Rough and Tumble (13 page)

He could read Molly's expression. Growing alarm. It sure looked like someone had never had a drunken night at college with a roommate.

From the next table, a male voice hammered over the lowered music. “I give lap dances, too, you know.”

Cash had almost forgotten the businessman who'd been scanning Molly earlier. But the guy only raised a full martini glass to them, like he'd been joking around. The thing was, he had a scammer's gleam in his reddened eyes, and Cash was damned sure the ass wasn't fooling.

He fisted his hand, leaning forward in his chair. Molly took in a breath as, from out of nowhere, another man stepped between him and the drunk fuck.

“Are we having fun yet?” asked the giant, folding his meaty arms in front of him.

***

As Molly peered up at the towering rosy-tan-skinned hunk looming over Cash, she wasn't sure if the guy was a bodyguard or the businessman's friend who'd come out of the woodwork to take up his buddy's back. All she knew was that he had a darkly stubbled head with a primitive sun shaved on it and a black T-shirt that fought to cover his muscles. For a second, she even caught a glimpse of coal-black eyes as he spared a glance at her, as if he was taking inventory of Cash's newest “friend.”

Cash was grinning, though, and when he stood, giving the Hispanic guy a rough cuffing on the arm, the hulk did the same to Cash.

Molly exhaled, forgetting about the martini-swilling businessman next to them as Cash and his pal laughed together. Man laughter, man greetings. Men
.
Molly had no idea about how they worked.

“I hear you were looking for me,” the big beast said.

Cash raised his hands in surrender. “Can't come into your territory without saying a hello.” He gestured toward Molly and introduced her, then said, “This is Jesse Navarro. He owns the Pink Ladies.”

A spark lit up those dark eyes, but only for a moment, as Jesse took stock of Molly again, just as all Cash's friends had. But this friend merely nodded to her afterward. It struck her as odd, because Cash's other acquaintances, Gideon Quick-Draw and Pretty-Boy Bennett Hughes from the saloon, had at least shown a flash of charm. Not this one. He only seemed wary of her for some reason.

Then he dismissed her altogether, motioning to Daphne the stripper, clearly instructing her to circulate the room. It was as if Molly didn't exist at all. Did he think she was one of Cash's bimbos?

As she reached for a water the waitress had brought, she thought,
But
I
am
his bimbo. Yikes
.

And yesss
. Because being a bimbo had actually been exhilarating for one night.

She watched Daphne shake her hips to the other side of the room, to a table of baseball-capped truckers. Molly would've bet thousands of chips that she'd taken a turn as one of Cash's bimbos, too.

Why did the idea rankle so much?

Glancing down at the table, she saw that Daphne had left her tip but Cash hadn't taken it back. Jesse spoke, his voice coarse, no-nonsense.

“Leighton's been around. I tried calling you to let you know as soon as I heard.”

Cash's cocky smile didn't change but Molly saw a muscle tick in his jaw before he said, “How long?”

“He was nosing around here this morning, asking about word on any good private games going on. I told him Hooper was putting together one at the saloon tonight, so he'll be there.”

Molly put down her water, and the motion attracted Cash's attention. His smile had disappeared, but as she knitted her brows, wondering who this Leighton person was, he gave her that side-grin. Her mind went blank, wiped by a hot flash.

“I'll deal with Leighton when I see him,” Cash said. “Maybe he'll even forget who I am since I haven't seen the drunk in a few months.”

“He seemed sober enough.” Jesse raised a finger. “But it's still a good time to hit the road for a while.”

All right. Leighton didn't sound like a friend.

Cash was about as concerned as a tiger napping in his nook. “I'm not ready to go anywhere.”

Jesse glanced at Molly as if he was asking,
Because of her?
That hot flash became a roaring fire up and down her skin. Was she keeping Cash here?
Her?

The power of that gave her the courage to ask, “Who is Leighton?”

