Fire & Ice (The Locklaine Boys #1) Page 3

  “The club was boring. Wasn’t in the mood to help Rich get laid so I came back here with Rowan. Looks like I made the right decision.” He came even closer, so close I had to take a step back to maintain a comfortable distance between the two of us. I was totally thrown off by his proximity. After that one night, we both seemed to make a great effort to keep a deep, gaping chasm in the middle or risk each other’s prickly attitudes. I hated him, and he seemed to thrive on pissing me off. To say we weren’t each other’s favorite people was like saying Antarctica was chilly. Understatement.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as my butt hit the lip of the countertop.

  “Nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, like he wasn’t just inches away from me, so close I could smell the woodsy, spicy scent of his cologne. If that wasn’t disconcerting enough, the way his eyes skimmed across my body was enough to send an unwanted shiver down my spine.

  My breathing grew slightly erratic as my heart pounded against my ribs. “You need to back up,” I insisted.

  Did he listen? Hell no, he leaned in even more and I could feel the heat of his minty breath as it trailed across the skin of my neck. “You smell fucking fantastic,” he growled. “What perfume is that?”

  “I-I’m not wearing perfume,” I stuttered, trying desperately to shake off the lust that was suddenly coursing through my blood stream.

  “All you,” he mumbled and inhaled again.

  I swallowed audibly, my throat suddenly dry, as I placed my hand on his defined chest and pushed. “You’re being weird.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he responded, and my jaw hit the floor. That was it. I didn’t know what game he was playing, but I wasn’t going to have any part of it. I’d already let him use me as his own personal game piece once before. I’d be damned if I was going to do it again.

  “And you’re officially creeping me out. Unless you want to have my five inch stiletto surgically removed from your ass, you need to back the hell up.”

  His full lips twitched with humor as he moved back a few inches—not enough for my liking so I shoved him further. “Have I ever told you I love it when you get feisty?”

  I narrowed my eyes in anger. “And have I ever told you I’ve fantasized about setting you on fire?”

  “You’ve fantasized about me?” he asked. “That’s so hot.”

  I felt the agitated growl vibrate up my chest. I was just contemplating how badly scratching his eyes out would screw up my manicure when I heard Rowan yell my name from the other room. Not bothering to respond to his manipulation, I pushed past him and walked out of the kitchen.

  I could feel Griffin at my back as I walked into the living room to find Rowan holding Navie in front of him like a shield between him and Tomas.

  “What’s going on in here?” I asked as I scanned the room. Rowan looked pissed, Navie looked like she was trying to keep from laughing. Richard was holding his side as he cracked up, and Tomas looked like he was seconds away from mounting Rowan like a rodeo cowboy.

  “Holy hotness,” Tomas breathed as he caught sight of Griffin. “There are three of them?! I think I just came.”

  Rowan pointed an accusing finger at my flamboyant friend. “Your little minion here is trying to take advantage of me! I’m not above filing a restraining order. Don’t test me.”

  “How’s it going, stud?” Tomas asked Griffin, having already turned his attentions to the newest hot guy in the room.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Griff spoke, his voice laced with humor “Don’t swing that way.”

  “That’ll only provoke him,” I warned.

  “Once you go gay, there’s no other way,” Tomas added.

  “Pretty sure I’d ruin you for all other people,” Griffin responded unwisely.

  “Mmm, and I’d look forward to it.”

  “See?” Rowan shouted. “This is what I’m talking about. Griff, Taser him or something, man.”

  I groaned and began rubbing at my temples. “Dear Lord, I’m not drunk enough for this,” I grumbled.

  “Ooh!” Navie clapped. “Let’s do shots! I’ll get the tequila.”

  “I’ll get glasses!” Tomas joined in and the two of them rushed off to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if there was enough tequila in the world to make my night any better.

  I WAS DYING. THAT was the only logical explanation as to why my head felt like it had been run over by a steam roller and my mouth tasted like a rodent had crawled in it and died.

  Weren’t those signs of a stroke?

