Brutally Beautiful

by Christine Zolendz

  I stood there trembling, uncertain as to what I should do. Uncertain as to how I felt about his eyes on me. Okay. Fine. I. Liked. It. There, I admitted it.

  “Uh…I…I forgot my jacket again. Last night. Here,” he choked out.

  Was I making that man stutter? Because of what I was wearing? Was barely wearing. Small beads of sweat broke out across my forehead.

  I seriously wanted to cross my arms over my chest. Even though I was wearing clothes, the small amount of them combined with his lusty stare made me feel completely naked. And those dark dangerous eyes of his made me want to move closer to him. Shit. “You know what I think? I think you forget a lot of shit when I'm around.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, eyes still fixed on mine.

  I lost all rational thought. Lost the use of my limbs and I was melting fast.

  The mop slipped from my hands and clinked against the counter, averting my eyes from his. I tried pretending that those two pathetically simple words didn’t just cause my panties to leak a drip down my legs. “Beautiful,” I repeated flatly. That was the first time in my life a man called me that and it had to come from an asshole.

  He moved toward me with intense purpose and power, dipping his head, forcing me…challenging me to keep eye contact with him.

  Well, too bad. I turned my head away from his, looking past him, beyond him, as if he didn’t matter. Heat crept over my skin as he slowly inched closer to me and I turned to face him again, my eyes locked on his. There was something unnerving in his gaze, something dark, cold and alive there, begging to be warmed. His steel eyes fluttered slowly down to my lips and my pulse instantly started hammering through my veins. The closer he moved, the faster it pounded. Both his hands reached up and gently cupped my face, and he leaned forward laying his forehead tenderly against mine. “Yes. Beautiful. Stunning. Bewitching. Ravishing. Fucking angelic.” He smelled like the most expensive brandy money could buy, it was dizzying. I had no personal space left. He took it all, absorbed every last breath of it, almost knocking me to my knees.

  One strong hand cupped the back of my head, his long fingers doing something to the nape of my neck that sent chills down my spine. His expression was dark, intent, lusty, making heat scorch up my neck. His heather grey eyes bore down on mine, making my heart pound violently in hopes of escaping from my rib cage.

  My mouth opened to speak, but our breath just mingled and he growled a low rumbly groan as he fiercely crushed his lips against mine, drowning out my words, capturing my breath. A relentless flood of warmth swelled in my whole body. His lips were soft and unyielding, moving against me in slow passionate circles. The heat of his mouth made me gasp for air, and the taste of the dark brandy that flavored his mouth was delicious. Hard and rough, his mouth raked over mine. I swayed back against the sink, hands leaning back. I needed something to hold on to – something that would keep me here on earth, because his lips on mine, his hands, fingertips cupping my face, my head, made me feel…everything. My heart pounded erratically in my chest. The heat of his fingertips singed into my skin, and my insides thawed, softened, liquefied into a wet hot mess. Every spot where his skin touched mine, I felt a powerful staggering heat. The squeeze of his fingers over my flesh sent a rush of need through my belly. Where was this coming from? Why the hell was I standing here letting him TOUCH ME? WHY the HELL WAS I KISSING HIM BACK?

  I pushed him away, covering my mouth, breathing heavy, unable to catch my breath. I had no words. I could tell everything by the way this man kissed me. I could tell how rough, hard, and erotically passionate this man was and how I was losing the ability to breathe because of his kiss. He stumbled back a step, breathing just as hard as I was, eyes blazing into mine, savage, wild and hungry. This stolen kiss, this theft of lips, this claim on my mouth was the most erotic sexual kiss in my life. My knees were so weak; I leaned back heavily against the counter again to stop my body from melting into thick sweet syrup at his feet.

  “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d taste…so good,” he whispered, dragging his hands roughly through his hair and back down over his face.

