Hard As You Can

Chapter 5

Crystal was down the hall and through Jenna’s bedroom door in an instant. After years of dealing with this, her body reacted instinctively anytime Jenna needed help. Sure enough, Jenna had fallen out of bed and now lay disoriented and struggling to untangle herself from her covers.

“Hold on, Jen, I’m here,” she said, easing the blankets from her body. Jenna looked up at her with a confused stare that made Crystal’s chest ache. The disorientation was normal after one of her seizures. Sometimes she even had memory lapses. She’d been having them more frequently the past few months, but it had been a long time since she’d had one this bad. What in the world had triggered it?

Crystal didn’t know the answer, though she intended to question Jenna about her recent activities when she was well enough. Certain things could bring on an epileptic attack, and Jenna wasn’t always as strict about avoiding those as she needed to be. All Crystal knew was she absolutely hated not being able to do more for her sister when the seizures hit.

“Can I help?” Pretty Boy asked from behind her.

Twin reactions coursed through Crystal. A knee-jerk desire to tell him she’d love his help because, God, it would be so nice to have someone to lean on now and then. And he was a freaking doctor, for God’s sake. Or, medic. Whatever. Given Jenna’s condition, his skills would’ve been at the top of a perfect-man wish list. If she’d ever made such a thing. Which she hadn’t because dreams were for other people. She’d well learned that lesson.

But alongside that yearning for help came the soul-deep certainty that giving in to such a feeling was a one-way ticket to all kinds of trouble. Because this man and her boyfriend were obviously enemies, and Bruno wouldn’t tolerate her being friends with—or, hell, even talking to—this guy even if they weren’t.

Still, she did need to get Jenna in bed. And he was already here . . .

Clearing her throat, Crystal nodded without looking at him. “Would you help me get her back in bed, please?”

He was immediately beside her, heat and strength radiating off of him. “Of course.”

Crystal chanced a glance at him and instantly regretted it. Because his expression was filled with pure earnest desire to help her. To help them. And, no, she hadn’t forgotten that he was hoping for some sort of help from her, too. But he’d never once suggested any of this was a quid pro quo. She rose and gave him room to pick up Jenna.

He lifted her sister and, just like earlier, the gentleness and care with which he handled Jenna almost tempted Crystal to give in . . . to open up . . . One knee braced on the mattress, he leaned forward so he could place Jenna closer to the wall. So she wouldn’t fall out of bed again, so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Crystal didn’t need him to explain why he’d done it because it was exactly what she would’ve done. And there was that temptation again. Causing her stomach to flutter and her heart to race.

Without asking, the man retrieved the blanket from the floor and laid it over Jenna like she was a baby he didn’t want to wake. He was a big guy—tall, broad-shouldered, muscular—and the gun holstered under his arm said he was dangerous, too. But he was also the most gentle, kind man she’d ever met.

God, I need to get him out of here.

Holding a pile of books so it wouldn’t topple, he eased the nightstand a few inches away from the side of Jenna’s bed.

Crystal didn’t know whether to scream or throw herself at him—an odd thought for someone who’d lived through what she had.

“Come on,” she whispered. Not wanting to chance seeing him do one more thoughtful thing, she turned and marched to the door, then glared at him as he crossed the room.

The moment he registered her annoyance was clear because the concerned expression slid off his face in exchange for a confused one. “What?” he whispered, closing the door without making a sound.

And that was when she realized. She’d been on the verge of cursing him out and tossing his unfairly sexy butt out the front door. But she didn’t know who it was she’d be cursing or tossing.

All this time he’d been in her house, and she’d never asked his name.

Smart, Crystal. Real smart.

And as much as she needed to stick with Plan A and make him go, that wasn’t what came out of her mouth. “I don’t even know your name,” she bit out.

He smiled.

Oh, my God, did he smile.

It was a smile that made her think of lazy summer afternoons spent lying in the sun. Warm and sweet and reassuring.

