Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Oh, please.” The shake of her head make her brain spin. “Like a line on your face can diminish the appeal of the Thunder God.”

  His laugh was as sexy as his face. “Sweetheart, you’re rambling. We’ll talk about the scene more when you’ve had time to process. I’m tied up for a couple of days, but after that… Let me think.”

  He wanted to make plans? For the future? Oh, no. He was too good-looking, and she’d let him play her like a piano—and that would’ve been okay, but now all she wanted was to stay tucked in his arms and on his lap. This BDSM stuff was more dangerous than she’d realized. Not because she’d had fun, but because of the way it made her feel about the person doing it. For heaven’s sake, she hardly knew him.

  “I can’t think about next week. Really, I need to get going.” She pushed at the hand on her stomach, sat up, and slid her legs off the couch.

  He hauled her back. “Josie. What’s going through your head?”

  “Nothing. Nothing important.” She shoved his arm away. “I’m all recovered, and right now, I need to get back and close down the bar.”

  He let her rise. As he sat, arms extended along the back of the couch, his frown showed his…not annoyance…but concern. His intent gaze said the Dom would figure out why she was running.

  And the idea of him getting deeper was simply terrifying.

  Chapter Nine

  On Monday evening, Carson looked through the stacks of books at the book fair and gave a sniff. As he’d feared, he’d read most of them at least two years ago. But there was a bunch of books for advanced readers and… Huh, some of them looked pretty good. Ghostopolis? Maybe. Trapped. Yeah, that had potential. He’d never seen a blizzard, after all.

  “Cars, dude. You’re looking at books?” Brandon nudged his shoulder and snatched the book out of Carson’s hand.

  Annoyed, Carson grabbed it back. “What’re you doing in here?” It wasn’t as if Brandon was into books. He was into games—and good at them.

  “The mom’s here, selling books. Figured I could hit her up for some cash.” Brandon smirked. “She won’t want to look cheap in front of the other parents, so she’ll give me some.”

  “Pretty smart.” Carson considered, then shook his head. Messing with Mom that way seemed kinda mean. She wouldn’t cave anyway. She was always talking about not doing stuff just to impress other people…and she didn’t.

  “I know, right? C’mon.” Brandon headed for the front.

  Carson hesitated. There were other books to pick out. But Brandon was cool, even if he didn’t play soccer, and apparently, he had a bunch of Mature Xbox games. It might be fun to see them. Brandon wasn’t a total geek either. Sure, he had a gut, but he was bigger than Carson and knew karate. Not that he practiced since he said his dad wasn’t on his case anymore.

  Turning, Carson followed with his two books. The cafeteria section had been roped off and the tables piled high with books. Near the “entrance”, three women stood behind the checkout table. One of them was Carson’s mom.

  “Hey, my mother, how about giving your one and only son some lunch money?” Brandon started on his spiel.

  Carson caught his mother’s eye. She was biting her lip, trying not to laugh. Yeah, she’d seen right through Brandon. Mom was pretty okay.

  Carson held up the books he’d chosen, and, as he’d expected, she nodded. She was a soft touch when it came to books. But just handing out money without a reason? Not a chance. She wouldn’t fall for something like Brandon was pulling.

  She sure hadn’t when he was five. Imitating another kid, he’d thrown a screaming fit in a grocery store to score some candy. He hadn’t gotten any candy. Mom’d leaned against the counter and told everyone who walked by what he was doing and why. Every adult thought she was a great mom. Jeez, one group of old ladies had even applauded her—and told him he was a bad boy. He’d been the one who was embarrassed. And he hadn’t gotten to go shopping with her for a whole month afterward.

  He handed her the books. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “That’s your mom?” Brandon looked at the women. “Since you two know each other, is it okay if Carson comes over after school?”

  Visit Brandon? Carson would’ve bounced on his toes, only that wouldn’t be cool. “Mom?”

  “Ah…”

  Brandon’s mother smiled. “I don’t have a job, so I’m home when Brandon is out of school. Carson would be very welcome.”

