“What do you usually tell people?”
“I sing country to piss people off.”
She laughed and just like in the diner, it was real. Not forced or fake. Her eyes flashed in the dim light. “You obviously do that very well.”
Her boot slid back and forth on the gravel as her face grew serious. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I get it. So many people try to fit in, but it’s a waste of time.”
He shoved his hands in his back pockets to keep his hands off her. This girl understood. This classy, so-above-him-girl got it. It left him speechless. And still, she didn’t pry for information about him being an orphan. Not one question about it, nor did she pity him.
She smiled softly then hesitantly placed her hand on his chest. “Don’t let anyone make you something you’re not.”
The warmth of her hand seared through his tee shirt, and it was all he could do not to claim those lips he knew tasted like berries.
“Thanks for walking me to my car. See you tomorrow.”
Rendered mute, he still stood there five minutes after she’d driven off.
The next few days, he didn’t see much of Shelby. They met to order roofing materials, but that didn’t take long. She’d asked him to hold off on any other projects until she was sure of the cost. He understood.
He’d been busy practicing or trying to. Thrand’s neighbors were raising a stink about the noise. So he went to Booseys to talk to Mick about practicing in his garage. He hadn’t said much to his uncle since they’d tried to give him Tracy’s picture. Matter of fact, he’d made himself scarce. The bar was dead on a Sunday, with just a few stragglers.
He found Mick in his office.
“Hey man, got a minute?” Ethan asked.
“Sure.” Mick pulled his gaze from the computer.
“Wondering if you would mind us practicing in your garage until we found another place. Thrand’s place is out.”
“That be fine. On one condition.” Mick relaxed back and rocked in his office chair.
Ethan nodded.
Mick pointed to the chair.
Ah hell.
Ethan sighed and sprawled in the too small chair in front of Mick’s desk.
“Hiding from your family isn’t helping anything. And regardless of what you think, we are your family. Why else would I have invited you to live on my property? For all I knew, you could have been a goddamn lunatic.”
“You sure that isn’t true?”
“Do you think you are?”
“It’s what everyone said. And I do have a rap sheet.” Ethan shrugged. Why couldn’t people just leave him alone? Why did they always have to dig?
“Doesn’t mean you’re loony. It means you’re human, and you made mistakes. And it’s clear you’ve made it your mission to not give a fuck what people think of you.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” He tapped his thick-soled motorcycle boot on the floor.
“Who fostered you?”
Ice filled his veins. “Too many to count.”
“How many?” Mick pulled out a file, and Ethan froze.
“You have a fucking file on me?”
“I tried for a long time to find you after I found out you existed. Tracking you down wasn’t easy. There were a lot of dead ends.” Mick opened the file. “Says here you were with the Olander family, then nothing. I tried talking to them, but got—”
Ethan shot to his feet. “Why the fuck do you keep doing this?”
“Because you need to talk about it.”
“You don’t have a clue what I need.” Ethan’s hands shook as that name echoed in his head like a monster come to life. “You opened it, so tell me. What did they tell you?”
Mick got up and came around the desk to shut the office door that stood ajar. Ethan didn’t move. Olander was a name he wished he’d never known.
“They said you were a defiant child who needed a severe hand to get you in line. They also said you ran away.” Mick’s hand rested on the door.
Ethan stepped towards him so they were close. He narrowed his eyes as an unnatural calm descended on him, his voice nothing but a low whisper. “Did he also tell I was a spawn of the devil? And because he was a disciple of God, it was his duty to rid me of it. No matter the cost.”
“Does your file say that I was never adopted because I had black demon eyes? Does it tell you I was nothing but a piece of trash my mother never wanted? Does any of it even fucking matter at this point?” Ethan’s breathing escalated with his voice as memories crashed through him like a runaway train. “And that was the easy shit.”
He picked up the file, flicked through it, and then tossed it to the floor. “Why not just accept me the way I am? If this is what family is about, I don’t want any part of it.”
Mick’s eyes had widened with each word. “You’re right. I just felt so guilty for not knowing, for not being able to find you…”
“If you want to help me. Then stay out of my fucking head. Trust me, no one wants to be there.” He flung open the door. “Not even me.”
He stomped past Angel and Lila, hopped on his bike, and took off.
The bike rumbled under him as he sped down the highway up into the hills. He didn’t care where. He needed quiet. So much noise in his head—he just wanted some peace. He revved the bike, and the warm summer wind whipped by him. It drowned out some of the voices that screamed at him. The faster he drove, the less he heard.
Before he realized it, he was at Shelby’s. He pulled into her drive, but instead of knocking on her door, he went to her barn. She’d said something about an air compressor in there. They’d need it for the roof. He just wanted to do something with his hands.
He envied her place. Surrounded by big trees and a big sky with nothing but the birds chirping.
The barn was faded white and red, just like he’d seen in pictures. As with everything else, it wasn’t locked and with a little muscle, he slid the rusty door open. It was big enough for two cars, but it was filled to the brim with dusty parts and cobwebs. He picked his way through the mess, found the air compressor and a long workbench with tools.
Perfect.
