Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) (3 page)

BOOK: Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals)
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Yet still, he didn’t let her go. She was all warmth and expensive softness, like the fancy material of her T-shirt, like a luxury he couldn’t afford. And Christ, it had been so fucking long since he’d allowed himself any luxuries. “Not usually. I make exceptions for pretty girls hanging around in places they shouldn’t.”
She muttered something under her breath. “Okay, you win. Clearly I can’t fight you off. Now can you please let me the hell go?”
He didn’t really want to, which was a worry, but he forced his fingers to release her, stepping back to give her some space. “If you’d taken my class you would have known what to do. I give tips on the right way to knee a guy in the balls.”
She’d pushed herself away from the wall and was smoothing down her T-shirt, her other hand still clutching her ridiculous designer purse. “Thank you, but no thank you,” she said in a crisp, scrupulously polite voice. “I keep telling you, I’m not here for the classes.”
“Why not?”
She stopped smoothing. “Because I don’t agree with using violence as a means to defend myself, that’s why.”
Jesus. He wanted to laugh, nearly did. That kind of attitude was nice for the people who could afford it, shitty for the people who couldn’t. “So what would you have done if I’d been seriously trying to hurt you just now? Cut me to death with some sharp words?”
Something shifted in her dark eyes. “But you didn’t hurt me. I was fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s it to you anyway?”
“You got a problem with me not wanting to see a woman get hurt?”
She looked away at that. “No. Of course not.”
There was a strange, tense sort of silence.
Fuck, what
was
it about her? Was it the fact she wasn’t falling all over herself to get in his pants? Or was it the air of expensive privilege around her that made him want to smash through it and show her what the real world was all about? Or was it because he just wanted to touch something soft and beautiful for a change?
Oh, hell no. You can’t do that. Remember?
Yeah. He did. And really, he should be getting back to the gym and stop wasting time proving whatever the fuck he was trying to prove to this woman. People like her never got it anyway.
Yet he didn’t move. “What’s your name?” he asked, because he realized he didn’t know.
She gave him a wary look. “Tamara. Tamara Lennox.”
“Okay, Tamara Lennox. Two things. One, you’re not gonna find a taxi because they don’t come down this end of the city at night. And two, if you walk out of here right now, despite my warnings, you’re on your own. Got it?”
One fair eyebrow arched. “I think I got it. And I have a phone. I’ll call a company.”
Let her go. She thinks she can handle it? Let her. She’s no concern of yours.
Zee fought down the automatic denial. He’d been there, done that with a woman before and it had all turned to shit. He wasn’t doing it again.
“Suit yourself,” he said.
Giving him a last wary look, Tamara Lennox turned gracefully on her heel and headed down the hallway to the exit.
He watched her all the way and tried not to wonder if he’d just made a big mistake.
Chapter 2
T
amara stepped onto the cracked pavement outside and instantly wished she’d decided to go with Rose to the club instead of insisting on going home.
The night was hot and there were a few more people around than there had been before. A gang of youths laughed and catcalled outside a liquor store across the street, while at the seedy-looking bar a bit farther down a drunk had collapsed onto the pavement.
A group of young women in short skirts, tattoos, and piercings approached, giving Tamara some scornful looks and yelling a few obscene comments as they passed by.
She ignored them, too caught up in the fact that her heartbeat was racing and parts of her skin felt burned, like she’d pressed up against a hot oven door. And that she was almost shaking with anger.
And the worst part of all was that she didn’t even know why.
Yes, you do.
Okay, so it was Zee. It was the fact that he’d been an asshole and caging her against that wall had been an egregious invasion of her personal space. But she was normally way cooler at handling stuff like that. For example, she’d been expertly dealing with her boss being a giant bastard for the past six months now, yet even he hadn’t managed to get her as wound up as Zee had in five seconds flat.
It’s not just anger you’re feeling.
She swallowed, wanting to deny it to herself, yet knowing she couldn’t. Because the effect his physical presence had on her was still echoing through her body. She could still feel the intensity of the heat that had radiated from him. Still smell the scent of oil and sweat, and that unforgettable spice. And when she closed her eyes, she could still see his looking back. A clear, perfect gray with a darker charcoal around the edges, like tarnished silver....
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she held it. Then let it out.
Damn. She couldn’t feel attracted to him. She already had a boyfriend, and even besides that, why on earth would she be attracted to anyone who shoved her up against a wall and dared her to try to move him? Okay, so he might be incredible to look at, but he had scars all over his face and tattoos all over his body. And she’d never gone for the bad-boy look.
So why are you still thinking about him? Come on, you’ve been so restless, wanting something like this to happen....
Tamara shut down that thought hard. Nothing was going to happen, Zee was the very opposite of her type and she shouldn’t be feeling any of this stuff for him. She needed to get a handle on herself, lock it all down.
