Conditioned (Brewing Passion Book 3) Page 4

  Chapter Five

  Trent sat in the uncomfortable chair next to the bed, watching her sleep. He’d been sitting there for two hours before he remembered to move. Which made for more than a little pain, considering he was no spring chicken.

  With a groan, he stood slowly, rolled his shoulders, popped his neck first one way then the other and bent over to make sure he could still touch his toes.

  “Being forty sucks,” he muttered to himself as he walked around, waiting for his legs to stop tingling while his circulation got back to normal.

  On the bed behind him, Melody sucked in a breath. He turned, heart in his throat. Her eyes were open wide, glaring at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure if she was fully awake and didn’t want to startle her so he held back. At least that’s what he told himself. He had another reason for it. And it had everything to do with the terrifying, overwhelming urge he had to slide in beside her and hold her tight until she knew she was safe.

  He shook his head.

  Stop it, Hettinger. Not every woman needs a Big Strong Hero. This woman seems pretty fucking strong.

  Some asshole had broken her nose and she still managed to almost blind one of them with her thumb and render another one incapacitated with a hard knee to the balls. By the time he’d figured out what was going on and kicked open the men’s room door, two of her attackers had been yelping and either hopping around or curled up on the dirty floor. Only one of the three jerks still had his hands on her.

  But that had been enough for him.

  That sorry son-of-a-bitch would be spending a good long time in the hospital.

  “Hey,” a voice called from the half-open door. “Can I come in?”

  Trent backed away from the bed, his throat closed up. The whole thing had been a buzz—from the second he’d clapped eyes on her, through the awkward beer lesson, to the moment he realized that she was staring at him as much as he had been her. Determined to monitor their booze intake, he’d stretched out his super boring meeting with the town eggheads, so he had an excuse to stick around. Just in case.

  Just in case anything went wrong.

  Sue me. I’m a hero. I wanted to make sure she got out of there okay and she almost didn’t so shut up.

  Evelyn eased into the dim room. “Melody? Honey? You awake?” She was clutching a bouquet of tulips and a couple of milkshakes. “I brought sustenance.”

  A sob erupted from the bed, sending a shard of ice through Trent’s heart. But he held back.

  Evelyn ran to the bed. “What is it? Do you need some pain medicine? We can get you the good stuff in here.”

  Trent backed up more until he felt the wall behind him, studying the blonde woman beside the hospital bed. Evelyn Benedict was drop dead gorgeous. There was no arguing that point. She had a gorgeous, hourglass figure which she always emphasized with great clothes. Her willingness to highlight her height by wearing heels had turned him on no end. Well, okay, that and her tits. She had tits that would make a grown man cry.

  What? I said I was a hero, not a saint.

  They’d had a couple of vanilla dates which had been nice. She had a sharp, self-deprecating sense of humor and a healthy, realistic appetite. Women who ordered a salad and ate three bites of lettuce before declaring themselves “stuffed” made him nuts.

  He’d know. He’d been married to one.

  They’d been set up by a mutual friend, a manager at a brewery who knew them both. The dinner party had included six other couples so it hadn’t been totally awkward. He’d liked her from the start and it had been mutual. But he’d been reluctant to draw her into anything more than a third date, which had ended nicely.

  He’d avoided her for almost a month after that and to her credit, she had taken the hint. After spending a long weekend at a retreat with fellow business owners that had involved periods of quiet meditation, hours of exercise and intense workshops about all aspects of running their perspective companies, he’d come home refreshed and ready.

  She’d agreed to accompany him to one party “just to observe”. That had ended even more nicely but, again, in a fairly vanilla fashion. The next weekend he’d taken a chance and taken her out of town, to one of the Georgia barrier islands and an exclusive club he’d found through a friend back in Ann Arbor. “Full immersion,” she’d claimed to want. “Nothing halfway.”

