by Jaycee Clark
“I already forgave you once for that tonight,” she said, turning to him.
Gavin shook his head. “Come here.”
“No.”
“Why not?” Three heartbeats later and he was wondering what she was going to come up with.
“I’m going to bed, that’s why.”
“At least one of us can,” he muttered. Had there not been an interference she might be going to sleep in his bed—okay, maybe not to sleep—but Gavin was smart enough to know this was not the time to voice such a thought.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Gavin pulled her to him. “Don’t I even get a good-night kiss?”
Her heavy sigh filled the air. “No.”
“Come on,” he coaxed.
She muttered to herself. Something about lack of passion and cold fingers.
“What?” he asked.
She huffed. “Nothing.” She tried to wiggle out of his hold, but stopped. “What are we doing?” she asked him.
He thought it wise not to answer.
“I’ve never been in this situation before. I mean your parents . . . and all the . . . all the . . .” She waved a hand. “Rest.”
“The rest?” Gavin wondered what she was talking about now.
Taylor looked away. “You know . . . the rest.”
Gavin had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. “By the rest, you mean me driving you crazy with lust?”
Taylor tried to jerk away from him, but he was having none of that.
“Will you let me go?” she asked him.
“No.” He pinned her against the side of the pool, rocked against her so she could feel his erection. She gasped. “Answer the question.”
She shook her head at him. “Yes, that’s what I mean. I’m not good at it.”
“Not good at what?” Now he was lost.
“The whole sex, lust, passion, love thing.”
He did not hear her right. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Can I go now?” She tried again to wiggle away.
Thank God they were still in the shallow end. He still had his feet under him. “No. What do you mean, you’re not any good at it?” If the woman was any better, she’d kill him. And he hadn’t even had her yet.
“I’m just . . . not.”
“Where,” he said, getting angry, “did you get such a stupid idea?” The moment he asked the question, he knew.
He wanted to let her go, but instead he jerked her closer and plundered her mouth in a hard, savage kiss, grinding against her from their lips to their tangled legs. When he pulled back, he released her, and swam to the other side. Gavin waited until she got out and was wrapped in her robe. “I told you before I don’t like to be lumped in any form or fashion with your ex. When you realize that, you know where I am.”
Her wet hair slapped as she whirled around to face him.
“That’s not . . .” Her words trailed off. “I didn’t mean . . .”
Her sigh reached him and he thought about going to her, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. No, she had to come to him.
“Maybe I did,” she admitted. Her head lifted, and across the night their eyes met. It was too dark for him to see the exact expression, but he could see enough to know she was tired. “I’m sorry. But I don’t have anything or anyone else to compare anything to.”
Gavin treaded the water, too charged and frustrated to think about going in just yet. “I don’t have to be compared to anyone or anything. Go to bed, Taylor.”
She stood there, seemingly undecided for a moment. Then she mumbled a good night and walked to the outside steps and up to the upper balcony. He watched until she slipped back into her room before he cursed and started to swim laps.
No way in hell was it now a good night. Twenty laps later, he stopped and looked up at his parents’ French doors. Just how much had they seen?
• • •
“The boy’s still out there swimming.”
“Jock, come to bed, and leave them alone.” His wife’s voice mumbled from the covers, throaty from sleep.
With one last look out the window through the sheers, he shook his head, walked back to bed and climbed in with his wife. “It’s not like I saw anything. They were only kissing.”
Kaitlyn leaned up on her elbow. “I have a feeling you would have seen more than that if I hadn’t intervened.”
Jock hmphed. “You could have left the damn light off, Kaitie lass.”
She settled in the crook of his arm, the same place she’d settled for the last forty years, and it calmed him as it always had. He wanted this for all his children. This happiness and contentment that he’d found in Kaitlyn O’Rieley.
“I could have, but I didn’t.” The smile was evident in her voice.
He would never understand how her mind worked; he had tried for over half his life and it had given him nothing but a headache.
“Why not?” he asked her.
Her sigh wafted in their darkened room. “I don’t want them to rush things. She’s a lovely girl, and I like her.”
Then what the hell was the problem? Jock was smart enough not to voice the question. Instead, he waited her out. Finally, she complied with his silent request to continue.
“If they hurry things along too quickly, the magic, the wonder of it all might ruin things because it’s no longer an unknown.”
Jock had seen the way his son looked at Taylor and he had an idea, where these two were concerned. One that he’d keep to himself lest his wife think he was meddling. Rush things. He bit down on the laugh that threatened to erupt.
Kaitie could be so . . . blind? No, that wasn’t right. How could she not see the way Gavin looked at the girl, and how, like some silent bird, Taylor had stayed practically glued to his side all evening.
Rush? Jock knew his son wouldn’t see it as rushing things. And if he were right about the way the wind blew, Gavin would only want that—what had Kaitie called it?—magic, wonder even more after he tasted its power.
Hell, he never tired of it, not with Kaitie. Never with her. Jock grinned as his wife huffed a sigh and said, “Gavin needs someone like Taylor in his life.”
“Gavin needs to settle down,” Jock muttered in full agreement.