Not exactly the right behavior for a Lennox, after all.
Yet . . . her thigh burned from where he’d held it. And she could almost feel the imprint of each finger even through the denim of her jeans. The sheer strength of that grip and the speed with which he’d moved . . .
Robert had never held her like that. He had always been very restrained and respectful. And he certainly had never made her feel that tight, half-scared, half-excited feeling.
She swallowed. Why the hell was she thinking about Robert? And why was she comparing him with Zee? Okay, she was
really
insane now and she should definitely be paying attention to her surroundings, not thinking about stupid Zee.
She took another look around.
The youths across the street were shouting about something, and one of them had his head turned in her direction. Down the sidewalk to her right, the door to a building opened with a crash and a group of guys burst out of it, all laughing hysterically.
A deep sense of unease settled in her gut.
Zee hadn’t been wrong. Hanging around here on her own was a really bad idea. In her designer gear, she looked exactly like what she was: a poor little rich girl stuck in the wrong part of town. She should have worn something more inconspicuous, except she’d thought she
was
wearing something inconspicuous. Which was stupid in retrospect. Grosse Point jeans and a T-shirt was obviously going to be different from Royal Road jeans and a T-shirt.
She shouldn’t have insisted she was fine. She shouldn’t have let him get to her.
Forcing away the gathering panic in her gut, she scrabbled in her purse for her phone. Time to call a cab company and see if someone could come and pick her up. Yet when she pressed the button on the phone to turn it on, the screen lit up briefly, then went dark.
Shit. She was out of power. All that sitting around in the gym checking her e-mail must have drained the last of her battery. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
“Still here, pretty girl?”
Tamara turned sharply to see Zee closing the gym door behind him, then locking it.
A peculiar relief gripped her. He was an asshole and she
really
didn’t want to ask him for help, but it was either that or she continued standing here like an idiot, putting herself at risk of being some wolf’s breakfast. And she didn’t want that. She had things to do.
“Oh hey,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as scared as she feared she did. “I was going to ring the cab company, but . . . well . . .” She waved the phone at him. “I ran out of power. I don’t suppose I could borrow yours, could I?”
Zee glanced at the phone, then gave her a long, silent look that made her feel like she was five years old.
“Okay, so you were right,” she said, now both annoyed
and
afraid. “Standing out on the sidewalk here
was
a really silly idea. But I’m trying to take care of it and I could really use your help.”
A smile that looked suspiciously smug curved his mouth. Then he turned away from the gym door, already starting down the sidewalk. “Come on,” he said. “We’re gonna have to go by the garage to get my car.”
“Wait, what?” Tamara stumbled after him, unwilling to let him vanish into the darkness and leave her stranded. “What do you mean get your car?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll need it if I’m gonna give you a ride home.”
“A ride home?” An inexplicable thrill went through her. A thrill she forced away. “I don’t need a ride home. Just let me borrow your phone and I’ll call a cab.”
Zee shook his head. “Like I told you, cabs don’t come down here after dark. So unless you’re planning on standing on the sidewalk all night, you’re gonna have to go with me.”
Tamara hesitated. She really didn’t want to go with him. She didn’t know him from Adam and apart from anything else, the thought of being stuck in a small space such as a car with him for any length of time was . . .
exciting?
No, not exciting. Definitely not exciting.
“Make up your mind, pretty girl.” Zee was already turning, heading down the sidewalk again. “Not gonna wait forever for you to decide. I got shit to do tonight.”
Well, it wasn’t like she had a choice. If she didn’t go now, she’d be stuck here and being stuck here was a very bad idea.
Swallowing her trepidation or whatever the hell it was, Tamara followed him wordlessly, having to walk quickly to keep up with his long stride. Thank God she’d gone for trainers instead of heels.
He didn’t speak as he walked or glance over his shoulder to make sure she was behind him and that suited her just fine. She definitely didn’t want to talk to him, not that she would know what to say. It wasn’t like they would have had much in common anyway.
Eventually he stopped outside a big metal roller door near the corner of the block, the words
BLACK’S VINTAGE REPAIR AND RESTORATION
spray-painted artistically on the front of it. There was a small door at the side, which he pushed open, jerking his head at her to indicate she was to go in first.
After a slight hesitation, Tamara did so, walking into a huge garage space brightly lit by fluorescent lighting along the ceiling. There were motorcycles everywhere, with parts neatly arranged along workshop counters that ran the length of the walls on either side of her. Banks of metal shelves full of tools and paint and other mechanical paraphernalia stood near one of the counters, beside a massive row of grimy windows. Some of the panes were cracked, others replaced with different colored glass, and it looked like it would let in a lot of light during the day. Right now, neon flashed across the glass, and through some of the open windows, the sounds of a raucous summer night filtered in.
God, it was hot. Her T-shirt was already starting to stick to her back.
