Wicked Angel Read online

“Just cut it all off,” Jorie says in frustration as she blows her bangs off her forehead. She’s my last customer of the day, which on a Saturday would normally be a five PM appointment, but I’m actually going on a date with Benjamin, so I scheduled her for three. When we’re done, I’m closing shop.

  “Are you sure?” I ask as I stand behind her chair, working the pedal at the bottom to pump her up a little higher.

  My gaze watches her through the mirror as she studies her raven-black hair. She had been wearing it in a short, angular bob with her bangs cut sharply straight across her brow, which did wonders for her sea-green eyes. But she’s been trying to grow it out lately, more from being so busy she didn’t have time to drive out to me in Henderson to get it cut.

  Jorie holds a chunk of her hair near her temple outward, studying it critically in the mirror. “Would it be stupid for me to cut it all off?”

  “Well, define what you mean by ‘cut it all off’,” I say. “Are we talking a get-the-electric-razor Sinead O’Connor cut or maybe a Ginnifer Goodwin pixie?”

  “Totally Ginnifer Goodwin—from Once Upon a Time,” she says with a lopsided grin, referencing our favorite TV show. Too bad the final season was so awful.

  When I shoot her a dreamy smile in return, we sigh and say at the exact same time, “Mmm… Captain Hook.”

  I snort, and she giggles as I run my fingers through her hair. “Will Walsh care if you cut it off?”

  “Pfft.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care if he cares. It’s my hair, but I doubt he would. He’s totally seen me at my worse, and he still seems to love me.”

  My mind drifts to Benjamin and our rendezvous last night at The Wicked Horse. He had me on the see-through floor of The Deck—which is forty-plus stories above the streets of Vegas—and he’d fucked my brains out from behind. He’d wrapped the length of my hair around his hand and wrist. Forced my head backward to stare at the stars. I came so hard I’d seen double.

  After we’d finished, he’d gently released my hair from his grip and muttered, “Love this fucking hair of yours.”

  The words had been said gruffly, but they’d held such affection my heart tripped over. Benjamin is usually anything but affectionate, but he is a great fuck, so at least there’s that… even if his tone had confused me.

  “I know that look on your face,” Jorie says slyly, throwing me a wink through the mirror. “Might as well spill it all and update me.”

  “Make a decision on your hair first,” I demand. “I can talk while I cut.”

  “Ginnifer Goodwin me up,” she replies adamantly.

  I give her a poke in the ribs. “Okay… sit up straight, though.”

  Grumbling, she straightens her spine. “Don’t you need to wash my hair first?”

  “Nope,” I say as I reach into the top drawer of my station to pull out my folding razor, then flourish it above her head with a grin. “Going old school.”

  “Cool,” she replies.

  Picking up a lock of her hair, I start sawing away. I make chunky cuts I’ll feather more delicately later, but I brace myself for more questions.

  “So, spill everything about Benjamin.”

  Jorie knows we’ve reconnected. I called her the morning after he showed up at The Wicked Horse and stopped my planned threesome. When I’d explained how Benjamin stormed in, brandished his cane threateningly, and ran the two alpha dudes off—as well as how totally hot it made me—and that we’d had the most amazing sex ever and were seeing each other again, Jorie had agreed it was sexy, but she’d been surprisingly closemouthed with her opinions.

  “What does it mean?” was all she’d asked.

  When I’d had to reply with, “I’m not really sure,” Jorie had only hummed before changing the subject.

  That was four nights ago.

  I don’t have any more clarity really, so I fill her in on the facts. “We’ve seen each other every night this week.”

  “All at The Wicked Horse?” she asks.

  It bugs me he hasn’t offered to come to Henderson like he had before we broke up, and it must show in my tone. “Yeah… all at The Wicked Horse.”

  Her expression is sharp. “Is that all it is then? Just club sex?”

  “What else would it be?” I ask with a light laugh and a wave of my hand.

