It was what I'd always been drawn to.

It was no better than a gambling addiction.

Not once had one of these guys—for all their sexy smiles or confident boasts—been good for me. They'd stolen a part of my soul with every encounter.

Why, knowing that, did I expect Huck to be different?

Yup. I'm stupid and crazy. This confirms it. Sitting up, I went to smooth my hair. In my hand, I found the sharp corner of his card.

Lifting it high, I read the words and stifled a bitter laugh.

Muscle for hire. Yet, he kept implying he'd like to do more for me than violently swipe aside a man in a ring.

Frowning, I turned the little rectangle, looked at every side of it. Huxton was a stripper, but the card didn't say that. Not openly.

How had Eliza known, then?

Buzzing with wonder, I pushed myself to my feet. Hanging my coat and purse up, I tip-toed down the hall to my bedroom. I didn't want to wake Eliza, even if I had questions. I was too tired to deal with her scolding me about not coming back for my birthday party.

In a way, it wasn't like I'd made her waste her money. She'd wanted me to be entertained by Huck. Well, I'd spent a good chunk of my night with him.

Wasn't that sort of close, at least in spirit?

Shutting my door, I fell onto my bed with a giant groan. Face first, not looking, I kicked my shoes off. They thumped to the floor, bouncing away. The blanket was cool on my forehead. That was good, because my head was so hot I was sure I was running a fever.

This had been a very long day for me. My heart had rattled around uneasily when Eliza had organized the party. I wanted to get away from alcohol and loud music and bad decisions. She'd just wanted to lift my spirits.

I'd appreciated the effort. After leaving Reese, I'd depressingly realized that I was left with no friends. He'd been all I had, I'd gotten so wrapped up in him and his bullshit—and mine.

His friends had remained just that; his. I'd been alone.

Eliza was sweet, and also too good at prying information from me. When checking out the house in my rental hunt, she'd sat me down, poured me a drink—ignoring my protests—and insisted that she get to know me.

She'd claimed it was all routine roommate stuff. Five drinks in, and I'd spilled the beans about Reese. I'm a sloppy drunk. I'm not proud of it.

Maybe she sympathized, maybe she could relate. I still wasn't sure where her giant heart came from. That day, she'd offered me the room and lowered the rent so that my paltry waitress job would let me live here.

LA was expensive, it drained my funds constantly. I'd have left if I could have. Frankly, between what I owed to Nehro and what I could barely make on my own, escape was impossible.

But money wasn't the only reason.

Money had gotten me in trouble. It was my guilt that kept me locked in this place.

Sighing, I shoved the bitter thoughts aside. I'd been in this mindset too long, too many nights. My life sucked, it wasn't new to me.

I was determined to fix it. I'd spent my years wasting away in clubs and at parties and with scummy men.

I was done with all of that.

Well, once I clear my debt... THEN I'll be done with all of that. Until then, I'd always be forced to interact with Nehro—and Reese.

Flopping onto my back, I stared at the ceiling and smoothed the knots from my windswept hair. The tangles that had been caused by the wickedly liberating motorcycle ride.

His motorcycle.

Huxton, why are you so firmly in my head? Tapping my temple, I chuckled. Get out. Go back to wherever you came from. Where did he come from? The man was an enticing mystery.

A mystery you are not about to solve, I reminded myself. He fit the picture of a guy with problems. I was no longer in the business of trying to fix broken men.

Broken, damaged, sexy fucking men.

Dammit.

Running my fingers over my collar bone, down to my stomach, I felt the ghost of his warmth. If I shut my eyes, I could smell the leather and musk of his aroma. Huck couldn't be around me. I was too raw still, not ready to fight my desires.

He'd given me his card... but I would never call him again.

Unlike others, I could keep some promises. I was sure of that.

Still, I mused, tracing my own bare thigh under my dress. He was something else. The way he moved, fuck. The way he felt, pressing between my thighs. Pushing my knees apart, I relived the lap-dance he'd given me.

His methods were intense. He acted the whole time like he knew what he was doing to me. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd read every twitch and single breath I'd made, used it to make me crumble into shivering paste.

His hands, his lips, his god damn thick cock.

I'd hungered to feel it doing more than grazing over my panties.

If that asshole—Kit—hadn't shown up, would we have broken down and gone for it? I kept assuming it was me who'd decide if we went all the way. What if Huxton hadn't been planning that? If I'd yanked my panties aside and begged him to fuck me, could he have said no?

Inching my fingers down to the junction of my legs, I tugged at my underwear. No. He wouldn't have denied me. Maybe he'd have teased me, made me beg, but...

He'd been so rock hard. No way he'd have resisted.

Closing my eyes, I watched the colors behind my eyelids. Reds and yellows pulsed, reminding me of his tattoos. I had such a fucking weakness for tattoos. His were everywhere, even his hands and neck. A guy like that feared nothing. He didn't care if no one would hire him because of such overt visuals.

Did he really make his money stripping?

And protecting people like me?

Shivering, I thought about his strength. Outlining my pussy, I slid my panties lower. I was already wet, though not as soaked as I'd been when Huck had gyrated his erection against me.

Thinking about him... doing this... it was dangerous. A really fucking bad idea. I'll never see him again. It'll be fine. Plus, I hadn't gotten laid in over a month. My body was starving.

Rubbing myself softly, I pictured his smile. That cocky grin. I hated it and loved it. The way it warmed me was unfair. He was a shot of whiskey in front of a recovering alcoholic. I wanted to slurp him down, to fill myself with him and forget the reasons I shouldn't.

A moan escaped me, fingers sliding easily over my swollen clit. So much pressure, so much heat. I was going crazy with my need for release. There was tension in every limb. It spread lower, controlling my stomach, reaching into my cunt and stoking my fires.

My fingers weren't the same as a cock—any cock.

His cock.

It had felt amazing, firm and fat and cruel. If he'd kept rubbing on me, I could have gotten myself off just from that.

Panting heavily, I made small circles, teasing my clit. Dipping two fingers inside, I curled them, imagined they were his. It was a poor imitation, but it worked.

Grinding onto my own palm, feeling his phantom lips on my throat, I moaned. Tingling down to my toes, I squeezed around my fingers, wriggled them quicker. Unable to wait any longer, I slid free and thumbed my sensitive button.

His voice sank into my skull, filled the cracks of my brain. Inhaling, I smelled him—visualized him—and lost it. Wicked vibrations took over. My veins pulsed with not just blood, but electric need. Flexing with orgasm, I covered my mouth to muffle the noise.

The last thing I wanted was to wake up Eliza.

Trembling, laying in my sweat, I enjoyed the spasms of the lingering release. Liquid coated my inner thighs. I felt how wet I was, shoving my panties off my ankles and kicking them aside. They would be useless.

What I really needed was a shower.

A god damn, cold as ice shower.