Risky Business (32 page)

“I know why I'm here,” he said. His voice was a quiet rumble, each word measured precisely so that Marlena knew why he was there, too. Or, at least, why he thought he was there.

Marlena thought about the ylang ylang candle. She thought about what her ego had wanted out of tonight—for him to desire her the way he should have always desired her. Because even back in high school, behind the freckles and chubbiness, she'd been a vixen. She was the shit, and as soon as she'd grown up and gotten out of her parents' house, as soon as she'd began making money, she'd figured out how to sync the way she looked with the way she'd always felt—a little bit wild, a whole lot graceful, and an unapologetically sexual being.

“Then tell me,” she said.

He stepped partially in front of her, his left hip pressing into her right one. “I want your time and your attention, Marlena Brodie.”

That's what she'd wanted to hear. That he wanted her, too. Because her desire for him had only grown more potent since his return from war, precisely because he did scare her, and Marlena was drawn like a magnet to challenges. There was no greater challenge than conquering fear.

“If all you wanted was my time and attention, then you could have asked me out. I would have said yes and you would have saved, oh, nine hundred bucks. Try again with your explanation.”

“You drive a hard bargain. It also sounds like you're a cheap date.”

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, faking nonchalance. “The truth this time. Please.”

“You sure about that?”

At her nod, he licked his lower lip, a battle waging behind his eyes. “The truth is that I bid on the massages so I could get you alone because there's something about you that's nagging at me and has been for a long time, and I need to figure it out because, whatever it is, I can't get you out of my head. But I don't want a massage and I don't want to have a heart-to-heart with you in which I apologize for what I did to you back in high school, even though I regret it. And I'm not going to ask you out because I don't have the patience for civilian dating bullshit.”

One of Marlena's mentors used to say
You'll know the truth by the way it feels
. This was the real Liam. This was his truth, and she knew it because his words tightened around her like a band, uncomfortable but grounding. Raw, vivid energy poured out of him, filling the room with his tension and frustration, his power and his arousal.

“And you thought a grand was what I was worth? Does that make me less of a whore, more of a high end call girl?”

“A call girl gets paid for what she does. The money I donated in the auction went to charity, not to you. You're turning nothing into something.”

His thousand-dollar bid had been high enough over the second largest bid that it clearly meant something. Orchestrating this plot for him to leave here tonight aching with desire for her—to force him to acknowledge her, finally—was petty and prideful, but he'd tipped the first domino with that auction bid.

She smoothed her fingers over his forearm, sensing in her touch all those jumbled emotions she'd felt when he'd followed her to the table. “It's not nothing, the money.”

“Yeah? Is that the story you want to believe? Unless . . .”

In a burst of energy that reminded her how much stronger he was than she, he twisted his arm away from her touch and stepped in front of her, pressing into her until he'd pinned her hips against the table. One of his hands curved around her neck and ear, his fingertips pushing into her hair. A flash of panic jolted her. “Would you'd get off on me treating you like a whore? Is that it? Because I would do that for you, if that was your kink.”

Refusing to reveal her sudden nerves, refusing to give serious consideration to the fact that his hand was on her throat and her midbody was immobilized, she attempted a seductive smile. “You soldiers are all the same. I think you got too used to happy ending masseuses and whores while you were overseas. I'm not that kind of girl.” She accompanied the attempt at levity with a teasing chest shove, but all she hit was muscle that was as hard as steel and didn't budge.

“I feel your pulse jumping in your throat,” he said. “And your eyes are dilated. So don't bother claiming the kink doesn't turn you on, and stop being so prissy about the money because I didn't pay you for sex. I donated to a charity that supports wounded vets like me and my blood brothers. So don't make me out to be a jerk, especially since you were thinking the same thing about tonight as I was.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah? Not only did you put your tits right out here on display in that top, but you don't think I can smell the ylang ylang?”

Marlena's eyes flew wide open as surprise flared inside her.
How did he know . . .

“Surprised I know what that scent means?”

