Zero: A protective hero romantic suspense, page 13
Arissa releases him, still smiling, and prances onto the dance floor.
A slick, slithering chill courses through me. He isn’t my man. This shouldn’t upset me—if he gets together with Arissa or any other person—but I’d be the worst liar if I said it didn’t. As infuriating as he is, I can’t bear the thought of him with someone else.
Oh my God. I like Zero.
Lorna nearly walks right into me. “There you are. I thought you’d fallen in or maybe the line was horrendous.” She rests her hand on my bare shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I plant my hand on the wall to steady myself. “I’m fine. I was hot and needed to cool down.”
Gathering my long hair in one hand, I lift it off my neck to cool my nape while my gaze darts all over the place, unable to look at her. If I do, she’ll know it’s more than that.
“I know what you mean.” She fans the back of my neck. “Are you up for more dancing and or do you want to sit down for a bit?”
Sit? No way. I can’t go to the table where Zero is.
“Dance. Let’s go.” I drop my hair and grab her hand as I lead us onto the floor.
I position myself with my back to Zero, not wanting to make eye contact, and start to sway my hips when Arissa jumps in front of me, all smiles.
“You’re welcome.” She kisses my cheek.
“What are you talking about?” I try to hide my disdain but fail, and she arches a brow at the snap in my voice.
“I made a move on your man and…” She’s unapologetic and I have to remind myself, he isn’t my man.
Her pause is long, critically assessing me as if rethinking if she should say anything.
“And what?”
“And nothing.” She looks down her nose at me like I’m not worth her time.
“What?” I grab her arm before she can get away. “You can’t say something like that and drop it.”
“That’s it. Nothing. He didn’t react, okay.” Her eyes bulge as if she is horrified, or maybe she’s on the verge of tears.
It’s as if she now regrets how much she’s said, revealed too much. Arissa pulls out her hair tie then drives her hands into her hair and starts to style it. I can’t help but feel that it’s some kind of reflex, her way of gaining back her confidence, and as screwy as it sounds, a tiny pang of sympathy for her pinches at my chest. Before I can say anything, she flounces away from us and quickly grabs another person’s dance partner.
Her words ring in my ears. Nothing happened? It didn’t look like nothing from where I stood.
Someone calls, or more like shouts, my name, and Zero now stands in front of me, eyes pensive and intense. He runs a large hand through his thick light-brown hair, making more waves on top than before.
Everything around us stills like someone’s hit pause, and my breath slows, pushing through my lungs, then I sharply release the air and along with it what’s most on my mind.
“What was that?” I flick my gaze toward Arissa’s retreating booty.
He arches one dark brow, and everything about him screams he’s wound tight. But that doesn’t matter or change the dynamic. I’m on the offense, which means he should be on the defensive, but uh-uh. He still has all the control.
His extreme authority is a huge turn-on even when it shouldn’t be, leaving me at a disadvantage. And strangely it has me thinking…what if. Yes, what if we got together. I’m crazy.
It’s only moments since he may, or may not, have wanted and enjoyed another woman groping him. A woman I can barely tolerate. We shouldn’t make sense and yet, we make sense to my twisted heart.
“Did you put her up to that?” His cutting accusation spears me.
I gape as my indignation chokes me. “How could you…The nerve. And what about you? What exactly was that?”
“Nothing.”
I lean in, lowering my voice so as not to draw any attention. “You let her touch you.”
“No, I didn’t let her do anything. She took.” His final word is a knife, killing any potential response I might have.
I straighten, trying to process what he means by she “took.” I hope it doesn’t mean what I think it does and yet, the alternative isn’t any less appalling.
Dancing people bounce off our rigid bodies, and he steps in closer as Jack Harlow’s “First Class” fills the club.
“Let’s dance.”
“What? You said you don’t dance.”
The sharp quirk of one brow suggests he isn’t in the mood for my questions. “I’m making an exception.” His fingers curl around my waist. “Only for you.”
