She arched her brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Spare me the macho shit, Andrews. I’m not here to challenge your virility. If you want me to do my job, then you have to be one hundred percent honest with me.”
He pinned her with a glare that made men twice her size reconsider stepping into the octagon with him. Lucie didn’t even flinch. He would’ve commended her for it had he not been so aggravated with the whole situation. “Fine. A six,” he grumbled. “But some days are better than others.”
“Don’t worry, that’s normal. Now lay facedown on the table. I want to do a couple more things.”
“You got awfully bossy in your old age, you know that?” He was a tad disappointed she didn’t rise to the bait, but offered a sarcastic Mm-hmm instead as he arranged his body on the table. With his left arm up to cradle the side of his face, he let his eyes close as she began to work on him.
Her delicate fingertips probed the muscles around his shoulder. He had no idea what she was looking for, but he hoped she searched for a while. Her touch felt so much better than how he was usually handled. Of course Scotty’s hands weren’t as soft, but it was more than that. It was the technique she used; like he wasn’t just a fighter made of hardened muscle that could handle rough, prodding fingers, but rather a man who’d asked for a gentle massage after a long day.
He heard a soft sniffle, and it set his mind to wondering what had upset her so much. Growing up he’d practically been Lucie’s second older brother, and it bothered him to know something was wrong.
Whatever it was, she was doing her best to avoid—“Ah, shit!”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, right,” he said wryly. “That was probably payback for using your floppy bunny as a lawn-dart target.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he heard the smile when she spoke. “I forgot all about that. Jackson got grounded for three days, and my mom had to sew all the little holes together. She told me he was a war hero who was going through surgery to get patched up before receiving a medal from the president.”
“Your mom was always good for a story. Jax and I counted on her to give us all our background information for our pretend missions as kids.”
“Mom was something special all right. I still miss her bedtime stories.”
Lucie’s parents had died in a car accident the summer after he and Jackson graduated high school and she was just thirteen. Jackson chose to raise Lucie instead of pawning her off on another relative, which is why he wasn’t as far in his MMA career as Reid. It was an honorable thing, and it was obvious he’d done a damn fine job, too.
Just then it hit him. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
Her hands stilled for only a moment, but it was long enough to give him the answer he was looking for. “Is it tender when I press here?”
Like bad heartburn, an unfamiliar lividity rose up for the general male population until he could aim it at the one who deserved it. Pushing up with his left arm he swung his body around to face her.
“What are you doing? I’m not done.”
“You are until you tell me who he is and what the hell he did,” he growled.
“Reid—”
“Quid pro quo, Lu. You tell me who made you cry and why, and I promise to not find out on my own, hunt him down, and kick his teeth down his throat for putting that look on your face.”
He almost regretted throwing down the harsh threat when her face blanched, but if that was the only way he could get her to open up, then so be it. “Here, hop up on the table. We’ll switch places,” he said as he stood. When she opened her mouth to brook an argument, he narrowed his gaze to show her he wasn’t kidding. With a resigned sigh she did as he wanted, albeit not happily.
“There, now you’re the patient.” Despite the pain it caused in his shoulder, he braced his hands on either side of her hips, preventing an escape should she decide it was the better alternative. “So, Miss Miller,” he said looking into her soft gray eyes, “tell me where it hurts.”
Acknowlegments
As always, first and foremost, thank you to my wonderful husband and children who deal with, and work around, the crazy hours I keep to do what I love.
Thank you to my Maxwell Mob officers—Pat, Diane, Annie, Kristin, Laura, Aimee, Angie, and Andrea—who keep things running with my readers and the Mob when I’m stuck in Deadline Hell and can’t come up for air. The Mob wouldn’t exist without all your hard work and dedication, and I’d probably be in the loony bin.
To my amazing friend Kristin Anders who spent hours upon hours with me over IM, text, phone, and Skype figuring out the plot holes and conflicts for this beast. I would have given up on Jax months ago if not for her encouragement and middle-of-the-night sessions.
To Jilli Linnett and her family for giving me all my information on Oahu and the Hawaiian culture to make sure I got it right. Also for all the beautiful pictures and thoughtful gifts. You deserved a place in this story.