Dirty For Me (Motor City Royals) Read online

  It’s easier this way. You know it is.

  “You got what you wanted.”

  “A night, Zee. I wanted one whole night.”

  “And I guess you’re used to getting whatever you want, whenever you want it.”

  She blinked. “Is that yet another rich girl dig? God, get yourself some new insults. That one’s getting old.”

  Angry, he should be getting angry. But somehow his anger had vanished and no matter how much he reached for it, there was only emptiness inside him.

  He leaned back against the basin, the porcelain cold beneath his hands. “You want another round? Then get the fuck back to bed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  But she didn’t move. “What did I do? I know I did something. Was it the fight? I know it’s not because you don’t want me. Your cock’s not that good a liar.”

  His fingers curled around the edge of the sink. He’d been so set to tell her before and now that he’d gotten rid of at least some of that sexual heat, it should have been easy to say. Yet the truth didn’t seem to want to come.

  Because once you tell her, all this will be over.

  Well, shit. It was going to be over anyway though, wasn’t it? After tonight, he was never going to see her again.

  “If I tell you, it’ll change things, pretty girl. I guarantee that.”

  She frowned. “Change things how?”

  “It’ll change how you see me for a start.” He tried to ignore why that mattered.

  She stared at him. “Why? Have you done something bad?”

  He shifted against the sink, uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t want to examine. Because he had done bad stuff before he’d met Madison. He’d been part of his father’s empire, had tried the alcohol and the drugs and the women that had come with it—shit, he’d only been seventeen, like a kid in a candy store. He’d also been a part of roughing people up, the people Joshua thought needed a little bit of “encouragement.”

  You know what you are deep down. No matter how “good” a life you’ve made for yourself.

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I did a whole lotta bad things once.”

  Her throat moved, her gaze searching his face as if looking for something. “Tell me.”

  “You heard of Joshua Chase?”

  The crease between her brows deepened. “The investor?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. He also owns the underground here in Detroit. The drug rings, the weapons deals. He’s got half the gangs in his pocket and at least two outlaw motorcycle clubs. He’s a bad motherfucker.” Zee paused. “And he’s my father.”

  Tamara’s eyes widened. “Holy crap.”

  “My name isn’t Ezekiel. It’s Damian Chase and I’ve been in Royal for the past ten years trying to build a new life for myself.”

  “Zee—”

  “No, let me finish. Somehow the bastard found out where I am, and the fight you came to tonight was supposed to end with me confronting his fucking lieutenant and delivering a message. But I couldn’t because guess what happened?”

  Her face slowly paled. “Oh . . .”

  “That guy who grabbed your arm? That was Victor Krupin, Dad’s right-hand man.”

  She blinked rapidly. “But Gideon was there. He got me away. So why didn’t you stay to deliver your message or whatever?”

  “Because you were still around. Because ten years ago, Dad had my girlfriend’s car run off the road and she died. And I’m not gonna let another woman be put in danger again just because she happened to get tangled up with me.”

  There was shock in her eyes. “He . . . killed her?”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “But . . . why? What did she do?”

  Zee didn’t want to talk about it, go through digging up that old shit again. But he was the one who’d brought it up and so he made himself go on. “Dad told me she was a bad influence. Because she didn’t want me to join the family business. She thought I was better than that. But no one gets out once they’re part of it and most especially not if you’re born into it.” A familiar grief locked hard in his chest. “So he had her taken out.”

  Tamara’s mouth opened. “Oh . . . Zee . . .”

  There was sympathy in her eyes, and for some reason that hurt. But he hardened himself against the unexpected pain and lifted one shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “It was a long time ago.”

  A heavy silence fell, one he didn’t particularly want to break.

  Then she said, “I’m not your girlfriend, you know that, right? You don’t have to protect me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re not supposed to be here in Royal and you’re not supposed to be with me. I can’t let anything like that happen again to another woman. I won’t.” He held her gaze, made her see how much he meant it. “Which is why you’re gonna go back to your apartment after this and you’re gonna stay there. And you’re never gonna see me again, understand?”

  Her gaze flickered. “I know that. It was always going to be that way anyway, right?”

  There was something in her voice he didn’t recognize, an undercurrent he didn’t understand. It made him want to justify himself. “I never promised you anything different, Tamara. Hell, you shouldn’t even have come down here again in the first place.”

  Abruptly she looked away from him, her arms tightened across her chest, hiding her beautiful breasts. “How was I supposed to know you’re the son of some crime boss? Like I told you, I just wanted to see you one more time.”

  Another silence fell, the atmosphere in the bathroom thick with tension.

  Ah, fuck; you should never have told her.

  He pushed himself away from the basin, not knowing what he was going to do, whether to go past her and get dressed or pick her up and sling her over his shoulder and take her to bed again.

  Then, when he was halfway across the bathroom from her, she looked at him, brown eyes steady, direct. “You’re wrong. It doesn’t change the way I see you.”

  He stopped, staring at her. “It should. Shit, Madison died because she got involved with me—”

  “Gideon told me about you before you came to the garage tonight. He told me about the gym and the programs you’re setting up for the outreach center. And that you donate all your fight winnings to local charities.”