She swallowed hard and gave smiling one last try. “A soldier who knows about aromatherapy. That's a dangerous combination.” She'd meant to sound lighthearted, but her breathlessness gave her away.

His chuckle in response came out as a hiss. The hand that had been at her throat slid back and fisted around her hair. “I'm not a soldier anymore. And I'm not dangerous, either. The opposite of dangerous. I'm like a kitten.”

She laughed through her nerves at the incongruous imagery. A kitten who wanted to fuck her. She gave a moment of keen thought to the fact that he could do whatever he wanted to her and she was helpless to stop him. She'd wanted him to notice her, to want her, but not if this was the result. Sex, to her, was spiritual and beautiful, life-affirming. Not this. Maybe she should have been more careful what she wished for.

She didn't believe in giving fear power, but at the moment fear was overwhelming her desire and pride in a major way. She had the urge to smack his hands away, to push him back and to get away from him, which didn't make sense because she was a vixen. She was the shit. All she'd wanted to do was make him sorry for thinking of her as an ugly duckling, for treating her like she was invisible. This was what she got for letting her ego run wild.

She pressed against his chest, fighting for a few inches of space, even as her mind advised her to go with the flow and enjoy herself, demonstrate her sexual prowess. She'd fantasized about sleeping with Liam since eleventh grade, and just because it wasn't going as she'd imagined didn't mean it wasn't going to be good. At the very least, it would solve the mystery about what sex with him would be like. Maybe then, her heart could move on.

She touched his cheek, fighting to focus on the carnal pleasure of the moment rather than her rising doubts. “You were right. This is what I wanted from you tonight.”

His left hand slid up from her hip, bunching her shirt up until his palm hugged her side. He tugged her hair, tipping her face up as though in preparation for a kiss. “We're two peas in a pod, aren't we?”

She rotated her neck, trying to break his grip, wondering why she couldn't find the words to tell him to back off—trying to decide if she even wanted him to. “More like animals at the zoo,” she said.

“Amen to that.” Then he jerked her head back by the hair and kissed her.

***

Goddamn, Liam wanted Marlena Brodie. So badly, his hands shook with it. Probably, it was an anticipation thing, because he'd fantasized for years about stripping her down, replacing that serene look of hers with the sharp, flushed look of ecstasy, and fucking her brains out until they were both tired, sweaty, and walking funny.

Marlena had admitted she wanted the same as him tonight, but the moment his lips touched hers, she went rigid. He flicked his tongue over her partially opened lips, coaxing, trying to get her to relax and let go, but all she did was press more firmly on his chest and stand so perfectly still he might as well have been kissing a mannequin.

He gave her hair another tug, tipping her chin higher. She made a sound at that, a little whimper that let him know he was on the right track. Clutching her against him, he slid her away from the table and backed her into wall. Her lips parted, letting him in. Growling his approval, he released her hair, then captured her wrists and pinned them over her head as he pressed his body against hers, showing her exactly how revved up he was for those sexpot curves of hers, that wild red hair and creamy skin. All she had to do was relax, and he'd take it from there. The problem was, she wouldn't relax.

Something pounded against his leg. Her knee.
What the hell?

His eyes flew open as her knee connected with his left quad. Her eyes were open too, glossy with unshed tears and wide with an emotion that could only be called fear. Her arms twisted, trying to break free from his hold on her wrists. He released her completely and took a swift step back.

“What? What's wrong?” he asked.

With a growl-cry, she attacked, shoving and hitting his chest.

His mind racing, he stumbled back to avoid her blows while he conducted a visual scan of her body to make sure she wasn't hurt. “Damn it, what's wrong?”

She chased him, her fists flying, but her toe caught on the edge of the massage table and tripped towards an elaborate altar. Liam lunged to divert her from colliding with the lit candle he saw tipping off the little wooden table. He pushed her out of its path, but he she slipped through his grasp before he could break her fall.