  He had to ruin the moment, right? A dark laugh bubbled out of my throat, “What? You thought waitress flavored kisses were too sour for you?” Shoving myself off the counter, I walked away to the opposite side of the trailer, putting as much distance as I could between the both of us, and wanting to scream at him. I paced back and forth trying to regain my composure. Hell, just trying to stop panting like a dog in heat would be helpful. A thick dense knot settled in the pit of my stomach. I just let him kiss me and I loved it. I had no control over it, not a damn ounce. Now he’s going to degrade and belittle me and be all Kade-like again. Why? Why did he have to kiss me like that, yet be the biggest asshole I’d ever met?

  For a moment, he looked as dazed as I felt, then his arrogant lip quirked up in a cocky smile. Look at that…the man had a playful dimple that introduced itself, mocking me on one of his cheeks. I wanted to smack the offensive boyish charmer right off his mean face.

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I stopped my pacing. “Don’t. Don’t say anything else. You’d be perfect if you just kept your arrogant mouth closed. Your intimidation skills are lacking and I’m not the kind of woman who would actually believe that you are superior to me just because you’re a man. You think you’re better than me and you’re not Kade.” Anger at his stupid pompous smirk made me want to burst his narcissistic bubble and tell him that I was a hell of a lot more than a waitress in a strip club, but I clenched my mouth closed. This wasn’t like me to let someone get under my skin.

  He raised his eyebrows and stalked towards me with purpose. “That’s what you think?”

  “What I think is that you’re a disgusting, demeaning, lonely man who looks good in an expensive suit.”

  By the time I ended my sentence, he was seething. He lowered his face to mine and looked straight into my eyes, viciously. “Let’s get everything out, yeah? I’m the first person to acknowledge that I am 100% fucked up in my head. That’s why I stay away from everyone. When I first laid eyes on you, God forgive me for my stupidity, I thought you were a fucking angel. But, I’ve met people like you, you’re just like everybody else I’ve ever known,” he sneered, disturbingly. “I think people should strive to be more than what you are. Look at what I saw when I first saw you; a waitress, poor as shit, working in a strip club where men pay her for the way she makes them feel, living in a fucking trailer. Then you came up to me, swaying those perfect hips, and you asked me what I wanted to drink. I made my assumption on what you gave me, love. And I offered you a job.”

  Stunned, furious and explosive, I held my chin up to him, “That’s all there is, just the black and white cover of a book? Never even opening it up to see the inside. So I’m just a waitress or, as you explained so eloquently, a whore?” I closed the small distance between us, wanting the confrontation, wanting to fight with him. “Then all you are is a pathetic storyteller who lives in a world full of make-believe. You’re like Mister Fucking Rogers!”

  Without warning, he hauled me up by the waist onto the counter, gripping my skin tightly. His fingers splayed out over the bare skin of my legs, the tips of his fingers pressing against the edge of my cotton boy shorts. Holding a steady gaze, his thumb lightly brushed across the skin of my inner thigh, before gripping me tighter.

  “Get your hands off me, Grayson. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me,” I whispered, our faces less than an inch away from each other. “I’m more than what I do for a living. I’m a friend, a lover, a sister. I’m ANYTHING I want to fucking be. I pity you for defining yourself because of the four walls you box yourself into. And stop looking at me like you’re going to kiss me again, because it’s not going to happen. If I’m not good enough because I’m a waitress, don't settle for me, don't sink down to my level. You don't deserve anything I have to offer. Let that shit hurt for a hot minute, simmer in it then leave me the fuck alone. Repeat that
shit to yourself in your head when you walk out of here, rinse and repeat.”

  His expression darkened, “You can still feel my lips on yours, can’t you?”

  “Shut up, Kade, and get your hands off me.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” he hissed.

  I pushed forward, moving him away with my body, “You’re wrong.”

  “Prove me wrong,” he hissed again, louder.

  Jumping off the counter edge, I walked past him and scowled, “You kissed me, not the other way around. I think you need to look into therapy.”