  The tight thing in his chest was back, twisting hard. Because if he wasn’t careful, history would start repeating itself, another woman seeing something in him that wasn’t there and getting hurt because of it. “No, fuck no. Don’t go putting me up on a pedestal. I’m not a fucking saint.”

  But her dark gaze swept him up and down. “Of course you’re not. Any fool can see that. But you don’t want her to have died in vain and you’re doing what you can to right the balance, aren’t you?”

  He felt like she’d punched him in the chest, clear through his rib cage, leaving a hole right the way through to his heart. How she’d understood so easily, so quickly, was beyond him.

  “How the fuck would you know?” he demanded, defensive anger stirring.

  “Because I know a little something about balances.” She made no move, staring at him. “You wanted to know what happened with my brother? Well . . .” Her chest rose sharply. “I shot him.”

  Now he felt like she’d not only left a hole in his chest, but also had gotten her fingers around his heart. He couldn’t think of anything to say so he said nothing.

  “I told you he got violent? Well, one day he did. He was . . . going to throw me out of the plate glass window.” All the color had leached out of her skin, her cheeks deathly pale. “I didn’t know how to stop him. He was too big and too strong and nobody was home. So I managed to get away from him long enough to get to my Dad’s study because I knew he had a gun in his drawer. I thought if Will followed me, I’d wave it at him, maybe snap him out of it.” Her throat moved, a convulsive swallow. “But he didn’t. I shouted at him and pointed that stupid gun at him, but he just kept on coming. . . .” She stopped. “He was shouting stuff, someth
ing about how I was the devil and he had to kill me. And I knew that he’d do it and that this time I had to stop him somehow. So I pulled the trigger.”

  He didn’t know how it happened. One minute he was in the middle of the bathroom, the next he was in the doorway, his arms sliding around her, pulling her close. She went stiff, her hands coming up to press against his chest. “Don’t. I didn’t say this for pity and I don’t need you to make this—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He pulled her hands away from his chest and put them up above her head, pinning them there. Then he looked down into her pale face. “Did he die?”

  Her eyes were huge, dark as space, and he could see the pain in them, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She didn’t try to pull away, only looked back at him. “Yes.” The word was defiant. “I shot him and he died. So you see, you’re not the only one with ghosts. You’re not the only one who’s trying to balance things out. You’re not alone, Zee.”

  That hole in his chest hadn’t gone away and that simple statement just made it larger.

  You’re not alone.

  He’d never thought he was and yet . . . No one else knew his demons. Not Gideon. Not anyone else. Until Tamara.

  “You saved yourself,” he said, deciding to ignore that because he didn’t know how to deal with it.

  “Yes, but I killed him. It wasn’t even his fault. He was sick.”

  “You had to protect yourself.” He leaned down, holding her wrists crossed above her head, his free hand cupping her chin. “Sometimes that’s all you can do. Sometimes it’s the only thing you can do.” There had been no one to protect Madison. He’d never even known she was in danger.

  Tamara jerked her chin away. “My brother is still dead. I still shot him.”

  “So is Madison. And I didn’t even get to protect her because I didn’t know my motherfucking father was gonna kill her.”

  Her lashes came down, quivering on the pale skin of her cheeks. “You can’t make it better, Zee. Nothing can.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t have that very same thought, every fucking day?”

  She lifted those long, thick lashes again and the darkness in her eyes was like the darkness in himself. She didn’t say a word, just looked at him.

  He could feel the warmth of her skin against his, bare and soft and hot. And the scent rising from it, drowned flowers and musk.

  No, she wasn’t like Madison. She wasn’t in any way, shape, or form like Madison.

  On the surface she was all blond innocence and privilege, but inside . . . Inside she was darkness just like him.

  “I know one thing that can make it better,” he said roughly. And he gripped her chin again and forced her head back. And he kissed her, hard and deep, pushing his tongue into her mouth and taking everything. Taking the darkness inside her into himself.

  All the rigidity melted away from her and suddenly she was arching against him, making desperate sounds in her throat. Pulling against his hold, the desperation that was rising in himself rising in her, too.

  Fuck his father and fuck this life he was trying to make for himself. Fuck trying to do right, be a good man. That wasn’t going to make it better and it wasn’t going to bring Madison back. Maybe in the morning he’d change his mind, but right now, he was ready to throw himself into that darkness and drown in it. With Tamara.

  Zee lifted his mouth from hers, jerked her head to the side. Then he bit her neck, hard enough to leave a mark. She shuddered in his grip, tugging at the hold he had on her wrists, but he didn’t let her go, closing his teeth around her again, then licking her, tasting her. Going lower, he licked his way over the curve of one high breast, taking her taut nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

  She gasped, her hips lifting against his, trying to grind her pussy against his cock. Electricity whipped through him as the damp heat of her pressed against him, the rough silk of her curls grazing against the sensitive head of his dick.

  Maybe this would be all they would ever have, this chemistry, this pleasure. But it was enough. Right now, it was the only thing he wanted.

