Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) Read online

  “Again?”

  He should say no, he really should. But he didn’t. “Yes.”

  She kept her head turned away. “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow. I have a fight that night, but I’ll come here after.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t say good-bye, didn’t turn to look at him. She only opened the door and got out, slamming it shut behind her.

  And this time he didn’t take his eyes off her as she walked up to the building, and he kept on watching until she disappeared inside it.

  Chapter 7

  Tamara let the door of the theater shut behind her, the heels of her red shoes clicking on the marble stairs that led down into the foyer.

  Her mother’s charity event was still in full swing, the crowd raucously cheering the bachelor auction that was currently underway, and Tamara knew that slipping out wouldn’t be looked on with any approval by her family. But then the evening had been tense right from the start and she needed to get out, find some quiet space.

  She stopped on the bottom step and sat down, the cool of the marble seeping through the white silk of her dress. Then she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her fingers pressing gently against her eyelids.

  Okay, so this evening wasn’t ever going to be great, but it had turned out way more difficult than she’d initially expected. Her mother had kept dropping hints about how Tamara had better keep her schedule free for the end of the month because of a special “family dinner” that was being organized.

  Family dinner being code for “surprise engagement party.”

  Her father had given her several meaningful looks across the table, warning Tamara to play along, and so she had. Acting like she didn’t know a thing.

  Pretending she was still the same Tamara who hadn’t had hot, dirty sex with a mechanic behind his garage. In public.

  And that had been the difficult bit.

  She didn’t know quite how that worked, because it had only been sex. Nothing life-changing, nothing shattering. And yet . . . she felt shattered.

  After he’d dropped her back at her apartment and she’d closed the door behind her, she’d leaned back against it and slid down onto the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, her knees suddenly giving out. Unable to stop grinning.

  Her blood had been like fire in her veins, her heart pumping. She felt like the entire top layer of her skin had been scraped away, leaving nerve endings raw and sensitized.

  And all of it had felt . . . good. No, not good, it had felt amazing. Like she’d been numb for years and hadn’t realized it, and only now was the feeling returning to her limbs.

  Then she’d looked down at herself, at the faded black Motör-head T-shirt she wore, at the ruined silk of her dress, at the oil stains marking the silk, marking her skin. And she’d had to put a hand over her mouth to stop the hysterical laugh that threatened to come out of it.

  That night she hadn’t bothered to shower, wanting to keep the stains on her body, as if by washing them off she’d wash away the feeling of freedom, too, the feeling that at last, at last, she was herself. After so many goddamn years.

  Of course, the next morning she had to scrub herself to get them off since she had to go to work and Scott would no doubt comment if he saw them. But she couldn’t entirely get rid of them. The ghost of Zee’s fingerprints lingered on her skin and that whole day she could feel them there like little spots of heat. The evidence of her own dark, secret self.

  She’d loved that. It made putting on the mask of Tamara Lennox that morning so much easier, knowing that underneath it all, the marks of what she’d done with Zee were still there. A reminder of who she was inside. A woman who was free, who was passionate, who didn’t have to keep it under control all the fucking time.

  “Again,” she’d told him, because she didn’t want to give up that feeling. Wanted to hold on to it as long as she could.

  Unfortunately though, the downside was that it made her aware of how much of a sham her life actually was.

  As she’d sat in the theater at the charity dinner, with her parents on either side of her, she’d felt the same suffocation come over her. The feeling of being trapped in a life that she hadn’t chosen for herself.

  She was the good girl who worked hard, who had a great career ahead of her, who’d made her parents proud. Who was on track to marry a successful and wealthy man. And who’d had no choice about any of it. Her parents had made all her choices for her and she’d gratefully accepted all of them.

  Of course you had to accept them. They saved you.

  Tamara rubbed at her eyes, heedless of her makeup.

  Why was this hard? A week ago she wouldn’t have found any of this difficult. She’d have gone to the dinner, had a great time, been the good little socialite.

  But now things were . . . different. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Then again, there wasn’t much she could do about it, was there? She was stuck in the role her parents had created for her and she wasn’t allowed to deviate from the script.

  Why? What would happen if you did?

  Tamara screwed her eyes shut tight. No, she couldn’t think about that. Will hadn’t had a choice, so why should she?

  From the depths of her white sequined purse came the sound of her phone chiming and her heart seized in her chest, a burst of adrenaline firing hot and hard through her. She grabbed it, glancing down at the text on the screen, and instantly all thoughts about her family vanished.

  Where are you?

  Oh God. It was Zee.

  Her mouth dried. She hadn’t been letting herself think about his promise, about how he’d said he’d come for her tonight. But she couldn’t deny that the main reason she’d slipped out of the theater tonight was to check her phone in peace. Just like she couldn’t deny that she’d been desperately hoping he would contact her.

  That what he’d said in the car wasn’t a lie.

  And sure enough it wasn’t.

  At the Fox Theater, she texted back. A stupid charity thing. And then, because she didn’t want to give away too much, Sorry, I forgot you were going to come to my place tonight.

