Page 61 of Sex Coach

I didn't go findMichelle.

Burrowing into the long top coat I'd thrown over my suit, I walked eighteen blocks to my apartment in the frigid cold, needing the time to clear my head and focus my thoughts .

As the neighborhood shifted from the tourist trap that was Times Square, I kept alert, paying attention to those who might notice a big guy in a nice coat – that translated to having money – but either nobody noticed me, or nobody thought I'd be worth the trouble .

And I'd be a lot of trouble .

I'd been a skinny, gangly kid when I'd gone into prison, but by the time I came out, I'd topped out at six-two and heavy with muscle, thanks to all the time I'd spent in the prison yard. Between taking college courses and all the other shit they pushed on a con, there wasn't much else to do but stare at the wall or work out. One could always sit on their ass, but that had never been me. I'd come out of prison looking like I'd spent those years with my own personal trainer .

I'd also come out looking like somebody who knew how to bust in a few heads if I had to – and there had been a couple of times when I'd had to, and I'd hated every second of it. Violence had never appealed to me and appealed even less after I'd gotten out of prison. But getting my ass kicked appealed even less .

I made it to my own neighborhood without any trouble, although I hadn't thought my way free of the tangle in my thoughts. I was a fucking whore who couldn't think past the one woman burning a hole inside me .

The only thing that had really worked to distract me had been the sight of a man I loathed. What I'd wanted, more than anything, had been to close the distance between us and make him tell me what I wanted to know, but he had bodyguards there and the security from the theater was on hand as well. All that would have done was get me arrested. And with my record ?

Yeah, I knew how that would turn out .

My thoughts bounced back to Michelle, and I tried to figure out what in the hell I was going to do about her .

I'd scared her the last time we were together. She tried to act like I hadn't, but I wasn't a moron. I'd grabbed her wrist without thinking and held her down. It was something I'd done with any number of lovers, save for Whitley, but I wouldn't do that to her, not with her history .

Of course, her history wasn't too different from Michelle's .

The thought of it turned my stomach, thinking about what Michelle must have gone through – and her uncle . She'd just been a kid .

A fat white snowflake drifted down to land on my nose just as I headed up the steps to my apartment building. Shooting a dark look skyward, I muttered, "You better not interfere with my plans for the weekend ."

Not that I had planned much of anything out, other than seeing Michelle .

And I was nervous as hell about that .

Almost scared, to be honest .

How was I supposed to handle touching a woman that I might scare the next time she drove me a little crazy ?

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