My mind’s a muddled mess but my body reacts instantly as if tethered to his movements.
His arms slide around me. “I wanted none of it. I don’t want her.”
“But you just sat there. What did she say to you?”
“You don’t want to know and I’m not repeating it.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her to get her hand off me before I broke her fingers.”
I suck in a breath, believing he would have. And Arissa…she never flinched, not a wisp of fear.
“If...if you didn’t want it, why did you let her?” I arch my head back to get a better look at him. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want her touch because if you hadn’t, you’d have stopped it. You’ve stopped me from touching you.”
He tightens his grip on me as if to deny what I’ve said—prove me wrong—and his head bends to mine.
“She’s nothing.” His face is so close that I see every fleck of gold in his molten green eyes.
I’m losing my grip on this argument. I fear any second now and I’ll give in to the dance, his warm, hard body against mine.
“Then why didn’t you push her away? Or get up? Or something?” Oh my God, it sounds like I’m blaming him for being assaulted by my supposed friend, and yet I doubt he wants to hear me say it like that. “Zero, I’m sor—”
“Don’t.” Our noses almost touch. “Don’t apologize for her. I didn’t do anything because…”
He clenches his jaw and I wonder if he’s holding back the words or trying to get them out. Either way, this is difficult for him.
Zero pulls back and a far-off expression flits across his face. A mask. “I didn’t feel anything. I fucking wasn’t even there.” His gaze blankets me. “Only with you…”
He does it again. Singles me out from everyone else, and like a cat pouncing on a mouse, I lunge forward so as not to miss a word in this dark, crowded club. “Only with me what?”
He growls and snaps his mouth shut and looks away once more, unable to look at me. “Only with you I feel.”
“Please…go on.”
“No matter what I do, I can’t turn off how or what I feel when I’m with you. I feel everything with you.”
I’m lost to his mouth, mesmerized by the movement of his lips, the words flowing from him. Lips so tempting.
I wish to kiss him but now doesn’t feel right, not when he seems so tormented. For the first time, it feels like I can read his emotions. As if he’s drawn back the curtains. Exposed.
Not willing to surrender to the impulse to kiss him, I tighten my grip on his trim waist, and the gesture, my touch, does something to him.
Brilliant green eyes dip to me and his arms spool around me until we’re so close that breathing is a challenge. Head bent, he buries his face in my neck.
Tar, clove, smoke, and earth envelop me.
Feral and spellbound, he growls, baring his teeth to my flesh, and scrapes them along the tender ridge of my collarbone.
I gasp for air and cry out, but at the same time, I tighten my hold.
Never have I been held like this.
Touched like this.
Both rough and possessive yet tender and cherished, all at the same time. It’s hard to explain, and my skin tingles in the wake of his hands, his body and his presence all around me.
“Every look, every word...” he murmurs into my skin. “Even your silence or when you look away… It’s like my lungs, veins, body is filled with you. Your essence. So full of life.”
His lips graze my neck, soft and warm, and his beard scores a path up to the shell of my ear. “I. Feel. So. Much. With. You.”
Suspended in awe or disbelief—or I don’t know what—I hold him there as the song turns to something more techno, fast and chaotic, and the crowd around us kicks into a frenzy.
We should leave the dance floor, go someplace quiet, but I fear if we move, all of this—our connection, his truth—will be lost.
Eventually, I pull back to grip his chin, afraid of what expression I’ll see. Apathy? Unbidden desire?
He’s fevered, eyes wild and dazed, and when he meets my gaze something passes between us. An understanding? A mutual longing?
I so crave my mouth on his, and my body, of its own accord, starts to swoop in for a kiss.
In one swift jerk, he breaks my hold on his chin and turns his head so my lips meet his scratchy bearded cheek. It shouldn’t feel like devastation, kissing his cheek instead of his mouth, but it does.
