Chapter 4

"Hey," he says, his face registering his surprise.

"Hi," I reply quietly.

"I didn't expect to see you back here," he says.

A wry smile twists my lips. "I didn't expect to come back. The last thing you need is for me to be darkening your doorstep again."

"Don't be silly," he says gently. "Come in."

Cash holds the door open to the bar and lets me in, closing and locking it after me. It's just past noon and he's sheathed in sweat. His face is red, and he's breathing hard. From somewhere deeper in the building, I hear the gruff, growling voice of Rob Zombie's ‘Dragula' playing. We stand in the middle of the bar staring at each other. My heart flutters wildly, and my throat is suddenly dry. The silence lingers on as his golden eyes burn into me, my pulse racing so fast, I'm afraid my heart is going to explode inside of me.

"You've got good taste in music," I say for lack of anything intelligent to say.

He grins. "Always been a big fan of Rob Zombie. It's good music to work out to."

It's been a week since I left Cash's place that morning. A week spent on the sofas of the few friends I do have. My job search has come up empty, and every morning I wake up, that sense of desperation-fueled panic grips me tighter. It fills me with such dread, it's choking the life out of me. The only good thing I've done this past week is leave my boyfriend once and for all. It's not much in terms of accomplishments, but it's something. I guess.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your workout," I say.

"It's fine. Come on out back with me."

I follow him through the bar, the silence in the building seeming to be odd and out of place. He takes me through a door in the back of a small kitchen, stepping into an enclosed courtyard that's covered by a tin roof. Bright green astroturf covers the ground in the courtyard and various exercise equipment sits atop black, rubber mats. I lick my lips and try to work some moisture into my mouth as I avert my gaze, doing my best to keep from leering at his body. Dressed in shorts and a tank top, Cash's body is on full display. His biceps are as big around as my thigh, and he's got a couple of tats high up on his arms. He sees me looking at them.

He points to the one on his upper right arm. "This is my unit's logo when I was with the Rangers," he says and points to the one on his left. "And this is one a guy in my unit designed. We all got them when we were overseas."

I'm having trouble forming a coherent thought, let alone a word, and don't really know what to say, so I nod stupidly as I gape at him. The deep bass of Cash's chuckle rumbles across my skin, making my stomach turn a somersault as it ignites that familiar fire between my thighs. I grit my teeth and try to push all the inappropriate thoughts flitting through my mind as Cash walks over and hits a button on his phone, cutting off the music, and plunging his makeshift gym into silence.

He grabs a towel and wipes his face as he sits on the bench press. "So, what can I do for you, Cassie?"

"I left my boyfriend," I blurt out.

"Yeah? Good for you. You deserve better."

I shuffle my feet and wring my hands together, not sure how to ask what I came here to ask. Asking for somebody's charity is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. My folks raised me to be self-sufficient and independent. They taught me that I have to be able to provide for myself. And yet, here I am, proverbial hat in hand, looking for a handout. I have never felt so ashamed in my life.

"I could still use some help around the bar," Cash says. "I'm hoping you're here to tell me you'll take me up on the job."

I gnaw on my bottom lip as I raise my gaze to his, grateful that he's bailing me out—again—and letting me maintain some shred of my dignity by not making me beg.

"I-I'd like to take the job," I say.

"Good. Excellent," he replies. "I'm glad to hear it."

That's only one half of the reason I'm here, and my stomach continues to churn harder, the thick hands of shame wrapping my throat and squeezing even tighter. Cash, though, allows me to save a little face yet again.

"Do you have your things?" he asks. "I put that second room together thinking you might want to take it at some point."

"I do," I say as relief washes through me.

"Good. Go get your things and we'll get you set up."

He gets to his feet, and my body seems to move of its own accord. I step forward and, standing on my tiptoes, throw my arms around the back of his neck. I look up at him and draw in a sharp breath as his intensely sensual eyes stare down at me. With his hard, firm body pressed to mine, I'm suddenly very aware of the heat coming off his body, which only seems to feed the flames burning low in the center of me.

Our gazes are locked, and my mouth grows dry as the moment stretches on. The chemistry between us is very real, and it's so powerful that it nearly steals my breath. Cash looks like he wants to sweep me into his arms, kiss me, and do ten thousand sexy, filthy things with me. Of course, that could just be a case of projection. It's probably just that I want him to do that to me. He doesn't, though. Instead, he offers me a small smile and takes a step back. He turns away and tries to hide the bulge in his shorts but not before I saw it. Too late.

The desire wells up inside of me, and for some reason, it's all I can do to keep myself from jumping on Cash and having my way with him. The irony of my situation isn't lost on me. I broke up with my boyfriend because I wasn't ready to have sex with him. Yet, here I am, silently willing Cash to tear my clothes off and take me. And the fact that he isn't doing that only makes me want him to do it all the more.

"I'll go get my things," I say silently.

"That's probably a good idea," he says, his voice husky.

Later that night,after he's helped me get all settled into the spare room in his place above the bar, I lie in bed staring up at the ceiling. I hear the sound of the shower running and find myself fantasizing about stepping into the shower with him. As I imagine his strong, hard body pressed to mine, I grow uncomfortably wet. Slipping my hand down beneath the covers, I slide them into my panties and gasp as the tips of my fingers brush my clit.

In my mind's eye, Cash is pushing me against the cool tile wall of the shower. His lips are pressed to mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth and his hand is between my thighs. Cash's fingers slide between my wet, slick folds then plunge deep into me. With the fingers of one hand strumming my clit, I bite down on the side of the other to stifle my moans as I picture Cash bending me over and taking me from behind.

"Oh, God," I whisper.

With two fingers driving in and out of my dripping wet center, I imagine it's Cash's long, thick cock. I squeeze my eyes shut and bite harder on the side of my hand as I pretend that Cash is fucking me with a wild abandon that takes my breath away. I imagine his hands in my hair as he pulls it hard, forcing my head back as he pumps himself into me, the sharp slapping sound of our wet bodies colliding ringing in my ears.

My skin is hot to the touch and electricity flows through my veins. I slide a third finger into me, and my eyes widen, my gasp louder than I intended. But I can't stop. With images of Cash fucking me, I thrust my fingers into me again and again. The pressure inside me builds, and just before my orgasm comes crashing down over me, I bury my face into my pillow, muffling my cries. My body shakes uncontrollably, and I gasp, having a hard time catching my breath as I come.

The electricity crackling across my skin slowly fades and my body cools as my orgasm fades and the iron bands around my chest loosen, letting me breathe again. Removing the pillow from my face, I stare up at the ceiling, a wide, goofy smile stretching my lips. It slips away though as the voices in my head start yammering all at once, the cacophony in my mind quickly growing unbearable.

My thoughts are conflicted, and I feel like a hypocrite. I broke up with my boyfriend because I wasn't ready to have sex with him. And yet, here I am one night in my new place, fantasizing about Cash, nearly ready to throw myself at him. Nearly ready to beg him to fuck me. Is it because I'm genuinely attracted to him? Or is it because I'm having some sort of weird hero-slash-daddy issue because he saved me? I just don't know right now.

Over the clamor of raucous voices in my head, most of them seeming to condemn me for my hypocrisy, one thought rings through louder than the rest. And it says one simple thing.

Maybe moving into Cash's place wasn't the best idea after all.