Page 42 of Lawless in Leather

Double damn. Triple damn.

Or even, she thought as his fingers pressed and stroked, just a good old-fashioned fu-u-u-ck.

“Better?” Mal asked.

She managed a nod. Her neck felt strangely liquid, as though her head might float right off her body if she weren’t careful. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“You can’t expect me to give away all my secrets on our first … nightcap, can you?” he said. “Or at least, you have to ply me with more liquor first.”

She tried to remember where she’d left the scotch. On the kitchen counter. Reaching it would mean getting off this sofa. Which she wasn’t doing short of dynamite forcing the issue.

“How about the promise of liquor?” she said.

“I’ll think about it.” The fingers on her foot were slowly changing their rhythm. Less forceful, less coaxing of the knots and tension from her feet and more stroking every little nerve ending to life.

Who knew her feet had so many nerve endings? Or that the majority of them seemed to have rerouted themselves so they were sending their little spikes of pleasure straight to her groin. Her head dropped back and her eyes drifted close and she was too tired to fight the drugging effect of the sensations he was provoking.

“How about we return to our earlier topic,” Mal said. “Tell me what you’re afraid of?”

That snapped her eyes open. “Who said I was afraid?”

“Afraid. Concerned. Doubtful. Pick one. Why do you want to run away from this?” His voice was low and soft, the sound of it almost as smooth and targeted as his fingers.

So. The ball, so to speak, had been pitched. The curtain was going up. So was she going to step up to the plate … step into the spotlight … and tell him the truth or miss her moment?

She’d never been one to shy away from the spotlight. She swallowed. “Would you believe me if I said it’s not you, it’s me?”

Dark brows lifted. “I might. If you explain it more.”

“It … it sounds silly. But I just don’t trust my instincts with men anymore. Too many mistakes. So when my instincts say This one, I’m forced to consider if it’s more sensible to do the exact opposite.”

He frowned. “Did someone hurt you?”

“I’m thirty. It would be a little strange if I hadn’t had my heart broken by now.”

“You don’t seem the type to let a little heartbreak destroy your confidence,” Mal said. “I meant more than that. Did someone—a man—get … physical with you?”

She tried not to shiver as the image of Jeremy, face contorted with anger, sprang to life in her head. But Mal must have noticed something because his expression darkened.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Not if you don’t want to,” he said.

No. It was better to speak up. It had taken time to get over the sense that it was her fault, the guilt that had gnawed at her and returned with a vengeance when Patrick had stolen from her. Guilt that she hadn’t been able to see in advance what their true selves were. But it wasn’t her fault. It was theirs. She took a deep breath. Let it out. Met his frowning gaze squarely. “I had one boyfriend. He was … difficult. Possessive. He put his fist through a wall a few inches away from my face one night.”

“And?” Mal’s voice was tense. Disgusted.

“He learned that dancers have plenty of lower-body strength. To the regret of his balls. I kicked him and got out of there and never went back.” That wasn’t the whole truth. And it left out the sick terror of that night, of running out of the apartment and flagging down the cab to take her to Brady’s place, heart pounding in fear, thinking every moment that Jeremy was going to appear. To stop her. To hurt her.

Mal grinned. “Good girl.” Then his face turned serious again. “Was that the end of it?”

She shook her head. “He was a problem for a while. Tried to convince me to come back. Turned up at the theater where I was working. Caused trouble. Until some of the guys I worked with dealt with him. He went away after that.”

“It’s not your fault he was a scumbag,” Mal said, voice gentle. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She sighed. “I know. Logically I know that. But there have been just a couple too many princes who turned into frogs, you know.” She looked down at her toes, unwilling to meet his eyes. “The last frog skipped town with most of my bank balance.”

Mal frowned again. “Did you find him?”

“I talked to the police. They weren’t that interested. Said it would be hard to prove I hadn’t given him my passwords, et cetera. We’d been living together about six months. And I didn’t have the money for a detective.”

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