“He's a punk who can't resist a game,” Cash said. “He accused me of cheating him in the past.”

“Did you?”

“Hell no.” His eyes seemed to go from light to dark green. “I'm not a cheat.”

A harsh laugh from Jesse. “Tell that to the big casinos.”

“I haven't sat at one of their tables in years.”

“Because they'll throw you out before you can say ‘card counter.'” Jesse looked at Molly again, assessing her before saying, “Doesn't matter, though. Cash has better hunting grounds—small games populated with inexperienced players on the fringes of gaming towns. Isn't that right?”

“I never take advantage of anyone who's not willing to be taken advantage of.”

Suddenly Cash seemed eager to leave. Was it because he'd scammed Arden back at the Rough & Tumble poker game? He was making up for it now in spades, but did he seem a little guilty about it?

As the waitress came by to serve them Coronas with plates of carne asada, tortillas, onion relish, pureed salsa, cheese, and lime wedges, Cash glanced at Jesse, inclining his head toward Molly. “She already knows I gamble. Believe me.”

Then he drilled a gaze at his friend, as if telling him to stop talking altogether.

Was Cash hiding something from her? It wasn't as if she knew much of anything about him anyway. Zero, in fact. But it struck her, especially now, that he wasn't only a gambler who stalked tawdry bars, a bad boy who existed to fulfill a fantasy for her, a nonentity who would cease living once she was back in San Diego.

He had a life as much as she did.

As a funky song started up, Molly saw dancers strut onto the stages. Objects of desire, just like she'd accused Cash of making her into.

But had she made
him
an object during all this, too?

Jesse picked up the money Cash had left on the table for Daphne, holding it up. Cash negligently waved the sight away.

“I see you still can't hold on to your winnings, either,” Jesse said.

Cash laughed. “What can I say? I lack some self-control. You can ask Molly about that.”

“Molly.” Jesse turned to her while letting the bills fall back to the table. “That's your name?”

She nodded.

Jesse went back to fixing his attention on Cash, cupping a huge hand around the back of his neck, but Cash didn't respond.

“Leighton might not be so happy to see you tonight,” Jesse said. “I mean it. Stay away from the saloon.”

Cash still seemed unaffected. “I can handle Leighton.”

Jesse dropped his hand. “Jesus, Campbell. Has anyone ever told you you're a stubborn jerkoff?”

“Many times.”

“And have I ever told you what happened to stubborn jerkoffs when I was overseas?”

Now Cash sobered. “I know what you saw over there, Jess, and I respect that. But Leighton isn't exactly an IUD. You're making too much out of nothing.”

Jesse made a frustrated sound low in his chest and walked away. Cash sat back in his chair and set his attention on his food, not looking at Molly.

Under the beat of the music, she was still processing everything: Leighton—not good. Jesse—a war veteran and most likely the closest thing to a big brother Cash had. Her—a total fool for being way out of her world here in the middle of a strip club.

“Cash?” she asked.

“Just eat,” he said.

She measured him a second, then picked up her fork. The food didn't appeal at all—not to a stomach that was as scrambled as hers.

She didn't know this Leighton, and she barely knew Cash, but she was worried about both of them. What one might do to the other. What Jesse had meant when he'd suggested that Cash should hit the road for a while . . .

Someone had come to stand next to Molly, and when she looked up, she found the businessman who'd been sitting at the next table.

But he was right here now, and his voice was slurred, his tie sprawled over his shirt while he held yet another full martini. “Shame that you're walkin' out a' here with this jerkoff an' not me. . . .”

He reached out a sloppy hand, sliding it onto Molly's neck. She cringed away from him.

But Cash was already out of his chair, and in a violent flash, he swung at the man, his fist smacking against his face with such force that the other guy crashed to the floor, his martini flying.

Molly could only sit there with her mouth open as Cash lunged down to pick the guy up by the shirt.

“Apologize,” he growled.

