Wrecked (Axle Alley Vipers) Page 7

  He struggled to breathe, so far gone that raw lust pounded into him, had him close to the edge, close to insanity. “In the future, keep the music down. And put some fucking clothes on when you’re outside.” And as it turned out, jealous as hell. He didn’t want anyone else to see her like this. In his mind Piper was his. He’d claimed her as his when she was seventeen years old—he just hadn’t gotten around to telling her.

  He was behaving like a prize prick, could barely believe the shit coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t deal with what he’d seen in Piper’s eyes, couldn’t process what it might mean. Being an asshole to her was the only way he knew to keep her at a distance.

  She blinked several times, and the heat vanished as fast as it came, replaced by a different kind of heat. Fire. “Fine. But in future, if you want me to turn the music down? Send me a text. You have no right coming over here, bossing me around, and you certainly have no right commenting on the way I dress. If I want to parade around in…in…naked…while I paint my windows, I will. There’s a simple solution to prevent your tender sensibilities from being offended by the way I look, and that’s not to look.”

  Offended? “Piper…I didn’t mean…”

  “I know exactly what you meant. It’s not like you haven’t made your feelings about me perfectly clear.”

  What? “Hang on a minute…”

  “I don’t have time to talk. I have windows to paint.” She threw a hand out, motioning to the one she’d been working on, and her breasts jiggled again, firing all sorts of dirty images through his head. Piper naked, sitting on top of him, her full breasts swaying as she bounced on his cock. He tore his gaze from her chest.

  She stared back, daggers shooting from her eyes. And for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, could barely remember what they’d been talking about to begin with.

  Piper turned away from him, glancing across the road right as an older woman carrying a stack of cleaning supplies and dragging a vacuum cleaner behind her came out of the muffler shop there. God, Cole remembered her from before he went to the police academy. She’d been cleaning offices along Axle Alley for years.

  Before he could move to help her, Piper was jogging across the street, grabbing the vacuum, and loading her stuff into her car. She smiled at the woman, touched her arm while she talked to her. His fucking gut twisted into a knot.

  That was Piper in a nutshell. She’d always been one to help. So damn sweet.

  He watched her wave good-bye then stride back toward him, her beautiful smile morphing to a scowl when her blue eyes locked on his. Shit. The urge to pull her into his arms near overwhelmed him.

  “Right,” she said when she reached his side, not missing a beat, not acknowledging the kind thing she’d just done. She never did. To Piper it was no big deal. Going out of her way for others was just part of who she was. “It seems we’re done here. I’ll try to keep my music down from now on. I forgot how much older than me you are. We don’t want you getting cranky from lack of sleep.”

  Jesus. “I’m twenty-nine, Piper, only five years older than you.”

  She smirked. “Huh, seems like more.” She turned and picked up the paintbrush she’d dropped, plucking off the grass stuck to it. “Are we finished?”

  He did not want to walk away; he wanted to grab her around the waist and take her inside, into her room with all its ruffles and girly shit, and fuck her on her bright pink duvet, kiss that sexy mouth, spread her soft thighs and sink deep inside her.

  He wanted to make her his. Tell her how she was the only woman he wanted, would ever want.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’re finished.”

  “Wonderful.” She climbed back onto her chair and, he noted, made no move to turn down the music, not that that had been the problem in the first place.

  No, Piper was his problem, plain and simple.

  Reluctantly he turned away, left her where she was, delectable ass on display for anyone who drove past to see, and walked back to his apartment. Once inside, he tried to think of something else, anything else. Tried to get her out of his head, but it was impossible. He couldn’t forget the way she looked, the way she’d felt against him. Images real and imagined filled his head, and his cock continued to throb so hard he fucking ached for her.

  Pissed with himself but unable to stop, he went to the window, eyes locking on the pure temptation that was Piper West. Sweet, caring, and sexy as all hell. He should be there with her. If things were different, if he could turn back the clock—he’d be Piper’s man. He’d be there helping her paint the goddamn windows, and afterward, he’d carry her inside and wash her off, fuck her in their shower, make love to her in their bed.

  Jesus. He’d lost his goddamn mind.

  Growling, he gripped his erection through his jeans, squeezing to relieve the pain. It didn’t work, of course, not by a long shot.

  Undoing the button, he yanked down the fly and released his engorged cock. Taking it in hand, he gripped the bench with the other so his legs didn’t buckle underneath him and tugged on his erection, hard, almost brutally.

  He didn’t look away from Piper as he fucked his fist hard enough to force all the oxygen from his lungs. Relentless pulls of his aching cock while he watched her paint her windows, ass swaying as she sang to her music. And the whole time he imagined her mouth on his, the taste of her on his tongue. How it would feel to have her hand, her mouth, her body gripping him. The way she’d sound when she was close. Would her voice be soft and breathy or demanding and urgent?

  When he sank deeper would she claw at his back, or would she wrap herself around him and hold him tight?

  Would she beg for it harder, faster, deeper, before she shattered around him, tightening mercilessly around his cock?

  “Ahhh…shit.”