  Her heartbeat had now accelerated, an ache gathering between her thighs.

  There was no response for a second. Then her phone chimed again.

  Liar.

  She bit her lip, her cheeks getting hot. How stupid that he could make her blush with a one-word text.

  Are you coming then? she responded, ignoring him.

  Gimme ten minutes and we both will.

  Tamara choked out a laugh, excitement a small, hard knot in her chest. I’ll take that as a yes.

  Wait outside. I’ll pick you up.

  The excitement began to spread out, expanding through her in a hot wave.

  It was ridiculous, to feel this way over what was essentially a booty call, but after an evening of suffocating pretense, she wanted out. She wanted Zee’s brutal brand of honesty. Hot, raw sex. No masks, no costumes. Everything straight up and way, way out of control.

  This was at least one choice she’d made for herself.

  “Tamara?”

  She jerked her head up and turned, feeling the color rush to her cheeks as her mother, tall, slender, and beautiful in vintage Chanel, came down the stairs toward her.

  Why did she find herself blushing? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Hi, Mom,” she said, trying not to sound so breathless. “Sorry, just needed to get out, have a bit of space.”

  There was a crease between Cassandra Lennox’s perfect eyebrows. “Is there anything wrong, Tamara? You seemed a bit . . . off tonight. Thought I’d check to make sure you were okay.”

  Tamara forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Honestly. Got a bit of a headache, that’s all.”

  Her mother descended the last few steps and, with a graceful movement, sat on the step beside her. “Are you sure that’s it? There’s nothing else bothering you?”

  God, how she hated it when her mother got overly solicitous, soothing her an
d treating her as if she were a bomb about to go off.

  Or a woman who shot her own brother?

  The smile on Tamara’s face felt like a rictus. “No, not at all. Maybe it’s something I ate.”

  “Well, are you going to come back inside? I’m going to give my speech soon and it would be great if you were there.”

  Of course her mother wanted her there. She always wanted her there. As if she couldn’t bear to let Tamara out of her sight.

  Perhaps she’s afraid you’re going to go out and kill someone else?

  The thought bubbled up from somewhere inside her, snide and sarcastic and cynical. And she nearly said it, nearly gave voice to the doubts that lingered, even all these years later. But she didn’t. Instead she bit her lip hard to keep the words inside, turning away and fussing around with her purse so she didn’t have to look her mother in the eye.

  “Actually, I’m feeling a little sick,” she said. “Would you mind if I went home early?”

  “Of course I mind.” Her mother smiled. “I like having you there. But I guess if you’re not well . . .” There was a slight question in her voice, the merest hint of doubt.

  “I’m not,” Tamara said before she could question either her mother’s doubts or her own. “An early night is probably what I need.”

  Cassandra stared at her, frowning. “You’re working too hard, Tamara.”

  “Well, if I want this position, I have to.” She kept the smile firmly plastered to her face. “It’s still what you and Dad want, right? Me at Lennox?”

  An expression shifted in her mother’s eyes, one she couldn’t read. “Of course, darling. And I suppose hard work is its own reward.” She let out a long breath, her mouth tightening. “You’d better go then, get some rest. Shall I call a car for you?”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll get my own.”

  “Are you sure? Your father won’t mind giving you a ride home.”

  Tamara stared at her mother a moment. Did she suspect something was up? Or was Tamara just being paranoid? “Mom, it’s okay. I can find my own way home.”

  For a second it looked like her mother was going to insist, but then she lifted a shoulder. “Fine. I just worry about you, darling.”

  That was nothing new. Her mother was always worrying about her, always wanting what was best for her.

  Maybe it’s not so much best for you as what’s best for them.

  But she didn’t like that thought, so she ignored it.

  “I know you do.” Tamara leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “But you don’t need to. Now if you don’t mind, I’d better go find myself a cab and get home.”

  She waited until her mother had returned to the theater before stepping outside.

  The entrance was bathed in white light from the theater lights above her head, making the neon-stained night seem even darker.

  It was relatively late, but there were still a number of people about, bar- and restaurant-goers, or those searching for clubs and other late-night amusements.

  And then she saw him, leaning against his car across the street from her.

  He was in jeans tonight, worn and battered, sitting low on his hips, along with a black T-shirt that only emphasized his lean, muscled body. With his shorn head, tattoos, and the scuffed, black motorcycle boots on his feet, he radiated menace, every inch the bad boy from the wrong side of town.

  A wild surge of exhilaration burst through her, carrying with it the desire that, despite what they’d already done to each other, hadn’t ever been fully sated, and she couldn’t get across the road to him fast enough.

  His tarnished silver gaze followed her as she came toward him, the intensity of him making her blood burn and the air turn to fire in her lungs. Making her so very aware of the way her body moved and the slick slide of her dress over her skin as she walked.

  She was wearing silk, a simple strapless dress with a fitted bodice and a frothy little skirt. Her mother hadn’t approved of the red heels she’d worn with it, or the simple, red patent belt that spanned her waist, but Tamara hadn’t cared. She’d wanted something red on her and, though she hadn’t questioned the urge when she’d dressed earlier that night, she understood it now.

