Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

Black ink curls peek out from the edges of his tank. Whatever the tattoo is, it spans the width of his upper back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. I’d love to peel that shirt off and study his ink while he’s stretched out on my bed.

“I think I’ve seen that guy at Penny’s,” Ben notes. So he’s caught me staring at Trent. Great.

“You got something for him?” I tease coolly.

“No, but I hear someone does.” I can’t miss the suggestive tone in his voice.

Bloody Storm. “He’s my neighbor. That’s it.”

“You sure?”

“Yup. I don’t have a thing for anyone. Including you.” I take a swing at my bag.

He smirks secretly. “Aren’t you gonna go over and say ‘hi’ to your neighbor then?”

I answer with roundhouse kick. Ben finally takes the hint, diving in to secure the bag. He doesn’t mention Trent again.

I do my best to complete a second round but my head’s not in it anymore and it’s all because of that smexy guy on the other side of the room, pounding away on the punching bag. As much as I try not to look, I find myself glancing over frequently.

This last time, I catch Trent wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt, pulled up to reveal a perfect eight-pack. I suck in a breath, temporarily paralyzed, my heart rate shoots through the roof, staring …

Something sharp snaps across my ass. “Ow!” I scream and spin around to find Ben with his towel and a devilish grin.

“Did you just snap my ass with your towel?” I growl.

My anger doesn’t seem to faze him. My punch to his ribs does. He doubles over in pain, moaning. “Hope it was worth it, asshole.” I stoop down to grab my things. When I stand, I meet Trent’s gaze head on. His face is blank but his eyes … Even from this distance, I see a world of determination, hurt, and anger in them.

He knew I was here. He knew all along.

After a long stare, Trent turns his back to me and starts pounding on the bag again and suddenly I feel like I’m the bag, that someone is pummeling me with guilt. And pain. I’m actually hurting over Trent.

I’ve had enough.

I storm out to the women’s locker room without another word to Ben. For half an hour I sit on the wooden bench in that room—a tiny, dark dungeon with two shower stalls and little room to maneuver—and I fight to bury all these unwanted emotions clawing their way up the well. Why does he have to be out there? Why this gym? Is he stalking me? In reality, I know that this is the only specialized gym on this side of Miami so if he’s a trained fighter, it makes sense that he ends up here. Still …

I’m used to having things in control. I fight to stay numb. That’s how I get through each day and it’s worked well for me. Until now. Now Trent has edged into my life and I can’t focus. My body is going haywire, I’m battling this internal urge to push him away and hold him close, I’m thinking about him far too often. Even the thought of him now kindles desire inside me that I haven’t felt since my last random encounter more than two years ago. Only now it’s a million times more acute, more needy. I rock forward and back, my forehead in my hands. I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t want this …

I hear a soft knock on the door. Hope gushes like water through a busted dam and I realize it’s because I want it to be Trent. I can’t help myself. I want it. I want him. Please be …

A contrite-looking Ben stands on the other side of the door, bowling me over with disappointment. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. I probably hit you harder than I should have but you were off in Lala Land.”

I don’t answer, adrenaline racing through my limbs, my heart racing, frustration pounding. I look up into that face and see a sweet, genuine guy. One that’s become appealing in this very moment. Right or wrong, destructive or not, I grab hold of Ben’s shirt with two fists and haul him into the change room. He doesn’t resist, though by his sluggish movements he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. I shove him into the shower stall and snap the lock on the door behind me.

“Take your clothes off. Don’t touch my hands.”

“Um,” I can tell this isn’t what Ben expected. Hell, this isn’t what I expected. But I need to dislodge this Trent problem and mindless sex with someone else ought to do it.

When Ben doesn’t move, I seize his shirt and yank him down to my mouth. He finally gets a clue. His hands tug at the back of my tank as he pulls me against him, his tongue sliding into my mouth. His kiss is sweet, but it’s not like … no, stop it Kacey. You’re doing this to forget about Trent.

Just his name sets fireworks off inside my body.

“Kacey,” Ben moans, his hands travelling up to my shoulders and down, over my breasts, squeezing them as they pass. He breaks long enough to yank my tank top over my head before he covers my mouth with his again. It’s a confined space but he makes the most of it, lifting me onto the little bench against the wall so I’m towering over him. “I didn’t think you were in to me.”

“Stop talking,” I command as I shimmy my shorts and panties down. His hand is instantly on my inner thigh and sliding up. Up. Until it’s exactly where I want it to be.

I lean back and close my eyes.

And imagine Trent doing that.

Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees to following his hand with his mouth. “God, you're sweet,” he moans. I briefly imagine fitting him with a muzzle to stop him from talking. But then he’d be no use to me. And he really is of use to me right now. Right or wrong, it’s been so long since I allowed this or even wanted it. I lean back and relax, taking from Ben what I need.

It’s all working out well.

But then Ben has to go and ruin it. He does exactly what I told him not to. He slides his hand into mine.

It’s instant shock, like I’ve been plunged into a bath of ice water after sitting in a hot tub for an hour. All pleasure disintegrates and I recoil from his mouth and his touch, shoving his face away from me.

“Dammit, Ben. Just go. Now.”

“What?” Confusion fills his face as he looks up at me, like I just admitted to a triple homicide while whisking a bowl of cake batter.

“You touched my hands. I told you not to. Leave.”

He still doesn’t move, an incredulous smirk touching his mouth. “Are you for real?”

I lean forward, unlatch the lock and shove Ben out of the stall with the most prominent hard on through his shorts I’ve seen in a while. With him out, I latch the door again and crumble to the ground, hugging my knees to my body.

That didn’t help after all.

In fact, that made things a thousand times worse.

Nausea churns inside me. How could I be so selfish? Ben’s going to hate me now. What’s more, now that that intense sex haze has worn off, I actually feel embarrassed for doing that to him. I’ve never felt guilty over my exploits. And … I gasp out loud. What if Trent hears about this? Ohmigod. My forehead drops against my knees.

I care. I care what Trent thinks. I care if it bothers him. I just … care. And no matter what I do, I’m not going to be able to shake that. Not with random sex, or being a bitch, or any of the other dozen cruel methods I use to try and push him away. Somehow he’s managed to slide a finger in under my titanium coat and touch me in a way that no one else has ever touched me.





Chapter Six





Bar well shots are two for one at Penny’s tonight so the place is hopping, keeping Storm and I on our toes all night to the point where my body wears a thin sheen of sweat. Cain has managed to find Nate’s twin—another dark gargantuan brute—to guard our bar like a grim-faced sentry, ready to toss grabby patrons to the curb in the blink of an eye. In fact, the place has almost as many bouncers as it does dancers, tonight. Including Ben. He hasn’t said two words to me since that afternoon at the gym, and that suits me fine. I’d prefer to hang my head in shame without the constant reminder.

Cain leans over the bar as I line up ten shots of vodka. “How do you like Penny’s so far, Kacey?” he asks over the music.

I offer him a nod and smile. “It’s great, Cain. Money’s really good.”

“Great. Saving that for college I hope?”

“Yup.” Just likely not for me.