“Well, pardon my manners, darlin’.” He extended his big hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m Shane.”

“Shane, huh?” she said, dropping her gaze to his hand as he lowered it to his side again. Because the combination of the Southern lilt to his voice with that smile and that face was too much to take in all at once. “Just Shane?” She peered up under her lashes.

For an instant, those gray eyes narrowed. Assessing. Weighing. No way he was going to tell her his real name. Not after—

“Shane McCallan.” He said it in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone but her to hear.

And Crystal nearly gasped. If he’d have hit her, she would’ve been less surprised. Because her gut said he was telling the truth. And, God, that meant he’d just given her all kinds of power. And the intense cast of his gaze told her he was well aware of that, too.

“Shane McCallan,” she murmured, needing to try the name out on her tongue. Shaking away the sensation that the floor might be moving, she gestured him toward the living room.

“Wait,” he said, a thumb pointing over his shoulder. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

She couldn’t stop the eye roll. Because, suuure, why the hell not? He might as well just kick his shoes off and stay for dinner at this point.

He winked and turned for the door.

“Light switch is on the left,” she said.

He closed the door—quietly again—and Crystal stood there for a moment. When she realized she was staring at the door, like maybe she could will him out, she whirled and made a straight shot for the living room. Where she stood again, not knowing what to do with herself.

All at once, she became conscious of the apartment. When her father went to prison, they’d lost the house she and Jenna had lived in their whole lives to legal fees and their father’s debts to Church. And, with Bruno’s help, they’d landed at this inexpensive and not very nice apartment complex with a handful of their belongings they’d managed to hang on to. She’d been damn proud of every one of her garage-sale finds at the time, but now she wondered what Shane saw when he looked around. And would he wonder how a woman with a houseful of obvious hand-me-downs had afforded all the high-end media equipment? The flat-screen TV, various components, and stereo were all Bruno’s doing. His patience with her no-bells-and-whistles TV had lasted about five minutes.

Crystal fought the urge to plump the throw pillows, put her running shoes away, and try to make the yellowed blinds hang straight. She kept the place neat and homey for her and Jenna, but Crystal never worried about what others might think because she never had visitors. She paced into the galley-style kitchen and had to resist washing the breakfast dishes.

Gah! Whatever!

The only person who ever saw the inside of the place besides her and Jenna was Bruno. On a few rare instances, one of his guys had stopped by to see him on business. But Crystal could count the number of times that had happened on one hand.

Speaking of Bruno . . . Crystal tore her cell phone from her pocket and woke up the LED screen. Her shoulders sank in relief. She hadn’t missed any calls or texts while she’d been dealing with Jenna . . . and Shane. Bruno was obsessive about her responding immediately when he contacted her. A missed message could have him showing up at her door.

And that would be really, really bad right now.

Good thing he’d made it clear he wouldn’t be over tonight. And she felt confident in that. Because not only did he have a crisis to handle for Church, but he often stayed away for a day or two after he’d beat her. Like he didn’t want to see the evidence of his handiwork on her skin.

Frowning, she slipped her phone back into her jeans and wondered what the hell was taking Pretty Boy so long. Even though she now knew his name, she suspected the nickname wouldn’t disappear anytime soon from her thoughts.

Not that she’d be thinking about him or anything.

She rounded the doorway of the kitchen in time to see Shane turning out the bathroom light and striding up the short hallway toward her.

Guy had to be over six feet tall. And man, he moved in ways that made her curious about things she had no business being curious about. Like what someone so gentle and so kind and so mind-bogglingly sexy would be like in bed . . .

Heat immediately flooded her cheeks, the curse of her pale skin. At the same time, her stomach went on a roller-coaster ride. The thought of trying to be with someone else after what’d happened to her was like free-falling off the edge of a cliff—freeing and terrifying at the same time.

