Once Upon a Power Play (2 page)

Chapter Two

F
an-freaking-tastic. “
You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chloe muttered, refusing to believe her ears, or her eyes. Twenty-five years of living in the city and she’d never once been touched by its violence. Never been scammed, or mugged, or even had her goddamn pocket picked. There was no way she’d stumbled into an armed robbery. No. Way. But, yeah, it was definitely happening. Right now. In the bodega. The proof stood fifty feet away—give or take—wielding a gun and looking cracked out of his ever-loving mind. Fear blossomed in her belly, a tremor crawling up her spine and taking root.

When Lumberjack Boy clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her behind a tower of Cheerios, crushing her to his solid chest and shielding her with his mammoth body, her fears were reaffirmed. With her brain on high alert, she couldn’t help but notice the masculine scent of soap and spice that clung to his body. Or that the hands wrapped around her were both soft and strong, scooping her up and holding her secure, as though she weighed nothing at all. When he gently set her back on the floor, she pulled away from him immediately, putting as much distance between their bodies as the small space allowed. Which wasn’t much considering he was a freaking giant.

Out of sight, they crouched together and watched the scene at the front of the store unfold, helpless to stop it.

“I said open up that register and give me the cash, bitch!” the robber yelled, waving his pistol around like Annie Oakley. Her stomach dropped. Dude was totally unstable.

“I think I’m gonna pee my pants.”

Lumberjack Boy’s head whipped around, full lips pressed in a grim line.
Oops
. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. His eyes darted to her stocking covered legs and something wicked flared in his eyes, sending a heat wave to her center. “You’re not wearing any pants, princess.”

She nearly laughed at the absurdity of his observation, and her body’s reaction to him. Only that was likely to get them discovered and quite possibly shot, judging by the ranting of the nut job up front. Forcing herself to table her misplaced arousal, she peeked around the corner.

“Bitch, you better open that register if you know what’s good for you!” the guy yelled.

The cashier was crying, trying to explain through her tears she couldn’t open the register without completing a transaction. Even from a distance, Chloe could see her hands shaking. What would he do if the girl couldn’t get him cash? She didn’t want to find out.

Apparently Paul Bunyan was thinking the same thing. “We can’t just sit here. We have to do something.”

“Yeah, call the police,” she whispered, resting her chin on her knees and sucking in a deep breath. She did not want to die in a damn grocery store. Wearing her best dress, nonetheless.

He studied her with blue eyes so clear and bright they reminded her of the summer sky—something she hoped to see again if they survived this little adventure. “The police may not get here in time. I’m going in for a closer look.”

“Have you lost your mind?” She squeaked, hating the way her words were laced with terror. Since they were two aisles past the register and hidden from view, the guy had no idea they were even in the store. Surely that was a good thing. God only knew what he’d do if they spooked him. “He has a gun!”

“Look.” He gestured to the front of the store, ridiculously calm given they were living out their very own, very terrifying episode of
Law & Order
. “It’s just some punk kid, but if he does something to that girl, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Some punk kid who’s packing heat and probably high as a kite!”

His lips twitched. The cocky bastard. “All the more reason not to wait for the cops. He doesn’t even know we’re here, which gives me an advantage. Besides, he’s probably scared, just like us. Stay here and call the police. I’m going up there.”

Scared like us? Because the lumberjack sure as hell didn’t seem afraid in the least. No, he surveyed the store with a deep-seated calm that was hard for her panic-stricken brain to comprehend, his eyes sweeping over the cashier, the robber, and the aisles that separated them. Was he playing out the scene in his mind, planning his next move?

Curious about the lime-stealing jerk who seemed so immune to fear, she studied his profile. Despite his obnoxious disposition, he wasn’t terrible to look at. Her eyes dropped to his ass, finding it firm, round, and swathed in denim that fit like a second skin over his muscular butt and thighs. Okay, fine. Flannel shirt or not, the man was hot. Drool worthy, even. With a backward ball cap pinning his shaggy brown hair back, she had a clear view of his face. Strong jaw, slightly crooked nose, intense eyes.
Really
intense eyes. The kind that could overpower a woman, making her forget her resolve. Good thing he wasn’t her type.

At. All.

Besides, she was swearing off men. She gave herself a mental shake. Now was hardly the time to dwell on her disastrous love life.

When her human shield crept down the aisle, crouching on his haunches, she grabbed his shirt, cursing herself for noticing the well-defined muscles of his back and shoulders. “Be careful.”

After all, she didn’t want the big dumb oaf to get shot playing hero.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Look at the bright side. Dead men don’t need limes.”

