“Are they okay?”
“They will be.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?”
His eyes flashed wide, meeting mine before his gaze dropped to the floor. I could swear he blushed, but then quickly recovered, distracting me with his killer smirk. “Clock out. Get your things. We have a date.”
“My shift ends at eight. It’s only noon.”
“I’m tight with your boss. We worked out a little deal.” He slapped my butt. “Hurry, now. I’ll wait in the car.”
With a cocky grin, he sauntered to the back door, then out, leaving me breathless and delirious with want.
I whirled around the corner, smacking nose to chest with a mountain of solid muscle.
“Sorry. Shit.” Tango’s arm clamped around my shoulders, grounding me until I steadied myself.
Rocky barreled toward us, dragging a Seahawks suitcase behind him. “Toodles! Guess what? Daddy said he’s—”
Tango clapped a hand over his son’s mouth and lifted him off the ground. “He’s having a sleepover with his friend. Right, little man?” He jiggled his son playfully up and down. “You’re having a sleepover. Mom and Dad are staying home for some much-needed alone time.”
Rocky’s eyes widened, two jungle-green saucers of joy. He nodded. His dad set him back on his feet.
“Grab your gear. Let’s go.” Tango held the door open for Rocky, then flashed me a devilish grin that would melt any woman’s Fruit of the Looms. “See ya later, Tuuli.” He stared at me longer than usual, an out of character softness to his features, then nodded and disappeared.
Weird.
Obviously, those two were up to something. Maybe they had a top-secret surprise planned for Slade.
I waved goodbye to Morgan, who still wore a scowl, then popped my head into the kitchen to shout, “See ya tomorrow,” to Charlie.
“Have fun, Toodaloo! See ya.” He shot me a wink.
When I made my way to the Mustang, Tito popped out of the driver’s seat, jogged around to my side, and opened the door, muscles flexing, stretching the arms of his T-shirt in that sexy way you only see in the movies. Dark jeans hung low on his waist, hugging those virile thighs like a jealous girlfriend.
My entire body flushed with heat in one tempestuous heartbeat.
“Fuck, Bunny. Don’t look at me like that. We’ll never make it on time.”
He dropped a chaste kiss on my forehead and waited for me to sit. “Buckle up.”
I stretched the seatbelt across my chest and clicked it into place, looking up in time to catch Tito adjusting himself before sliding into the captain’s chair.
“Where’re we going?”
“Can’t say.” He stretched an arm across the console and squeezed my thigh. “There’s a change of clothes for you in the back seat.”
I looked over my shoulder. A light blue shopping bag sat right behind his seat. I pulled out the contents. A mint green, spaghetti-strap swing dress made of a cool, gauzy fabric, a silk cardigan, a pair of matching boy short panties, and a strapless bandeau bra were neatly wrapped in tissue paper. At the bottom of the bag sat a pair of strappy leather sandals. I didn’t have to look at the tags to know the outfit came from a designer store that couldn’t be found in Whisper Springs, Idaho.
“Tito.”
He grabbed my hand and brought my knuckles to his lips. “It’s over a hundred degrees where we’re going. You’ll be thankful for the light fabric. Put it on.”
“Right now? In the car?”
“We’ll be at the airport in thirty minutes.”
“Airport?”
He only nodded, scratching his beard to hide his grin.
“You’re making me nervous.”
I’d never been so goddam nervous. Sweaty palms. Nausea. Hot flashes. Hundreds of times I’d danced with Lady Death, and never had I experienced such unease.
Fuck, I hoped the trip wouldn’t blow up in my face.
Tuuli’s left heel bounced over the top of her right foot, her hands pressed to the glass, that sexy-as-fuck halo of hair falling in wispy tendrils around her face. “I can’t believe I’m in Vegas.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. My church girl in the City of Sin. Aphro-fucking-disiac on heavenly crack.
She turned, the loose fabric of her dress moving with her, the hem skimming the top of those creamy thighs. “What are we doing here?”