Shane lifted a single eyebrow, and it was like he knew she found him attractive. He was probably used to women throwing themselves at him, pretty as he was. His gaze trailed a quick but unmistakable path up and down her body, and she felt it like a physical caress. Her nipples pebbled under the thin cotton T-shirt, and arousal stirred through her blood in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe not ever.

And then he was right in front of her.

She wanted to retreat. She wanted to press herself against all that hard, male heat.

“So, what is it you want?” she asked instead, anxiety making the words come out more harshly than she’d intended.

Eyes like liquid silver, he stared at her so intently, she would’ve sworn he could see right into her soul. Then he shook his head, stepped to the bookshelf under the TV, and flicked a series of buttons on the stereo. Not so loud that it should disturb Jenna, a sexy, soulful song filled the air around them. “Do you like to dance, Crystal?” he asked in a low voice.

“Uh, what? Why?”

His smile was crooked, playful. “ ’Cause dancing’s something people do when they’re getting to know each other.”

“Really?” Maybe where he was from. Then again, she worked in a strip club. Dancing was something people did to make money. So, okay, maybe her view of dancing was a bit jaded.

“Absolutely. Ask anybody.” The song faded away, followed by the announcement of a Southern rock station’s call sign. A new song started, and Shane turned to her with a smile. “Dance with me.”

Crystal peered up at him without the slightest idea how to respond. Because her body was saying hell, yes!, while her brain was screaming bad idea, really, really bad idea.

He stepped closer, arms raised, expression full of all kinds of invitation.

The next thing she knew, her right hand was in his and her left had slipped around his neck. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ran over and over in her mind. What am I doing?

But then he tucked her hand against his chest and tugged her against him with the hand that settled at her lower back. And the closeness stole her breath.

He moved them to the beat of the song, a slow, sexy, bluesy number she didn’t know but would never forget. Some songs carried memories like the images were imprinted upon the very lyrics themselves, and she had no doubt this would be one of them.

All of a sudden, the air in the room felt ten degrees warmer. As they swayed to the beat, Shane’s body pressed against hers from thighs to chest. With every step and move and turn, Crystal’s breasts rubbed against the hard plane of his chest. Strong hands held and guided her body, making her want to feel them explore her everywhere. Arousal rose like a waking dragon inside her. Cautious. Curious. Dangerous.

This was wrong and stupid on so many levels. But, scary as it was, it felt so freaking good that she couldn’t force herself to pull away.

One song. It’s just a dance. Just a dance just a dance just a dance.

And, holy crap, she wasn’t the only one aroused.

Against her belly, Shane hardened.

Crystal sucked in a breath, and he pressed his lips close to her ear. “We’re just dancing here. That’s all. I promise,” he said.

But the adrenaline was already in her blood, setting her to a trembling she couldn’t control. Part curious interest and part instinctive fear.

“Sshh,” he almost cooed. “Just dancing.”

The echo of her own thoughts from a moment before allowed her to draw a breath that almost calmed. They turned and swayed to the music, moving closer, pressing tighter, Shane’s lips so close to her face that she could feel his breath shudder across her cheekbone.

He was a fire she had no business playing with. She knew that even as she leaned her face against his . . . and got exactly what she’d hoped for.

He kissed her.

Just a brush of his lips against her cheek, but a kiss all the same.

And as much as it made her head spin, it was the little catch of breath in the back of his throat that sent a jolt of electricity down her spine to settle low in her belly. Light as a feather, he caressed her cheek, her temple, her ear with his lips. With him, always such gentleness, so different from almost every other sexual experience she’d ever had. It made her feel safe to allow this to continue.

Between them, his erection was firm, long, totally unyielding. She shivered, caught between interest and fear, desire a river moving faster and faster inside her. The whole experience was a revelation—that her body had the capacity to respond this way, that a person existed who could pull these reactions from her.

For a moment, she gave herself over to the dizzying sensations. In her mind’s eye, she saw them undressing, fumbling their way back the hall, falling naked and wanting on the bed. What would it be like, just once, to take something that she wanted without worrying about anyone else, without being afraid? Just one wild, secret night, all for her? What would Shane be like?

