Mia
The words were hardly out of her mouth before panic slipped in.
What was she doing? Dear God, what in the fuck was she doing?
She didn’t invite men upstairs, certainly didn’t sleep with men she didn’t know.
But then again, she also didn’t let strange men into her studio in the early morning, didn’t eat food they’d brought, or drink the sugary coffee. Well, she didn’t have men showing up bearing gifts, either.
She also didn’t have men look at her the way that Liam did.
And . . . she found she didn’t want it to stop.
Like it inevitably would if she went out to dinner with him.
If she could just capture this moment, bottle it and tuck it on a shelf for safekeeping, if she could just pretend for one day, one hour that this man might actually like her when he came to know her, that he wouldn’t mind the lack of fluff, the sharp edges and occasional sharp tone—
Then what?
She’d be worthy?
A sick, black feeling crept down her spine.
His palm slid from covering her hand, across the outside of her wrist, up her forearm, slowly crawling over her skin until he cupped her cheek. “I would in a second,” he said, “but I don’t think that’s what you really want.”
It was instinct to break away.
“You should go,” she said, eyes on the mat, back to him. “You should just go, now.” Before he got to know her. Before he was disappointed by her. Before he found out—
A pause. Then, “Before I find out what?”
Mia whirled around, horror coursing through her. She hadn’t said the last part of her thinking aloud, she hadn’t.
She. Hadn’t.
His eyes didn’t hold revulsion and that more than anything, told her she hadn’t said it, hadn’t hinted at the truth that continued to eat her alive. And yet this man knew she was hiding something. Knew she was running from the pain of her past.
Because she might not have fluff, but she sure as shit had secrets.
Painful secrets that had honed her to a sharp, cutting edge.
“I know this is crazy,” he said, voice careful. “I know we’re strangers and I shouldn’t care what’s going on in your head. I know you think my interest is because you helped me or because I’m some creep who needs to get laid.” He took a step toward her, stopped when her breath caught audibly. “But it’s not that.”
She didn’t move, though her pulse was pounding in her veins. “What then?”
“I looked into your eyes, and I saw . . .”
Her lungs froze. Her mouth went dry.
Mia waited for him to finish the trailed off sentence, waited an eternity it seemed before he inhaled and said, “I looked into your eyes, and I saw . . . me.”
She frowned.
“I know,” he said, volume dropping, almost as if he was talking to himself. “It makes no sense. This sounds like something out of a bad romcom movie, and plus, who knows how long I’ll even be in California? My contract probably won’t be renewed. I’ll just be some unemployed nobody who—” Liam physically shook himself. “Yeah, so that’s it. I saw you, felt like some part of me knew some part of you—” He cut himself off with a derisive snort. “Know what? I’m just going to stop there.”
Her throat had closed up, stifling any words that might come out.
She’d felt it, too.
She felt it now.
Drawn to this man in a way that made no sense. A way that made her want to forget everything she’d learned about herself up to this point, to throw caution to the wind. But . . .
She couldn’t.
He might like her now and be drawn to her, but sooner or later he’d see what was inside her, and he’d—
“I’ll go,” he said, turning for the door.
Slice.
That movement cut through her, pierced right through the protective coating surrounding her, and Mia found words coming out of her mouth before she rationally processed them.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t go.”
He stopped, turned to face her, and those words that had blurted out so freely disappeared on her, nothing further coming out. Instead, she just stood there like a mute robot, unable to push anything else from between her lips.
An itchy, unbearable agony began to fill her.
Say something! This was her job—to have the words, to give directions. Instead, she was just staring at him like a puppet who’d lost her master and was reduced to a limp pile of fabric and strings.
“Want to take a walk?”
His question made the itchy feeling fade, the stifling blackness that was making it impossible for her to form words disappear. She considered him for a second, thought of what she might do if he left or if she told him no and returned to the apartment. Everything would stay the same. Nothing would change. And she’d miss out . . . on what?
That she wasn’t sure of.
All she knew was that she didn’t want to.
Mia bit the inside of her cheek then sucked in a slow, even breath. A heartbeat later, she went with her instincts and said, “Okay.”
“Okay.” He smiled, the visceral impact of that a punch to the gut, before he grabbed the remaining coffee cup, and moved to the door, holding it open. Mia took a step toward him, felt a gust of cold morning air, so she veered off and made a pit stop at her office, snagging the sweatshirt she always kept there, along with the spare front door key, and slipped the sweatshirt over her head.
“Good?” he asked when she’d crossed back over to him.
She nodded.
He waved a hand forward, indicating she should precede him through the door. But when she did, she felt his fingers on her nape, tugging free the end of her ponytail that was trapped beneath the collar of her sweatshirt.