  And it had been all of that, and some more. A shiver shot down his spine at the memory of her, of them, that long, erotic weekend. But the sense that she’d been acting the part, humoring him, had lingered after that and since then, they’d cooled it. And he’d not really missed her. Which was a good sign he’d made the right call.

  He watched as she hovered over Melody, long, honey-blonde hair hiding most of her near-perfect profile. Evelyn was probably the closest he’d come to having a girlfriend since his disaster of a marriage. And it hadn’t been right. They’d both known it.

  And now…

  “Hurts,” Melody whispered from the bed. “I need some water.”

  He grabbed a cup and straw that he’d been guarding like a mama lion and handed it to Evelyn. She took it without looking at him and held it to Melody’s dry lips. Trent licked his lips on reflex, believing that he could feel her pain radiating through his own sinuses. He’d had two broken noses in his day. It was a function of playing sports in high school. They hurt like hell but did heal pretty fast.

  But now…

  Now. He honestly believed he could feel every twinge she felt.

  That realization made him stumble back, heart racing. He’d felt this way before—but that had turned out to be a fraud and had landed him with huge alimony payments and misery. He wouldn’t go here again. He didn’t trust himself or his instincts anymore.

  He needed to get the hell out of here.

  “Trent?” Evelyn stood, set the cup on the rolling table and patted Melody’s arm.

  “I’ll…uh…go now. Since you’re here.”

  “Wait.”

  But he was halfway down the rubbery-smelling hallway, in the elevator, his legs shaking, into his Jeep and racing home before he allowed himself to breathe normally. Which was a relief.

  Or was it?

  * * * *

  “What the fuck, man?”

  He winced and held the phone away from his ear as he struggled up from sleep. Glancing around, confused for a hot second, he realized he’d only made it as far as the couch before passing out cold from depleted adrenaline and his own healthy helping of beer the night before. “Good morning to you too, Glory.”

  “Fuck you. What the hell do you mean, running out of her room like that?”

  “I’m… I…” He set his feet on the floor, trying to get his bearings and defend what was in essence, indefensible. “I’m sorry. Is she all right?”

  “She’s all right. Mortified, embarrassed, all the shit that you could have set her straight on, you massive asshat.”

  Trent felt his ears get hot, a clear precursor to anger. But he took a breath, got up and headed for the kitchen and a glass of water, allowing himself a few seconds to respond. And for Evelyn to calm down.

  “Sorry,” she said. “But Jesus, Trent. You ran out like your nuts were on fire. She was pretty upset.”

  He drank two full glasses of water before he felt like he had the wherewithal to answer. This had a tinge of surrealism to it anyway. As recently as the night before, he’d asked Evelyn out again, right in front of Melody. For reasons that had more to do with immaturity, he knew, than anything else. Unfair to both women.

  Asshat, indeed.

  “Listen, Evelyn, I…”

  An uncomfortable beat of silence took on a life of its own.

  “What?” She exhaled loudly. “Trent, you and I… We aren’t going to work. You know it as well as I do. I like you. You’re…fun and sexy and…”

  He grinned and leaned back against his sink. “Go on.”

  “No, jerk. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re not too bad yours
elf. But I agree. We’re better off as friends.”

  “Right. So…about Melody.”

  “What about her?”

  “Dear Lord, you are seriously saying that to me?”

  “I am.” He ran a shaking hand down his face. “I have… It’s weird, Evelyn. I don’t know how to explain it. She sort of…scares me.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  Fury flared in his brain. He rolled his neck, wincing at the stiffness from sleeping on the couch. “Tell you what, I’ll—”

  “You’ll go pick her up at two today and take her home, that’s what.”

  “I’m busy,” he blustered.

  “Get un-busy. You can manage it, I’ll bet.”

  He heard Taylor wander into the living room. His fury flared hot again.

  Women. His life was choked with them and they would, without a doubt, kill him.

  “Fine. I’ll take her home. Now if you’ll excuse me, I—”

  But he was talking to a dead phone. Evelyn had already hung up.