The way the room started spinning around her made it clear Crystal wasn’t really up to finding that out. Not that it mattered. Because it would never happen anyway.

Crystal had been so deep into Shane, she didn’t hear the song ending. The moment of silence before the next song began captured her awareness, made her realize what she’d been doing—what she’d been wanting to do—and she gasped and jerked her face away from Shane’s worshipful lips.

“I know I can’t stay,” he said as if reading her mind. “Just give me one more song.”

That was two songs more than she should’ve ever agreed to. She knew it. But that didn’t stop her from nodding yes as the next song, a harder, faster, rock song with a driving beat, filled the room around them.

SHANE WAS WELL aware he was wandering off the reservation, but damnit all to hell and back, Crystal was pushing every one of his buttons. Her soft, warm body pressed against his. Her hands held him tight. Her gaze was an open book, begging him to stay, pleading with him to kiss her again, but also making it clear that those desires scared the hell out of her.

No part of his plan had been about seducing her. He didn’t use sex to manipulate female informants. Ever. The music had been about blocking any listening devices that might’ve been planted in her apartment. And the dancing had been about getting them close enough to communicate despite the tunes.

It might’ve been an unnecessary precaution, but it didn’t seem too great a stretch to think that whoever she was afraid of, whoever had hit her, whoever had given her reason to believe that Shane would be willing to do that, too, might be controlling enough to keep tabs on her. Even in her home.

And, given that his bathroom visit had been a cover for planting a few bugs of his own—one in the handset of her bedroom landline, one on the molding above the bathroom door, and one just now on the side of the stereo blocked by a collection of picture frames—he had surveillance on the brain.

Except her touch, her heat, her closeness has chased his rational mind into a corner until all he could do was feel.

As Crystal swayed with him to the music, her fingers softly, maybe even unconsciously, stroking the skin of his neck, he felt like a total prick for violating her space that way. And none of the good rationales made that feeling go away. Not that she was their best lead for learning what was going on inside Confessions. Not that his gut told him she wouldn’t open up, at least not yet. Not that the devices might give him the ability to help Crystal and Jenna if some bad shit ever went down here.

In her beautiful, hesitant expression, he could see the war playing out inside her. To trust him or kick him to the curb. To push him away or pull him tighter. To accept his help or reinforce the fortress of walls she’d clearly built around her. And he knew those bugs were a risk.

In the final analysis, though, he’d done right by his team.

But that fact wasn’t doing near enough to stuff a sock in the piehole of his guilty conscience.

Unthinkingly, Shane pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. His mouth went dry, and he had to restrain the urge to taste her there. To taste her everywhere. Goddamn. “What’s your last name, Crystal?” he finally managed.

“What? Oh.” Pause. “Roberts. Crystal Roberts.”

Annnd there it was. The hesitation, the touch of perspiration on her hand, her pulse kicking up everywhere they touched. He didn’t know who Roberts was, but it wasn’t her. The lie didn’t surprise him one bit, though. Just meant he’d read her right.

“Well, I really need your help, Crystal Roberts. Before I go, can I ask you a few things?”

The question shot tension through her body, but Shane kept them moving to the beat of the song. “I don’t know.”

“Fair enough. My asking doesn’t mean you have to answer. Just remember that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, skepticism coloring her voice.

“Do you know why Church was holding my friend hostage?” he whispered against her ear.

“No.”

Truth.

He nodded, his cheek brushing hers. “Do you know who Church was supposed to meet with last night at Confessions?”

She shook her head, inserting a tiny pause. “No.”

Also truth. Though his gut told him she knew something even if it wasn’t who.

“You’re doing great. Just a few more. Were they holding anyone else with my friend?”

There went her pulse again. “Uh, no,” she said, though there was an upward lilt on the end of that last word that gave it the hint of a question.

“Are you sure?”

