Breaking His Rules Page 4

  “Home sweet home,” I said, resting once again in the car seat after punching in the security code at the gate. I suspected there were ways to get in, gate be damned, but I guessed it made some people feel safer. Fine by me, since I actually was a product of the neighborhood.

  “It looks lovely,” he said, head still leaned back. I took that to mean he was still a bit hot about the blow to the face. For which I could not blame him.

  “You’ll probably like it better when you’re all patched up. I would have taken you to the hospital, but I figured you would have thrown a whole tantrum about that.”

  He rolled his head over and gave me some serious side-eye. “You don’t seem like the type of woman who accepts no for an answer. No, you probably just wanted to get me back here to take advantage of my weakened state.” He had a half smirk on his face, as if he were prodding me.

  “I know that’s an attempt to get under my skin, but I stand by my choice to make sure my professed rescuer didn’t pass out behind the wheel and hurt himself…and someone else in the process. It won’t kill you to spend the day out of the street trolling for women.” Score one for me.

  “Trolling? I prefer ‘seeking a mutually desired relationship.’ Certainly not bloody trolling,” he said, feigning insult. I could see it from his smug expression.

  “Okay, fine. Maybe not a troll. But you for sure seemed comfortable sitting in your spot under the bridge…um, bar,” I shot back. Point number two.

  “Funny girl,” he said.

  I reached my condo and stopped long enough to pull the garage door opener from my purse. The door rose, a slow grinding since I needed to call a repairman to fix whatever was going on with it.

  “Whoa,” Ashton said with a low whistle following. “That is one fine machine.”

  My summer car was still out, since it was too early for me to put it away. My divorce gift. It was a canary-yellow Hellcat Eagle. I loved it. Even had a professional driver train me to drive it. “Yeah, he’s my baby,” I said, trying to tamp down the pride in my voice.

  “A baby it is. But I’m sure it’s a woman. Nothing that pretty could ever be a dude.”

  “I guess that’s a matter of perspective.” I laughed, pulling into the garage and unhitching my seatbelt. “C’mon in. I’ve got some bandages and we can google ‘how to know if I’ve got a concussion.’ ”

  “Funny girl. And for the record, I’ve had concussions before. I didn’t hear a single bell when I bumped my head.”

  “But did you see stars when I popped you in the face?”

  “Not at all. It was the mere shock of being assaulted that made me fall down. I’ve already told you that,” he said. But he took off his seatbelt and started from the car.

  I’d half expected him to jump into the driver’s seat and take off. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say,” I murmured as I got out of the car and trotted to the back door to let us in.

  My mind ran over what could possibly be out of place as I entered. It was almost time for the weekly cleaning, and I was so tired from working nights at my bar, I usually left a trail of clothes across the room, starting with my bra. I walked over to the blinds and let some sunlight in. Just outside the window, there were young couples all walking dogs in Doc Martens and drinking designer coffee from the new café on the corner of my street. “Welcome to my home,” I said, doing another scan to see if any undergarments had been missed during my earlier room sweep. I’d been prepping for Mr. Handsy to possibly come in, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to find the usual clutter tucked away.

  “Nice inside, too. You have great taste,” he said.

  “Thank you. You can have a seat on the couch and I’ll grab some ice for your nose. Then I’m going on the Google machine.” I was out of the room and heading to the kitchen for a bag of frozen peas and the medicine cabinet down the first-floor hallway before I heard footsteps moving toward the couch. All signs pointed to stubborn as a mule, but at least he was listening to me somewhat, albeit reluctantly. I was back in a second with iodine, in case there was a cut, long cotton swabs, gauze, medical tape, and peas. I recalled buying the first aid kit and thinking I wouldn’t ever use most of the stuff in there. But an ounce of preparation…or something like that anyway. “All right, let’s have a look, Ashton.”

  I was leaning over him as he sat back on the sofa. It hadn’t been necessarily long enough for his nose to completely stop bleeding, but it stopped enough to at least see what I was doing.