  “All right.” Mom nodded. “Have fun then.”

  “Awesome.” Brandon held out his fist.

  Grinning, Carson fist-bumped him. Yes!

  Josie watched the two boys swagger out, all arms and legs, like ungainly puppies. “When did he get to be that tall?” she muttered.

  Cecily laughed. “I know. I have to buy Brandon a whole new wardrobe every few months.”

  “And shoes.” Josie sighed. “Shoes are the worst.” One of the presents under the Christmas tree held the new soccer shoes Carson wanted. Just in time, it turned out, since the middle school soccer season started in January.

  “Here, let me give you our address.” Cecily scrawled on a piece of notepaper, then pulled out her phone. “What’s your phone number?”

  Josie recited it and received a text. “Got it.” Wasn’t it funny how quickly smartphones had been incorporated into the making friends ritual?

  She eyed Cecily. Nicely dressed, well educated, polite. “Can I assume no drugs, no alcohol, guns are locked up, and the boys aren’t left with anyone I haven’t met?”

  Cecily’s eyes widened before she laughed. “You did all that in one breath. Amazing. But it’s all good. No drugs. I have a bottle of wine in the fridge, but children don’t get any. I don’t own any guns.”

  Josie waited.

  The woman’s gaze dropped. “I’m the only one at our house. My husband and I divorced not long ago. You know the cliché—the CEO finds himself a younger, prettier wife? He did.”

  “Oh. Oh, no.” What could she say? An “I’m sorry” wasn’t suitable, since, obviously, the woman was better off without the jerk. “Divorces are rough.”

  Fiddling with the receipts on the table, Cecily shrugged. “At least I received a hefty settlement—mostly so he could get everything finalized quickly. His chickie gave birth a week later.”

  “How awful.”

  Cecily’s glare was hot enough to scorch the receipts. “He seems very happy with his wife and new son over in St. Petersburg. He could have weekends with Brandon, but he doesn’t bother, even though St. Pete’s only an hour or so away.”

  “Poor Brandon. That must be a blow.”

  “His father’s such an asshole.” Cecily pushed the papers away. “When I called him about him neglecting his firstborn, the dumbass said I’d ruined Brandon. That I’d turned him into a sissy, a coward, and a wimp who only fights on the computer.”

  Josie stared. “That’s unbelievably harsh.”

  “Isn’t it? But my bastard ex was a football star in college and served as a Marine. He expected Brandon to be a chip off the old block. Made him take karate and everything.” Cecily shook her head. “But…when we were talking, Brandon was on the other line. He heard his father call him those names.”

  “Oh no.” Josie knew too well the mother’s pain. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the hurt in Carson’s voice when he’d shared what his father had said. Yet nothing could be done. No matter how much a parent wanted to spare their children, the world held a wealth of disillusionment and heartache. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Brandon took it hard—not that he talks about his feelings with his mother.” She gave Josie a rueful smile. “Going from elementary to middle school’s made his life even worse, what with the changes and losing friends.”

  “Carson’s having the same problems.”

  “Well, let’s hope they both adjust.” Cecily smiled at an approaching teenager. “Did you find everything you wanted?”

  Still thinking about Cecily’s husband, Josie let out a b
reath. When his son wasn’t what he wanted, he’d dumped poor Brandon like so much garbage. Like her father had done. Like Everett had done with Carson.

  Men were sure difficult.

  She sighed. Despite her resolve to keep her life simple, she’d complicated everything by doing that scene with Holt. But, okay, she was human and female—and he was appallingly sexy and appealing—and dominant. She’d loved everything he’d done to her last weekend. Sheesh, the mere memory could arouse her.

  And it was more than just the…sexy stuff, dammit. She…liked him. A lot. He was amazing with Carson. He paid visits to Oma to check her blood pressure and see how she was doing. The teens in the neighborhood adored him. He’d helped her when Carson ran away—insisted on it, no less—and had been so damned strong and capable.

  The three C’s—he had them in abundance: competent, confident, and caring. She’d never been so…attracted…to anyone before.