  Chapter Six

  I sat, staring out of the window of Trent’s Jeep, nose aching, heart pounding, mouth dry. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” I repeated for the second, or maybe the fifth, time. “I could have gotten a ride home.”

  He downshifted so violently, the whole vehicle shook. “It’s fine,” he said, not even glancing at me. “I wanted to.”

  “Okay.” I looked out of the windshield, not soothed by any of this. Damn Evelyn. Woman was too nosy for her own good. “Turn here,” I said, pointing to the faux pretentious sign indicating my apartment complex. He turned so fast I had to grip the armrest to keep from sliding into his lap.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Which way now?”

  I stared at him, confused and rattled by his seeming curtness. I pointed left, then directed him through the rat’s maze of buildings until we reached mine. A white aluminum-sided, three-story affair, with six units flanking an outdoor staircase. I had the cheap unit—the studio on the basement level. It did walk out to a small, goose-infested pond. But between the goose-shit and their infernal honking, I never opened the sliding glass door much wider than a few inches.

  He parked and sat, his fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel. I sighed. I was obviously not someone he wanted to be around. No matter the superhero move he’d pulled with my attacker in the men’s room.

  “So, thanks. For everything.” I wrenched open the door and climbed out, gave him a non-committal wave without looking and turned toward the building. My nose ached. My head was weird and echo-y in a way that made me nervous. I didn’t want to be alone. But I’d weathered worse than this. I’d be fine.

  As I was heading down the stairs toward my door, my face jangling in pain with every step, I couldn’t hold back self-pitying tears. I sucked in a snotty breath, and tried to see where to stick the key through my weepy vision. The damn things fell out of my hands with a loud clank on the metal threshold. “Fucking fuck,” I muttered, reaching for them.

  I saw a set of shoes—box-toed, brown, dressy—near the keys. My skin tingled. I set my jaw. I didn’t need this right now. I didn’t want it—ever.

  His hand covered mine so I let go of the keys. He stuck the right one straight into the lock without even trying. The door swung open. We stood, staring into the depths of my place—a place I’d innocently left Wednesday morning for work, not knowing anything. Much less that the incredible man standing close enough to me that I believed I could sense the heat of his skin would be here, making me weak and not from pain, either.

  “Well,” I said, my voice all nasally and weird. “Thanks. Again.”

  He stood there, his jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grinding. Before I could stop myself, my hand lifted and my fingers grazed his dark stubble. He closed his eyes and took a step back.

  “Sorry,” I said, unable to take my eyes off him. I wanted to touch him. My fingers itched—they burned—to feel his skin. My legs got wobbly again. I took the step over the threshold, leaving him standing there, looking miserable. I shut the door halfway, using it as a shield between us. He put a hand on it, pressing against it. I pushed back, feeling defensive all of a sudden. This was my space. I didn’t want him in it.

  I did. But that was beside the current point.

  I didn’t trust myself around him. The last thing I needed was this kind of bizarre neediness.

  “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Sure,” I said, opening it all the way.

  Nice one, chica. Way to be strong.

  He stepped inside, instantly overwhelming my small space. I turned into the kitchen area, flipping on the kettle for something to do. He stood, hands in his pockets, watching me as I busy-worked for a few seconds. I mixed the hot water with my mama’s spiced tea mix, stirred the two cups and handed him one. He smiled and sniffed it.

  “Yum.”

  “Family recipe.”

  We sipped. Silence descended like a heavy blanket. I sighed and put my cup down.

  “How’s the nose?” he asked, leaning against the tall counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.

  “Painful,” I admitted. Exhaustion washed over me, making me sway on my feet.

  He grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s get you set up somewhere horizontal.”

  “I’m not usually this much of a wimp,” I insisted, letting him lead me to the couch. “I swear it.”

  “I’m sure.” He grabbed pillows and propped them all at one end, sat me down and gave me a tiny shove so I flopped back. “There. Consider yourself nurtured.” He grinned at me. I felt something unclench in my chest. I stretched my arms up over my head and my feet out behind him. He grabbed the blanket over the back of the couch and tossed it down over me. “See. This is me, Mr. Sensitive.”