  Appearing perplexed, she shrugs, but luckily not while I’m in the midst of cutting. “I don’t know… I was hoping perhaps his display of jealousy meant something more.”

  “Well, it sort of did. I mean… he’s made it clear he doesn’t share.”

  “Big whoop,” she mutters with an eye roll. “I want a magnificent display or a grand gesture or something.”

  “I’m not so sure I do,” I say hesitantly.

  “Bullshit,” she snaps, and I stare at her through the mirror for a moment. “You were really hurt when he called things off. You have feelings. The mere fact you are monogamous rather than getting your rocks off with random dudes, which has been your modus operandi forever now, is telling.”

  I don’t fall for her bait—just blow her off. “Whatever. Right now, I’m happy. I’m having the best sex of my life, I’ve finally found a man who isn’t codependent on me, and he treats me like a queen between the sheets. Tell me why that shouldn’t satisfy me?”

  “Because you’re built to love someone,” she murmurs. “I want you to have love the way I do. I want you to get married and have kids so our kids can play together, and you’re full of shit if you say you don’t want those things.”

  “I do,” I admit. “You’ve known me our whole lives, so you know I do. I’m tired of always picking the losers who would make shitty husbands and even shittier fathers. It’s easier to keep my expectations really low.”

  “So Benjamin is different in he’s not relying on you to make him happy or support him, yet he’s only good enough to see inside a sex club?”

  Her question is disturbing because it forces me to face an ugly truth. I stop sawing on a lock of her hair, gazing at her through the mirror. “I think he’s too broken to be a husband or a father again. And… he doesn’t want me to fix him.”

  “But that’s a good thing,” Jorie points out.

  “Yes, that’s a good thing. What I should have said is he doesn’t want to be fixed. So this is going to be nothing more than amazing sex, which will eventually run its course.”

  “I’m going to call bullshit again,” Jorie demurs. “He made a claim on you. He’s established a monogamous relationship with you. He wants something, that’s for sure.”

  Could that be true? I don’t want to get my hopes up. I saw how easy it was for Benjamin to just give up on things, and I’m still not sure why he broke things off to begin with. We haven’t really talked about it.

  Sure, we’ve fallen back into the same pattern where we’d meet up for drinks at The Wicked Horse before finding a room to fuck in, but our talks haven’t been deep or consequential. It’s clear we’re both afraid to push too deep.

  Besides, we communicate best when our clothes are off and we’re immersed in each other.

  Still, I play devil’s advocate, running though scenarios where he does want me. As they play through my mind, I admit my darkest fear to Jorie. “I don’t want to be the one who has to fix him, though. That never works out.”

  “Agreed,” Jorie replies, twisting to see me. She even takes my free hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. “So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. Let things develop if they do. If they don’t, at least you’ll have no regrets for trying.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” I say on a half-laugh, giving her hand a squeeze before I release it. I move my concentration to her hair, taking another piece and giving it a quick lop.

  “Are you seeing him tonight?” Jorie asks.

  My belly flutters as I pick up another piece of hair, setting the edge of the razor to it. “Yeah… actually, he asked me out to dinner.”

  “What?” she exclaims, turning quickly to look at me. My razor slices clea
nly through her hair, luckily not taking off more than I’d intended.

  “Jorie,” I snap with irritation. “You could have caused me to cut down into your scalp or even taken off a finger of mine. Hold still, damn it.”

  She ignores me, eyes blinking rapidly in surprise. “Dinner? Like a date outside the club?”

  “I guess,” I reply hesitantly. “Although, I’m not quite sure. He asked me to meet him at the hospital as he’s on call today.”

  “That’s huge,” she murmurs in awe.

  “Not really,” I reply, putting my fingertips to her jaw and forcing her around. “Now stay still.”

  I go to work again, cutting it to pixie length. Jorie watches me quietly, but I can tell she’s gearing up to saying something important.

  I start feathering the razor at her left temple, alternately running my comb through the pieces to critique the length and how they lay. Jorie’s got the perfect face for this cut, and I wonder why I’ve never suggested it before.