  I somehow managed to summon just enough strength to roll from my belly to my back, and groaned as I peeled my eyes open. The sunlight shining through the two small windows in my bedroom seared my corneas and the pounding in my head grew even stronger. Taking in my familiar surroundings led me to wonder how the hell I got home last night. After shot number three, my memory started to get a little fuzzy. I don’t remember anything that happened after shot number five.

  “Oh God,” I grumbled to the empty room. “I hate tequila so much.” I was never drinking again. Never. I was going to kill Navie and fire Tomas the instant I was able to move. It was all their fault. They were the ones that pushed their drunken agenda. If it hadn’t been for their peer pressure I wouldn’t have replaced most of my body’s blood supply with booze in the first damn place.

  I carefully turned my head toward my bedside table and let out a grateful prayer that my cellphone was within reach. Because I needed to call and break up with my best friend. My arm flopped against the mattress like an uncooperative dead fish as I reached out. My fingertips had barely grazed the wood of my nightstand when a sudden bang from the direction of my kitchen caused me to freeze instantly. Sheer panic filled my veins like ice.

  Someone was in my apartment.

  Holy shit! Someone was in my apartment!

  Now, a rational person would have grabbed the phone and called 911. Or at the very least, found a safe hiding spot so as not to get hacked to pieces by a potential ax murderer. But I’d never been described as rational, and my hungover state only made that worse.

  Bypassing my cellphone completely, I quietly pulled my nightstand drawer open and reached for my Taser. That’s right. I was a single woman living on her own in New York City. Fuck pepper spray. If someone was going to screw with me I was hitting them with fifty thousand volts. I didn’t mess around. As I slowly climbed from the bed another loud crash came from the kitchen, causing my heart to nearly beat through my chest. My bare feet hit the wood floor and I looked down to notice I was only wearing one of Dex’s old college t-shirts and my panties, that was it. Good Lord, I didn’t even remember changing.

  Not bothering to put on shorts, I made sure my stun gun was primed and ready to go as I tip-toed down the hallway toward whoever was making that insane racket. Obviously the person who’d just broken into my apartment didn’t have stealth on their side. Whoever the asshole was, they picked the wrong freaking apartment, because I was determined to make them wish they’d never been born.

  As I rounded the corner I caught an eyeful of a man—a shirtless man—standing with his back to me. I didn’t have time to contemplate my burglar’s state of undress—or the fact that he had one of the sexiest backs (yes, backs can be sexy) I’d ever seen—I had the element of surprise on my side since he didn’t know I was standing there, ready to electrocute the ever-loving shit out of him.

  I sucked in a deep breath and steeled my nerves for what was about to happen.

  You’re an independent woman who is capable of defending what’s hers.

  Internal pep-talk complete, it was time for action. Hangover all but forgotten, I sucked in a deep breath, I charged my intruder with a war cry that would have made Mel Gibson circa Braveheart tremble in fear. He barely had a chance to turn around before I jammed the prods against his skin and held them there until his twitching body finally hit the floor.

  “Holy shit!” I gasped, looking down at my stun gun in awe.

  “What…” twitch, “the…”
twitch, “fuck…” twitch. I pulled my gaze away from my new favorite toy and looked down at the prone body on my kitchen floor, getting my first good look at the shirtless man.

  “Griffin?!” I yelled in shock. My adrenaline rush crashed and the temporarily forgotten hangover came back with a vengeance. “What the hell are you doing here?” I shouted regardless of how badly my head was pounding.

  “Are…” twitch, “you…” twitch, “f-fucking…” twitch, “crazy?”

  My anger spiked at his stuttered and slurred accusation. “You scared the hell out of me, asshole!” Then I bent down and shoved the probes against his skin again… you know, because a woman scorned and all that jazz.

  I STILL COULDN’T FEEL my tongue. And to make matters worse, I had to come into work still feeling the effects of two goddamned stun gun hits.

  “Dude,” Dex asked from his desk, which butted right up against mine. “Why do you keep twitching?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grunted, keeping my eyes on the paperwork that littered my desk. Then I twitched again.

  “Yeah, you’re definitely twitching. And the left side of your face is a little droopy. You having a stroke or something?”