  “It’s almost done bleeding,” he said. I could see him recoil at the coffee table full of items intended for his nose. He almost looked afraid.

  “Almost isn’t good enough. If it doesn’t stop, we’d have to go get it cauterized. I know you don’t want that.” I continued to hover over him, inhaling his scent and shampoo, which was a minty combination of spearmint and balsam.

  His nose had nearly stopped bleeding, which was a good thing. I’d need to clear the passageway and put a nasal pack in. That would take care of it for the time being. I stood and went for the swabs, squeezing some antibacterial ointment onto one.

  “What are you doing with that? My nose isn’t even that big.”

  I glanced back at him. “Ashton? Are you afraid of medical treatment?”

  “You said you worked in a bar. Not an emergency room. For the record, though, I’m not nervous about receiving medical care. It just seems that we’re fresh out of any professionals at the moment.”

  I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “Do you feel like there’s anything in your nose?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “All right, this won’t hurt a bit.”

  Ten minutes later, treatment prolonged by Ashton holding my hands and pushing me away for the majority of the time, his nose was taped and looking almost good at new, save the blackening line on the outer rim of his nose. A part of me was still praying it wasn’t broken.

  “I can’t believe I let you violate me with that thing.” He was full-on miffed. I had an idea to fix it though.

  “Oh, come on. Put these peas on it. It was virtually painless,” I said, laughing. I’d been doing that a lot since I met Ashton. Usually, genuine laughter was fleeting. It was fun…a strange type of activity where we poked each other to see who would bite.

  “Oh really? Let me stick something unnecessarily large into your orifice and see how you like it,” he barked out.

  I stared at him for a moment, stifling a giggle. “That’s what she said.” I was rolling with laughter nearly before the words were out of my mouth.

  “You’re the type of person who laughs at their own jokes? I’m out of here,” he said, starting to get up from the couch, but a smirk was on his lips.

  “Oh sit down. A little levity,” I replied, still giggling. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “You think I can drink with a recently bloodied nose?”

  “I think so…I mean, I didn’t punch you in the liver.”

  Ashton was an enigma. For even with all the humor and bravado, deep below the surface there was something else. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Something that showed up in the twinkle of his eyes. Something I shouldn’t want to know more about because it was not my concern. I was off the couch in a moment, heading to the kitchen and wondering exactly what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

  Chapter 3

  Ashton

  So far, in all my days, my rules had never let me down. The reason this woman had throttled my ego, hit me in the nose, and taken hold of my afternoon was due to one simple truth. She wasn’t in the game plan. As I sat on her beautiful couch in a living room that undoubtedly graced the covers of a modern décor periodical, I had one fleeting thought. Get out.

  Two, actually. I didn’t want to go. The second one was considerably more problematic. I could hardly stand the level of attraction growing in my gut. Mere
ly sitting beside me, in all black on a sage-green couch, she created a visual smorgasbord. Yet, remarkable as she was, there were things coming out of me that were strictly off-limits.

  I had shared my love of cars, my thoughts on her wine refrigerator, that I secretly wanted to play American football, and my shoe size, FFS. There was nothing left besides talking about my family—which I was certainly not going to do, but more strikingly, the thought had crossed my mind.

  “You’re pretty quiet. You still doing okay?” She was staring at me with a look of concern, kissable red lips pressed into a line as she surveyed my face as if assessing my damages.

  “Oh, trust me. I’m okay. The ice pack and painkillers have taken care of my discomfort. I should have told you thank you earlier. But, thank you now, I guess,” I said.

  She gave a slight chuckle. “You’re welcome…now. It was my fault after all. None of this would have happened if you weren’t being a nice guy. Does that thing need more ice by the way?”