  “I’m worried now,” she finally says, which surprises me. I stop, look at her through the mirror, and tilt my head in question.

  “Why’s that?” I ask.

  “Because, well… the way you’ve been painting things, I thought for sure this wouldn’t go anywhere. But dinner is a pretty big deal for a man such as Benjamin.”

  “Yes, I could see that,” I drawl hesitantly. “But I don’t understand why that’s concerning to you.”

  “Because… he really is a broken person, Elena. What he suffered…what he lost… do you really want to deal with that?”

  I’m so shocked by the fear I hear in her tone that I walk around the chair so I can look at her face to face. She’s now freaking me out a little. “What’s really bothering you, Jorie? It’s not like you to be wary of people because of their past. You’re way too empathetic for that. You’re the type of person who would bend over backward to help Benjamin overcome his past.”

  Her eyes drop a moment, cheeks turning slightly pink. I’m on to something. She’s not being transparent with me.

  “Jorie,” I prompt. “What’s really bugging you about Benjamin?”

  She finally looks back up, swallowing hard before lifting her chin a bit defiantly. “You won’t be his first love. You’ll be second. You’ll come after a wife and a daughter who will most likely always be above you, and you’ll never live up to them in his eyes. And I see that as nothing but heartbreak and misery for you. I changed my mind about all of this. I don’t want you to see him anymore. He’s not good enough.”

  I’m completely blown away by her worries—about things I had never even considered. I was so worried about the basics with Benjamin… like having a genuine conversation or seeing a movie together at some point, I never considered what would happen if this turned into a real relationship.

  And she has a very valid point.

  How could I ever compete with a dead wife and child? It seems almost insurmountable.

  “Call and cancel the date,” she suggests quickly.

  I’m shaking my head without any thought, going on gut instinct. “I don’t want to.”

  “Oh, God,” she moans over-dramatically. “You’ve already fallen for him, haven’t you? You’re already in too deep. Your heart’s already in danger of being shattered by him.”

  “Jorie,” I exclaim, partly in annoyance but partly in amusement. “Stop with the paranoia and hysteria. I’m going into this with my eyes open wide, and I’m not in danger of anything right this moment.”

  She just stares dubiously.

  “Granted,” I admit with an acknowledging incline of my head, “you’ve made some good points about where I might stand in the hierarchy of things with Benjamin, but we are nowhere near worrying about that just yet. It’s still just sex, and I’m sure dinner probably has everything to do with the fact he’s getting off call and will be hungry. I’m sure things are going to be fine.”

  But even as I say those words, I have to admit… she has me thinking. Should I even bother with a man who could potentially never be enough for me, because I am most likely never going to be enough for him based on what he used to have?

  CHAPTER 21

  Benjamin

  I’ve seen Elena in any number of sexy outfits at The Wicked Horse. She likes them tight, short, and revealing, and I like them as well.

  Like her better naked.

  And yet, as I walk toward her in the lobby of the hospital’s main floor, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her look more beautiful. I had merely told her I was taking her to dinner, then left it up to her what to wear because where I’m taking her, anything from jeans to a cocktail dress would be appropriate.

  But she surprises me in a feminine wraparound dress in a floral print. It’s ankle length in flowing layers. She has on a pair of nude-colored heels, and her makeup is very understated. Her hair is sleek and gathered at the nape of her neck. For jewelry, she has simple gold studs in her ears.

  She looks amazing—completely out of character from the sex kitten I’d met and fucked at the club. I have to wonder which Elena is the real one. Perhaps she’s a mixture of both.

  “Hey,” she says as I approach, her eyes taking me in. I dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt after my last surgery, opting for casual. I even put on tennis shoes rather than my standard loafers or the low boots I’d usually wear, but my leg is aching a bit after standing beside the operating table all day and comfortable shoes help.

  “You look gorgeous,” I say, noting her flash of surprise at my compliment as I bend in to brush my lips across her cheek.

