Rebel

“It does when Wes and Keaton do it.”

As soon as Wes straightened, setting his stance, pulling up his fists, Keaton hit him again. Again, Wes snapped his head, fell sideways. Keaton didn’t wait for him to reset this time, and nailed another fist into—what looked like—Wes’s face. And even though Rubi knew for a fact Keaton wasn’t making contact, the punches looked authentic enough to make her cringe.

Wes put up a flat hand to Keaton, straightened, and turned to Bolton. “Got it?”

Bolton nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I can do this.”

“I would hope so,” Wes muttered.

Wes crossed his arms and stood back. Keaton waited as Bolton set himself up, then Wes said, “Ready…and…action.”

Keaton threw another perfectly aimed punch, his arm muscles rippling with the effort, and Bolton jerked his head sideways.

“Better,” Wes said, his voice infused with guarded enthusiasm. “Again. Bring your shoulder all the way through as you turn.”

They went over that one punch three more times while Wes circled them, shooting instructions at Bolton. The man seemed wholly unsteady on his feet and was sweating like a glass of ice water in the sun.

Wes continued instruction, pausing to show Bolton how to bleed one hit into a returned punch followed by a martial-arts kick. Rubi knew he was asking too much of the costar. Wes was fluid and practiced. Strong and sober. Confident and commanding. Bolton, one of the most famous up-and-coming stars, didn’t just pale in comparison, he turned invisible.

Rubi leaned against the wall and enjoyed the simple but vivid pleasure of watching Wes move. His shoulder and arm muscles rolled with each punch. His ribbed abdomen clenched beneath the fitted cotton. His thick thigh muscles flexed when he kicked out in a roundhouse. His expression tightened with intensity as he spun and landed steady and strong.

She could still feel him pressed to her back. Marveled at the thought of how gently those hands had touched her most intimate places. Rubi’s belly fluttered with a strange sensation. She tried to fit it into some known framework but couldn’t. She pushed the uncomfortable feeling to the back of her mind and focused on the men.

Bolton stepped up, tried a few weak punches, one flailing roundhouse.

“Okay, no,” Wes barked. “Just stop. You’re way the fuck off your game today, Bolton.” Wes drove both hands into his hair and lifted them out with a frustrated wave, leaving the blond strands standing out in all directions. “Everyone take twenty.”

As cameramen, assistants, and actors filed out of the room, Wes clasped his hands behind his head, elbows wide, and paced the mats. Rubi sagged against the wall and paused her camera. The room went quiet, voices floating in through the broken glass of the single, barred window where everyone clustered outside.

Wes slumped into a vacant chair and closed his eyes on a heavy, frustrated breath. He dropped his head back, sliding his clasped hands to his forehead.

Neither of them spoke. Rubi’s heart grew heavy for him.

She pushed off the wall and set a slow pace his direction. “Looks and sounds like you’ve had a rough morning.” She kept her voice soft, but it still sounded ominous and hollow in the empty cement room. “Where’s Jax? Or MacKenzie?”

“Jax is bidding a job in San Diego, some quick fall and fight work at the harbor, which makes me stunt coordinator for the day.” God he sounded so tired. “And MacKenzie is at another location filming a scene with Craig.”

He meant Daniel Craig, the Bond film’s star.

She slid her phone into her back pocket as she came up behind him, and pressed both hands to that tense space between his neck and shoulders. His body was warm and damp with sweat. The same delicious sensation she’d had at the club slammed into her again, creating a fist of want deep in her belly.

She squeezed Wes’s muscle, and he groaned a long exhale, then massaged the tight, dense muscle—something she would have done regardless of what had happened the night before. Something she would have done for any Renegade.

Right.

“Tired today?” she asked.

“Yeah. Someone wound me up tight last night. Took me forever to fall asleep.”

“I think you’ve got the winding-up part backwards,” she said. “How’s your brother?”

“So far, so good.” He turned and glanced up at her. “Hey, can we talk more about those hinges?”

She had known this was coming. After last night, it seemed spending time with him would be an ongoing issue. “Of course.” She pushed on his shoulders. “Lean forward. You’re too tight to be throwing your body around like that. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He groaned as he braced his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. Rubi angled her elbow into the thick muscle at the base of his neck and added pressure until the muscle resisted, then held it.

“Holy…fuck…” His breathing turned choppy. “What…are you…doing?”

“Releasing your muscle. Don’t tense against me. Let go.”

His muscle melted beneath her pressure as he let the tension ebb. “Oh my God…that’s…better than an adrenaline rush.”

Rubi smiled. “That’s saying something.”

“Got that right.”

Silence fell, and Rubi chewed on her bottom lip. Easing pressure off the muscle, she moved her elbow toward his shoulder blade and slowly leaned into the compression. “We…should talk about last night.”

