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  BJ’s had once been a grocery store, but had since been converted into three adjoining bars, each recognizable by different music. Eighties hair bands took up the former checkout, bakery and deli sections. Then came a wall, punctuated with three sets of swinging doors. In the area that had once housed rows of canned goods, pet food, sugary kid cereal and tampons was where the honky-tonk crowd hung. Willow hustled me out of there. In the former stockroom was where we usually played on the few rare occasions Willow talked me into going out. The music ranged from Alice in Chains to Nirvana to Tool, and Willow was right—the guys were hotter. Not that I usually looked.

  I hadn’t come here for anything other than liquor-induced escape.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  I wasn’t brave enough to look much deeper.

  “Watch and learn.” Willow turned to me, adjusting her push-up bra. “I expect to have a free Crown and Coke in my hands in three, two, one…”

  She left me to strut toward the bar. I should have been nervous on my own, but I honestly was too drunk to care.

  The hazy air throbbed with vintage Pearl Jam and for the longest time, I stood stone still on the edge of the fray, just taking it all in. Couples dancing. Couples laughing. Couples leaning their heads together for deep-mouthed kisses so primal I felt voyeuristic watching. And then I felt hungry, angry and frustrated by having no outlet for my own sexual needs other than squeezing my thighs together, willing my racing pulse to slow, willing the old nemesis away.

  Desire was no longer in my vocabulary.

  Unfortunately, the vodka said horny was.

  Needing more to drink, I found Willow. The target she’d found looked like an off-duty mechanic. He wore jeans and a dark blue shirt with a patch that read Tim.

  We exchanged pleasantries that grew more pleasant when he bought me three double shots of Skyy.

  Buckcherry wailed about a crazy bitch and the bass centered in my core. I became that bitch. Needed with every breath of my being to be her. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I’d willingly return to my self-imposed coffin.

  Not needing a dance floor, I closed my eyes, waving my arms Mata Hari style over my head, swaying my ass, my full, aching breasts, all the parts of me I struggled on a daily basis to forget. And then he was there, my emerald-eyed stranger, slipping his hands around my waist in a way so perfect I couldn’t have dreamt it. A slow version of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” began to play. And I did hurt. Still hurt. Would always hurt. My eyes stung and my throat ached and when the stranger leaned in to kiss me, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  I didn’t know him.

  He didn’t know me.

  Yet in that moment, nothing mattered but the music. The heady sexual power coursing through every inch of me. My arms fell in a slow tumble, resting around his neck. I slid my splayed fingers into his hair, pressing him closer, deeper. I was in control and I pushed him into the nearest dark corner where, when our midsections brushed, there was no denying his attraction. I was wet and humming, flying in a netherworld of raw emotion. All of it turned topsy-turvy in my head and I couldn’t stop kissing, kissing this stranger.

  I raised my right leg, rubbing it up the length of him. He caught me by the backside of my thigh, clenching me hard, pulling me against his raging erection. My dress rose higher and higher until air kissed my pulsing core and my thong wedged deep, creating maddening pressure.

  Not thinking, just doing, I reached for his waistband, tugging, struggling to find the button.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Let’s take this outside.”

  I nodded.

  We somehow found an emergency exit and stumbled through, crashing against the concrete block wall on the far side of a Dumpster. The cold didn’t matter, because I was so hot. I wanted this—him—desperately until nothing mattered but getting him inside me, pounding out the hurt, the pain, the confusion that never granted me peace. I wasn’t dead. I was so very much alive, but screaming through a self-induced coma this stranger had somehow broken through.

  Our kissing took on a fevered pitch, a mad, wanton sweeping of our tongues. He tasted of vodka and lime and hope.

  He let me spring his cock free and when I knelt to blow him, his satisfied groan tore through me. “Christ…Just like that. Don’t ever stop…”

  Suck it good, baby! Oh yeah, that’s the way your Blaine Daddy likes it!

  Like a needle scratching a record, sanity returned.