  The trouble was that now, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. When in the office writing, she’d keep glancing out her window, hoping for glimpses of him. Her heart rate would increase at the sound of his motorcycle.

  She wanted to feed him, worry about him…care for him.

  With the hours he worked, she might not see him until the Shadowlands next weekend. And she had to wonder… Although he’d mentioned talking, maybe the scene was all he’d wanted from her. It wasn’t as if a BDSM session was a…a date or anything.

  And really, that one scene should be all she wanted, too. Really. To get involved with a neighbor and one who belonged to the club where she worked was foolish. Add in the BDSM stuff? Purely foolhardy, and she just wasn’t that kind of a person. She was a no complications person.

  Dammit, I don’t want to care about him.

  Chapter Ten

  Carson wiggled his knife in the mashed potatoes. Two eyes. Big nose. Eyebrows pinched together to match the turned-down mouth. Ugly face for the crappiest teacher in the school. Mr. Jorgeson. The big jerk had picked on Juan all during their science class. With his fork, Carson squished the face.

  “What school do you go to, Carson? The one down the street with the fires?”

  Startled, Carson looked across the table at Holt who’d come to supper. “The dumpster fires? Yeah, that’s my school.” Blazing dumpsters—kinda awesome. No one knew who was doing it, but the teachers were sure all freaked.

  “Fires? More than one?” Oma asked.

  “Um, yeah.” Carson shrugged. “Two.”

  Holt’s mouth went tight. “An equipment shed was also burned.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Mom looked upset. She always got worried if she heard about anything interesting. She sure found a lot of stuff dangerous. Isaac’s mother was the same way. It must be a mom thing.

  “No one hurt, and not too much damage, thankfully,” Holt said.

  As Mom sat back, Oma started telling about the guy down the street who’d lit his house on fire by falling asleep with a cigarette.

  Talk about embarrassing. Chewing on a bite, Carson shook his head.

  As the grownups talked, Carson dished himself more mashed potatoes and gravy. No one made better food than his mom did.

  Sure looked like Holt liked it, too. Like Carson, he’d taken seconds.

  He was pretty cool. Picked great music when he and Carson worked on his backyard. And Wedge and Duke—the fifteen-year-olds—said he had a huge TV, and if there was a game on, he’d let them come over.

  Today, Holt’d seen him and Mom putting up Christmas lights around the door and windows, and he’d walked over to help. They’d gotten done really fast that way.

  And Mom’d invited him to supper. Mom did friendly stuff like that.

  Only not with men. Last week when Holt came to supper, well, that was Mom’s way of saying thanks for saving Carson. Was today just a thank you sort of supper again?

  Or…did Mom like Holt, as in like the way a girl would?

  Carson eyed the guy. He’d shaved his beard off. Looked good, kinda normal. The girls would say he was hot, Carson figured. Would Mom? Judging grown-ups ages wasn’t easy. Holt might be around Mom’s age or a few years older. And he’d gone to college, so he was smart.

  He kept touching Mom. Not like laying a big, wet one on her, but gripping her shoulder or putting his hand on her back. It was really creepy to think about a guy making moves on his mom.

  If she and Holt were just friends, he wouldn’t touch her like that, would he? But they must be. Mom didn’t have boyfriends or anything.

  Thinking of friends… “Hey, Mom, Brandon asked me to go over to his place on Saturday. Yukio and Juan are going. Can I?”

  “Who is Brandon?” Oma asked.

  “He’s in a couple of my classes,” Carson said.

  Mom added, “I met his mother at the fundraiser book sale. She seemed nice, although unhappy.”

  “Why would that be?” Oma asked.

  “She got divorced this year, and it sounds like she and Brandon are taking it hard.”

  Yeah, Brandon was messed up about the divorce. And even more pissed off his father was so into the new baby and didn’t want Brandon any more. Kind of like ol’ Everett, the douche. “You’re not my kid. Get away from here, you little bastard.”

  Carson frowned. “I don’t know why people get married anyway. They just end up hating each other and getting those divorces and stuff.”