“Okay?” he asked, voice soft, sticking to the one-word questions, which, honestly, was preferred for her psyche at the moment. Heat had exploded through her from the simple contact, the light brush of his fingers along the back of her neck making her shiver, and she found she could barely process the word, let alone form words.
Instead, she merely nodded again, let him hold the door for her, and moved out onto the sidewalk.
He stepped out, too, and released the handle, waiting as she locked up. After she had, she glanced at his handsome face, saw the bruise on his jaw, still forming. It was already black and blue and would be all sorts of shades of purple before the day was out.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Liam’s gaze met hers, and guilt tore through her. “Last night. I—”
She shouldn’t have hit him.
“Don’t ever apologize for protecting yourself.” His fingers trailed lightly down her arm, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “I had it coming.”
She bit her lip. “Maybe.”
That smile went grin and he tilted his head forward, started walking . . . and as she fell into step beside him, she started thinking again. Why was she going off with a man she didn’t know? She’d yell at her students for even considering the idea.
But then Liam took her hand.
The thoughts quieted.
The sharp edges were smoothed out.
And . . . she walked.
“We absolutely cannot be here,” Mia said.
“Why not?”
“Why not?” She stamped her foot. Yes, literally stamped her foot on the cracked sidewalk. “Why not?”
Liam still held her hand, their fingers interlaced as they had been for the entire time they’d walked. At first, she’d thought they were just wandering, but then she realized he was leading her to a specific destination, up through the residential area that abutted the studio, winding through the houses and apartments until he’d led her to a small park.
She’d been to this park before.
Many times.
Of course she had. It was within walking distance of the karate studio, and there wasn’t a lot of green space in the city, though this neighborhood, with houses that actually had backyards and several other parks dotting the area, perhaps had more green space than many places in San Francisco.
“Yes,” he said, tugging her hand, leading her up the curved incline that led to the top of the hill. “Why can’t we be here?”
She yanked her hand from his, used it to point to the green sign directly behind him. “That!” she snapped. “That says right there why.”
He turned, read aloud the second rule. “No adults unless accompanied by children.” A beat. “Hmm.” Then he shrugged, moved toward the top of the slide that this park was known for. Well, technically it was a pair of steep concrete slides.
“We don’t have kids.”
Another shrug. “But you work with kids,” he said. “That has to count for something.”
“Liam—” She didn’t know what to say to that.
His eyes flicked back to the sign.
“And it’s Tuesday.” He tsked, pointing to the part of the sign she’d missed—the fact that it was only open Wednesday through Sunday from ten in the morning until five at night. “And”—a glance down at his watch—“it’s not even ten o’clock.” Humor filled those gray eyes. “We’re breaking all the rules today.”
“I—” She took a step back. “Liam—” Mia waved a hand at the slide itself, where a metal gate was installed at the top and wouldn’t be opened until ten the next day. “Look, we can’t even do this anyway. Everything is locked up, and we don’t have any cardboard.”
He frowned. “Why would we need cardboard?”
“You slide down on it, and it makes you go faster.”
That earned her a grin. “I like faster.”
“I know,” she said, adding when she read the question in his gaze, “I saw you move on the ice.”
His eyes sparked with humor. “I had figure skating classes when I was young.”
She gasped. “No, you didn’t.” That just did not fit in with her tough, hockey player mental picture.
“I did,” he said, wandering over to the side of the slide and glancing down. “It’s actually not unheard of. Figure skaters tend to be much more graceful than us big brutes.”
“Yeah, I was wondering about that.”
“Wondering about what?” he asked, straightening then moving over to glance behind several pots that were grouped together, the community surrounding the park having come together to grow a small, shared garden.
“Aren’t you a little short for a hockey player?”
“But not for a stormtrooper.” She was frowning, confused at the statement when he bent with an “Ah-ha!” Then stood with several pieces of cardboard in his hand. He turned. “Now, don’t tell me that a woman who can nearly kick the ceiling can’t climb over one teensy gate.”
“That’s not the point.”
He shoved a piece of cardboard in her direction and when she wouldn’t take it, set it at her feet, leaning it against her knee. “What is the point?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“And you don’t break the rules?”
“No.”
“Not ever?”
She shook her head. “No, Liam. The rules are there for a reason.”
He tucked the cardboard under his arm, moved toward the top of the slide. “And if the rules said to throw yourself off a bridge . . .”
Plunking her hands on her hips, Mia snapped, “You’re not seriously comparing the opening hours for a park with an order to do self-harm, are you?”
“And if I was?”
He chuckled at her outraged noise, then climbed over the little gate, put the cardboard down, sat on top of it, and . . . disappeared.
His whoop of pleasure warmed something inside her, and she found herself running forward, leaning over the edge in order to watch him fly down the concrete slide. Moments later, he was at the bottom, gathering up the cardboard and loping back up to her side.
