With You

Page 2

His gaze dripped down my body then back up again. I felt like a piece of steak, and he was appraising me to see if I was worth the price. “So, if not my sister then what do you want from me?”
The reason fled my mind, and I stood staring at him like that stupid piece of steak. “I . . . ah . . . well.” His tongue slid across his upper lip wetting the surface and making it glisten. Jesus, did he even know he was doing that?
“I’m not going to fuck you. I may fight illegally, but I don’t fuck illegally.”
My sudden mind boggle vanished, and ire replaced it. “I’m twenty for your information, and I wouldn’t even consider having sex—”
He frowned, and his lips pursed together. The look sent a flush into my cheeks, because honestly, the guy looked even hotter with a scowl. “Having sex? Can you even say the word fuck?”
“Yeah. Fuck you.”
Silence. Then he laughed; his dark eyes sparkling like black opals. The sound was utterly magical, and several people nearby looked at Sculpt with surprise.
God, this was a waste of time, and now Kat and I would be peeing red for the next month. I turned to leave, but his hand snagged mine.
“Why’d you come looking for me?” His tone was gentler with a pinch of graveled sexiness which didn’t help any.
Okay, I couldn’t let Kat eat beets without even asking him; she’d make me eat hers, and I didn’t like them that much. “I need to learn how to fight.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to fight.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I shook my head.
He laughed again, his head thrown back and the sound echoing in the warehouse. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and despite the fact that he was laughing at me, I was more mortified that I was turned on by his laugh. “You’re scared as shit of me. Shoulders slumped, confidence of a mouse . . . You’re not going to make a fighter of any kind.”
“I don’t want to fight like you or anything. I just need to know a few moves.”
“Then go take a class. I don’t have the time to teach some chick how to pull a punch.” He let my hand go and chin-nodded to a guy who walked up to shake his hand.
“Nice take down, buddy.”
“Thanks. You see those men?” Sculpt was now completely ignoring me; I’d become invisible.
“Sure did.”
“You get who they were?”
His friend nodded. “I’m guessing. Fuck man, not cool. How’d do you think he found you?”
“Hey,” I said. He ignored me, and I grabbed his arm. “Hey.”
When he turned my stomach went through the roof of my mouth. His eyes honed in on me, and I nearly slunk away under his penetrating glare. “Classes don’t start until September, and I need them now.”
“No.” He looked down at my small hand holding him. “Let go.”
I shook my head. “I need this.”
His eyes narrowed and mouth tightened. “Is your boyfriend hitting you?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Then why the hell does a girl like you want to learn how to fight?”
I looked down at my feet, shuffled a bit then met his gaze dead on. I had no choice. “I was attacked after work by a guy and—”
“He rape you?” His tone was scary deep, and his eyes darkened with that intense gleam that wouldn’t let me look away even if I wanted to.
“No.” But the guy managed to pull down my jeans, tear off my thong and put his finger inside me. I’d bit his hand covering my mouth, and when he pulled away, hand raised to slap me, I’d screamed so loudly that he took off.
I never reported it, even though Kat begged me to, and we kept it from Matt because he was mega overprotective. Maybe that’s what happens when you take on the role of father at an early age. Kat and I say he’s a popcorn kernel waiting to pop. When we suspect he’s going to blow, we say he’s “on the burner.”
So, telling Matt was a bad idea. Besides it’d been dark, and he took me down so fast, I had no idea what he looked like. All I knew was he was big, bulky big, with breath smelling like cigars and mints.
Sculpt was quiet for several moments then he said, “They catch him?”
I shrugged looking down at my feet again. “No.” I took a deep breath. Maybe this was the wrong guy to ask. All I could think about was his rough hands touching me, his lips hard against mine, the little nibbles on my ear, and his breath tickling my heated skin.
Suddenly, Sculpt grabbed my hand and curled my fingers into a fist. “You think you can hit someone. A guy wanting to get a piece of you? With this? You weigh a hundred pounds max.”
A hundred and twenty actually.
“Fighting won’t help you, Mouse. Haven’t you heard of the buddy system? Staying clear of dark places at night? My answer stays the same—no.”
I bet if that tinsel girl asked for his help, he’d have leapt at the chance. I tried to not let it bother me; after all I was used to being the girl who had no friends until Matt and Kat. Their parents’ deaths coinciding with my father’s within months of one another had formed a bond between us that was unbreakable.
So why would a guy like Sculpt help me? What had I been thinking asking him?
“She’s Kat’s friend.” The guy who’d been talking to Sculpt interrupted. “You know . . . Matt’s little sister.” Sculpt’s attention drew away from me for a mere second, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was exhausting keeping my emotions under control with him staring. “Saw her with Kat earlier,” Sculpt’s friend continued. He held out his hand, and I took it. “Hey, I’m Kite.”
“Hi. Emily.” I half-smiled.