Glaring at him for all she was worth, she crept along behind him, fishing through her bag in search of her phone.

R
yan inched down the aisle, cursing his bad luck and the pain shooting through his right calf. It was like being stabbed with a hot poker over and over. Blowing out a calming breath, he pushed the pain aside and focused on the girl behind the register. She was scared shitless. And who could blame her? The kid was screaming obscenities in her face. When he reached over the counter and grabbed the front of her shirt, Ryan’s gut clenched. He’d have to act fast. The situation was spiraling out of control and there was no way he was going to cower in the shadows, leaving the girl utterly defenseless. God forbid his sisters were ever in this situation, but if they were, he hoped someone would do the same for them, stranger or not.

In an attempt to hide his face from security cameras, the robber had pulled up the hood of his jacket. That was good news at least. While it obscured his face, it had to be blocking his peripheral vision, too. If he was quick, Ryan could probably take the kid down before he knew what hit him. He braced himself to lunge, knowing the action would be hell on his injured leg.

Ready.

Set.

Crash!

He whipped around. The woman in the gold dress stared at him, frozen in fear, dark eyes wide. A can of peas rolled across the floor, stopping only when it met the toe of his boot. What the hell did she think she was doing? She was going to get herself killed. And everyone else in the store. What part of “stay put and call the cops” hadn’t she understood?

“Who’s there?”

Shit. So much for the element of surprise.

“Get on out here before I put a bullet in this girl’s face!”

The cashier screamed, her terror echoing through the small store and penetrating right down to his bones.

“Stay back and stay hidden,” he whispered, cupping the chin of his less than stealthy companion and forcing her to focus on his eyes. “I’m going to take care of this, but whatever happens, you stay out of sight. I’ll keep you safe. Understand?”

She swallowed and nodded, her chin quivering. Her fear called to him, demanding he keep his promise. The look in her eyes, the tremble of her lips—they tapped into the protective, archaic, caveman side of him that would do anything for a woman in distress. He just hoped he wouldn’t let her down.

Putting his hands in the air, he slowly stepped into the open, careful not to make any sudden moves that would alarm the trigger-happy robber.

“Who the fuck are you?” The kid stepped back, flicking his gun toward the cashier and motioning Ryan to join her so he could keep them both in his line of sight.

“Look, man, I’m nobody. Just stopped in to pick up a few things before the snow shuts the city down.” He moved toward the girl, using the opportunity to inch within arm’s reach of his target. Had he lost his mind? It was starting to feel like a suicide mission, but he had to stick to the plan, if only to protect the women. Who the hell knew if the cops were even on the way? And if they were, the weather outside would undoubtedly delay them. Talk about a perfect storm. He needed to get this situation unfucked—
now
. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ll tell you what, she can swipe my card to open the register. Everybody wins, nobody gets hurt.”

The kid thought it over, his eyes moving frantically between Ryan and the cashier. Yep. Definitely high. Or tweaking. Which was probably a good thing. Otherwise he’d realize Ryan’s offer was bullshit. The cashier didn’t need a card to open the register. The kid sniffed and wiped his nose. Finally, he nodded. “No funny business.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet. He held it high in the air, doing his best to look unthreatening and compliant. When the tweaker shifted his attention to the cashier again, he made his move. Shooting forward, he grabbed the kid’s wrists and forced the gun into the air. Underweight and in need of a good meal, he didn’t stand a chance. Their bodies spun around as they grappled for control of the gun. Ryan brought his knee up, burying it in the guy’s stomach. Just as he was about to take him down, a flash of gold caught the corner of his eye. One loud
thunk
later, the tweaker dropped facedown on the floor.

Holy. Shit.

The little vixen stood over his limp body, a look of surprise etched on her face. She’d clocked him with her purse. Her fucking
purse
. He hadn’t noticed before, but the thing was a monster. Probably weighed half as much as she did, judging by the size. Unable to believe his eyes, he nudged the kid with his boot. “He’s out cold.”

She smiled up at him triumphantly, not a hair out of place. “Should I hit him with pepper spray, too?”

Incredulous, he stared at her, unable to form words. Well, at least not any with more than four letters. Drawing a deep breath, he pulled his hat off and pushed his hair back before repositioning the cap on his head. Who was this chick?

“Talk about an adrenaline rush.” She kneeled down to investigate her handiwork, completely oblivious to his horror.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, not bothering to mask his irritation. While he totally supported women’s rights, he didn’t quite think it should extend to impeding a robbery or attacking a gun toting speed freak. “I told you to call the police!”