He lost himself in straightening and cleaning up the tools. He loved working with his hands. It was a passion second only to music.
He heard the crunch of tires and caught a glimpse of her white car.
“Ethan?” she called.
“In the barn,” he answered, but stayed in the dim interior. One lone light bulb hung over the bench so most everything was in shadows.
She stepped in front of the large open doorway. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, exposing her slender neck. As usual, classy as fuck. Everything she’d said last night came rushing back. How was she the only one who didn’t dig into his shit?
She smiled. “What are you doing?”
“You said something about an air compressor in here, thought I’d take a look. It’s dirty in here,” he warned.
She shrugged one shoulder and came inside anyway. “Did you find one?”
“Yeah. Trying to get it working.” He grabbed a couple wrenches and knelt to unscrew a few bolts.
“Wow. I haven’t been in here in years.” She picked up a pair of pliers and laid them back down. “These were Gramp’s tools. He used to be in here all the time.”
“I assumed it was just you and Gran.”
“It was, mostly. He had a heart attack when I was four.”
“I’m sorry.” He stood and looked at her.
“It’s okay.” She glanced at his hands holding the tools and up at him. Self-conscious, he stood there sweaty and dirty while she smelled amazing.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked.
He jerked his gaze to hers then looked down. After the conversation he’d just had with Mick, those condescending voices in his head were loud as fuck. Her quiet compliment knocked all the wind out of them. “I fix stuff. Not a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? You sing amazing.
I haven’t seen anything you can’t fix. You ride motorcycles, and I bet you can fix those, too. Pretty cool.” She turned and walked back outside. “Come up to the house when you need a glass of tea.”
He wiped at the sweat on his forehead and took a deep breath. Her scent lingered for a moment then was replaced with the mustiness of the barn. He moved towards the back of the building to look at something and noticed another door. With some effort, it finally slid open. Fresh air poured in.
The land sloped downwards, and the sun reflected off a pond in the distance. He sat on a pile of boxes and just absorbed the scenery. Trees dotted the landscape, and he noticed a path that led down to the water.
So quiet.
There had to be something really wrong with her to see good stuff in him. She didn’t make sense. Telling him not to change then acting like the ability to fix stuff was a big deal. He shook his head. But she had sweet tea, so she couldn’t be completely nuts.
He tugged off his filthy shirt and wiped down his arms and face the best he could before he walked toward the back door. He knocked once, and then stepped inside her kitchen. She stood on a stepladder trying to replace a bulb. He smirked when she still couldn’t reach it even on tiptoes.
“Problems?”
“I’m short.” She huffed. “That’s the problem.”
He stepped on the first rung of the ladder, pinned her where she was, unscrewed the bad one, replaced it, and laid the bad one on the counter. He moved back so he stood on the floor, one hand on the side of the ladder.
She turned to face him. “Of course. Be glad you’re not a shorty…”
Her words died out as her gaze landed on his, then slid down over his chest. They were so close, and he should back up, but she snared him with her eyes. They dilated, and the gold flecks grew brighter. She sucked in her lower lip, and he held back a groan. Her fingers twitched, and she put her hand behind her back.
“I’m sorry. I’m rude,” she mumbled and looked away.
“If you want to touch me, then do it.”
Her surprised gaze met his.
“If it will help you quit freaking out every time I don’t have a shirt on. Just do it. It’s just skin with a little ink.” Impatient with her hesitation, he took her hand and placed it on his chest.
And immediately realized his mistake. Her palm flat on his chest made his heart thump a bit harder.
She gasped. Her hand didn’t move for a few moments, but her curiosity clearly got the better of her. Her fingertips were soft and light as they touched the dark lines of his tattoos. It sent his nerves into overdrive. There was nothing sexual about the way she touched him, but as she traced each design, it sent blood pumping south. All he could do was endure the torture.
“I thought they would be raised,” she said and had he not been so aroused, he might have laughed.
She put her other hand on him, and he gritted his teeth. She stepped off the ladder, making him step back. Her hands slid over his arm as she moved around him. She paused at the laughing demon. He expected her to ask. She didn’t.
Fingers grazed along his ribs, and he forced himself to stand still even though his muscles jumped under her touch. This was his fault. Her scent circled him, and he closed his eyes. She wrapped him up nice and tight in her spell. Hyperaware of her every move, he knew when she stopped in front of him. He inhaled and opened his eyes.
Her hand rested on his chest just below his pierced nipple. How could she look so innocent, even though her intent was clear? If she touched that bar, he would lose it.
Her lashes lifted, she took a deep breath, and he tensed.
“Shelby,” he murmured in warning.
Then her fingers moved up a fraction over the piercing.
Chapter 8
Shelby was utterly fascinated by the amount of tattoos that covered him—all different and each one made a statement. At first, she was just curious about the ink, but it swiftly became more about the man under the ink.
He was bigger than anyone she’d ever been around. Taller, thicker, and her earlier observation of him was reaffirmed. He wasn’t cute. That label couldn’t begin to sum him up. He was overwhelming to her senses and so much to take in. The more she touched him, the tenser he got, and the bolder she became. By the time she faced him again, there was no way she couldn’t touch that piercing.