  “Must be stress,” I offered casually. And wasn’t that the fucking truth? Sure, the twitching might have been caused by that devil woman’s stun gun, but, sweet Christ, did she have me stressed way the hell out.

  I wasn’t supposed to want her, that much I knew. But damn if I couldn’t keep my mind off of her. And as of last night, I’d lost all ability to keep my hands off her as well. When I’d walked into Navie and Rowan’s apartment the night before, I’d planned on Pepper and I going head to head. That was what we’d always done. I pushed her buttons because it was just too addictive not to, and I got off on seeing her claws come out, and she fought back with everything she had. It was a push and pull that was totally twisted and masochistic, I just couldn’t get enough.

  I spent the whole cab ride to Rowan’s apartment trying to think up an ingenious way to set her off, but the moment I stepped into that kitchen and saw her standing there, everything changed. Every part of me yearned to touch her. Every part. My cock thickened and pushed behind my fly instantly, like it was trying to bust its way free to get to her.

  All thoughts of screwing with her just to enjoy that heated, battle-ready expression on her face flew from my mind… well, at least temporarily—I was only human after all. I was bombarded with visions of our one night together. I could still remember the feel and taste of her skin, what she smelled like, and I craved it all again, like a junky craved his next hit. Whatever it was about her that had been tormenting me for months, making it impossible to be with another woman, pushed to the very forefront of my mind. I needed her again.

  So, like any sane, rational man on the planet, I took complete advantage of Tomas and Navie’s suggestion of doing tequila shots, practically feeding them to Pepper once she became noticeably buzzed. When she stood and nearly fell over, I took it upon myself—you know, as a gentleman—to escort her home, making sure she got there safe and sound.

  Now, before you start accusing me of being a bastard and taking advantage of a woman in a vulnerable position, let me just say, I had no intensions of actually doing anything to her. My plan was 100% above reproach. I was just going to make sure she got to bed, crash on the couch, then wake up and make her a hangover cure breakfast like the nice guy I was. And everything was going according to plan… until the wench shocked the ever-loving hell out of me, more than likely rendering me sterile—not that kids were ever part of my plan, but still, it was slightly emasculating.

  And then, for good measure, she’d hit me a second time.

  So breakfast was a bust. As I lay on the kitchen floor, trying to gain use of my extremities, the Red Devil had prepared herself a cup of coffee and walked over to the pantry, digging into a Little Debbie box and pulling out an oatmeal crème pie. The woman had always been a nut for those stupid little cakes.

  “I have to get ready and get to the boutique,” she informed me as she stepped over my body and continued toward the hall. “I’m sure you can see yourself out… you know, once you can walk.” Then she was gone.

  Minutes ticked by before I was able to drag myself up. I snatched my shirt off the couch—that had been a strategic maneuver that obviously hadn’t worked out—and limped/twitched out of her apartment. But I wasn’t deterred. After last night I’d made the decision that I needed more of her.

  Was it a horrible idea? Hell yes. But ask me if I cared. She was the only woman who’d been on my mind for months. And even before my dick decided it wasn’t happy with anyone but Pepper, I still never forgot our one night together.

  Still, as I looked across my desk at my best friend, I experienced a twinge of guilt, knowing I was about to put into action my plan to seduce his little sister… again, but it was out of my control. Something needed to give. I couldn’t keep living the way I’d been.

  I was willing to give one more night with Pepper O’Malley a shot if it meant working her out of my system. And then we could go back to the way things were, fighting like two rabid pit bulls.

  Dex never had to know.

  “You sure you don’t need me to take you to the ER?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern. “I’m pretty sure my great uncle Herb was twitching just like that right before he died.”

  I glared and deadpanned, “Thanks.”

  “Just sayin’” he shrugged. “You kickin’ the bucket means I’d have to go through breaking in another partner. With Ivy running me and Wendy ragged, I’m just too damned exhausted to deal with that.”

  “So sorry for your troubles,” I said sarcastically.