Planting a hand on her hip, she rose to her full height and lifted her chin. He wasn’t sure what kind of men she was used to dealing with, but if she seriously thought he was going to crack in the face of five and a half feet of hotness wrapped in gold lace, she had another think coming. “What was
I
thinking?” she asked. “First of all, I’m not the one who decided to jump the gun wielding meth head! Second of all, you are not the boss of me.”

He snorted. Thank God for small favors. It would take a strong man to handle all that sass on a daily basis. Or a masochist. “I’m not the boss of you? Is that all you’ve got, princess, or is there a legitimate reason you didn’t call for help?”

She muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like
jackass
. “I would have called if I’d had my phone.”

“Really? That big ass purse of yours can take a man down, but you’re telling me there’s no phone in there?” he asked, the inexplicable need to stoke the fire rising once again. “Just my luck. Stuck in an armed robbery with the only woman in New York who doesn’t carry a phone in her purse!”

She shrugged, not looking apologetic in the least. “I was mad at my phone so I left it at home.”

Un-fucking-believable.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “And that didn’t seem worth mentioning at the time?”

“I forgot.”

“You know what? Never mind.”

Bending down, he picked up the gun and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans before approaching the check stand. The girl behind the register watched their exchange with interest.

“Are you okay?” Offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She nodded absently, her eyes flitting to his face. Recognition dawned. “You should probably call 911. She really walloped him, but he won’t be out long.”

Leaning a hip into the counter, he watched as she punched 9-1-1 into the phone and relayed the events of the last ten minutes to the emergency responder. Had it only been ten minutes? It felt like a lifetime. So much for a quiet Friday night. He eyed the brunette, who was doing her best to ignore him, focusing her attention everywhere but his direction. A smirk played on his lips. “So what the hell is in that bag anyway?”

Her head swiveled in his direction, and she arched her brow. She was pissed off and it was sexy as hell. “Oh, now you approve?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m Ryan, by the way.”

Chapter Three

“A
re you even listening to me?” Chloe asked, hurling a whole lot of sarcasm at the distracted cop who was supposed to be taking her statement. Perhaps if New York’s finest could tear his attention away from Paul Bunyan’s ungrateful twin for two seconds, he’d be able to wrap up her statement and save her the trouble of repeating the story for a third time. Much as she enjoyed reliving the thrill of dropping that thug like a stone, she wanted to go home and drown herself in a margarita already. She sure as hell deserved it after the night she’d had.

And to add insult to injury, the cops had literally flipped a coin to see which of them would take her statement.
A coin!
Like it was going to be so God-awfully bad to get stuck with her. What was up with that?

She cut her eyes at Ryan. What the hell was he telling the police officer anyway? The guy was hanging on his every word. So was the cashier. As if he’d been the one to save her ass. Not that she expected undying gratitude, but a simple thanks would have been nice. When Ryan started wrestling that kid for the gun, she’d seriously thought she might faint. But no, instinct had taken over, driving her into the fray when common sense told her to run the other direction. Not that she’d had much choice. Knowing there was no help coming, she couldn’t very well stand there and do nothing while he risked his life to save them.

Even if he was the world’s biggest jackass.

When the cop finally cut her loose, she purchased her margarita mix, deciding to forgo the ice cream, which had long since melted. Before she could make her escape, Ryan intercepted her, blocking the exit with his supersize self.

“You never gave me your name.” He flashed her a thousand watt smile, complete with perfect white teeth and an adorable little dimple. It might have melted her panties any other day. Any day except this one. She was done with men. Especially the slick, confident, jerky ones who never stuck around and trampled her heart on the way out the door.

“Yeah, that was intentional.” She tied the belt on her coat, doing her best to appear calm and in control despite the adrenaline cranking through her veins. Probably why her stupid heart skipped a beat, too. It sure as hell wasn’t that smile. Or the way his long hair brushed his shoulders, an unspoken warning:
bad boy at play
. “Excuse me.”

“Suit yourself.” He dropped his arm so she could squeeze past. A gust of wind slapped her in the face when she stepped outside. Figured. The snow hadn’t let up and if anything, it was colder and windier than it had been an hour ago. “But I’d prefer to know the name of the woman I’m walking home.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, ignoring the snow that billowed around them.

“Wrong answer.” Hoping to drive her point home, she poked him in his big stupid chest for good measure.

“It wasn’t a question.” He jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking up and down the street. Apparently all the sane people had already taken refuge indoors. “No way am I going to let you go traipsing around alone in this storm. It’s not safe.”