Kaitie shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. No, he needs to loosen up. Regardless of what rumors abound, Gavin is just as much a workaholic as Quinlan. He needs someone to make him see that there is more to life than work or social functions.”
If his wife wanted to be naive about their son’s social life, Jock wasn’t going to disillusion her. He only hummed his comment.
“Perhaps,” he allowed. Kaitlyn settled again beside him and he squeezed her tight. “I love you, Kaitie lass.”
He felt her grin against his chest. “I love you too, Jock, me boy.”
His chest rumbled with the laughter that he was trying to contain. “If the lad would get out of the damn pool, we could go have our own swim.”
She tilted her head up and kissed him. “Who said we needed a pool?”
God, he loved this woman.
• • •
“You should get the one you really like,” Tori told him.
Ryan looked at Taylor; they were at the music shop.
“I think the Roma will work.” The Roma was the one he liked. It was really a neat instrument, hand-crafted in Romania, or so the pamphlet read. The shiny maple wood almost seemed to call out to him. Pirastro, whom Ryan knew was the world’s largest string manufacturer, made the steel strings. The bow and rosin were Brazilian wood and Mongolian horsehair.
Ryan studied the violin, but he was more interested in mastering the instrument itself than knowing which woods made better sounds. However, now that he thought about it, Ryan realized he wanted to know those things. He’d have to talk to Taylor about researching different woods, and strings, and different materials used for all of violin making.
“Is that the one you want?” Gavin asked him.
R
yan studied Gavin. Something was up between Gavin and Taylor. Ryan didn’t know exactly what it was, but both of them were too quiet, and frowning too much. And he caught them looking at each other when the other wasn’t aware. Adults confused him. Ryan noticed Christian and Brayden were the same way.
Mr. and Mrs. Kinncaid decided to tag along. This whole family thing was something Ryan was trying to figure out.
Tori tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t you want to play it again before you decide? I mean, it’s your instrument, you shouldn’t rush.”
Ryan smiled, he didn’t know why, but he liked this girl. “I guess I could play it again.” He really didn’t like to play in front of people, but that was something he was starting to overcome.
The salesman tried to show him how to tune the thing, but Ryan brushed off his attempts. “I know, but thank you.”
“He’s very talented,” Tori said to the man.
Ryan shook his head at her. Thinking, he decided on a variation of scales.
He fitted the half-size violin under his chin and positioned his fingers on the ebony fingerboard. Closing his eyes, Ryan started to play. The notes and sounds vibrated through his arm, into his neck and head, filling him with harmony. When that was completed, he changed keys and started another set of scales. After going through several keys, rhythms, and octaves, Ryan lowered the instrument to see them all staring at him.
Quickly he ducked his head.
“That was great!” Tori told him, helping him pack the instrument back in its case.
Ryan shrugged. “It was just scales.”
“Well, I can’t play the scales on the violin. I can on the piano, but how do you know where to put your fingers?”
Ryan looked at her. “You just learn, same way you did the piano.”
“I guess so,” she agreed, scrunching her nose up.
“This is the one you want?” Taylor asked him.
Ryan nodded to her. “Yes, it is.”
“I like it, too,” Taylor agreed.
He saw her dig out her credit card and hand it to the salesman. “All right, this one it is then.”
The violin was purchased and they stopped by their vehicles to drop off what everyone had bought so far.
“I want some coffee,” Mrs. Kinncaid said. “Would anyone else like some? Kids? How about a pastry or donut?”
That sounded good to Ryan, but he looked to Taylor first, who nodded to him. Tori was already telling her grandmother what she wanted, while also trying to tell him what was the very best to get. Tori was hard to keep up with sometimes.
“Why don’t you guys go on ahead. Taylor saw an antique shop she wanted to check out,” Gavin told them, draping his arm over Taylor’s shoulders.
“Maybe I’ll go with you two,” Ryan said, looking at Taylor. She seemed tired, or down or something. Both she and Gavin were acting weird.
Taylor smiled down at him. “No, it’s okay, Ryan. Go have one of those raspberry-cream-cheese pastries for me. I’ll be along after I see if the shop has anything I like.”
“Come on, Ryan!” Tori pulled him along with her and her grandparents. He noticed Christian and Brayden were already going into the antique store.
What was so great about old clothes and furniture anyway?
Ryan and Tori walked in front of her grandparents. Mrs. Kinncaid was a nice, sweet lady, but he still wasn’t sure about Mr. Kinncaid.
They all ordered and sat down out on the sidewalk under green umbrellas. The tables were little square wooden ones and there were trees planted in great big pots.
“Are you just going to sit there looking at everything or ya gonna try your pastry?” Tori asked around a mouthful of whatever it was she had ordered. There was a smudge of red stuff at the corner of her mouth.
“Tori, darlin’, don’t talk with your mouth full,” her grandfather said.
“Yes, Pops.”
Ryan tried his, and found he liked it. It was sweet and flaky and the icing was his favorite part. This was really good.
“So, Ryan,” Mr. Kinncaid said, “you like your selection?”
Ryan swallowed his bite. “Yes, sir.”