The man, one eye already shut, laughed drunkenly, as if he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

Cash hauled him up and onto the table, more martini glasses spilling to the floor in a broken tumble. He cocked his fist again just as Molly found her voice.

“Cash!”

But he must not have heard her as he delivered another crashing blow.

Panic—and something else Molly didn't want to face—clawed through her as Cash connected with the businessman's jaw.

“Say you're sorry!” he yelled.

The man spit at Cash.

Pure rage stiffened his body, making him hunch like an animal about to spring. Molly knew that she should do something, but the businessman had pulled a trigger in Cash. And it'd been about
her
.

Another man's voice rose over the music.
“Cash!”

Molly glanced over to see Jesse Navarro standing like a scowling rock statue while, behind him, the dancers paused on the stage to watch the action.

Cash had his fist primed again, but when he looked up at Jesse, a crumbling moment seemed to pass between them. Cash's gaze wasn't focused—it was muddled with something that Molly now sensed went way beyond the insults the drunk had aimed at her.

But what?

“Jesus, Cash,” Jesse said, almost as if he'd never seen his friend like this before.

And it was as if Cash didn't recognize himself, either, because he let go of the man's shirt, taking an unsteady step away, pushing his hair out of his face, still a little wild-eyed.

“You didn't hear what he said to her.” Cash shook his head. “He
touched
her when he had no business doing it. No one disrespects a woman like that, even if he does wear suits and drink martinis for lunch.”

The drunk wasn't done. “How much does she charge?” he asked, pushing off the table and going for Molly again. “I can pay it. . . .”

Oh. My. God
. Had he just mistaken her for a prostitute?

Jesse blocked him. “You're gonna get your ass out of my place, call a cab, and never come back—not unless you want to face harassment charges. Understand?”

“But—”

“Get out.”

The man flipped off Jesse, muttering about a lawsuit, then spared one last, jittery glance at Molly before he grimaced and wove toward the door.

Cash tracked him with a glare, his chest rising and falling, his arms curved at his sides. The dancers went back to their poles as if nothing had happened, and the music played on.

Jesse turned to Molly. “How're you doing?”

“Fine.” For a woman who'd come off as Cash's lady of the evening, she was a-okay.

Was that true, though? Because a normal woman should've been horrified beyond belief at what that guy had thought she was and, even worse yet, Cash's temper. She should've been terrified that she was in the company of such a brutal hothead, because men like that didn't appeal to women like Molly. Those men were destructive and trashy and belonged to an entirely different world. But damn if she wasn't burning with a fiery thrust of flame through every part of her. No one had ever defended her like that. No one had ever cared enough.

She tried to think the whole situation through, but Cash was digging in his back pocket, tossing more money on their table, grabbing his stuff, and stalking past Jesse.

“That should cover any damage,” he said levelly.

“Cash!”

Jesse had the voice of a drill sergeant, but it wasn't enough to stop his friend from moving toward a back door exit.

Molly clutched her purse to her hip. A smart woman would probably call a taxi and put some distance between her and Cash. But Molly wasn't feeling so smart right now—she was feeling things she'd never felt before: wanted, desired, protected.

Primal, soul-deep, wrong, odd stirrings that had no place in her.

And there was more, too, because she'd seen an exposed, wounded side of Cash when he'd struck out like that, and she couldn't pretend it wasn't there. It was beyond her.

But she wanted to get something clear with Jesse first.

“I'm not a prostitute, you know.”

Jesse's expression was blank except for a storm in his eyes. A beat passed, and Molly wondered if he was going to tell her to get the hell out, as well.

Then his gaze softened, and he planted his hands on his hips. “Cash doesn't do prostitutes. Listen, just talk him down. He's obviously not in a mood to listen to me.”

And he'd listen to
her
? “I'll try.” She wanted to ask about what had set Cash off so hard, if it was normal for him. She settled on, “He really went off the deep end, didn't he?”