It feels like rejection and it pierces my heart. He purposefully stopped my kiss. Why?
I push on his chest, agitated at what he did and how easily it comes to him, to be distant and cold. And all the while, he stirs all this want and lust that doesn’t belong between us, within me.
An unrequited desire for him.
15
MORGAN
On the dance floor, we’re jostled by the people around us, and Zero wraps his hand around mine. “Let’s go.”
Everything around me narrows to our interlocked fingers as he weaves us through the masses. Only his firm grasp and body heat register. He willingly touched me.
Part of me wants to pull away, hates how he thinks he can take charge, but I’m also intrigued, desiring him too much to stop this.
The same happens when we pass Hazel. He barely halts to say something to her and then she’s behind us, following us outside. The smoldering night air settles around us, and still holding my hand, Zero pulls out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” It’s close to midnight.
His chin points across the street and he talks into the phone. “I want you to take Hazel home.”
I scan the parked cars, unsure what I’m looking for until I spot movement inside one of the darkened vehicles. At the same time, headlights blink on and an engine roars to life.
Zero stuffs the phone into his jacket pocket and I yank on his hand to get his eyes on me. “Who was that?”
Just then a small car cruises to a stop in front of us, and a young man jumps out. It’s…the boy from the Harbor. Elvis.
I almost didn’t recognize him. He’s well-dressed in what looks like new jeans and a white button-down. He cleans up nicely, cute even. His blond hair, still a little long, shines like gold, no longer stringy and slick with grease. He could easily pass for a model for Abercrombie and Fitch or Hollister.
“Hi, Morgan.” The boy beams at me, standing taller and broader than I remember.
I wave. “Hi.”
Zero introduces Hazel to Elvis and she remains mute and uncomfortably shy, unable to look at any of us. Zero commands Elvis to get her home and then check in with him.
Elvis, eager and affable, holds the door open for Hazel, and before getting into the car, she pauses to look at me. Her expression is meek and uncertain. “Bye, Morgan, thanks for inviting me.”
My eyes widen, surprised, and I’m unable to find any words because I have a hard time believing she enjoyed herself.
I force a smile, wary, and offer a goodbye. Hazel slides into the car and Zero leads us away from them.
Now that it’s just the two of us, the lingering sting of his rejection still smarts and burns a hole in my chest, and I try to keep any edge out of my tone. “Why’s Elvis here? Didn’t Hazel come with you?”
“I asked him to take her home. This way, I could take you home.”
“That’s presumptuous of you. You didn’t know if I’d want you to take me home.”
“Yeah, I did. Besides, I want to take you home.”
Cocky, arrogant bastard.
Gobsmacked, I can’t find the words to tell him off without making me look like a lunatic.
Confusion clouds my thoughts, and I silently get into the Lamborghini, buckle up, and watch him while he starts the car.
Minutes later, my senses sharpen. “Let me see if I have this right. You don’t want to kiss me.”
I look away from him and squeeze my eyes shut for the briefest instant, not wanting to relive that humiliating moment. “But you wanted to go home with me?”
“Mm-hmm.” His brutal honesty is both refreshing and annoying as fuck, and I’m rendered speechless.
Once at my apartment, I take a long, hot shower and change into comfy clothes. When I return, Zero’s at the front door with Elvis.
“Here you go.” The young man hands him three grocery bags. “I wasn’t sure what to get so I grabbed whatever.”
The boy shrugs sheepishly and then blushes when he spots me hanging back. I wave once again.
Zero’s all business and starts to advance on the boy in his nonverbal way of saying we’re done and get lost. “I’ll text you.”
“Wait, where’s he going?” The question is for Zero, who may not realize I’m behind him, but I look to Elvis.
“I’m—” Elvis starts and Zero interjects, “He’s watching my car.”
Like he did that day at the Harbor—and I want to scream. An indignancy I don’t expect rises in me, fiery and quick like lighter fluid to an already burning flame.