  “Eh, it’s all right.” I kind of wanted to punch him just then. “Oh, by the way, Wendy has a woman from her Pilates class that she—”

  I held up my hand to stop him. It was the same conversation we’d had over and over again. “Man, not gonna happen.”

  “Just hear me out—”

  “Not. Gonna. Happen.” I stressed every syllable. It seemed like one of Wendy’s life goals was to set me up with the future Mrs. Griffin Locklaine. Her friggin’ words. It was something I’d been dealing with ever since she and Dex had tied the knot. I loved the woman to death, but a matchmaker she was not.

  “But she—”

  “Do you not remember Nadine?” I asked incredulously, because, how the fuck could he possibly forget?

  “That wasn’t her fault!” he insisted. “How was Wendy supposed to know she was a recovering alcoholic who’d fallen off the wagon?”

  “And what about Michelle?” I arched a brow.

  “She told her the divorce was finalized,” Dex muttered.

  “Dude, her not-so-ex-husband showed up at the restaurant with a knife.

  “It was a Swiss Army knife,” he argued.

  “Not the point! I had to arrest the guy! Then the crazy bitch threw a glass at my head for cuffing her husband.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I see your point. But this woman’s legit. Wendy swears, man.”

  “What about Erin?” I asked in a low, ominous voice. “Did you forget about her?”

  Dex’s posture went stiff at my reminder. “Don’t go there, brother. It’s still raw.”

  “It happened to me!” I shouted before getting ahold of myself. “I still lose my shit whenever I see a cucumber. I haven’t been able to order a salad ever since! She’s lucky I didn’t file charges! So you’ll have to forgive me if your wife’s word just isn’t good enough for me.”

  He finally relented. “All right, all right. I’ll tell Wendy no more blind dates.”

  “Thank you,” I grunted. Luckily Dex’s desk phone rang at that moment, cutting off the conversation. “O’Malley,” he answered. “Yeah, we’re on it.”

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  He stood from his chair and pulled his jacket off the back and started slipping it on. I foll
owed suit. “Body found in the alley behind a nightclub on 85th.”

  “It’s gonna be a long day,” I grumbled as I followed him out of the bullpen, hoping the twitching finally stopped before we made it to the scene.

  Then I needed to figure out what the fuck I was going to do about that little minx, Pepper O’Malley.

  “YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT, sugar plum,” Tomas greeted me cheerfully as I pushed through the front door of Fire & Ice. No one should ever be that cheerful in the mornings, especially after a night of tequila.

  “I hate you,” I grunted past the dull, throbbing pain in my head. “How the hell are you not hung over?”

  The smug little grin he gave me had my palm itching to slap his perfectly-groomed face. “Maybe because I wasn’t the one downing shots like they were liquid candy. Me and Navie stopped after three.”

  “Then why the hell did you let me keep going?!” I cried in exasperation.

  “Oh, honey child,” he pouted condescendingly.

  “What?” I asked in bewilderment. A large chunk of last night was missing from my memory, but I had a dreaded feeling in my gut that whatever had happened wasn’t good.

  “We tried to stop you, but from the moment that sinful officer of the law uttered the words, ‘I dare you,’ it was on.”

  “Damn it!” I shouted, wincing as pain sliced through my head. “That bastard!” Any niggling guilt I felt for tasing Griffin earlier that morning completely disappeared. If I had my way, I’d get him again. The son of a bitch had used my own weakness against me. He knew I was physically incapable of backing down from a challenge. More than half the trouble I’d ever gotten into was a result of a dare gone wrong, for Christ’s sake. And he’d taken complete advantage of the situation.

  “I gotta ask,” Tomas said, pulling me from my sinister plans of retribution. “What is with you two? I’m sensing a juicy story,” he sing-songed.

  “Well, you’re sensing wrong,” I lied, because no way in hell was I ever admitting to what had happened between me and Griffin in the past. That night, along with my decade long crush, were staying buried in the deepest recesses of my mind where not even hypnotherapy could get to it. It was stored right under my irrational childhood fear of clowns and the memory of that time I’d walked in on Mom and Dad, mid-coital. I was still convinced I was partially blind from that traumatizing experience.