“It was the blatant disrespect to the woman he was with, for one thing. Most guys don't tolerate that, in case you didn't know.” He toned down the frustration in his voice. “Cash may be rough around the edges, but he won't sit there and allow a drunk to paw at a female. Especially one he can't keep his eyes off of.”

Molly flushed. But why was she getting the feeling that Cash had never gone this overboard in front of Jesse before?

“And, Molly?” he added. “You might want to get back on your side of town. You belong in here about as much as a flamingo belongs in a bear pit.”

He turned his back on her, and she took that as her cue to leave. So she headed for the rear door she'd seen Cash take, opening it, letting in a roll of bright light that made her squint. When she recovered, she saw a roofed patio with a mister and a table littered with full ashtrays that lent the air an acrid smell. Strings of Chinese lanterns were the only decorations besides the pots of bamboo shoots where Cash was lingering.

“You've got my smokes,” he said over his shoulder, not even looking at her. He seemed very occupied checking messages on his cell.

Since Molly could read a room, she didn't argue as she took his cigarette pack out of her purse and set it on a table next to him. She backed away because . . . what next?

He laughed sharply, putting away his phone, grabbing his cigarettes, tapping one out, and shoving the pack into his pocket. “You afraid of me now, Molly?”

“Of course not.” Kind of. But more to the point, she was afraid of getting too close to him, touching his arm in comfort. Afraid to feel what she might feel, because Cash had a way of turning her common sense upside down in ways that seemed way off base for her.

“You didn't have to do that for me,” she said.

“What? Defend your honor?”

“That's one way of putting it.” She stood near a mister, the light spray of water cutting through the dry heat. “It's not that I'm ungrateful, but really, punches weren't needed. I've dealt with that sort of boorish behavior before.”

He bristled, and her heart gave a tiny leap because he seemed to be getting protective again. It gave her some pleasure to imagine how he would've thumped Ted Genhaven in the office that day, even though she'd managed on her own.

“When have you dealt with it?” he asked.

“Back in San Diego. My boss was a pig. He came on to me in a slightly more disgusting way than this cretin, and I put him in his place.” She did sound awesome and capable.

“How?”

“I poured ice on his . . . dick.”

Cash seemed relieved that he had something to laugh at. He hadn't lit up his cigarette yet, toying with it instead. “
Dick
. That word just doesn't seem natural coming from you.”

“I say it all the time.”

“Just like
tits
and
ass
.”

“Hey, at least I didn't lay my enemy out on the floor.”

Cash's laugh disappeared, and he slowly nodded, idly twirling the cigarette through his long fingers. “I apologize for that. Lost my cool. But what he said to you . . . and how he touched you, like you were there to be fondled . . . He had no right.”

She wrestled away another blush. “I'm sure it happens with every girl you bring around here.”

“No,” he said, fixing his gaze on hers. Piercing, too clear to be lying. “I would if I had to, but there's never been a . . . need.”

She smoothed down her skirt, suddenly nervous and out of sorts. Had Jesse thought she could come out here and talk him down because she was different from Cash's other women? Did she do something to Cash that no other woman did?

Maybe she should post that tidbit on match.com—“Able to tame even the most savage of men”—and it'd get her a soul mate or something.

Time to lighten things up. “I think the drunk guy was taking advantage because I was sitting in the middle of a strip joint, and he just assumed I wasn't much of a lady.”

When Cash looked at her this time, she thought she saw remorse in his gaze. Was it because he'd been testing her limits and matters had gone too far?

Little by little, though, she was wondering if maybe she liked how he tested her. If she was feeling more and more comfortable with Cash when she shouldn't be.

He said, “That happen to you a lot? Assholes hitting on you? I mean, besides the one you met at the Rough and Tumble yesterday?”

A laugh escaped her. “I'm not a big bar or party person, so I can't say.”

Embarrassed, she smoothed down her skirt again.