“It’s fine,” she argued, waving her hand dismissively. The odds of being victimized twice in one night were pretty slim, right? Her belly twisted at the thought. Victim? In all her life she’d never been a victim, and she wasn’t about to start now. Her pride surged. “I’m just down the block.”

“Good. Then it’s no big deal if I walk with you.”

The man was insufferable. She stomped her foot, her temper getting the best of her. “Don’t you know it’s not polite to stalk? It’s like, a legit crime.”

“I’m pretty sure it pales in comparison to armed robbery,” he returned, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms over his broad chest. He had another think coming if he thought he could intimidate her. It was so
not
going to work. “I’m doing this, so you might as well accept it.”

“Whatever.” Turning on her heel, she started down the block. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could send her pushy escort packing. “This is ridiculous. I was born and raised in the city. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Give me your shopping bag,” he ordered, extending his hand expectantly. The only thing she was giving him was the side eye, which only seemed to encourage him further, judging by the shit-eating grin on his face. “I’ll carry it for you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bag.” Maybe she was being difficult, but he was a certified pain in the ass. Besides, she’d never admit that it was kind of sweet he’d offered to carry her bag. Or that, for the first time, she was unnerved at the prospect of walking home through the deserted streets alone.
Victim
. The word kept echoing in her brain and she didn’t like the way it made her feel. Not. One. Bit.

Reaching out, he grasped the handle of her reusable shopping bag, forcing her to give it up. “It’s the least I can do after you saved my ass back there.”

“Damn straight. And don’t you forget it,” she grumbled, resigned to her fate. Maybe letting Ryan walk her home wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Of course, she’d bathe in hot coals before acknowledging it. “Speaking of which, I cannot believe the cashier gave you that stupid lime for free. If anyone deserved free groceries, it was me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know. Maybe she likes…” He paused, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Lumberjacks?”

Was he going to say something else? Did it even matter? They walked in silence for a while, the tension between them thick and wrought with something fiery she couldn’t quite name. The snow was accumulating fast, growing deeper with each fluffy white flake drifting from the sky. Normally she loved the snow, but tonight? It was wreaking havoc on her life.

“Why does it have to be so freaking cold?” She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the chill.

“You should wear a hat to help retain body heat. And it would keep you dry.” He brushed snow from the collar of her coat, catching her off guard with the familiar gesture. When his fingers grazed the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, heat blazed through her, warming her from the inside out.

“What about you?” she asked, ignoring the sudden spike in body temperature. No way was she getting hot for this man. “It’s like ten degrees out here and you’re strutting around with no coat. What, are you from the North Pole?” It would certainly explain the scruff that lined his chin, making him look like even more of a Neanderthal. Yeah, Ryan definitely wasn’t her type. Even though it was sort of a turn-on how he’d tried to be the hero earlier. Plenty of guys, especially the ones she dated, would’ve turned a blind eye, too worried about their fancy shoes and pretty faces to step in, even with a woman in trouble.

“Very funny. I’m from Minnesota.” He shrugged as if that explained it all. “The cold doesn’t bother me much.”

“Well, this is me,” she said, stopping in front of her building and turning to face him. A dusting of snow covered his shoulders and the tips of his hair, softening the big, hard man in front of her. Should she invite him up? Offer him a drink? What was protocol for a near death situation among strangers?

Before she could overthink it, he took the decision out of her hands.

His lips descended upon hers, gentle at first, but growing hungry and desperate when she stretched up on her toes and kissed him back. Opening herself to him, she took the kiss deeper, tangling her fingers in his damp hair and pulling him closer. It was hot and cold and hard and soft all at once. Everything she’d expected and nothing she’d imagined. Unable to process the conflicting feelings, her brain shorted out from sensory overload. He snaked his arms around her back, gripping her ass and pulling her body flush to him as her tongue mated with his, caressing and massaging in response to his dominating thrusts. She was vaguely aware that he’d lifted her from her feet and the realization sent white-hot need tearing through her. The groan that rolled from his lips confirmed that he also craved more. Sucking his lower lip, she teased him mercilessly, enjoying the taste of spearmint on his breath.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless, gasping at the icy cold air that filled her lungs but did nothing to mitigate the scorching hot lust burning up her skin. “I’m Chloe, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Chloe.” He grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You should know I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I first saw you.”

For the second time that evening, she found herself speechless. That kiss? It had been seductive, and sweet, and mind-blowing. And jackass or not, she kind of wanted another one. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so thoroughly kissed. Probably never. The guys she normally dated were a little lacking in the passion department. She’d never kissed a man with facial hair before and she was surprised to discover she didn’t hate it. There was something very masculine about the way it scratched her face, no doubt leaving her lips red and swollen.