“You know you want to,” he said, hopping up onto the platform and coming toward her. His energy was infectious, making her yearn for . . .
More.
She bit her bottom lip.
He groaned softly.
“What?” she whispered.
“Promise you won’t flip me onto my ass again?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
Liam laughed, and the sound of his slightly rasping chuckle, the warmth in his eyes, the way his body bent slightly, coming close enough to hers that she could smell the spicy, masculine scent of him made Mia’s head spin.
“I guess I’ll have to take my chances.” He brushed his knuckles on the outside of her arm. “When you bite your lip like that, I want it to be my teeth doing the biting.”
Her breath shuddered out. “Why?”
His thumb traced lightly over the corner of her mouth. “I think you already know the answer to that question.” Hot breath coated her lips when he shifted closer. “You have the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen, did you know that?”
Pulse pounding, she managed to say, “How could I possibly know that?”
He smiled at the tart rejoinder. “Come on and break the rules with me,” he said, stepping back and holding out his hand. “Just this once.”
Mia hesitated, studying the face of this man who’d wreaked so much havoc in so little time. “Once,” she said and returned to where she’d knocked the piece of cardboard he’d given her to the concrete, bent to snag it. His smile widened, and again it hit her in the solar plexus with all the force of a punch. “Th-that’s it,” she added, straightening her spine and breathing through the impact. “Just one time.”
She’d only ever used the technique in sparring—the breathing through impact, pushing air through her lungs.
But . . . she supposed this was a type of sparring as well.
Which probably shouldn’t have made her feel better, even though it did anyway. Grinning, she tucked the cardboard under her arm, bypassed Liam’s hand, and slithered her way between the metal horseshoe that topped the slides and the gate that was in place because the park was technically closed.
“Like the way you move, J.B.,” came the husky male voice.
“You going to talk?” she asked, even though the compliment secretly pleased her. “Or are you going to actually come over here and slide?”
“Big words for a woman who wasn’t going to break the rules a minute ago,” he teased.
“Less talk and more action from the man who’s apparently ready to break all of them,” she countered, and got a flash of his sexy grin again . . . then a nice ass—ha—view of a very nice ass. Which made her remember something she’d overhead Brayden’s stepmom, Angie, say. Unfortunately for Mia, she also murmured those remembered words out loud, “Hockey players have the best asses.”
“What was that?” Liam was halfway through the horseshoe and gate, and her words made him tilt forward dangerously, almost lose his grip.
She grabbed his arm. “Careful.”
“What did you say?” he asked again.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to be uttered aloud—not ever again. In fact, Mia figured she was going to take it to her grave, bury it in the coffin with her.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
“Mia.”
“I said nothing,” she repeated.
Playful gray eyes, less storm cloud, more tendrils of ocean fog teasing at the ends of her hair.
“I like your ass, too,” he whispered huskily.
God, she wanted to kiss this man, to grab hold of his ears and tug his head down and just kiss him until she forgot to breathe.
But she also wanted . . . fluff.
To play. To forget. To do something that didn’t necessarily fit in with the rules she’d used to structure her life.
Why?
She wasn’t prepared to consider that last one too closely.
So, just as Liam slipped through the gap, she plunked the cardboard down, parked her ass down onto it, and pushed off. “Last one down buys lunch!” she called, flying down the concrete, not wholly understanding where the words came from, but knowing that this man unlocked something inside her. Mischief or hell, maybe it was just as simple as yearning to have some fun for a change.
Either way, she was tearing down the slide, her ponytail whipping behind her, the morning air a cool kiss on her lips, her nose, her cheeks.
She was almost to the bottom when she sensed him coming up behind her.
Too fast.
Because she was slowing down.
Instinctively, she leaned forward, trying to gain speed, but physics and gravity were against her.
Liam was heavier, and his weight combined with them carried him farther.
She continued to slow as he slid by her, his feet finding the ground, and he was standing by the time she made it to the bottom. Her legs flew off the end, but before she could rise, he was there, toes of his shoes pressed to hers. He put out a hand. She didn’t need the help, but took it anyway, let him tug her up, allowed her body to press against his.
“You owe me lunch,” he breathed, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers.
He ran the back of his knuckles lightly over her cheek, and she shivered, heat spearing through her, filling her with such want and need that she half-expected to be reduced to ash.
Instead, she looked down to find she wasn’t.
Instead, she looked down to see his hand resting on her hip.
And . . . God how she liked seeing it there, wanted it on her breasts, slipping between her thighs, and—
“What just went through your mind?” he asked, turning his hand over, cupping her cheek, the rough pads of his callouses against her skin making her shiver.
Mia didn’t answer.
Instead, she gave in.