“What? He can’t stay out there all night. It’s hot and he needs to sleep.” I don’t recognize my motherly-like concern.
Elvis smiles and quickly checks it when he notices Zero’s glare. “I’m fine. Really. It isn’t that bad at this time of night, and I’ll have the windows down.” He chuckles dryly and drops his gaze to the floor for a split second as if embarrassed. “I’ve slept in worse places before.”
I grimace at the thought of those places and swiftly slam the door shut on that line of thinking. It’ll only rile me up more.
Finally, Zero spares me a look over his shoulder. “See?”
Glowering at him, I twist on my heel and hold up a finger. “Hang on.”
I rush to the kitchen and grab what I think Elvis might need before racing back to the front door. My side brushes past Zero’s solid arm—he’s hot and unmoving, and his tobacco-and-spice scent teases my nose—as I thrust drinks and food into the boy’s hands.
“Take this and if you need the bathroom, come back up. Any time.”
His cheeks flush a dark crimson and his smile deepens, only to be snuffed out with a look at his boss over my shoulder. Elvis leaves, muttering thanks, and when I turn around to face Zero, once more he’s impassive.
“Satisfied?” He shakes his head and walks into the living room. “Not that I need to tell you this, but I told him to buy whatever he wanted when he got this for me.” He holds up his hands full with the shopping bags.
“How was I to know?” I sniff and sit on the opposite end of the sofa from him.
“Maybe if you started thinking better of me.”
I scoff and roll my eyes, knowing anything so immature as that would annoy him.
He shakes his head once more and unpacks the bags.
“What is all this?” I hover over the haul of chocolate, candy, and chips Zero dumps onto the coffee table.
A bitter fear barrels down my spine like a bulldozer when a bag of candy corn drops onto the pile. I snatch them up and march into the kitchen, insides roiling like a vicious storm, and throw the unopened bag into the trash.
“Okay, so you don’t like candy corn.” Zero stands in the doorway, leaning against the wall with a large bag of popcorn in his hand. Expression curious, always observing. “Noted.”
Tears spring to my eyes and I slap a shaky hand over my mouth to fight the intense urge to vomit.
“Fuck.” In one giant stride he’s in front of me, wiping my tears. “Fuck, Morgan, I should have remembered.”
My head snaps up to his. “You know?”
He nods, and for a moment I’d forgotten he knew it all. The memories of that night flood back. And of course Zero would know. He read the police report, saw the crime scene photos.
We awkwardly stand there and I sense his indecision. Should he comfort me? Hold me? Or not? I save us from any intimacy and step out of his grasp.
“Did you find out if the account in the Keys is Randy?”
It takes him a second to switch gears. “Um, not yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Uh, have dinner at my place tomorrow. We’ll talk about it then. Let’s keep that away from tonight.”
I burst out laughing and glance to the garbage can. “It’s a little too late for that.” I run a hand down my face. “Okay. I get it, but I have to work tomorrow night.”
The look he gives me suggests he knew as much. “Lunch then.”
“And we’ll talk about Randy?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I’m kind of awed that he’s invited me to his place. Is he opening up? “So what do you want to do? We could watch Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.”
He nods, and I spy the popcorn bag still in his hand and grab it out of his grip. “Oh my God, now these, I love.”
It isn’t any ordinary popcorn. This particular brand is a mix of cheese and caramel flavored popcorn. A unique blend of savory and sweet. Opening a cupboard, I pull out two bowls and scurry back to the living room to place the bowls in front of where each of us was sitting.
“Have you seen the movie?” He watches me open the bag.
“No.”
“So does this mean you won’t fall asleep?”
I laugh and pick out another couple of caramel pops and dump them into my bowl. “If it’s a good movie, I won’t fall asleep. Besides, I’m not tired.”
He takes the bag from me and begins to pick out specific kernels, just like I did. Suddenly cold, I stall at my task of double-checking I’ve got the popcorn I want in my bowl.