Oh, who was she kidding? Everything about him was masculine. It wasn’t just his size. It was his protective nature. He was a throwback to another age. With a little encouragement, he’d probably throw her over his shoulder, tote her upstairs, and screw her eight ways to Sunday. She just had to say the word.

Too bad she’d sworn off men just an hour ago. She was over them. Completely. Totally. Over them. On the other hand, she didn’t feel like being alone tonight. What harm could come from one little drink? Or one more kiss, for that matter? They’d been through hell. They deserved it, didn’t they? The words were on her lips before she could stop them. “Come up for a drink?”

He followed her up to her apartment, quiet as a mouse. A really big, hulking mouse who oozed testosterone.

Once inside, she shrugged off her coat and headed straight to the kitchen. After that little firestorm, she needed a drink more than ever.

“So, why are you dressed up anyway?” he asked, looking totally at home in her tiny apartment and making the space seem even tighter than usual. “Going to a party?”

“Hardly.” She pulled a bottle of Jose and a shaker from the cabinet. “I was supposed to be on a date tonight, but the douche canoe blew me off via text. Thus the margaritas. Lime?”

Their fingers brushed as he handed over the fruit, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in her belly. “A text?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you shitting me?”

“Afraid not. I don’t know about you, but I plan to get lit up like a Christmas tree,” she said, refusing to feel bad about it. “And then I’m swearing off men indefinitely.”

“That’s a shame.” He devoured her with his eyes, his gaze lingering on her curves, appreciating all the parts she’d wished to change a thousand times over. Another wave of arousal crashed through her. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a fool.”

Maybe she’d been too hasty in swearing off men, because Ryan the Jerk was looking pretty damn fine. And judging by the dampness in her panties, her body wholeheartedly agreed.

R
yan watched while Chloe quickly and efficiently mixed their drinks. His gaze travelled the small apartment, taking in the cozy, lived in feel of the place. Despite the chill creeping through the ancient living room window, it actually felt warm, like a real home. The walls were covered with pictures, the floor littered with shoes. It suited her larger than life personality. It was also the complete opposite of his sterile apartment, which his ex-girlfriend had decorated to mirror a Pottery Barn centerfold. Half the time, he felt guilty sitting on his own damn couch, like he was going to ruin the place just by living in it.

Dumping all thoughts of his ex, he stepped up to the bar where Chloe was slicing the lime like a pro. She was perfectly at ease in the kitchen, something he hadn’t expected. After all, she was more Kim Kardashian than Martha Stewart. “You’re pretty good with a knife.”

She raised her brow and laughed. “I can’t cook worth a damn, but I make a mean drink. It put me through school. You name it, I can mix it.”

“Really? What self-respecting bartender uses a pre-made mixer?” he asked, even though he could picture it clearly. With her attitude, she’d be a great bartender, not taking shit from any of the drunk guys who were sure to spend all night hitting on her and ogling those perfect breasts. Or that ass. It wasn’t exactly a leap to imagine her rolling around in his sheets with that little pinup body. She might look prim and proper with her fancy dress and upturned nose, but he’d wager there was a very naughty girl under that refined exterior. With a mouth like hers? He’d bet his salary on it.

“The store was out of lime juice.” She dipped two glasses in salt and poured their drinks, finishing both with a slice of fruit. “And limes.”

Totally oblivious to the impact the gesture was having on him, she licked the excess salt from her fingertips. Like it or not, she had his undivided attention now, his cock coming to life, his balls tightening at the sight of her laving the tiny crystals from her fingers.

What kind of asshole would dump a girl like this over text message? Probably one of those slick metrosexual types that were so predominant in the city. That would be about right. One of those self-important pricks with a cashmere scarf and his initials embroidered on his shirt sleeves. Was that the kind of guy she usually went for? Most likely, judging by her cocktail dress and elaborately styled hair. Then again, did it matter? Neither of them was looking for anything long term, but what was to stop them from having one night? Right here, right now.

Fuck it. He was overthinking the situation. Despite the many names she’d called him, it was pretty damn clear she was physically attracted to him. Maybe they could pound out their mutual frustration in the bedroom. Only he had no intention of taking her to bed.

Stepping around the bar, he joined her in the kitchen, purposefully crowding her in the tiny space. Hand shaking, she reached for her drink. He captured her wrist, surprised again by how small she was next to him. When she looked up, the fire in her eyes said it all. The urge to make her forget about her shitty day overwhelmed every other thought in his brain. This woman needed a man to worship her and he could be that man for one night. Hell, with those curves, it would be his pleasure.