  He pulled away from her, looking down into her face. The color was back in her cheeks, but the darkness in her eyes was never ending. “You’re right,” she said huskily. “It does make it better.”

  “Then come here.” He let go of her wrists, curled an arm around her waist, and tugged her into the bathroom, positioning her so she was in front of the vanity, in front of the mirror with him at her back. He met her gaze in the mirror for one long, uncounted second.

  Then he pushed her down.

  * * *

  Her heart thudded in her chest and she was trembling so bad it was a good thing she had the cold porcelain of the vanity to lean against because otherwise she’d be a heap on the floor.

  She shouldn’t have told him about Will; she knew she shouldn’t. But she hadn’t been able to help herself, not after hearing about his girlfriend. She hadn’t wanted him to feel alone, because she knew what guilt felt like and she could see it written all over his beautiful face.

  It didn’t matter whose son he was or what he had done before, he’d lost someone like she had and he felt responsible. He was trying to right the balance like she was and he had to know she knew what that meant.

  She hadn’t expected him to cross the room to hold her, to try to make it better, and it had taken her off guard. No one had ever done that for her and it felt like he’d reached inside her chest and pulled her heart out. All her defense mechanisms had kicked in and she’d tried to push him away. Except of course, being Zee, he wasn’t to be pushed.

  Now here she was, bent over the vanity with him standing hot and hard behind her, his silver gaze catching hers in the mirror. And she was trembling, shaking with desperation for him no matter that it had only been a matter of minutes since the last time. But she knew now it wasn’t only because of their physical chemistry. There was something more here, something deeper.

  They’d shared secrets and that forged a bond, no matter how much they didn’t want it or tried to deny it.

  It was there in his eyes as he stared at her, into her. As his hand trailed down her spine in a long, stroking movement. Bracing herself for hard and rough, the gentle touch made her shiver uncontrollably. Reminding her that for all that he was rough and dirty, there had been moments of gentleness. Moments when he’d taken care of her, been concerned for her comfort. He’d noticed her fear when he’d held her down the first time, and then afterward he’d run her a bath to soothe her tender skin. And then, just now, he’d crossed the room to hold her, an instinctive move to offer comfort.

  She stared at him in the mirror, a sudden thought catching at her.

  Was anyone gentle with him? Did anyone comfort him? Hold him? Did anyone look after him at all? He was a hard man all over, physically and emotionally, and given his past, it was no wonder. But everyone needed someone to hold them sometimes. Everyone needed to feel that there was someone there for them.

  Zee’s fingers trailed down her spine again and over the curve of her butt, sending another shiver through her, and she kept her gaze on those fascinating eyes of his, metallic, glittering.

  Was anyone there for him? He had those friends of his at the garage, but she got the feeling that the relationships there were complicated, difficult. That they might be his friends, but they all had their own problems.

  You could be there for him. It could be you.

  But she couldn’t. She had her own problems, her own debts to pay. Her own atonement to make. And if she wanted to be there for Zee, it could only be for tonight.

  It would have to be enough.

  His hand stroked the back of her thighs, still gentle, the tips of his fingers brushing her sex, making her shake. God, she’d have to do this now before he distracted her.

  “Zee,” she said softly. “Stop.”

  His hand on the back of her thigh halted. “What?”

  She straightened and turned around,
staring up into his face. Then she put her hands back on the vanity and pushed herself up on top of it. He frowned. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Spreading her knees, she held out her arms. “Come here.”

  “Pretty girl, you’re not in charge here. You don’t get to give me orders.”

  So he was going to play hard to get, was he?

  She leaned back on her hands, allowing her knees to fall open, letting him get a good view. “Why? Scared I might make you do something you don’t want?”

  His gaze dropped between her thighs. Stayed there. “Don’t play with me, baby. You might not like what happens if you do.”

  “I’m not playing. But we’ve done this your way all night so far. I want to do it mine for a change.” She paused, shifting her hips in a deliberately sensual movement. “Unless you’re not secure enough in your manhood to let me have a little control.”

  Slowly he looked back up at her. “Jesus, Tamara.”

  “Well?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to ask again.”

  The intensity in his face eased, his mouth curving in an almost smile. Then he shook his head. “Fuck. Well, when you put it like that.” Stepping forward, he came to stand between her thighs, sliding his hands up her legs, his fingers gripping her.

  She looked up at him, held his gaze. Then she closed her legs around his hips, pressing her sex right up against the hot length of his cock. The flame in his gaze burned higher and his fingers slid farther up her thighs, pushing beneath her butt to gather her in his hands, squeezing her.

  Bastard. He was hoping to distract her, no doubt.

  Tamara put her hands on his chest and pressed them there, the heat of his body slowly seeping through her. His skin was hot and smooth, the flames and feathers of his phoenix reaching across his right pec. She touched it, tracing the lines, stroking gently. It was beautifully drawn, a work of art. “This is gorgeous,” she murmured.

  He squeezed her again, his hips shifting, his cock pressing a little harder. Oh yeah, definitely he was trying to distract her. “I like it.”

  She ran her finger along the flaming wing that ran from his shoulder and down. “You said Rachel did it, right?”