He reached back, grabbed her forearms and used them to pull her around in front of him. Then he gripped her waist, separated her knees with his and pulled her into a straddle across his lap.

She gasped and grabbed his shoulders. Her heart rate spiked. The chair had no rungs. Nowhere for her to plant her feet and lift off him. He gripped her hips and pulled her closer, growling when his package rubbed between her legs.

“Wes—“

“I want you looking into my eyes when you try to trash our arrangement.”

“We didn’t make an arrangement.

“What does that make last night? Other than a fucking fantasy come true, I mean?”

A mistake. She scooted off his lap and stood. Crossed her arms. But that didn’t stop the desire flooding her body in a waterfall of heat. “Look, Wes, our friendship doesn’t fit the whole friends-with-benefits model. I really think—”

He laughed, eyes closed, smile stretched across his handsome face. “Baby, you’ve been spending too much time in business meetings. Where’d you get this idea of a ‘model’?”

Embarrassment flushed her face and she bit the inside of her lip. “Internet.” As soon as his smile grew again, she added, “Don’t laugh. It makes a lot of sense.” She covered her face, rubbing at the tingle in her cheeks. “And I seem to need help making sense right now.”

He sat forward and pressed his elbows on his knees. His gray eyes were clear and serious, but also rich with affection. “If you need help making sense of us, listen to your body. It knows exactly what you need. And even if there were some type of ‘model’ to this friends-with-benefits thing, I wouldn’t follow it. I was born to break rules, baby. We both were. All we need is an understanding between the two of us, not a one-size-fits-all list of ‘shoulds’ created by some geek staff writer for an online rag.”

Damn, she didn’t know what to think or how to feel. She only knew she wanted to escape the pressure caused whenever she thought about this situation.

“I know this freaks you out, so let’s keep it simple for now—sex when we want to fuck and friends the rest of the time.”

Her belly burned with the implications. A huge part of her wanted to scream yes. Absolutely. Let’s start now.

Instead, she frowned, narrowing her eyes on him. “You think you can do that?”

“Don’t know. Never done it before.”

Her wall of resistance reappeared. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Really, Wes, this isn’t—”

“Are you chicken, Russo?” he asked, his voice low and taunting. “Afraid you’ll fall for me?”

No. Yes. Shit, she didn’t know. “I’m afraid this is the perfect setup for disaster.”

A slow, hot grin lifted his mouth. “Sounds like the perfect challenge to me.”

She rolled her eyes, her chest growing tight.

“Come on,” he said, razzing her with a fake punch to her gut. “I expected more zing from you, Russo. I think you’re…” He made chicken noises.

A laugh bubbled up, and she reached out, covering his mouth. “Stop that.”

He pulled her hand away and threaded their fingers. “Let’s set up some ground rules if that will make you feel better. I’ll even give you a handicap.”

“Pfft. Like you don’t need a handicap? And this”—she lifted their joined hands—“is not sex when we want it and friends the rest of the time.”

He exhaled hard and pulled his hand back, but his smile faded into a tight, frustrated line. “Go ahead, set up your first rule.”

“No. That would mean I believed this could work, and I don’t.”

More chicken noises.

“Dammit, how did you get so good at that?”

“Grew up on a farm. Duh.”

“I keep forgetting that. Bet you do a great pig.”

“Blue-ribbon winner in the county fair a decade running when I was a kid.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, tilted his head back. “Suuuuuu—”

She slapped a hand over his mouth before the “weeeee!” came out and doubled over with laughter. “God…you’re such an idiot.”

He pulled her hand away with his free one and squeezed gently before letting it go. “Just one thing you love about me. There will be lots more. I’ll make sure of it.”

A scrape sounded near the door. His gaze darted that direction, then back. “Just to show you I can do this, I’m not going to haul you into my lap and kiss the hell out of you to mark you as mine.”

Rubi’s brow creased in confusion. She opened her mouth to ask what that had to do with anything when one of the cameramen strolled back into the room.

“Hey, Rubi,” he said. “If you leave your e-mail, I’ll get you the name of that cinematography app I use. If you could add those camera lens calculations into your stunt apps, man, that would be amazing.”

Her lips were parted when the reality of what he hadn’t done hit her. News of their kiss could have spread through the crew and Renegades by nightfall—definitely not part of his friends with benefits strategy.

Thoughts ping-ponged around her brain. A strange giddy lightness darted through her belly. Could he really do this? Could she? The thought of being able to have him, experience all his alpha sexiness and beta sweetness without ruining what they already had as friends—however briefly—created a delicious, twisty feeling in her belly.

Wes flashed that knowing grin and stood, tugging at the thighs of his jeans, above which a sizeable bulge had taken up residence. Pulling out his phone from a back pocket, Wes pushed one number, crossed his arms over his wide chest, and put the phone to his ear. “Dude, you got a minute?”