  I froze, letting his still hard cock pop from my mouth. What was I doing? This was insanity—beyond that, it was sick. I wasn’t horny, but clearly needed psychiatric help.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I said, now shivering, crying so hard mascara ran into my eyes. “I-I can’t do this. I thought I could. I wanted to, but—”

  Unable to finish my sentence, I did the only thing I’d ever been good at—running.

  2

  Julie

  “Hey! Wait!” he called after me.

  Adrenaline surged through me and I couldn’t stop running. What if he hurt me? What if the abuse started up all over again?

  My hair fell and streamed behind me, only the wind caught it, tangling and tugging it and causing it to block my mouth. I clawed at it, frenzied for fresh air.

  With his long legs, the stranger easily overpowered me. Knowing I couldn’t escape, I cowered against a mud-crusted truck bed. “P-please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t stop again.”

  “Shh…” He knelt alongside me, drawing me against his warm, solid strength. “I don’t have a clue what happened back there, but if you want to stop, we’re stopping. End of story.” While I cried and shivered against him, he stroked my hair. “Shh…Everything’s okay. I promise, whoever hurt you, they’ll never do it again.”

  I nodded against him, wanting to believe it.

  He released me long enough to remove his shirt, then wrap me in it.

  His radiated warmth touched my soul. His simple kindness made me cry all the harder.

  “Look,” he said, still holding me, still sweetly stroking my hair, “remember how I told you I’m stuck in town? Waiting for my ride to be repaired?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’m staying at a motel just down the road. How about we go back there—just to talk? Hang out. Sober up.”

  Yes. That sounded good. Only I didn’t want him to let me go. Only my teeth chattered too hard to say any of that, so I just clung to him, hoping he somehow understood.

  “Christ…” He was now shivering, too. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “E-Ella.” He was so kind, I couldn’t bear being Julie Smith with him.

  “That’s pretty.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’m Liam. Ready to go?”

  —

  What was I doing?

  Upon ushering me into his shabby, but clean, motel room, Liam had drawn me a bath, then instructed me to get in, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later, he’d opened the door just wide enough to shove through a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a San Francisco 49ers T-shirt. The whole time, he’d rambled about how he thought I might be more comfortable in warm clothes.

  I now sat in the still steaming water, no longer shivering on the outside, but trembling up a storm inside. Liam didn’t have a clue how messed up I was, and with any luck, his car would soon be fixed and I’d never see him again.

  A knock sounded on the door. “You okay in there?”

  “Yeah.” I instinctively covered the secret shame I couldn’t bear for him to see. “Be right out.”

  “No hurry. Just checking in.”

  “Th-thanks.” I’d thought all the tears were gone, but my eyes once again stung. Liam was so nice. But then once upon a time, Blaine had wooed me, showering me with pricey shoes and purses and a gorgeous house that had never been a home. The best thing about Liam was that he was just like me. Down on his luck and real. Unlike me, I sensed he was genuine to his core.

  Though I’d never have the opp
ortunity to share more than our few stolen kisses, I instinctively knew he’d be an amazing lover. Warm and tender and considerate to a fault. Maybe in another life, I could have been with a guy like him. Now, I had no business being with anyone.

  Using the sides of the tub for leverage, I pushed myself free from my watery cocoon.

  I was instantly cold again and hurried to dress, but beyond that, I hurried to cover Blaine’s ugly souvenirs.

  I’d used the motel shampoo to wash the smell of smoke from my hair. The tiny bar of soap to scrub clean my face. Staring into the mirror, I found inky black mascara and eyeliner stubbornly clinging. I halfheartedly swiped at it with a washcloth, but figured what was the point? I wasn’t trying to impress Liam, but merely trying to survive the night.

  At an instinctive level, I knew I was physically safe, but my emotions were a whole other story. He made me miss the girl I used to be. Ella. An always smiling beauty queen who hadn’t believed in the devil. Only now I knew he was real, and no matter the personal cost, I couldn’t afford to have an unguarded soul.