  He was a sick son of a bitch. Getting off watching a woman who could never be his, like a fucking Peeping Tom, but he couldn’t stop. His cock had never been so hard, the ache never so all-consuming. His balls drew up tight to his body, and he bucked into his fist. Reaching out, he grabbed one of the towels he’d left stacked on the kitchen table and came into it with a shout. Long wrenching pulls that didn’t end until he was desperate for breath and could barely stay on his feet.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard, definitely not since before his accident. Only Piper did this to him.

  But coming into a towel in your kitchen while spying on your best friend’s younger sister, that was a new low even for him.

  All he felt now was hollow—and alone.

  He yanked up his jeans and stumbled back several steps so he could rest his ass against the back of the couch. The disgust with himself over what he’d done hit hard, twisted in his stomach.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Moving here was a huge mistake.

  Nothing good could come from him living next to her. It would only fuel his obsession for Piper. Because that’s what it was. He felt like he was hanging by his fingertips and was this close to letting go. It scared the shit out of him.

  But what could he do? He was stuck. He owed Deke, and now that he realized how isolated she was here on the weekends and after work, he couldn’t leave her, even if he wanted to.

  He also couldn’t have her. He had to ignore the flashes of heat he saw in her eyes when she looked at him. A man like him didn’t deserve happiness. How could he allow himself to be happy when Kate and Davey suffered every day because of what he’d done? Kate had lost the love of her life. Their son had lost his father.

  No, he didn’t deserve happiness.

  Chapter Eight

  Piper clasped her hands together in her lap and silently prayed for her disastrous date to come to a quick and painless end.

  She glanced over at Gerald, hands ten and two on the steering wheel, the captain of his ship. And by ship, she
meant the most boring car in the history of cars. The beige Chevy Malibu was currently cruising at an adrenaline-pumping twenty-five miles per hour.

  Guilt made her inwardly wince. Gerald really was a nice guy. So nice. Definitely a step up from her previous date a few days ago. Richard had been the first to reply to her profile on Perfect Match. He’d also lied about his height. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d used someone else’s picture entirely. The guy had eaten with his mouth open, talked about himself nonstop, and made her pay for half the dinner…down to the last cent. Which was fine, she didn’t mind going Dutch. But he’d actually kept a running total, jotting it down in a little notepad.

  By the end of the night, she’d been desperate to get home to her book, where the hero was all alpha, taller than the heroine, and was actually interested in what she had to say. He certainly wouldn’t frown and purse his lips unhappily when she was a buck short with her half of the tip.

  Gerald at least had good manners, a good job. He was well groomed, dressed nice. That had to count for something, right?

  Maybe for some. Unfortunately, nice didn’t set her heart racing, her body burning—drive her to tear his tan slacks from his body and ravage him.

  She felt nothing. No spark, not even a flicker. But then that wasn’t what this date was about. She did feel bad, going out with both men in an attempt to make Cole jealous, to get him to make a damn move, but she’d been desperate. The man was fighting their connection with everything he had. Oh, he tried desperately to hide how much he wanted her, but he was failing miserably. The heated looks, that kiss…the rigid control he always had around her. It told a different story altogether.

  Cole used to smile a lot, was affectionate. She’d loved it when he’d throw an arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head when he came home to Miami during his breaks from college, how he’d tease her. He hadn’t held himself at a distance like he did now.

  God, the way he’d stormed over to her cottage the other morning, all bare-chested and super pissed, muscles flexing, nostrils flaring. She thought she’d finally gotten to him. He stood there and barked at her to put on more clothes, cock hard as iron—yes, she’d felt it—but still he’d resisted. In the end she’d got pissed as well, had baited the hell out of him. It hadn’t worked. He’d walked away.

  This was her last chance, if another date didn’t tip him over the edge, she didn’t know what would.

  They were made for each other, he just had to damn well give in.

  She wanted fireworks, heat, an intense connection. She didn’t want a guy who lived with his mother and was so dull she’d almost nodded off halfway through the main course. If she’d had to sit through another minute of Gerald going into great detail about his rare coin collection, or how excited he was for the next Plaid paint-by-numbers catalog to come out, she would have lost her mind. She’d actually considered stabbing herself with a fork, just for an excuse to get the heck out of there.

  Her date signaled the turn into Axle Alley a whole block before he needed to, the tick, tick, tick counting down the long seconds until she was finally alone and her date was a distant memory.

  The road was quiet, like always, when they headed toward her cottage. She looked up at the apartment above the garage as they passed. Cole’s place was mostly dark, apart from a light flickering in the living room where he must be watching TV.

  He’d watched her leave earlier, scowling from his kitchen window. But he wasn’t there now.

  Dammit, she’d suffered through the date for nothing. It seemed his determination to keep away from her was just as strong as hers was to win him over.

  The guy had been nothing but grouchy and rude to her since he’d moved next door. It should be easy to hate him. To give up on him. But she couldn’t.

  He’d been through so much. It was in the haunted look in his eyes, always there, lingering in their depths. So much pain. She felt trapped in his gaze whenever it locked on hers. The anguish she saw, so strong, so potent, it was impossible to miss. It hurt to see him like that.

  She wanted to be there for him, and not just as his lover. She wanted to help with whatever was tearing him up inside. Be there for him in every way she could.