  Red was the color of freedom.

  Red was the color of passion.

  Red was Zee’s color.

  He watched her as she approached and deliberately she let her hips sway, holding his gaze as she came closer, her heartbeat getting faster and faster as a silver flame leapt in his eyes.

  When she reached the Trans Am, he pushed away from the car and the breath caught in her throat as he came around the car toward her, moving with the easy, predator’s grace she remembered. The one that made her want to stand still and just watch him.

  And she thought he might pull her into his arms, kiss her, devour her right there in the street. But he didn’t. Instead he stopped mere inches from her, making her aware of his height, his lean strength, the heat of his body, and that spicy scent that made something pulse deep in her sex.

  Without taking his gaze from hers, he reached for the car door and pulled it open, his arm almost brushing her bare shoulder, making the breath lock in her throat and shivers whisper all over her skin.

  “Get in,” he said.

  * * *

  She looked like a fucking virgin in her pretty white dress. A debutante. A prom queen.

  Except for the bright splash of red at her waist where the belt was, and the high, red fuck-me shoes. That gave a hint as to the real Tamara, the passionate, hungry woman beneath the innocent white silk.

  It made him so hard he could barely think.

  Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he’d been thinking far too much.

  Certainly that’s what he’d been doing the past day and a half, going over and over in his head whether seeing her again after their encounter at the garage was a good plan or not. He knew it was a bad idea, knew getting involved with a girl like her could potentially be history repeating itself all over again. Yet a part of him—no prizes for guessing which part—kept whispering that it was just sex, that there was no danger. It was a limited-time thing and hell, she was going to be getting engaged anyway and if she wanted a bit of rough before she settled down into wedded bliss, then he had no problem with providing it.

  After a while, he’d gotten sick of arguing with himself. Tonight’s fight had been just what he’d needed to get out of his head and, when it was over, the adrenaline pumping hard in his veins, he’d picked up his phone and texted her.

  The post-fight buzz was still there by the time he’d gotten to the theater and now all he could think about was whether he could wait till they’d gotten back to her apartment or whether they should find a handy alleyway like they had the last time around.

  But no, he could hold out. He wasn’t that desperate. And besides, he’d dirtied her up in his neck of the woods; it was time to dirty her up in hers.

  You’re curious too, don’t deny it.

  Zee ignored that thought, his hands tight on the steering wheel of the Trans Am. Her scent was filling the car, making it difficult to concentrate on driving let alone anything else.

  She sat beside him, her fingers moving on the white purse she held in her lap, the silence between them full of tension and heat.

  It lasted all the way to her apartment, but he made no attempt to break it. Talking wasn’t what they were meeting for.

  The tension had got to extreme levels by the time they arrived at her building, a humming, crackling anticipation that made him even more hungry and restless than he was already.

  Riding the elevator up to her floor, he could barely keep his hands to himself, pushing them deep into his pockets instead. This was a lesson in control if anything was, and fuck it, he was nothing if not controlled. One little rich girl in a sexy white dress wasn’t going to get the better of him.

  Like she hasn’t already.

  Zee nearly growled at the thought as he followed her down the hallwa
y to her door, conscious of the harsh sound his boots made on the floor as he came into the apartment behind her.

  Then he stopped as the door shut and looked around.

  Christ, this place. Exposed, whitewashed brick and dark wooden floorboards. Comfortable pale gray couch and armchairs. Dark wood bookcases full of intellectual, important-looking books and delicate knickknacks. A fucking interior decorator’s wet dream.

  He had a sudden vision of himself in his oil-stained overalls sitting down on that pristine couch and kicking his boots up on the white coffee table, getting grease everywhere, dirtying up the place. Breaking shit . . .

  He didn’t know why that thought made him feel a savage kind of pleasure, but it did.

  Tamara had moved through the open-plan space to where a wooden breakfast bar separated the lounge area from the kitchen. She put her purse down on it and went around and into the kitchen, going over to the fridge and taking out a bottle of wine. Then she got a couple of glasses from a high shelf and put them on the breakfast bar before pouring some wine in each one.

  Wine? Jesus, who did she think he was?

  He walked over to the breakfast bar and came around it to where she stood, took the bottle out of her hands, and turned her so her back was to the wooden counter. Then he put his hands down on the surface of it on either side of her hips, looking down into her dark eyes.

  She was so warm, her body inches from his, and he wanted to rip that fucking dress off her, have her wearing nothing but those sexy red heels. “What?” he said. “You think I’m here for a drink and a chat?”

  Her mouth curved and she leaned back, reaching out for one of the glasses and raising it, taking a sip. “Why not? Nothing wrong with a little anticipation, right?” There was a glint in her eye, something flirty and sexy and downright hot.

  She was teasing him. Slowly, he smiled back, his hunter’s instinct rising. “Take your fucking dress off, pretty girl. I’m done with anticipation.”

  Tamara raised a wait finger, took another sip of her wine, then said, “So you had a fight tonight? Before coming here?”