  I pulled the blanket up around me. The remnants of the painkillers were wearing off. The soft edges of the pain in my face were taking on a bite, making me squint in the light. “Would you mind grabbing the pills in my purse? And a glass of water?”

  He gave my leg a quick pat, sending all my nerve endings down happy lane. I pulled the blanket up higher, watching as he dug through my bag, then poured a glass of water. “One or two?”

  “Just one, thanks.”

  He crouched down beside the couch and handed me the pill, then the water. I swallowed it and dropped back, half asleep already. He must have grabbed the glass. Sighing, I stretched again, loving the sensation of being in my own space. And yes, the fact of Trent’s presence. That he’d come to get me, driven me home, unlocked my door when I was too weepy to deal. And he’d just brought me a pain pill.

  My brain was shutting down. But I reached out anyway. His warm hand closed around mine. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’ll stay, if you want me to.”

  I nodded, rolling onto my side. His dark, handsome face was the last thing I saw before falling into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

  * * * *

  I woke with a start, dragging myself up from a deep hole filled with old beer smells, the ocean, moldy buildings and pain. I sat up too fast, slamming straight into a wall of actual pain. “Holy shit,” I said, touching the bandages on my nose. The room was dark—too dark.

  I sat and wrapped the blanket around myself, trying to shake the cobwebs. The doorknob rattled, making me jump up, heart in my throat. Trent appeared holding a greasy bag that smelled amazing. “You scared me,” I said, running a hand through my hair and my tongue over my fuzzy teeth. “I need a shower.”

  He put the bag on the tall counter and took a few steps toward me. I held up a hand, unable to stop the giggle. “I’m good, thanks. I think I can manage it.”

  “Right. I’ll get the food out.”

  “Yes. Good plan.” I smiled at him. He took another step closer. I put up both hands. “Nope. I reek from head to toe. Go there.” I pointed to the kitchen. “Be useful.”

  “I’m pretty damn useful,” he said, running both hands down
his chest. I tried not to gulp, settling my face in a firm expression.

  “Yeah? Prove it.” I headed for the back of the apartment where my small bedroom space adjoined the bathroom. One hot shower and a careful tooth brushing session later, I emerged, feeling slightly better—if woozy from the pills. I had to wean myself off, step down to some regular old ibuprofen. I could hear music—something that sounded a lot like the Beatles—and smelled the sharp edge of takeout Indian food.

  Perfect.

  I grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a long, shapeless sweatshirt, dragging it down over my sports bra. On the way down, I managed to whap my own nose, which forced me to sit before I fell down from the dizzying pain. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine,” Trent said. Startled, I stood, tugging the ragged edges of the sweatshirt down to cover my crotch. His eyes gleamed in the gloom in the back of the apartment. “Hungry?” He held out his elbow.

  “I was,” I said, ignoring his arm and heading toward the good smells and happy noises. “Then I smacked my own nose.”

  He circled around me and headed into the kitchen, then turned to me, brandishing two full plates of food. “Your feast, madam.”

  “Gracias, guapo.”

  “Huh. Yes, I am quite handsome, now that you mention it.” He tilted his head, studying me again. “You surprised I understood you?”

  “Nope. I’ve decided that nothing about you will surprise me.” I set my plate on the counter and dragged one of the two tall chairs that I’d found at a cheap furniture store. They were still too short—the damn surface was so unnaturally high. Trent set his plate down next to mine. I picked up my fork, but my hand shook so much I dropped it and clenched my fingers together in my lap.

  “In pain?” Trent was reaching for the small packet of pills I’d gotten from the hospital pharmacy. I shook my head and pointed to a cabinet behind him. He opened them until he located the small cache of over-the-counter pills and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. I nodded and caught the bottle when he tossed it to me, popped a couple of them into my mouth and drank the water.