Both of them hit the ground hard. Liam's boot went through the folding screen in an explosion of splinters as the candle tumbled onto him. The screen collapsed with a clap of noise as wax splashed out in all directions—on Liam's hands and clothes, on the carpet, snuffing the flame. Ylang ylang filled the air like a noxious cloud. The biting pain of hot wax flashed over his skin.

Pushing into a squat, he gaped at the wax crusting over on his palms and the ruined screen, trying to figure out what the hell had happened to turn Marlena crazy. He'd been with some crazy chicks in his life, but he'd never thought of her like that. Just the opposite.

In his periphery, he watched her rise, panting, her legs shaking violently. He suppressed the urge to help her up and make sure she was steady on her feet. With as out-of-her-mind as she was, she'd probably see any move he made toward her as threatening and he wasn't keen on getting attacked again.

“Is this what you thought your money would buy?” she spat. “The . . . the . . . the right to do anything you want to me?”

Oh, hell no.
He curled his fingers in, breaking the wax. Shaking out his hands, he stood and faced her. “We've already been over this. I didn't buy you. And I wasn't doing anything to you that you didn't want.”

She rubbed her scalp, as though he'd pulled too hard on her hair. But that was bullshit because he hadn't pulled her hair all that forcefully. All he'd been doing was giving it to her nice and hard like most women wanted sex. Which he knew because he had girls lined up to get it rough from him—a whole lot rougher than he'd been on Marlena.

From his perspective, it was the golden age of alpha sex. Women devoured books about chicks who liked to be manhandled and drooled over fantasy men who doled out punishment for fun. They got off on letting the man be in charge, getting it rough, getting dominated—just like he got off on. Girls loved to be taken by a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. That was just a fact of nature. Except, apparently, not for Marlena.

She stood before him looking like a totally different person than a few minutes earlier, with her eyes half-crazed, tears on her cheeks, her hair a mess. Her whole body trembled. “So I was asking for it? Isn't that what rapists always say?”

Okay, that was over the line. She'd told him straight up that she wanted to sleep with him tonight, so where did she get off accusing him of one of the worst crimes a man could commit? All he could think was,
this was why I stay away from civilians
. This was why he didn't date, why he hadn't pursued a career in medicine after he got out of the army, and why he should have never come here tonight. He should have settled for making peace with the nagging curiosity he had about Marlena and left it at that.

“I'm no rapist,” he said through clenched teeth. “I thought I needed to know if there was something between us because it's been bugging the shit out of me, thinking about you all the time. But I'm over that now, thank you very much.”

“You hurt me,” she roared. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Liam's insides lurched as if she'd slapped him. Yelling was one of his worst PTSD triggers, taking him right back to battle and him working frantically to save the wounded only to have them die on him. Or worse yet, the kid, with his mom yelling at Liam in unintelligible Afghani while he raced against the laws of science and medicine trying to save him. There always seemed to be people shouting around him while he'd worked to save lives. Like the kid's mom with her wailing cries. Yelling made him feel like Bruce Banner, his insides churning with a boiling stew of hate and pain, right on the verge of exploding into the Hulk.

Marlena hollered something else at him, but he didn't process the words. He forced the bloody memories flashing through his mind back into their box and held back the rage fighting to get out. Time to shut down before he snapped.

“Fuck this. I'm out of here.” He turned away from Marlena, blocking out her shaking, crying, screaming drama. Whatever was wrong with her had nothing to do with him. On the way to the exit, he released a long, slow breath, drawing out the exhale until his hand was on the door. Marlena trailed him, her breathing labored. That was ironic. Liam had taken up yoga two years earlier in order to perfect the art of breath control, and here he was in a yoga studio, and the guru was the one hyperventilating. At least she'd stopped shouting.

Inhaling nice and slow again, he pulled the handle, but the door didn't open. Panic flashed white-hot across his mind, like that dream he had sometimes where he was trapped in a yard with a rabid dog, before he recalled that Marlena had locked the door. Fingers unsteady, he turned the key, then pulled again and stepped outside.