  “Here we are,” Gerald announced.

  “Oh, out front’s fine. Thanks, Gerald.” Her hand was already on the door handle, ready to make her escape.

  He winked, and her stomach did an unhappy somersault. “A gentleman always sees his date to the door.”

  “Ah, thanks.” She forced a smile. Poor guy, she really did feel terrible for using him. But he most definitely was not for her. She wanted passion, excitement, a man who couldn’t keep his hands off her. Who lost control because he wanted her that much. She wanted Cole.

  She started to open the door, but Gerald shook his head. “That’s my job.”

  “Right.” She slumped back in her seat, desperate to get out of his freaking car.

  He climbed out, brushed his hands down his slacks, and straightened his dark brown sports coat, then with a smile on his face walked around to her door and opened it. She forced a smile of her own and hoped she didn’t look as impatient as she felt.

  Taking her hand, he led her to the front steps. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Piper. In fact, I can easily say this is the best date I’ve ever had.” He smiled brightly, and the guilt she already felt skyrocketed.

  Oh boy.

  “I had a great time, too, Gerald. You’re a really nice guy.” Time to finish this thing.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.” His hand tightened around hers.

  Okay, the nice guy line is a known prequel to a friendly thanks, but no thanks. Most guys knew this, but it looked like Gerald would need her to spell it out.

  His breathing had grown choppy and kind of wheezy, and sweat beaded his forehead and slicked his palm. It took a huge amount of effort not to yank her hand away and run inside to scrub the crap out of it.

  “Can I…” He let out a shuddery breath. “Can I see you again this Saturday?”

  Goddammit.

  “Well…I, ah…you see…” Before she could come up with some lame excuse, he sucked in a breath and tugged her forward, knocking her off balance. She collided with his narrow chest, and his arms locked around her, trapping hers at her sides. Then she watched in horror as his mouth came toward her. His open mouth. It landed on her face. She guessed he was going for her lips but missed the mark completely. His tongue slid across her cheek, then finding its way to her lips, stabbed at them several times.

  She stood there stunned, unable to move as that lizard tongue tried to force entry into her mouth, sliding across her teeth. In that awful moment she realized that this was Gerald’s first kiss. It had to be. No one kissed this badly, unless they’d never done it before, and even then most people managed it a hell of a lot better than this.

  God, it was disgusting.

  But now she felt even worse. This very sweet, incredibly boring man thought he was kissing the pants off her, and more than likely believed he was doing a stellar job—and all she wanted to do was bite his stabby, sloppy tongue off and shove it down his throat.

  He pulled back, and she dragged in a much needed lungful of oxygen.

  “Wow,” Gerald whispered.

  Could this get any worse? “Um, Gerald…look.” He loosened his arms, and she quickly wriggled free. “That was lovely, but I’m not sure we should…”

  He reached for her again, completely ignoring her. Panting like he’d run a marathon as he came in for a second kiss. Head dipped, eyes closed, mouth wide open. So wide she could see his freakin’ tonsils. Like he had every intention of eating her face off.

  She gave him a light shove to get his attention. “Gerald…”

  Nope, nobody home. The guy was more than likely empowered by what she was now 100 percent certain was his first kiss. And by the l
ooks of him, determined to get his second. One of his hands veered downward, toward her chest, and she slapped it away, shoving at him, harder this time. “Gerald. Stop. Snap out of it.”

  “Piper. Oh, sweet Piper.” That mouth kept on coming.

  Lord. Oh, dear Lord.

  The next thing she knew, Gerald was wrenched back, arms windmilling at his sides. The guy made a strangled squeal before landing on his ass on the front lawn. Her gaze darted up and collided with Cole’s wild one. Chest heaving, teeth gritted.

  Shirtless. Again.

  He was wearing black nylon shorts, and nothing else. Sweat coated his body like he’d been in the middle of a workout, which was highly likely since every muscle seemed to bulge and ripple as he prowled toward her handsy but extremely harmless date.

  Cole grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet, then got in his face. “When a woman says stop, you fucking stop.”

  Gerald’s mouth flapped, eyes going round as saucers. “I didn’t… I can assure you I wouldn’t…”

  Piper snapped out of her stunned stupor, which wasn’t easy because Cole was sweaty and shirtless, and rushed forward. “Let him go, Cole. He didn’t mean anything by it, did you, Gerald?”

  She felt like she was in a hostage negotiation. The look on Cole’s face, the way he had hold of Gerald’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip, the pure aggression he was throwing off. It was unnerving as hell but, alarmingly, also a major turn-on. She had to be wrong in the head. There could be no other reason for it. Poor Gerald was dangling from the end of Cole’s fist, and she was getting tingles in her most happy of happy places.

  “N-no, I didn’t.” He shook his head so fast his face was nothing but a blur.

  Cole let him drop to his feet, stepped back, and pointed to his car. “Go.” Gerald looked over at her, and she opened her mouth to apologize when her psychotic neighbor barked, “Now.”

  And he did. Like a flash, Gerald streaked across the lawn and was in his Chevy Malibu and tearing down the street a minute later. All concern for the speed limit forgotten.