  I pulled the old-school ice pack down and jiggled it. There were still cubes in there. “It’s fine. I could use another drink, though. And food. How about we go somewhere and get—”

  “Nope,” she said, waving her hands dismissively. “At least a couple hours with the ice pack. I think your bell got rung pretty hard. Rest for a minute. I can…um, order out.”

  “You’re pretty demanding, yes?”

  “Right is what I am. So…Chinese food? Pizza? Or good old-fashioned Coney Island? We have quite a selection around here. What’s your fancy?” she asked. She was genially smiling, something that people didn’t normally do. The smile reached her eyes, forcing little crinkles on her nose. I wondered for a moment if my assumption that she was old had been correct. Her laugh lines generally happened later in life. As rude as the thought was, her tone and relaxed manner made me think she was older than she looked. Which technically fit the bill for one of my rules…right? Sure it did.

  What the hell was I thinking about that for anyway? I’d resolved on the way to her house that she was drama. Unequivocally. No ifs, ands, or buts about that. But she was also gorgeous, quick-witted, smelled like lilacs and honey, and could obviously defend herself. If that wasn’t worth taking a second look at, I didn’t know what was.

  “I swear, I’ll eat anything,” I quipped, and flashed a grin in her direction.

  “I think you’re flirting with me. Your head must be fine.” She got up from her chair adjacent to the couch, giving me a glance at her physique once more before disappearing into the kitchen. At least, I thought it was the kitchen. She hadn’t exactly given me a tour. Terra had ordered me to lie down more than once, and finally I obliged if only to get her off my back.

  She was right, though. My head was banging, and I was still dizzy when I sat up too fast to drink the water. My equilibrium was likely off. Hmph. First time anyone had slapped the balance out of me. First time for everything, I guess. Trust me, I’ve been slapped a lot.

  She was back before I knew it. Obviously a girl who knew her way around the Detroit takeout scene because she had a stack of menus in her hands. “So, I’ll let you pick,” she said, sitting on the couch with me, near my waist. I was still lying down, and if she did anything sensual or provocative at all, Ollie was going to raise his ugly, one-eyed head.

  My senses went into overload and I took a deep inhale to catch another whiff of her. “Let’s see. Middle Eastern. Do you like kibbeh?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “No, honey. I’m not into the raw meat. Pick again.” She laughed, holding a hand up to her neck and making a gag face.

  “Do you want me to pick? I could let you—”

  “No, seriously, try again. I’m not picky at all,” she swore.

  I gave her an examining look, wondering whether that was actually true.

  “Scout’s honor…”

  “Were you a scout? You keep saying that and I don’t know how serious to take you.”

  “Nope. They wouldn’t let me when I was younger. It was boys only. I was too ornery to be a Girl Scout.” She laughed, and again, it was as if the world opened up.

  Like it or not, I was going to have to accept that I actually liked her company. I hadn’t ever felt that about a woman before, so it was…interesting. “Oh, I see how you are. Ready to use the Boy Scout’s name in vain. Bad girl,” I chided.

  “Oh hush, it’s a figure of speech.” At that moment, she reached out and laid her hand on my thigh and my cock tightened. Down, boy…

  “All right…I would have gone with a character flaw. So,” I said, flipping through the menus. “What about Thai?”

  “Ewwwwww…” she said, scrunching up her nose again.

  I dropped the menu and looked at her with my eyes crossed. “Nope, no, no. You pick it.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Fine, fine. I was just kidding.”

  I gave her a look. She gave me one. I wasn’t sure what hers meant, but then it happened. We held each other’s gaze for a moment and the earth probably shifted on its axis. Well, maybe not the whole earth, but folks in Australia probably felt a little tremor. Whatever it was, something passed between us. As if…as if everything was going to be right in the world. I pushed the thought from my mind. “Thai food, then?”

