Raw Deal(19)

"Thanks for telling me that," she said to the other woman. "I know it's probably hard to talk about. But I needed to hear it."

"I will vouch for him anytime. He's getting a lot of shit in the press  lately, you know? It makes me so mad." Jenna abandoned the knife with a  clatter on the cutting board as Savannah tensed, hoping she wasn't about  to say anything Savannah didn't want to hear. "I guess it's sort of to  be expected, I mean, we know what opinions are like, right? Everyone has  one. But don't listen to any of that crap, not that you have been. We  know him. He's good people."

"I believe you," Savannah said quietly, piling lettuce and a tomato slice on her bun. She still hadn't quite gone off alert.

"It'll all blow over soon and everyone will be caught up in the next scandal, anyway, right?"

For that matter, they already were. Savannah mostly avoided sports news,  but on the few occasions she'd let herself take a peek, there wasn't  much being said. Tommy was already becoming a distant memory. That was  perhaps the saddest thing of all: how soon one could be forgotten. He  wasn't a scandal, or a tough break, she thought. He was my brother, and  he was loved.

She couldn't let herself forget.

In the end, she did have a drink-she needed it-but stopped at one. The  food was delicious, and out on the deck the conversation flew fast and  furious, but as the outsider, Savannah didn't partake much after the  exchange in the kitchen. Like the guy in the elevator, Jenna hadn't  meant any harm, but her words had cast a pall. She'd only wanted to  defend her friend and hero, and that was okay. It was wonderful that  these people held Michael in high regard, and he seemed to return the  sentiment. He drank a couple of beers, joked and laughed as if this were  a normal date where no one had a care in the world, and she found  herself wishing so hard that it could be that way.

Why? God, just . . . why?





Chapter Ten


"They seemed nice," she said as Mike unlocked the door to his house.

"They are. They've put up with me enough, that's for sure."

When he ushered her in before him, she stepped inside. "Oh, I don't  think ‘put up' is what they do with you," she said wryly, trying vainly  to tame her hair.

"I guess you got the story Jenna loves to tell."

"Immediately. I got that story within the first thirty seconds."

He chuckled, and she was struck by the way his lips perfectly framed his  strong white teeth. Oh God, he's gorgeous. Even as short as his hair  was, it hadn't escaped the wind's havoc. The beers had brought a flush  to his cheeks. "Yeah, she's a little enthusiastic. He'd pretty much  gotten himself out of the riptide, kid's a strong swimmer. He knew what  to do, which way to swim. I just made sure he made it back to shore  without getting tired."                       
       
           



       

Well, he had his side, Jenna had hers, and the truth was probably  somewhere in the middle. "Either way, it's pretty damn incredible of you  to do that. It was still risky."

"I suppose." His eyes were like blue ice, yet the full force of them somehow burned.

She wanted nothing more than to continue what they'd started on the  beach, but it was almost two A.M.-she'd wanted to be back at her hotel  by now. Luckily, checking her phone showed no urgent messages from  Rowan, though her mother had tried to call her three times. Probably  beside herself and wanting to know if they were still alive, but it was  too late to call her back now.

"Everything okay?" he asked as she slipped her phone back into her purse.

"Yes."

"Want a drink?"

Sighing, she made her decision, though it was the last thing on earth she wanted. "I'd better get back."

"I thought you might say that. Hoped you wouldn't, but thought you might."

"I don't want to," she admitted.

He leaned his arms on the kitchen counter, and she couldn't tear her  eyes away from the flex of those forearms. The man's veins were a wonder  to behold. "It's fucked up," he said ruefully. "I know."

But it hadn't felt fucked up when he kissed her out there. Despite any  objections her mind had wanted to throw at her then or afterward, it had  felt wonderful. It had felt right.

Maybe Rowan had said it best. I can be sad tomorrow, I can be sad for  the rest of this month and all of the next, or the rest of my life if I  have to be. What was wrong with taking a night off from reality?

It was her heart at stake, that's what. Everything felt so good, so  right, what if she spent the night with him only to discover he was  truly everything she'd ever dreamed of? That would be the ultimate  heartbreak. She didn't know if she could be strong enough to walk away,  and walk away she must.

"I'll do whatever you want." The way he looked at her then-God, the way  he always looked at her-eyes so intense and piercing, made her mouth run  dry. "You want to leave, I'll take you. You want to stay . . ." He  grinned, and her mind supplied what she figured he was thinking: I'll  take you. She shivered. "Then you can stay," he finished.

"I would have to be back early," she said softly. "Before Rowan misses me."

"I'm sure we can manage that."

"I didn't bring anything."

He pushed away from the counter and walked around it, advancing on her  slowly. She swallowed dryly, never as struck by his sheer size as when  he was close to her. And she wasn't short by any means. "What do you  need?"

"Um . . . toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, something to sleep in . . ."

"I have most of that here." Closer. One corner of his mouth kicked up.  "And don't worry, you smell pretty damn good. You tasted pretty damn  good too."

A flush crept up her cheeks. "I've had onions since then." Oh, hell,  that's sexy, she scolded herself. The blond trophy standing beside him  tonight at the concert would never have mentioned having onion breath to  him, Savannah just knew it.

But he laughed. And he'd tasted and smelled pretty damn good too. She  could smell him now: the salt of the gulf, grill smoke, and something  faint and fleeting-his cologne, perhaps. Her heart tripped over itself,  and her breathing quickened to compensate for its frantic beat. As he  drew nearer, his warmth permeated her skin. Even through her clothes,  through his, she could feel it. When we're skin to skin, she thought,  he'll incinerate me.

God help her, she wanted to burn. Burn until there was nothing left of  her heart and mind but ashes, no room to think, no time to second-guess.

He must have seen or sensed the moment she broke, the moment she gave in  to this. His hands caught her head and tilted her lips to his, claiming  them in a way that was nothing like that gentle, tentative exploration  on the beach. Now he possessed her. Fingers in her hair, holding her  fast while his mouth devoured hers and drew out the last of her  strength, any lingering protests, and an abundance of helpless whimpers.  She'd never felt so deliciously weak, so shaken to her core from a  kiss.

But then he broke away and she blinked dazedly, almost embarrassing  herself by chasing after him. "You sure you want this? You're shaking."

So she was. But not from fear or any sense of hesitation. His thumbs  stroked her cheeks. This close, she could see the dark fringe of his  eyelashes and tiny scars here and there, showing themselves as only  slight discolorations against the darker tone of his skin. The imperfect  lines of his nose where it had been broken God only knew how many  times. So much pain. It made her ache to think of the torture he'd put  himself through for his family, and now for a living, even if it was a  good living. Lifting her hand, she gently touched one of the larger  scars that almost cut into his right eyebrow.                       
       
           



       

"Savannah," he said gruffly, "I'm going to make you say it. If you can't, then I'll take you back right now."

"I want this." She swallowed again, drew a breath. "I want you." And all  the air left her lungs, because he bent down to grasp her ass and lift  her against him until they were face-to-face, her dress all bunched up  in his hands, baring her legs. Through the thin material, his fingers  were hot as a brand, and so close to her center, which was suddenly damp  and aching. He deposited her on the kitchen island, rock-solid abs  holding her thighs open. It gave her a rare flash of self-consciousness.  What had she done? Maybe someone as ripped as he was preferred athletic  types, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the inside of  a gym. But he kissed her again and suddenly her body didn't give a shit  what it looked like-it only wanted this man.