Kite nodded to the right. “Well Emily, you piss off Matt? Cause he looks none too happy, and he’s headed this way.”
Sculpt looked in the direction Kite indicated. “Jesus.”
“I’d say,” Kite muttered. “Looks like a mouth flogging for you, Emily.”
When Sculpt turned back to me, my stomach bottomed out. Everything in him was tense, even his jawline was pulsating. “Are you dating him?”
“He’s my best friend’s brother and my roommate. No, of course not.”
“He’s pissed man. And now he’s looking at you.” Kite chuckled. “I’m betting he thinks you’re hitting on her.”
Sculpt grunted. “Not a chance.”
I blanched, feeling like an ant he’d just stomped on. No matter if I already knew that he’d never be with me, hearing it aloud felt like I’d breathed in acid fumes and was decomposing. What an ass he was for throwing it in my face.
“We need to leave.” Sculpt snagged my hand. “Tell Matt I’ll take her home.”
“Um, what?” I tried to pull from his grasp, but it was like a being held by a tree.
Once again he ignored me as he tugged, and I stumbled after him. The crowd parted for him like the red sea as we made our way to the door.
He didn’t slow until we stopped beside a black racing bike. The black metal reflected in the moonlight while the chrome surfaces were so polished they looked like mirrors. He undid a steel cable on the back, grabbed a helmet, then plopped it down on my head. He proceeded to do up the chinstrap before I could even begin to process that he was riding off on his bike and taking me with him.
He threw his leg over the seat and started the engine, the loud purr sending vibrations through my body. I’d never been on a motorcycle and hadn’t intended on ever riding a death trap on wheels. I stepped back, my fingers undoing the strap.
He caught my wrist. “Get on, Mouse.”
“Yeah, um, I’m going to pass.” I’d rather bungee jump than get on a motorcycle. At least jumpers had a cord attached to their legs, a bike had nothing—no seatbelt, no essential airbags.
“You want me to teach you how to fight, but you’re scared of getting on a fuckin’ bike? Jesus.” He glanced toward the warehouse door then back at me. He tugged me close with one pull. “Get your ass on the bike, and I’ll give you one lesson. One. Then we will see, but I hear a single cry, whimper, whine, or complaint, then I walk.”
Harsh and rude—but fair enough. No chance was I saying no. “Okay.”
“Okay.” His brows rose as I stood staring at him astride the racing bike. “Move it, Mouse.”
The tingling between my legs worsened, and the butterflies in my stomach were having an all-out party. The thought of getting on behind him, feeling Sculpt up against me . . . Well it had my body reacting in strange, scary ways.
“Now.”
“Ah, yeah.” I approached the bike then skimmed my leg over the back, instantly feeling the tremors run through me. No wonder guys liked bikes; they were a total turn on.
He half-turned, reached back, placed his hand on the small of my back and roughly shoved me forward until my pelvis was up against his ass and the inside of my thighs were against his outer thighs. Heat shot through me.
“Arms.” He grabbed both wrists and tucked them around his waist. “Tight, Mouse.”
I squeezed, feeling his hard abdomen beneath my hands.
The bike shifted to the side, he reeved the engine, and we took off.
Chapter 2
Five weeks later
“Mouse, you’re not listening to me. Jesus. Get your hip behind me.” He had me flat on my back for the seventh time today, his hands holding my wrists above my head.
It was our fifth lesson, and every week I’d complained, bitched, and cried—after Sculpt dropped me off at home, and I was alone.
“Screw off. I’m trying my best.” My confidence was building; Sculpt made sure of that by peeling through my fears like an onion.
At least now when he pretended to choke me, I didn’t squeal and freeze up in panic, instead I raised my arm overtop of his and jammed my fingers into his trachea.
He was tough on me, and more often than not I was spitting mad, which I was slowly realizing he liked. If I was mad then I wasn’t scared, and that, to him, was far better, because at least I’d fight back then.
“Well try harder. I’m not wasting my time if you’re going to dick around.”
“Dick around? Really? Did you just say that?” He also could push my buttons. I tried to shove him off me, but with his hands holding my wrists, and sitting on top of my pelvis all I managed to do was look like a trapped writhing eel. “Do you think I like landing on my back continually?”
Sculpt raised his brows, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was the first time I’d seen him smile. Since the night he laughed at me, I’d never seen anything other than him being serious. He was kind of a quiet guy with his words and his emotions. It was like he was hiding behind his scowl. But seeing that twitch of a smile had me so turned on I swear I felt dampness between my legs.
A lock of his walnut hair fell in front of his left eye, and I wanted to push it back then run my fingers through the thick strands. I called it sexy bedroom hair, because it always looked like hands had been running through it. Maybe they had. God, how many women had their hands in his hair? A strange tightness gripped my chest at the thought. Jealousy? Shit, I had no right to feel jealous of anyone. Sculpt would never be interested in me. What was I thinking?