This was a regrettably accurate recount of the evening.
“So no,” he continued. “To answer your question, Lanie, I do not go to that bar often. I go to that bar when a beautiful woman I care about decides to get a wild hair up her ass, take off in the middle of the night, and put her life in jeopardy.”
My breath unfroze only to start burning in my lungs.
A beautiful woman I care about…
“You know,” he stated conversationally before he socked it to me, “your mind mighta been shut down, babe, but your body wasn’t and it fought to keep breathin’, keep you alive. Story I heard, story that holds true with the marks you carry—gut shot, lung shot—it was a miracle you survived. The story I know is true is that your goddamned ass was in Critical Care for six goddamned days and you were in a coma most of that time. Your body goes all out to heal and pull you through and you repay it with that f**kin’ garbage?” He swung a hand to the door.
A beautiful woman I care about…
“Lanie, what did you think you’d find there?” he asked when I said not one word.
I pulled in breath, opened my mouth and closed it.
Hop’s mouth got tight, then it loosened so he could declare, “Babe, you wanna find me, you want more of me, you know where I am. You do not go lookin’ for rough trade in hopes of getting back what you gave up. I’ll tell you now, I do not have a replacement. There’s only one me. You want it, you find,” he jerked his thumb at his chest, leaning toward me and concluded, “me.”
I blinked. My lungs stopped burning as my eyes started flaming, not in despair but in fury as I stared at him.
Then I asked, “You think I was out looking for your replacement?”
“You ever been to that bar before?” he asked back.
“No,” I answered. “But I was most certainly not out looking for your replacement.”
“What were you lookin’ for then, babe?”
This was, alas, an interesting question.
“Not your replacement,” I snapped, my tone sharp to hide my sudden uncertainty.
“Christ, we’re back to your bullshit,” he clipped, scowling at me.
“You’re very arrogant, Hopper Kincaid,” I told him, my tone now so sharp it was cutting, and there was no hidden uncertainty.
“Yeah, well, man gets that way when a woman that looks like you comes as hard as I can make you come and, when you lose my dick, you go out searchin’ for more of what you lost. Stupid shit is that you looked in the wrong place when you know exactly where to find me.”
He could not be serious.
“Okay, tell me you didn’t say that,” I invited.
“You heard what I said, Lanie, and, gotta tell you, not a word of it I’d take back because you and I both know every word is true,” he returned.
“Okay, don’t take it back. Instead, take me back to my car,” I demanded.
“Five beers, three shots of vodka says you are not gettin’ behind a wheel tonight,” he shot back.
Oh dear. He’d been paying a good deal of attention.
Time for a new tactic.
I pulled my purse off my arm, starting to dig through it, declaring, “Right, then I’ll get a taxi.”
Suddenly my purse was yanked out of my hand and I was staring at Hop digging through it. He pulled out my phone, shoved it in his pocket, then tossed my bag across the room where it landed with a bounce on the ratty easy chair that was mostly covered in dirty clothes as well as his leather cut.
I stared at my purse then I stared at his face, then I looked at his jeans pocket before I looked back at him, lifting my hand, palm up.
“Give me my phone,” I ordered.
“You want it, go for it,” he goaded.
I crossed my arms on my chest, murmuring, “Oh, I see.”
“You don’t see shit,” he ground out.
My brows lifted. “I don’t?”
“No, babe, so goddamned blind, purposefully, you’re stumblin’, bumpin’ into shit, but barrelin’ ahead anyway, bound for a world of hurt.”
That was way too close to the bone so I ignored it, uncrossed my arms and lifted my hand his way again.
“Hopper, give me my phone.”
“You’re sleepin’ here tonight.”
I planted my hands on my hips, leaned in and hissed, “Told you, I see. I know what you’re doing.”
“You don’t know shit either.”
“I know this is bullshit,” I fired at him.
“Well, you got one thing right,” he fired back.
Gah! He had an answer for everything. He was so annoying!
I took a calming breath that didn’t calm me before I snapped. “Give me my phone.”
“No.”
“Hop, give me my damn phone!”
He ignored me. “You sleep in one of my tees. The ones here are all dirty but don’t matter. Even dirty, they’re better than what you’re wearin’,” he stated as he flipped a hand out and up, indicating me.
Backed into a corner, I decided to get nasty.
“I’ve been around you a lot, Hop. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen what you like. This,” I swept a hand down my front, “is the way you like it.”
Nasty was not—and I knew it, I’d learned that lesson before—the way to go.
I learned it again then when, one second, he was three feet away. The next, he was right on me, hand in the back of my hair, arm wrapped around my back, his face in my face, lips nearly on mine.
“Yeah, I liked skank,” he bit off. “Liked the taste. Wild, free, and easy. Went back for more. Repeatedly. But that was before I had my mouth between the legs of a lady. You get that, you don’t go back.”
Oh no. The area between the legs where he’d had his mouth got wet at his words and it didn’t help he was so close; my breaths were mingling with his, my br**sts were brushing his chest, and my mind was centering on the fact that I knew what it felt like, my br**sts bared, his chest the same, and my ni**les brushing against his chest hair.
At the memory, my breaths got shallow but faster and those ni**les swelled.
He either felt or sensed my reaction and I knew this because his hand in my hair fisted, his lips moved so they grazed mine, and the mood of the room shifted so immensely it was a wonder we didn’t rock with it.
In response to all that, my breaths got shallower and my legs started trembling so much I had to lift a hand and curl my fingers in the side of his tee.
“Three weeks,” he growled. “I go to bed, lie there and think of you. Wake up, you’re the first thing on my mind.”