Sparks abruptly lit an area off to her right, where an old-looking motorcycle was up on a stand. A powerfully built man in faded blue overalls stood bent over it, a welding torch in his hand. Beyond that was parked a huge, black muscle car, the garage lighting gleaming over the glossy paintwork.
Zee’s car, no question.
Another movement caught her eye, the sound of a light female voice filling the quiet as the welding torch shut off. A woman sat on the worktop, legs dangling. She had black curly hair caught in a ponytail on top of her head and glasses on the end of her nose, and she wore frayed denim shorts, a black tank, and motorcycle boots.
Footsteps sounded and Tamara looked up to see another woman coming down a set of metal stairs that led up to what looked like an office. This woman’s long hair was loose over her shoulders and dyed a brilliant electric blue. She wore the tiniest denim miniskirt Tamara had ever seen, a black T-shirt, black platform boots, and a studded metal belt. The bright colors of a full-sleeve tattoo covered one of her arms and a silver ring gleamed in her nose. “I ordered,” the woman said as she came down the stairs. “Zee’s not eating with us tonight is he? ’Cause if he is, he’s going to be hungry.”
“I’m not,” Zee said as he stepped past Tamara. “I’ve got a fight later tonight.”
Everyone turned in the direction of Zee’s voice and Tamara braced herself.
“Who the hell is this?” The blue-haired woman had stopped on the stairs, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“This is Tamara.” Zee moved over to the black car. “She was at my class. I’m giving her a ride home.”
“I thought you didn’t fuck the women in your classes?”
“Rachel.” The man in the blue overalls put back the welding mask he wore over his face, his voice deep, and rough, and a touch reproving. He was tall as Zee and as broad, but older and more heavily muscled. His features were roughly handsome, his nose crooked, as if it had been broken at one time or another. Black stubble lined his strong jaw, while shaggy black hair curled over his collar. If Zee was the lithely muscled martial artist, this man was the heavyweight boxer. “Hey, Tamara,” the man said, giving her an easy, friendly smile.
Tamara gave him a tight smile back. “Hi.”
“I’m Gideon and this is Zoe.” He jerked his head toward the younger woman perched on the bench. “Oh and ignore Rachel. She’s pretty much rude to everyone.”
Rachel folded her arms, scowling.
“Hey.” Zoe lifted a hand. There was a smile on her face, but the big golden eyes behind her glasses were guarded.
Tamara felt her expression become fixed. She felt like she’d just crashed a small, exclusive, and intimate party, where everyone knew everyone else and strangers were definitely not welcome.
“I just need to grab the car,” Zee said, pulling his keys from the pocket of his sweats.
“Sure.” Gideon put down the welding torch. “Want me to get the door?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Zee glanced at Tamara. “Come on, get in.”
The two other women were gazing at her speculatively as she made her way across the garage to where the big black car stood. She tried to ignore them and the awkward tension that had suddenly pulled tight in the garage as she pulled open the passenger door and climbed in.
The car had black leather seats and smelled of polish and oil. Kind of like Zee, now that she thought about it. Did that mean he worked here? Obviously he knew the people and they seemed like friends. Perhaps one of the women was his girlfriend? Then again, the blue-haired woman, Rachel, had said something about him not screwing the women in his classes, so maybe not.
Zee got in the other side as the grinding rattle of the roller door being drawn up echoed through the space. He stuck a key in the ignition, turned it, and the car’s engine started in a low, smooth rumble.
“What’s your address?” he asked as the car slid out of the garage.
She didn’t want to tell him all of a sudden. If he knew where she lived, that meant he could find her again. And she didn’t want him finding her again.
What makes you think he’d even want to?
Well, he might not. But then again, he was a total stranger. She knew nothing about him other than the fact he could move fast and could probably kill her before she was even aware of being in danger. Which made it far better to be safe than sorry.
She gave him Rose’s Midtown address instead. She could easily take a taxi from there to her own apartment.
Zee pulled out into the traffic while Tamara tried to pretend the heavy, tense silence that filled the car didn’t exist. Their encounter in the hallway was all too fresh in her head, not to mention her own reaction to it, and she didn’t want it there. She didn’t want to talk either, didn’t want to interact with him in any way. All she wanted was for the car journey to be over, to be in her own apartment, with his disturbing presence out of her life.
“You’re really pissed with me, aren’t you?”
The husky rumble of his voice, not to mention his observation, sent a little pulse of shock through her. How the hell had he picked up on that? “No, I’m not,” she managed, at least sounding relatively calm.
“Bullshit. You’re fucking mad as hell.”
She held her purse on her lap, her fingers tight on the leather. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re holding yourself all tense and your knuckles are white.”
Tamara flashed him a glance. He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze firmly out the front windshield. “I’m not.”
BOOK: Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals)
2.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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