“He was the only one I saw,” she said, anger swirling into her tone.

Truth. And it was clear Crystal was practiced at answering questions in their most narrow constructs so that, in absolute terms, she could tell the truth.

Shane nodded. “Okay, okay. Just stick with me. Now, this next one’s a doozy. There’s no way to ask it without just asking it.”

She released a shaky breath. “What?”

Their voices remained soft, hidden under the musical umbrella of the song. The conversation was holding Crystal on the very edge of her tolerance for risk. Shane could feel the truth of that in her touch, in her reactions, in her very physiology. But he had to ask. “Is Church involved in trafficking girls?”

Sure enough, the tension in her sweet body ratcheted up under his hands. “I’m just a waitress.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his voice soft, calm.

“Why do you care?” she asked, still dodging the question. And, in so doing, giving him the answer.

Sadness slinked through his gut at the realization that, in her world, caring was apparently so rare it was noteworthy, and maybe even suspect. He didn’t need the firsthand experience of Molly’s loss to be outraged that women were bought and sold like commodities on a shelf. He cared because he was a human being who couldn’t stand injustice. And because he was a soldier who had the skills, training, and knowledge to do something about it. “ ’Cause maybe I could help.”

She scoffed. “I can’t decide if you’re crazy or have a death wish.”

He shrugged. “Both have been asserted by my very best friends, so you’d be in good company either way.” Shane dipped his head until he could look Crystal in the eyes. Fear and panic danced in those green depths. “What does he do with the girls?”

She shook her head.

“You’re just a waitress.”

She nodded. The song—their dance—was seconds from ending.

“I know.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, careful not to push against the bloom of red on the fine bone below her eye. “One more question then, because I’m almost out of time. Can you tell me about the delivery taking place Wednesday night?”

For less than an instant, her gaze widened. “No.”

There was that precision again. He winked. “Let me rephrase. What do you know about the delivery taking place Wednesday night?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“I might have gotten my friend back, but he’s still in danger, Crystal. This meeting might be the key to something for him. For both of us.” He let the question hang there, then . . . silence. Their song ended. For a moment, it seemed perhaps she hadn’t noticed, because she kept moving. So he did, too. A commercial came on. An obnoxious car salesman shouted about sales and interest rates and zero down payments.

“Oh,” she said, just noticing the change. Her arms withdrew from his body, and he missed her touch everywhere though she didn’t actually step away.

“Well, our song’s over.” He reached for her hand but let her be the one to actually make contact. After a moment, she slipped her fingers into his palm. Shane lifted her hand to his mouth and let his lips linger against the smooth skin on the back of her hand. Without warning, he flipped her hand over and placed a small silver cell phone into her loose grip. “There’s a single number programmed into it. It comes directly to me,” Shane said quietly, patting the phone in his pocket. “It’s a brand-new prepaid, so it’s clean.”

Her gaze lit on the rectangular device like it was a snake that might rear back and bite her.

Shane wrapped her fingers around it, relished the skin-on-skin contact for one last moment, then gently let her go. “Thank you for the dance. And the conversation. If you—or Jenna—need anything, use that.” He nodded toward her hand.

Crystal gaped at him, only now her face was a lot less readable. But by God, she was a beautiful little thing. Hair like a low, warm fire on a cool winter’s night. Skin like peaches and cream. Curves meant to be traced and gripped.

Stepping to her side, he brushed a kiss on her cheek. Without saying a word, he crossed the small room to the door. Man, he hoped he was playing this right. But he feared if he kept pushing, he’d send her fight-or-flight response into overdrive. And then those walls would go up high, hard, and fast in a way he might never be able to counteract. Backing off seemed the only way to go.

He gripped the doorknob.

“Hey . . .”

“Yeah?” he said, smiling over his shoulder.

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat, and the whisper that came out was nearly inaudible. “Thanks for helping me with Jenna.”

He gave a single nod. And then he walked out the door.