I met my beauty where she stood, shoving my hands inside my pockets to hide the tremble. “Before you become an official college student with your nose buried in a book twenty-four-seven, I want you to myself for a couple of days.” Lie. Lie, lie, lie.
“This is the best surprise ever.” She rose on her toes and pulled me in for a kiss, pressing those barely covered breasts against my chest, calming my storm with her breezy spirit.
I cupped her ass and squeezed, sneaking a grind before letting go. “This isn’t the surprise. Come on. We have an appointment.”
Those gorgeous blue eyes blinked up at me. She slid her fingers through mine and headed for the door, not a lick of fear or doubt on her face, shoulders relaxed, rockin’ the shit out of that sweet dress.
When we exited the elevator, I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, eased her through the crowd, out the main entrance, and into the back of our waiting limo.
Two blocks from our destination, I broke out in a cold sweat. When we pulled into the lot, I flew out of the car and dry-heaved.
I could do this. I could fucking do this. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four.
When my head stopped spinning and my vision cleared, I looked up to find Tuuli staring, eyes worried, at the sign. FULL TANK TATTOO.
Before I could change my mind, I grabbed her hand and led her inside. The owner of the shop, Mick “Jackknife” Owens, came around the counter. “Moretti. Jesus H Christ. How long has it been?”
“Good to see ya, Mick.” I grabbed his hand. We did the chest bump, shoulder pat before he pulled me into one of his signature bear hugs.
The guy stood six-three and carried his hard-earned bulk like a seasoned warrior. His handlebar mustache blended into a full, black beard that nearly reached his chest.
He let me go and pulled a shredded Metallica T-shirt over his bare chest. “This must be the lucky lady.” Mick gave Tuuli a hearty handshake. “Mick Owens. Pleasure to meet you.” His deep, throaty timbre fit the persona to a T. From bald head, to the leather pants and biker boots, the guy was bad-ass-biker, don’t-fuck-with-me personified.
Tuuli stared at him. Unblinking.
I cleared my throat. “Mick, this is Tuuli.”
Mick shot me a questioning glance, then nodded in understanding. “Well…let me see what we’re working with here.”
I dropped a kiss on her head and removed her cardigan.
Tuuli’s pale face turned ashen. I shot her a wink and held her gaze, offering as much assurance as I could in my mild state of fear. Mick circled her and pulled the strap of her dress aside. With thick fingers, he traced her tattoo.
“Wait.” She shook her head, the shock wearing off. “What are we doing? A tattoo?”
I stepped into her line of vision and tapped her chin. “Only if you want one. Mick here’s the best artist in the business. You want that hate symbol covered, he’ll turn it into something beautiful.”
Her eyes welled, ripping my guts to shreds. “Really?”
I nodded. “Really, baby.”
Her whole body trembled and she wrapped her arms around her middle in defense. “It hurts.”
“I know. But if you want this, we’re gonna do this together. You get inked, I get inked. Side by side. Nobody holding you down. You say stop, we stop. It hurts, you squeeze my hand. You cuss, scream, cry. You change your mind halfway through, we walk out of here. No hard feelings. You are one hundred percent in control.”
“You’re getting one, too?”
“Side by side.”
“But…you…and needles.”
I swal
lowed, forcing the fear from my voice. “I promised you forever. Ink is forever.”
“Tito.” Her face crumpled and tears breached her lashes.
I pulled her against me for my own benefit as much as hers.
Mick tapped on an art pad laid across his desk. “I’ve drawn a few pieces since we spoke last month, but the night is yours, so if Tuuli has some of her own ideas, we can sketch those up quick as well.” He walked to the door, flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and twisted the lock.
“Jazz!” he hollered. “Our guests are here.”
A tall woman wearing biker boots, fishnets, ragged cutoff shorts, and a black leather bustier sauntered through the heavy red curtain. Her wavy black hair framed a set of jade eyes and bright red lips. She planted a kiss on Mick’s cheek and offered her hand, first to Tuuli, then me. “Tuuli and Tito, right? Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for doing this,” I said, eyeing the Grim Reaper tat covering most of her right arm.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“May I?” she asked Tuuli, placing a hand on her shoulder and moving to her back to inspect the ink. Tuuli pulled her hair out of the way, giving Jazz free rein to inspect. “Well. Good news is, I’ve seen worse.” She pointed to a photo hanging on the brick wall. “See this one?”