  I tugged on Liam’s clothes. I hadn’t worn flannel since I was a small child, and the fuzzy warmth made me purr. His cotton T-shirt was soft from many washings and smelled clean, like sunshine and fresh-mown grass. Liam seemed to represent all that was honest and trustworthy and good. And I wanted to be all of those things for him. Only beyond his name, I knew nothing about him. And I wouldn’t allow him to learn anything about me.

  After putting on my rarely absent bra, I pulled Liam’s shirt over my head. It hung practically to my knees, but felt so good. I stooped to roll up the pajama bottoms and then took a deep, fortifying breath before slowly opening the door.

  I crept into the bedroom to find the only light coming from the TV. I turned on a lamp. The Hangover played with no sound, and Liam had fallen asleep on one of the two queen beds.

  He must have cranked up the heat, as the room was warm.

  On a small table in front of the only window was an obscene stash of candy, chips and soda. Had he raided the vending machine? My stomach growled, reminding me that it had been hours since I’d last eaten.

  I took one of the room’s two chairs, devouring a Snickers and bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, then washing it all down with a Sprite.

  I drew my feet onto the chair, hugging my knees, unsure what to do. Knowing what I wanted to do.

  Liam had rolled onto his side. His shaggy hair hid his left eye, and my fingertips itched to brush it back so I could see all of him. He wore his jeans and no shirt or socks. Was I wearing his pajamas?

  Even in his sleep, he possessed a latent strength. His body was ripped. Stone hard on the outside, with what I suspected was an inner heart of gold. Despite that, I couldn’t lose sight of the fact that he was the kind of guy who wanted fancy mustard and knew how to wield just the right amount of charm to make me not only want to get it for him, but think it had been my idea. How messed up was that? Maybe I wasn’t the only one with issues?

  Rising, I yawned.

  I had work tomorrow and should try getting some sleep.

  The two beds taunted me. Clearly, the right decision would be taking the empty one.

  So why did I not only climb in alongside Liam, but spoon him from behind, resting my cheek against his broad back, breathing him in?

  3

  Liam

  I woke to the sound of sleet clawing the windows and my legs entangled with the girl’s—Ella. She used my chest for a pillow and her crazy dark hair had made a nest beneath my nose. Only I didn’t care. Because she smelled good. Clean and soapy. Innocent.

  I liked that about her—her innocence. The fact that she probably didn’t even know that when she’d turned me down it had come as one of the biggest surprises I’d had in a while. And as such, one of the biggest turn-ons. I wouldn’t call myself a man-slut, but I never lack for female company. Funny thing was, that hadn’t always been the case.

  She stirred against me, snuggling deeper into me. I helped her by holding her close.

  Something about her made me want to protect her. At the same time, her breathy mew had me instantly hard. She was the living embodiment of a sex kitten. Petite and fragile and equally, hot as hell.

  Would I get farther with her sober than I had drunk?

  My protective streak kicked in, wanting to bust my own ass for even thinking the question.

  This girl was special. Only judging by her bizarre reaction in the bar’s parking lot, she was also damaged goods. What kind of monster hurt a girl like her? She had creamy, smooth skin with a few freckles, and her dark blue eyes reminded me of blueberries. Her lashes were ridiculously long, giving her a sooty, perpetually pouty stare that when combined with her full lips made her lethal to my self-control. That was a problem, because with women, as with everything else in my carefully structured world, control was key.

  As a kid and young teen, I’d been pushed around too many times, and since turning an age that I was able to do something about it, I hadn’t learned to merely push back, but shove. I no longer took shit from anyone.

  She stirred again, this time raising her thigh up the length of me, much like she had at the bar. It had the same effect on me now as it had then. I felt near exploding, and it was all her fault. My sleepy little sex kitten, all curled up against me and purring, oblivious to the havoc she wrought beneath my fly.

  I felt her tense, and then she pressed her hands against my chest, using me to push herself up. The animal in me wanted to yank her back down, then make breakfast in her pants. The gentleman in me merely smiled. “Morning.”

  “Oh lord…”

  She tumbled back down, in the process, hiding her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry. I was hoping I’d been so drunk, I’d dreamt everything that happened, but no such luck.”