“They are good, but don’t beat my Kaitie’s here.” One large finger waggled in the direction of Mrs. Kinncaid. “Now this woman can make a pastry that would simply melt in your mouth.”
He didn’t know what to say so he nodded.
After several moments, the old man cleared his throat. “You know, Ryan, I didn’t apologize for scaring you last night, or if I did, I don’t remember.”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s okay, Mr. Kinncaid.”
The man’s eyes were like Gavin’s but different. Ryan hadn’t noticed before, but Mr. Kinncaid’s eyes were sharp and wise, and made him feel like they saw all the way down inside him to that part Ryan wanted to forget.
“I don’t think it is, son,” Mr. Kinncaid said softly.
Ryan squirmed in his chair.
“Wow,” Tori suddenly said. “What happened to your face? Did you scratch it on something?”
Ryan reached up and felt his face. What was she talking about? And then he knew. Turning back to her, he shook his head.
“My scar?” he asked her. Nah, surely she wasn’t that blind.
“Is that what it is? No, you must have scratched it. If it was a scar, I would have seen it before now.”
Ryan rolled his eyes and shook his head. Normally, he got mad when people asked about his scar, but with Tori, he didn’t. He could only stare at her. Was she kidding? No, that tilted head and pull of her black brows gave her face a seriousness that he had yet to see from her.
She really hadn’t noticed? Weird.
“It’s a scar,” he told her and picked up his pastry.
“You don’t have to lie,” she said, sitting up in her chair.
“I’m not. You saw it last night, and this morning.”
“No, I didn’t,” she insisted.
Ryan put his pastry back down and looked straight into those Kinncaid eyes. Everyone had them, except Mrs. Kinncaid.
“How in the world could you miss it?” He couldn’t believe she was serious. Ryan smiled. She hadn’t noticed his scar. Everyone noticed.
Finally, she turned to her grandfather. “Was that there last night?”
Gray brows rose as Mr. Kinncaid lowered his coffee cup. “I’m afraid so.”
“I must be going blind.” Her voice sounded almost like a whine on the end. “Oh, no! What if I have to get glasses?”
That sounded like the worst thing in the whole entire world. Tori was funny.
“You will look just the same in glasses, dear,” Mrs. Kinncaid said.
Ryan poked her in the arm. “No, you won’t. You’ll look brainier.”
For just a second she glared at him, her eyes narrowing.
“I look brainy?” Her smile made one dimple stand out in her cheek like her grandmother’s.
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
They both ate the rest of their pastries in silence.
“How did you get it?” Tori asked him.
He’d only met the girl last night, but Tori was easy to get to know, easy to read. Ryan hoped she wouldn’t ask, but he should have known better.
He saw the look that the Kinncaids exchanged. Did they know? He shrugged and looked back at Tori.
How did you tell someone like her about what happened to him? “You wouldn’t understand.”
Tori didn’t like that. She sat straight up in her chair. “What do you mean I won’t understand? I’m brainy, you just said so.”
“It has nothing to do with being smart, Tori.” Ryan took a drink of his water.
“Then what?”
Ryan sighed. “You wouldn’t understand because you are who you are.”
Her hands propped on her hips, even though she was sitting down. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She reminded him of the birds he’d seen at the zoo. “It’s not a bad thing, Tori. It just is. Trust me,
this you could never understand, and I’m glad.”
Her blue eyes narrowed on him. Then, she hopped off her chair. “Grams, I need to go to the restroom please.”
Mrs. Kinncaid rose and patted him on the shoulder as she passed him, heading to the restroom with Tori.
He looked back to see Mr. Kinncaid smiling at him. “You’re a good boy, and one day will be a good man, I think.”
This time Ryan smiled at him. “I don’t know about that.”
Mr. Kinncaid leaned up on his elbows. “Sure you do, Ryan. Otherwise, you would have told Tori what happened to you. I figure it’s not a pretty picture, and you spared her that. Thank you, son.” He held his large hand out. Gavin had hands like his father.
After thinking about it for a minute, Ryan reached out and shook the old man’s hand.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Kinncaid.”
“I should warn you though, Tori is like her grandmother. Let me give you some advice before those two get back . . .
Chapter 10
Valleyview, Gatesville, Texas
One month from now. One more whole, entire month to spend in this shit hole. But she wouldn’t bitch about it. One month is a hell of a lot better than the ten to twenty she was supposed to serve.
Sweat dripped in Nina’s eyes as she hefted the weights up again and started another rep. She was better than this life. Much better. The sky wouldn’t seem blue enough when she got out. Rod had come through for her yet again, and he should for what she was putting out for him.
Someone shoved her from behind and Nina had to fight to keep her balance. Whirling, she dropped one of the weights.
B.J. Bitch was one big woman, close to six feet if not a couple of inches over and weighed probably two hundred pounds of tight, street-hardened muscle. None of the other inmates messed with her. It was a glutton for punishment if someone tried. A signed, sealed and delivered death certificate.
B.J. Bitch was not her real name, just a shortened version of her earned nickname.
Nina held her stare. The air was sweltering, ripe with body odor, in the cement block they called home.
She tried for a smile. “Hi, B.J. How’s tricks?” B.J. was her name after all.