Page 31 of Lawless in Leather

Chapter Seven

Raina tried to slip away after the press conference, thankful that no one had actually come with a question about the Angels that Alex hadn’t been able to answer. That meant she been able to dodge having to actually speak to the assembled reporters. She’d been sitting off to the side with Maggie rather than with Alex, Mal, and Lucas, which was also good because she’d managed to avoid talking to Mal again. Her plan was to get the hell out of Deacon and continue avoiding him. Sadly she didn’t manage to get very far before Mal caught up to her.

“You’re not coming to the party?” he asked as he appeared next to her in the corridor.

He was about the tenth person to ask her this since Marly had. She kept walking, trying to look like she had very important things to do. “It’s Saturday night. I have to be at my club.” She didn’t look at him.

He and Alex and Lucas had been grinning like loons during the press conference. Only to be expected when the Saints had managed to just steal victory in the last inning. It wasn’t the greatest performance in baseball ever but it was, at least, a promising start to the season.

Still, even though she felt happy for them, and happy that they seemed pleased with the Angels’ reception, she was less happy to be confronted with a delighted Mal.

Because delighted Mal was even more appealing than ever, something of the tension he carried with him vanishing, and leaving a sort of loose vibe that made every inch of her quiver.

She knew loose and delightful and sexy. That was practically the hallmark of her particular brand of poison when it came to bad boys. She liked the charming ones. The witty ones. The ones who could disarm her with a wicked smile and a quick-fire punch line.

Pity that those particular characteristics seemed to come with wanderlust, no ability to commit, or what her grandmother would have called fecklessness. Or even less pleasant traits.

She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t go there again. Not after Jeremy. But then she’d met Patrick. Also charming with that touch of an edge. Not the moody artistic version like Jeremy, more the never-quite-grown-up version. Seemingly a good guy who had a taste for very loud metal bands but no other obvious faults. Pity she hadn’t seen the less obvious ones. She’d been so relieved to find someone not the kind of jealous over-controlling idiot Jeremy had been that she’d relaxed too quickly. Not kept her guard up. Trusted too soon.

Patrick had cleared out half her bank account on his way out of her life. Half a very hard-earned nest egg—thankfully not all of it as she’d had part of it safely squirreled away in a term deposit—but enough to put a dint in her financial security, her pride, and her faith in her instincts as far as men were concerned.

And then he’d managed to disappear into thin air as far as the cops were concerned. The money was gone as thoroughly as he was. A fact that still made her want to punch something whenever she thought about it.

She needed that money. Her plan to buy the building where Madame R was housed someday would give real security to her—as well as to her family, all the strays and dreamers who, like her, had devoted their lives to the mystery of theater or dance for mostly love.

The need to rebuild her nest egg as soon as possible was the reason she’d taken the crazy contract with the Saints.

Her landlord—Phil—had been particularly unpleasant lately and she wanted to be able to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse if push came to shove and he tried to oust her. So that she wouldn’t be thrown out on the street to start all over again. She was tired of that life. Of changing theaters and companies and shows and never knowing how long something might last. Jeremy and Patrick hadn’t helped in that department.

She wanted some solid ground. Bedrock. Roots. Whatever you wanted to call it. Something that couldn’t be snatched away from her. Which would’ve made most of her friends, who always held her up as a shining example of someone born to thrive in the firefly life of the theater, scream with laughter.

And here was Malachi Coulter. Seemingly solid. But she knew wild at heart when she smelled it.

Like called to like.

Or something.

Which was why it was so disturbing to see that so clearly and still want him like she wanted oxygen or music to dance to.

Malachi who was walking quietly beside her, apparently not going to argue with her.

Which made her even more nervous. She needed to ditch him asap. “I know my way back to the locker room.”

He didn’t change his pace, just glanced down at her with a half smile. “I know you do. But it’s dark out now and I’m walking you to your car.”

“It’s not dark in the underground lot,” she pointed out. “Gardner got me a space today.”

Mal shrugged. “It will still be mostly deserted. My guys have done their last sweeps of the stadium to make sure everyone has cleared out but I’m not taking any chances.”

She wondered if that was true. Was he being chivalrous or was he just finding an excuse to spend some time with her? And then she wondered which of those options was more disconcerting.

She didn’t have an answer.

They reached the elevator. Raina pressed the button and held it for a few seconds too long, willing the aging lift to move faster than its usual glacial pace. The locker rooms were down in the lower levels, and the press conference had been held in one of the big meeting rooms on the executive floor.

The door slid open and Raina stepped in. Mal followed.

It wasn’t a big elevator but it wasn’t tiny. And yet Mal seemed to take up a little too much space. Long legs and broad shoulders and altogether too much man still showcased in that very nice suit. She moved back slightly, practically wedging herself into the corner.

---