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“Don’t lie to me,” I snap. Guilty eyes meet mine for a split second and then snap away.
“Where have you been?” I ask quietly.
“Raven—” his tone is pleading. Begging me to drop it. But I can’t.
“Why are you coming home so late, covered in blood?” I ask. Yes, I know it’s only a smear and not a covering, but I’m allowed to freak out a little. As realisation hits me, I add, “It’s not your blood is it?”
“Please—”
The heat, need and desire he stoked in me goes out like a bucket of iced water over hot coals. The concern evaporates in a cloud of hissing steam. I’m mad.
I shove him again, so that he falls back onto my bedroom floor and get to my feet. I can’t stay here with him. It’s clear he isn’t going to tell me shit. Despite his declarations, there will always be secrecy and lies between us. At least I don’t have that with the others anymore. I was stupid for thinking this could work, that Baxter would somehow fit into the group. I thought his friendship with Rebel and relationship with Phoenix would be enough to make him belong, but it isn’t. Because he doesn’t belong. He’ll never belong if there’s secrets between us.
Eyes flooding with tears once more, I push past him and flee my bedroom, needing space to clear my head, but not knowing where to go.
***
I run downstairs, because where the hell else can I go? The house is in darkness, everyone asleep, so I pause in the kitchen to catch my breath. Taking a glass from the cupboard, I pour myself a glass of water, hating how my whole hand trembles as I lift the glass to my lips. I down the whole thing in one, the glass slipping from my fingers and clattering noisily into the sink. Where it shatters. Like the illusion of what was building between Baxter and me.
I’m too angry. I can’t go back to bed. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. And what if he’s still there? He certainly didn’t follow me despite his pleading. And now my sheets will be tainted by the smell of him. May even be covered in fuck knows whose blood. I shudder. I’m sure I’ve seen enough blood to last me a lifetime. How dare he! How dare he take something so fragile and precious, and shatter it with such disregard.
I need to work out.
Deciding to leave the mess in the sink for the morning, or later in the morning at least, I slip through the door and down the stairs to the basement. I grab some clean workout clothes from the laundry pile and carry them through to the gym and training room, stopping short when I see Ace pummelling a weighted punch bag.
Beads of sweat roll down his beautifully defined shoulders and my greedy eyes follow their descent along the hollow of his back and down into the waistband of his shorts. My mouth is suddenly parched and there’s nothing more I’d like than to follow that droplet’s path with my tongue.
“Fuck.”
It’s barely a whisper but Ace startles and spins around to stare at me. His gaze heats and I remember that I’m holding the clothes I meant to put on to work out.
“Sorry, I should go—” I stammer, but my feet remain rooted to the spot. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the desire in his eyes if I tried.
“Stay.” He shakes his head and the raw need in his face is gone, replaced with concern. “Are you...okay?”
“No.”
“Talk?”
“No.”
“Fight?”
“Please.” That sounds just about perfect.
“Clothes on,” Ace grunts before muttering under his breath about damn distractions.
I quickly do as he says, feeling his heated gaze upon me the whole time like a lover’s caress. Interesting how a flash of bare skin evaporated his concern in an instant.
“Come.” Oh I fucking wish. Damn Baxter ruining what could have been a great night between us. Ace smirks, obviously having read every thought that flashed across my face. “Make deal?”
“What?” I ask reluctantly.
“You win, you come.” He grins, and a little of my anger ebbs away. Oh I like the sound of this challenge a lot.
“And if you win?”
“I come.” He shrugs but I’m suddenly panting. Which outcome do I want? The orgasm that still tingles tantalisingly between my thighs, or the invincible feeling of bringing Ace to his knees before me? Both. I want both.