  “Thank you,” she mumbles with a shy smile, and it’s obvious she’s completely off her game. Maybe the real Elena is the sex-club vixen who doesn’t know how to be wooed.

  Not that I’m trying to date her.

  This probably isn’t going to be what she’d been expecting when I said dinner, but where I’m taking her is a bit monumental.

  I grab Elena’s hand, position her on my non-cane side, then lead her out of the hospital. “Do you mind if we take my car?”

  “Not at all,” she replies.

  We walk in silence across a small parking lot to a private lot for on-call doctors. I lead her over to my Audi Q8, open the door, and help her into the passenger seat. She’s already buckled by the time I get in. Within moments, I’m pulling out of the hospital parking lot. I cross one intersection, turn right at the next, then pull into another parking lot. The entire journey takes less than a minute.

  When I glance over at Elena, she’s scanning our surroundings in surprise.

  I pull up to the first four-story brick building, put the car in park, and then shut it off. She looks up at it for a moment before turning to me, curiosity burning in her eyes. “What are we doing here?”

  “Dinner,” I say with a smile before hopping out of the car. I move over to her door, open it, and help her out.

  “At a friend’s place?” she inquires as I lead her to the first-floor apartment directly in front of us.

  “No,” I say as I slip my key in the door. “My place.”

  I open the door, then let her step inside. She places her hand clutch on a small counter that separates the kitchen and living room, then examines my new but sparsely furnished apartment.

  Pivoting, she faces me as I close the door. “This is your apartment?”

  Nodding, I step past her, heading around the counter and into the kitchen. I place my cane up against the pantry door, comfortable without it in the kitchen since I can lean on counters if necessary. “Signed the lease two days ago. I’m still waiting on some furniture I ordered, and I don’t have all my personal stuff moved over yet, but yeah… it’s mine.”

  As I open the fridge and start pulling out stuff I’d pre-cut yesterday, Elena sits down at the small table that seats two. The apartment is small but luxuriously appointed. Hardwoods, crown molding, top-of-the-line fixtures, and appliances.

  “Want some wine?” I ask.

  “Sure,
” she replies, and I nab a bottle of red from a small wine rack that sits between fridge and sink. She watches me silently as I open the bottle, pulling out two wineglasses I’d bought and washed just yesterday. I didn’t want to bring the ones I’d collected during my life with April. In fact, I’m starting over new with everything here.

  I hand Elena a glass, then tap mine against hers. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” she murmurs, but I can see she’s incredibly confused.

  Smiling over the rim of my glass, I move to take the other seat at the table. Dinner is a simple charcuterie board I’m going to put together along with a cobb salad, but that can wait.

  “You said I was living in a ghost house,” I say, and I’m charmed by the embarrassed flush to her cheeks.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbles apologetically. “I was awful.”

  “No,” I correct. “You were truthful and absolutely right. And I was torturing myself there as well. I’m going to sell the house. There’s no reason for me to stay there anymore, so I went ahead and rented this apartment that is convenient to the hospital until I can decide what I want to do permanently.”

  “Permanently?” she inquires before taking a sip of her wine.

  “You know… whether I want to bother with home ownership or just stay in an apartment. Stay in the city or move to the burbs. Hell… potentially move to another city for all I know.”

  “Lots of choices,” she murmurs, and I couldn’t agree with her more. Suddenly, I realize I have a blank palette for my life now. I can paint whatever story I want.

  I can’t say Elena will be part of that story, but she did jar me enough to realize the life I was leading was too destructive for me. Ironically, she’s the one who ultimately led to my freak-out last Friday, which caused me to back out of a surgery Brandon had to scramble to cover. Once I’d sobered up after Father’s Day, it had hit me hard how fucked up my life was. I’ve been a dick, an asshole, and a virtually unlovable person over the past year, but I’d never let down a patient until then. Even though Brandon is as adept at performing the scheduled surgery as I am, it had been my patient. That meant they had put their trust in me, and I hadn’t even fucking shown up.