  “Relax. It’s all good.”

  “Really?” She peered up at me, and my breath caught in my throat. Even with wicked bed head, she was stunning.

  “Really.” I sat up just far enough to kiss her forehead. “But as much as I’m enjoying using you for a blanket, I’m starving. Want to grab something to eat?”

  —

  Ten minutes later, I kept a firm hold on her waist while she teetered on hooker heels across the motel’s gravel lot. She’d taken off the pajama bottoms and T-shirt I’d loaned her and slinked back into the red dress that hugged her like second skin.

  Upon opening the door to find more sleet, I’d once again removed my trusty red plaid shirt to put it on her. After partially buttoning it, then tying it halter style near her waist, I pulled on the 49ers T-shirt she had been wearing and away we went.

  “Thought Arkansas was in the South, and the South was supposed to be warm?” We were halfway across the lot and I was trying to play it cool, even though her perfect fit against me seriously messed with my head.

  “Yeah, doesn’t make much sense, huh?”

  When we were finally out of the blustery wind, the hostess of the hole-in-the-wall diner told us to seat ourselves. The place smelled of bacon, coffee and syrup and I wanted it all—especially the syrup, drizzled nice and slow over Ella’s perfect breasts.

  The nice guy in me gave myself a bitch slap. This morning—hell, all day—was about getting to know her. Judging by her previous actions, she was skittish, and the last thing I wanted, knowing I had two days to kill in this seedy little town, was for her to bolt.

  “What sounds good?” I asked after helping her into a corner booth.

  “Honestly?” Grinning, she covered her face and groaned. “Hot tea and Saltines. Think I may have overdone it last night.”

  “My dad swears cantaloupe’s a miracle hangover cure.”

  “What do you think?”

  Out of my element, yet oddly closer to my roots than I’d been in years, I messed with a salt shaker. “Never tried it.”

  She laughed. And I loved the sound, yet something about her made me feel like an uncool kid back in high school, caught in the cafeteria hittin
g on the Homecoming Queen.

  “Think they have fresh cantaloupe on the buffet? It costs $6.99. I would think for that much, we’d get some sort of extra bang for our buck.”

  She was back to covering her face with her hands. “Speaking of money, I don’t even know what happened to my purse. I think I left it at Willow’s and she carried my cash, which means I don’t have any.” She’d already stood. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Okay, whoa…” I stood, too, grabbing her by her arm in a stab at getting her to sit back down, only that was clearly the wrong move as she did exactly what I hadn’t wanted her to, which was bolt.

  Launching a now familiar chase, I caught up with her when she damn near broke her neck trying to run in her stupid heels. “Ella, stop! What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry, I—” She half sat, half fell onto the cracked bottom step. She was crying again, and last night’s makeup ran in ugly streaks, only on her, nothing could be ugly, which made it just sad.

  “Stop with the apologizing. Like seriously, don’t ever do it again.” I not only felt bad for her, but pissed that she’d once again run off. Plus, I was confused as to why. What was wrong with me? Had I read her all wrong, and by the light of day she wasn’t interested?

  It had been a decade since I’d felt rejection’s sting, and I didn’t like it, but practice had made me perfect at stoic acceptance.

  I rammed my hands in my pockets. “Fuck, it’s cold out here. If you need to have a meltdown, couldn’t you at least do it inside?”

  “Thanks for everything,” she said, “but I have to go. It was really nice meeting you, Liam. Hope your car gets fixed soon.”

  My car? Oh—right. “Ella, please…Whatever I did to piss you off now, I’m sorry. Come back inside. Have a good breakfast, or tea and crackers. I don’t care what you eat.” Or even if you eat at all. I just want to be with you. Make you smile.

  “I d-don’t have any money, and”—she raised her chin—“I don’t take charity.”

  “Who’s talking about charity? It’s a $6.99 buffet. Promise, it’s not gonna break me. And how come you let that guy buy you three double shots last night, but breakfast is all of a sudden a big deal? You don’t make sense.”