Tuuli nodded, stepping closer to the framed picture. “That girl escaped a sex trafficking ring. They’d marked her neck with a barcode and the pimp’s name in ugly, bold letters.”
Tuuli leaned closer. The subject wore a ponytail. The black, gray, and red design started at the root of her hair and stretched down her neck and over her shoulders, a gorgeous, gothic depiction of roses, thriving amidst of a tangle of stems and thorns.
“That sweet thing cried through the whole first session. She was so scared, but she wanted to prove she was stronger than the pieces of shit who tried to beat her down. She’s a regular client of ours now. Comes in twice a year. Runs a successful yoga studio on the other end of town.”
“What do ya say, Bunny? We gonna do this?”
Liquid eyes met mine. “Bunny and the Beast?”
“Yeah, baby. Bunny and the Beast.”
“You beast. Stop. Stop. I’m awake. I’m awake.” I wiggled, a half-hearted attempt to break free.
Tito ended the tickle session, pushed to hands and knees, and dotted kisses up and down my spine. “Good. We’ve got important things to do today.”
I yawned, then stretched, sucking in a sharp breath. My shoulder was sore, but I’d never suffered such a lovely burn. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost noon.” His thick, sleepy voice filled me with delicious, naughty plans, all of which required staying in bed.
We had spent all night at Full Tank. I had cried four times, not because of the pain, but because of the pure adoration aimed my direction every time I caught Tito staring at me. What he didn’t know was that I had spent most of the evening in silent prayer, asking God to give him strength. He had paled the moment the guns were brought into view. He sweated profusely. He stayed silent, breathing deep, dying a thousand deaths with each punch of the needle. But he had stayed strong, and every time I reached for him, he’d held my hand and talked me through my own bouts of weakness. I walked out of that torture session a new woman with two new friends, and more in love with Tito than I ever thought possible.
“One more hour of sleep?” I begged into my fluffy pillow.
The mattress bounced, a sharp sting bit my ass, and a gruff voice ordered me to get out of bed. I rolled my head to the side and watched Tito stride to the bathroom, his bare muscles bunching and flexing, hypnotic and intoxicating.
Five minutes later, I untangled my legs from the opulent sheets, stumbled out of bed, and found my Grim standing in front of the bathroom sink, hands planted on the edge of the beige marble, head hung low.
A sight I would never tire of.
I hugged him from behind, curling my arms around his warm skin. He sighed, grabbed my hands, and squeezed them to his chest.
“Everything okay?” I pressed my lips to his skin.
“Perfect.”
I lifted my face and traced the edges of his fresh ink. The outline covered his right shoulder blade, and when finished, would become a depiction of a mighty storm, where amidst the backdrop of black clouds, lightning strikes and blowing trees, a woman with seductive curves and flowing hair danced in a field, arms stretched to the sky, as if commanding the tempest. And if you looked closely, you’d see a beast with red eyes and jagged teeth hid in the shelter of trees, watching, waiting, enthralled by the tiny dancer.
“Thank you for this.” I kissed the skin just below his artwork. His muscles coiled.
I shook my hands free of his grip and slid my fingers down his stomach, attending to each dip and curve of his tight abs. I moved lower still, through his patch of hair, to his arousal. He stiffened when I curled my fingers around the hot flesh, moaned when I stroked, once, twice.
“Fuck, baby.” He grunted, hips flexing into my hand, the husk of his voice igniting elicit thrills.
“Thank you for loving me,” I whispered into his back, working my palm up and down his length.
His breath hitched, head falling back on his shoulders, hand falling to his waist to cover mine, halting me mid-rub. “Tuuli. Shit, stop.”
My body ached, heat swelling between my thighs. “I need you, Tito. I ache for you, everywhere.”