  He laughed darkly and shook his head, “I don’t want proof about the kiss; I know you still feel my lips on yours. We both knew the truth after that kiss. I wasn’t moaning all by myself in here. You kissed back just as hard. We both want to fuck each other until we can’t walk straight. I want you to prove me wrong that you’re not like every other person on this planet.” A minute or two passed as we stared at each other. Ardent slate eyes bore into mine, waiting; wanting. He didn’t want me to prove him wrong. He wanted me to be like whatever it was that had hurt him; that was plain to see on his face. What the hell happened to him?

  “You don’t want me to prove anything to you. You want me to be just like everybody else.”

  Kade was silent for a few long moments, and then he slowly moved past me to the door. His eyes gave everything away, but he said the words anyway, “You’re right,” he whispered, “because then, I’d have a tangible reason to stop thinking about you.”

  Clearly not thinking, I stepped in front of him, blocking his way to the door. “Kade?” This man has to be suffering from dissociative identity disorder.

  He lifted his head up to meet my eyes, “Don’t, Lainey. Don’t listen to anything I’m saying. I’m drunk as hell and I liked what I saw through your window, that’s it.”

  I nodded my head sharply, “Right, because I’m only good for a dance. Well, you got what you wanted, so no charge either. I guess you were right about how easy I was to label into your lap-dancing-gold-digging-uneducated-waitress-trailer-trash file,” I smiled. “Oh, wait. Hold on,” I said, pulling my aid-bag off the hook by the door and rummaging through it. When my hands felt the small-foiled package I was looking for, I grinned wider at him, flicking the condom right into his face.

  Kade caught the condom with a quick flick of his hand. Yeah, great reflexes for a drunk, right? He arched his eyebrows up at me.

  “It’s a condom, Kade, because if you’re going to act like a dick, you might as well dress like one,” I explained, smiling so wide my cheeks actually hurt. Then I grabbed his jacket from the hook I hung it on last night and tossed it at him. “Thanks for the pleasant visit.”

  “Well, love, maybe you are one step above trailer trash,” he smiled sadly.

  “Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw and no lube. Thank you for the compliment!” My head started to ache from all this crazy. This man needs an array of meds.

  A knock at the door silenced our immature conversation. Both of us realized we were mere inches away from each other, and ready to either claw each other’s eyes out or lick each other silly.

  I swung the door open to find Fran standing behind the screen with a dozen red roses. He’s eyes bulged out of his sockets when he looked at me, and I felt the deep flush of embarrassment across my cheeks when I realized I had not gotten dressed the whole time I was fighting with Kade.

  “Excuse me,” I snapped, shoving past a sneering Kade as I stalked through the trailer, straight to my closet to make myself look decent.

  Through the thin slats of the trailer blinds, I looked out in time to see Kade kick a huge dent into the side of his truck, swing open the door and furiously climb into it, slamming the door shut so harshly that his jacket got caught in it. I hoped to God, he wasn’t drunk, then felt guilty as hell for not making sure before letting him drive. I’ve seen the results of too many drunk-driving accidents, and my stomach knotted. I yanked a sweatshirt over my head, slid my legs into a pair of yoga pants and ran back into the kitchen to my phone on the counter. I typed out a quick text to Dylan telling him his brother just left here and that he was drunk, and to maybe check on him to make sure he got home and didn’t kill any innocent people. Slamming the phone back down on the counter, I tore my hands through my hair and almost jumped clear out of my skin when I heard a throat clear behind me.

  I completely forgot that Fran had come over.

  “So…is there anything that I should know?” he asked sadly, placing the beautiful flowers across the counter and gripping his long fingers on the edge to lean forward.

  “Not at all.”

  He cocked his head at me, and offered me a sarcastic chuckle under his breath, “Last night that man couldn’t keep his eyes off you and today I come here at 9:30 in the morning and you’re half dressed with him, looking quite flushed.” He tapped one hand on the counter, and continued, “Lainey, I know we’ve just met, but I really would like to know if you’re having any sexual relationships elsewhere.”

  I burst out laughing.

  Poor Francis looked heartbroken.

