in to give him a squeeze.

For a long, uncomfortable moment I simply can’t speak. This must be the girlfriend Sandy told me about. So what is he doing in the kitchen with me?

A choked “Hi, Sia” is all I can manage before I slide off the counter. “I think I’ll go check out that barbecue after all.”