“I know, Bunny. I feel it too,” he rasped, guttural and desperate. “I bleed for you with every beat of my black heart.”
His words coated my soul like warm maple syrup, sticky sweet and so satisfying. “Make love to me.”
“You don’t know how desperately I need that right now.” He turned in my arms and cupped my face, fingers trembling, staring long and hard, searching for something. Words, or courage, or maybe both. “Marry me first.”
My world stopped spinning. “What?”
“If I’m going to be the man sitting next to you every Sunday in that damn church, let me sit next to you as your husband. Let me be worthy of this body. Let me be yours forever.”
Husband? Worthy? Didn’t he know? I was unworthy. He was the prize in this relationship. “You are my forever.” I gripped his wrists. His pulse thumped beneath my fingertips, a heavy, determined beat.
“Let’s make it official.”
“I’m too young,” seemed the correct response, though the words sounded hollow.
“Too young. Too sweet. Too pure. We don’t make sense. We shouldn’t be here. But we are. Call it fate, divine intervention, whatever the fuck you want, but we’re here. You’re the only future I see. Let me make an honest woman of you.”
I trembled, despite the heat between us. “Tito. It’s too soon,” I argued, again with the knee-jerk response.
He huffed, arms falling to his sides. “It’s okay. We have the rest of our lives. I’ll wait forever.” With a sad smile, he scrubbed a hand over his head, then fisted his hair. “But know this. I won’t enter that beautiful body again until you’re my wife.”
Oh. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.
“But we’ve already done everything,” I huffed, frustrated. “What would be the point in refraining now?”
“Never too late to make things right.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you deserve nothing less.” He left me standing speechless at the sink, and stepped behind the glass enclosure, his body disappearing behind a thick plume of steam.
He didn’t want to be the demon who defiled the church girl. He wanted to be my forever in every way.
I twisted to see my reflection in the mirror. My tattoo, a beautiful stretch of wildflowers in my favorite muted spring colors, covered my shoulder blade and stretched across my back, delicate, feminine, and free.
I was young. I needed to find my own path. My own way. I needed to rise and fall, break and heal on my own. Become the best me I could be before sharing my life with someone. Right?
I ha
d no doubt Tito would be patient. I had no doubt there were many storms in our future. What I knew, what he’d proven time and time again, was that Tito wouldn’t carry me through those trials, he wouldn’t come to my rescue. He would slap my ass, shout encouragements in my ear, and stand behind me until I conquered every lightning strike, tamed every gale force wind, and rose above every pounding pellet of rain. And no matter the devastation left in the wake of my storms, he would stand by my side and help me rebuild.
I stepped up to the glass, watching his form. He was graceful despite his bulk, angelic despite his demons.
A blessing despite my transgressions.
I dug a tube of all-day-wear lipstick out of my cosmetic bag, and in a gorgeous shade of dusty rose, wrote the three most important letters of my life.
Y.E.S.
YES. Scrawled on the shower glass, and again on the bathroom mirror.
Three simple letters that held the power to raise a man above the sky. I stalked through the bathroom, a herd of elephants stampeding through my chest cavity.
I grabbed my phone and shot off a group text.
She said yes! Get your asses over here.
Tuuli stood, back to me, bent over the bed, rifling through the suitcase I had packed. “You won’t find what you’re looking for in there.”
She whipped around, a fucking blinding smile on her face. “How do you know what I’m looking for?” She pulled out a pair of denim shorts and dangled them on her finger.
“Don’t put those on.” Fuck. I could lock her in our room and keep her naked for the rest of our days.
“Why?”
“Because we’re expecting company. And they’re bringing your dress.”
“My dress?”
I nodded. As if on cue, a boom, boom, boom rattled the door. Tuuli jumped, then snagged a T-shirt out of her suitcase, holding it against her chest. The damn thing did little to cover her intended parts, and I laughed at the innocent, panicked eyes flashing my way.
I hooked an arm around her waist and slammed her against my chest, dropping a kiss on her head.
She planted her hands on my chest, arching away from me. “What’s going on?”
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