  “Trust me; I am not having any sort of relationship with that idiot. He came here this morning because he forgot his jacket last night and all we did was to go at each other’s throats.” I picked up the bouquet of flowers with my trembling hands and pulled out a plastic dollar store vase Bree had bought the first week we were here, and placed the flowers inside. “And for your information, I haven’t been sexually active for a very long time.” But, seriously, what I would give to be fucked until I couldn’t walk straight. Just to see what the hell I’ve been missing.

  My stomach coiled up into thousands of little hard knots, because I knew my next sentence would be a lie. “Kade is not even a thought in my mind.” I still felt his lips on me and I knew he was pushing me away from him because he was just as attracted to me as I was to him. He said he pushed people away on purpose. But, let’s break this down right now, shall we? I will not fool myself. Kade would never be healthy for me. He’s too wrapped up in whatever it is that consumes him. He’s sick. I let that shit seep into my brain the minute Kade came here throwing his invisible demons at me. It pissed me off for a minute, and then I moved on. The man had dangerously glaring-in-your-face character flaws, and I knew there was no such thing as believing love will conquer all and change everything. If it did, I wouldn’t have a missing person’s file out on me in the tri-state area, and the police probably wouldn’t want to take me in for questioning. I’m not surprised, nor could I bring myself to give any fucks about the situation. Seriously, my fucks had been all used up already.

  Fran cautiously shifted his body in front of mine and tenderly lifted my chin with his finger, attempting to make me look him in the eyes. “What do you think of being in an exclusive relationship with me?” His eyes scanned my face, searching for an answer he wanted to hear.

  “I just ended a long monogamous relationship, Francis. I explained that to you. I don’t want to be part of another relationship right now.”

  He leaned closer to me, his breath hot on my face, “I would like getting to know you though.”

  My stomach churned as he brought his other hand to my cheek and dipped his head closer to me, kissing me slowly and softly with closed lips. I opened my lips against his and he pulled in a sharp breath. I wanted desperately to feel a spark, or a flutter of something, but all I thought about was how different his lips were from Kade, or how Fran kissed just as softly, robotically and clinically as the man, I had once been married to did.

  I pushed the thoughts out of my head. I wasn’t Samantha Matthews any longer.

  Fran buried his face in my hair and pulled me in tighter for a hug. “Okay, I will take this as slowly as you need me too.” Raising his head, he slowly ran his nose along my cheek and kissed me on the forehead.

  Breaking away from his embrace, I moved along the counter, grabbing my phone to find no new messages. My stomach ached a little, worrying about a
nyone in the path of Kade’s truck.

  “Anyway, I came over early to help you clean, but I see that you stayed up all night and scrubbed this place raw,” he said, looking around in amazement.

  I laughed. “It only took me an hour, Fran. I like cleanliness, what can I tell you? I have this thing for sterile environments.” I walked over to the coffeepot I used as a mug earlier and placed it in the sink, running soap and water over it. “Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

  “I have a better idea,” he said running his hand down my arm. “Why don’t you go put something nicer on and I will take you to the quaintest street festival you’ve ever seen. Then, I want to take you to an early dinner and then to the best little book store on earth.” The man bounced a little on his heels, “Bree told me last night how you love reading.”

  “A street festival? It’s the middle of winter. Isn’t it too cold to be outside at a festival?”

  “Not for this one. It’s under enormous tents and has outdoor heat lamps that line the streets. You will love it, I promise. Artisans line the streets and sell their wares. There are antiques you could buy, and up-and-coming artists selling their paintings; it’s lovely.”

  “Okay, but I need a huge cup of some sort of sugary caramel coffee to get me through the rest of this morning, maybe even more than one.”

  “You do know how unhealthy caffeine is for your body, right? I’ve read that if you drink more than a cup a day that you can suffer from insomnia, upset stomach, jitters, and a rise in your blood pressure. It will lead to heart attacks, tooth decay, slower metabolism and has…”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I said cutting him off. I walked into my room and tried to find something nice to wear for a day outside. “I guess coffee is my vice then,” I called from my bedroom. “I used to drink only one cup a day, but for the last few months, I find that I need to make up for the time I spent refraining from it.”