She looked up, ignored his warning rumble and the intensity of his gaze¸ and slid her hand up.
His lips slammed on hers, and his arm encircled her waist, pulling her hard up against him. He claimed her with raw desire. Seized her. She had no chance to gain her wits, his mouth owned her, drank her in, like he couldn’t get enough. His other hand slid up her neck and then tugged her ponytail free.
She gripped his shoulders and balanced on wobbly legs. Thoughts careened like veering cars when his hand slid into her hair and tugged her head back. His lips moved along her jaw as she gulped for air.
“Smell so fucking good,” he breathed into her ear.
His words and the cold metal from his lip ring and tongue did wicked things to her already hammering pulse. He jerked her up, so she had no choice but to cling to him, while he turned and put her on the small butcher-block island.
He stepped between her legs, and both hands tangled in her hair. His mouth weaved a trail down her neck. She panted for air while her hands skated over his shoulders and up the back of his neck.
She didn’t understand this ache that spread through her. Nor did she understand the fluttering that spread through her body. She arched, wanting, needing closer. Nothing seemed so important. He groaned in response, put one hand on her hip, and pulled her in. Nothing but thin layers of clothing separated them.
Her breath stalled at the feel of his arousal pressing against her. Her nails dug into his back as conflicting emotions warred. Her body wanted, oh, how it wanted to grind in closer…but warning bells fired off in her head.
He paused, his breath hot and heavy against her skin.
She choked in air and tried not to let the tears prick her eyes.
He lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. “Shelby?”
She turned her head and buried it in his neck. One part wanted to taste him, but another, bigger part was hiding. His chest rose and fell, and his hands gently gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Darlin’, what is it?”
She blinked her eyes and tried without success to look away.
“Did I scare you?”
She opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. He didn’t scare her. The act that would follow certainly did, but she knew it was too late now. Her body still yearned, and she knew he wanted her. It was still pressed firmly between them.
“Oh hell, girl.” He leaned his hips back, and she breathed.
Confused, she willingly looked into his dark eyes. She’d never seen eyes like his. So dark, compelling, and beautiful.
“I scared you.” He let out a slow breath, regret in his eyes.
“No.” Her voice was hoarse and not very convincing but, like always, her thoughts came pouring out. “Are you not going to finish?”
His dark brows furrowed. “Finish what?”
She paled and looked away. He didn’t have to play dumb.
“Shelby, look at me. If you’re talking about sex, no. I see fear. I never want you to look at me in fear.”
Awed, her thoughts stumbled as she looked at him. “But you want me.”
“Damn right I do.” He smiled, his dimples flashed, and his hands slid along her cheeks. “But something stopped you. If you’re ever with me, you gotta be all in.”
She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the feel of his rough hands on her skin.
“So soft,” he said and kissed the corner of her lips. “I’m going to go cool off.”
“You’re mad?” She tightened her hold on his arms.
He leveled his eyes on hers. “No. I’m the damn lucky bastard who got to kiss you.”
He brushed
the tip of her nose and left through the back door.
She sat on the island in shock. Her body still hummed from his touch. She wanted what he made her feel. So out of control. Fear held her back. He wanted her, but he walked away.
No accusations of being a cocktease.
No yelling.
No telling her she had no choice.
If a man like that, with his background, could control himself, then anyone could.
Tears streamed down her face, and she covered her mouth to stifle her sobs. Her best friend, Skye, had tried to tell her. Just because a guy was turned on didn’t mean you had no choice. No should mean no. She’d hadn’t even told Ethan no. She’d just hesitated, but he knew. Reality hit her like a Mack truck.
Andrew had raped her.
She stumbled to the bathroom and tossed cold water on her face and looked up into the mirror. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her neck a little bit red from his stubble.
Holy crackers, the things he made her feel. She blew out a breath.
The stark difference between Ethan and Andrew was vast. She shoved a hand through her dark hair and leaned against the sink. Why hadn’t she listened to Skye? Her hands shook. She’d almost married Andrew. Even though she never wanted to, she gave in to her mother’s and John’s demands.
Andrew hadn’t been bad while they were just friends. She had liked him well enough, but she was pushed into dating him. Just like she was pushed into everything else. Her mother said they made a beautiful couple, and he was from money. Like that was a good enough reason to give your life to a person. She blinked at the tears that threatened again, when her cell phone pinged. She walked to the living room and picked it up.
Ethan: They delivered the rollback. We will be over in the morn to start on roof. I gotta go. See you soon, Brown Eyes.
Shelby smiled at his name for her. He really wasn’t mad. She was about to text back when she heard his bike start up. She opened the front door and looked through the screen door in time to watch him ride off. The loud rumble of his motorcycle echoed in the quiet.
She shut the door, went in search of her ponytail holder, and found it on the kitchen floor. She paused at the island. All they’d done was kiss, but she wasn’t sure she could ever look at it again without blushing. With her hair once again secure, she grabbed the home phone and typed in the number to Skye.
Wreck Page 7