This time, he glanced pointedly at her hand. “You're doing it.”

She stopped.

“It's your tell,” he reminded her.

“Nothing to tell.”

He chuckled softly and stuck the cigarette in the side of his mouth, still not lighting it. Was this one of his tells? He'd done the same thing back at the Rough & Tumble when he was trying to be unaffected. The fact that he wasn't asking her to elaborate made her even more anxious around him, and she found herself talking.

“It's just a habit,” she said. “When I was a child, I was . . . you could say socially awkward. I related more to my books than anything or anyone on the playground, mostly because the other kids were . . . well, they were kids, if you get my meaning.”

“Nope.”

“They could be cruel. You know how it is.”

“Not really.”

She could imagine Cash Campbell taking no shit from anyone back in school. Not so much with her.

“It's just that my parents had high hopes for me and my older sister,” Molly said, trying not to fiddle with her dress again. “They didn't make much money, but they wanted us to go to a better school than the one in our neighborhood. So we were bused in, wearing our ‘vintage' clothes, which were even more vintage for me since I got everything Margaret had worn before.”

“And the kids made fun of what the nerd in class wore,” he said.

Molly waved off his comment. “It was a long time ago, and everything got better as the years went on.”

“You became less of a nerd?”

“No—probably an even bigger one, but—”

“You got pretty, then the guys stopped making fun of you and the girls started hating you.” The cigarette had been bobbing with every word. “But you're still the girl in those clothes, worried about how others think about you. It comes out every so often with your tell.” He stared at her, intense and all-knowing. “Remember, I can read you. I'd also bet that you worked hard never to be that poor girl again.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Don't we all.”

Her intrigue radar blipped, but he clearly wasn't going to embark on a soul-baring session with her, and this was all she was going to give him. She wouldn't say anything about how her stomach still churned when she thought about needing this new job, how much Margaret needed the support, especially since they only had each other after their parents had died.

Cash leaned back against the latticed wall, considering her. Another blush suffused her, tingly and wrong and making her want to paste her body against his.

How did he know what buttons to push with her? How did he seemingly see through all her bookish armor to the woman beneath?

And the sex . . . God help her if she started to think about
that
again.

“You grew up real nice,” he finally said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

There he went—charming her into ignoring common sense, because there were other things they should be talking about. Important things she was having a hard time remembering.

But . . . the drunk businessman he'd punched. That was the reason she'd come out here. To smooth Cash over as Jesse had wanted.

“So,” she said, ignoring his comment, “is your friend Jesse going to banish you from the club from now on?”

“Nah.” Cash gave her a long, steamy look, then absently took the cigarette out of his mouth, sticking it behind his ear, Joe Cool once again. “Fights happen, shit happens, he handles all of it. Comes with the territory of owning a club.”

“This
is
a normal thing, then. You fighting.”

He shrugged, and it struck her that this was another tell of his, just like her fidgeting with her clothes. There was something more profound going on with him, something that had brought out his temper.

Why did she want to find out what that was?

He seemed to intuit that she was wondering about him, and he changed the subject. “Jesse gets in a few scraps himself, but never here. Always at the Rough and Tumble when he makes it out there.”

“Does he fight about girls, too?”

Cash held back a smile then said, “Jesse doesn't fight for any emotional reasons, especially about women. You won't find a more closed-off man when it comes to females than that guy.”

Molly was stuck on the doesn't-fight-for-any-emotional-reasons part. Was Cash saying that he'd thrown those punches for
emotional
reasons in the strip club and not just because she'd been insulted?

She had to have misheard. But it was as if Cash had caught his misstatement, too, and he moved away from the wall. “We have work to do, Miss Molly. I've got to handle one Jimmy Beetles and you've got an intervention to stage for Arden.”

Okay. Changing the subject one more time.

She went along with him. “Is an intervention a Gambler's Anonymous step?”

“I wouldn't know. My gambling comes out of necessity, not addiction.”