  “Oh yeah. Can’t go wrong with that. I’m ordering shrimp khao pad,” she said, picking up her cell from the end table closest to her. She was leaning over, and as she lifted her hand to grab her phone, I could see her flesh beneath her rising shirt. It looked so supple and…god help me, kissable. I blinked it away, since I was still lying back on the couch and vulnerable to her seeing my susceptibility to her sensuality. Ollie didn’t care, so I took the moment to sit upright, shift back, and put my feet on the floor. I moved my thighs to seize Ollie and trap him in perhaps the most uncomfortable position around. But she wasn’t making any moves and I still wasn’t convinced that meeting maybe, just maybe, one of my rules was enough to make me chuck them all aside.

  “I’ll have pad Thai. Thanks,” I said, taking out my credit card. She gave me a look as if she didn’t want to accept it, but I pressed it into her hand anyway. “Take it. It’s just lunch. Besides, you paid for drinks earlier and pulled a Florence Nightingale. Least I could do.”

  After a few moments, she quit her protest and picked up her phone again. She ordered from U-rideEats, and once the food got there, I was done with the ice pack and on to trying to cool off the inferno raging in my mouth from the pad Thai. We took our meal at her dining room table, where you could look out and see the Detroit River with its large cargo ships and boats cruising up and down before winter set in and they had to dock them. From the vantage point of her window, you could glimpse a tall lighthouse in the distance. It was like a snapshot of Detroit that people rarely get to see.

  It would have been a lovely moment, but I’d forgotten to tell her to order medium spice. I was in a full-on sweat by the time we were done eating.

  And she was laughing her ass off.

  “Oh my, Ashton, you are not having a good day.” It was almost evening and her eyes twinkled like stars. She was nearly in tears, but her brow was furrowed, so at least she was concerned.

  “The milk was a bad move. I feel my stomach boiling in the stuff. That’s the last time I listen to you.”

  “Who doesn’t tell someone ordering them Thai food that they have an aversion to spice? Who?” she asked with more laughter as she picked up napkins and dabbed at her tears. She pushed back from the table and poured a glass of water from the pitcher she’d set on the glass dining table at the start of dinner. I was busy holding napkins quite literally on my tongue.

  “Me. I thought that would have been an assumption for most normal people. You must have some type of Kevlar-coated mouth to keep you from spontaneously combusting.” I took the drink and downed it, hoping for relief from the four-alarm fire happening in my mouth.


  “My mother was from Louisiana. And my father loved her cooking, so there was virtually no barometer. I grew up eating chili and gumbo with so much hot sauce and cayenne pepper you could see the flames simmering in the pot. My eyes used to water from just inhaling it. So I guess I am technically insulated from the effects of their very mild spice.”

  “Very mild indeed. Why don’t you just skip the meal and pour red pepper flakes straight onto your tongue.” I laughed, finally cooling down some.

  “I could, but where’s the fun in that. How’s your head?” She took her seat and shifted from her laughing to concern, with the hint of a smile that was sexier than hell, if you asked me.

  “It’s better. Or maybe my heartburn has taken over and canceled it out altogether.”

  “Well, that’s good I guess. At least now, if you black out and lose consciousness, it’ll be from too-spicy food, for which I cannot be blamed.”

  “So you think that would absolve you? I’ll have you know I recorded all of these conversations and they can be used to incriminate you.”

  “They won’t believe you. I’ve been commended by the city, I’ll have you know.”

  I shifted in my seat, leaning forward in an attempt to see whether she was pulling my leg or not. “I thought that could only come from the mayor.”

  “It does,” she said, and smiled some more.

  “Really? For what?” I was intrigued. I’d never been in the company of a real, live Good Samaritan before.

  “Well, I organize donations and distribute backpacks to inner-city youth every fall. So if you would have come over here a couple of years ago, I would have been up to my eyeballs in school supplies about this time. Now I coordinate with a nonprofit in the neighborhood and they get volunteers to package them all up and ship them to local schools.” Terra took a sip of her wine and leaned back in the chair. “We’re still taking donations, by the way. Feel free to leave a check and I’ll make sure you get a receipt for the exemption.”