  His mother straightened. “Not everyone gets a divorce,” she said, mildly.

  Yeah, because some—like Mom—don’t even get married. He bit back the words. It wasn’t her fault Everett was an asshole. Carson’d told Juan about his father last week; Juan’s mother hadn’t married either. Juan had made him see what kind of jerk Everett was. And, although Mom was smart about people now, she might not have been back when he was born.

  “A wedding is like a celebration and announcement all in one,” Holt said. “It’s something like a school graduation ceremony where you’re telling everyone you made it through high school and you’re an adult. People get married to tell everyone they found their partner and are starting life together.”

  “Huh.” Carson half grinned. “I thought a wedding was just a reason for a girl to wear a fancy dress.”

  Oma’s lips twitched. “That, too.”

  Carson noticed the way his mother was looking at Holt. That was a girly look. He stared at Holt. “So do you have a wife?”

  The guy smiled. “I did. And yep, we ended up divorced.”

  “How come?”

  Both his mother and Oma gave him the “Carson” at the same time.

  Holt shook his head. “It’s all right. I don’t mind talking about it.” He turned to Carson. “Bear in mind, some breakups are ugly, so asking the reason can be awkward.”

  Carson nodded. It was probably like when Mindy stopped talking to Addison, and everybody knew not to ask why or Addison would start bawling. “Uh. Yeah. Got it.”

  Holt smiled at the boy. Josie’s son was a good kid. And observant. It wasn’t surprising the boy had edged toward being rude. The kid had eyes, and Holt hadn’t concealed his interest in Josie. The boy was old enough to want to defend his territory against another male.

  “We were pretty young when we married.” Holt nodded to Carson. “If you can, wait until you’re older to jump into the marriage stuff. Even in your twenties, you’re still figuring out what you want, and often, a couple ends up going in different directions.”

  Carson took that in without a challenge.

  “I take it you and your wife went in opposite directions?” Stella asked.

  “We did. She liked being married to a firefighter. And although I like being a firefighter, the job is hard on the mind and body. With an eye to the future, I started college to get my bachelor’s in nursing.”

  The kid snorted. “Girls think firefighters are hot, not nurses.”

  “Sad, huh? I think she agreed,” Holt said. “We broke up when I was in college. She wanted to party when I needed to do home
work.”

  Josie nodded. “You grew up first, and she wasn’t ready yet. Then again, when a baby arrives, it’s more often the mother who grows up faster.”

  “That adulting stuff can come as a shock.” Eating the last bite of his chicken, Holt leaned back with a sigh. “You’re an amazing cook, Josie. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” She checked that everyone was finished before rising and starting to clear.

  Holt stood to help. “Did you get saddled with a ton of homework tonight, Carson?”

  The boy was picking up Stella’s dishes with his own. “Nope. I’m helping Mom with her job.” The tone was clear. We’re busy here; don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

  Holt looked up. “Bartending or writing job?”

  Stella chuckled. “Writing. Nevertheless, drinks would be nice. Carson, could you bring us all some lemonade?”

  “Yes’m.”

  As Holt set his stack of dishes on the counter, Josie looked up from the dishwasher. “You know, while I hope to make a good living at writing, I’m not sure I’d want to give up bartending. I’d miss talking with people.”

  Last weekend, the club members had hung around the bar in a way they hadn’t since Cullen cut back. Because Z had hired them a warm and caring bartender. Smiling, he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Your customers would miss you too.”

  She stilled at his touch, and again, he felt the link between them. The sizzle that accompanied sheer liking. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, about tonight. When I run into a tricky action scene in a book, Oma and Carson help me act it out.”

  Action scene? Holt looked over his shoulder at the woman at the table. He’d guess Stella was over seventy.

  Josie followed his gaze and snickered. “No, I’m not doing martial arts with my great-aunt. You can stay and help if you want.”

  “Little author, you couldn’t get me out of here with a crowbar.”

  Carson gave a dish sponge to Stella to wipe down the dining room table, then returned with a box of small dolls.