I swallowed, my head swimming at the picture he was painting. The truth was no kiss had ever affected me like that. It was probably why I was still single. Well, that and my father ran off every guy who showed interest in me. He was an unapproachable man, and most men were easily intimidated.
“Tay,” he said, once again calling me by the shortened version of my name. Usually when someone tried to call me that, I bit their head off. But when Brody said it, my insides felt like a snowman on a too-hot day… dissolving into a damp puddle.
“Hmm?” I replied.
“Have you?”
I shook my head.
His lips hovered just over mine while his free hand teased my skin by drawing little circles over the inside of my elbow, and every breath he pulled in pushed his body just a little bit closer to mine. “Would you like to?”
I was drunk just from the sound of his voice. I was hung over from the heat radiating from his body, and I was totally lulled by the gentleness of his touch.
I nodded, a very slight movement of my head. There was no point in lying; my body, my eyes, and even my trembling limbs would betray me.
He dipped just an inch closer, his lips skimming, barely grazing mine, and I sighed at the contact, waiting for him to deepen the kiss.
But he didn’t.
He pulled back swiftly, pinched my arm, and stuck me with the needle.
I yelped as he depressed the end, flooding my system with antibiotics. But the thing was it didn’t hurt, not at all. I was still too tangled up in the fact he hadn’t kissed me. He hadn’t done to me what he said he would.
And for that I was sorely angry.
Angry at myself for falling for it but also at him for not following through.
“You’re an ass,” I said when he pulled away the needle and covered the puncture with a small square of gauze.
“I don’t deny it.” He agreed, dropping the needle beside us and swooping in, taking me off guard yet again.
This time his lips didn’t graze mine. They didn’t taunt my senses. His mouth latched onto mine as if he were a seed and my lips were enriched soil, giving him a place to settle, a place to bloom and grow.
Sadly, I didn’t have much experience in the kissing department, but even so, I didn’t have time to be nervous or self-conscious. It was like his mouth knew exactly where to go, exactly how to move against mine to draw out exactly the response he wanted.
And the response was nothing short of devastating.
He might have been the one in control, yet I felt like everything he did was entirely about me.
The inside of his lip was silky smooth, slightly moist from the heat of his mouth, and every time his lips brushed against mine, I could feel that part of him. It was almost like that feeling you got when you jumped into a pool and water glided across your bare skin for the first time.
Gentle pressure built inside me as we kissed. Brody sucked my lower lip into his mouth, gently tugging on it, teasing its fullness with his tongue. It felt so incredibly right that my hand wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer, demanding more.
The bill of his hat bumped against the back of my hand and I knocked it away, sending it falling to the floor. Ignoring the protest in my arm, I grasped his jaw and pushed my hands around the back of his head, moving upward, raking my palms over the buzzed cut he wore. His hair was thick and it tickled my hands as I moved.
Brody’s hand traveled across my waist, where his fingers dug into the flesh just above my hipbone. The pleasure of his hand and mouth on me simultaneously created a sensation close to desperation, like I was a clock that was wound entirely too tight.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he pulled away his hand and lifted his lips, angling his head so he was kissing me from a brand new direction.
His tongue stroked against my lips, almost requesting permission to come closer, and I opened immediately, wanting to feel the texture of his tongue, wanting part of him inside me.
He broke the kiss, rocking back on his haunches. I blinked, gazing at him with a bemused feeling clouding my head. I watched in apt fascination as he swiped his thumb along his lower lip and then stuck it in his mouth, almost like he was sucking off what was left of me on his lips.
“I like the way you taste,” he told me, his gaze dropping back to my lips.
Damn.
I was shot, kidnapped (technically), in danger, dirty, cold, and sitting in a grungy gangster hideout… yet true to his word, he made me forget it. In that kiss, I found more than passion; I also found escape. He was like balm to my open wounds, a blanket to my shivering insides, and an umbrella to the storm raging above my head.
And he liked the way I tasted.
“You taste pretty good too,” I finally said, speech finding its way back into my brain.
He smirked and reached for a Band-Aid, ripping off the little tabs and then smoothing it over the spot where he gave me the shot. “It didn’t hurt, did it?” he asked, his voice smug.
“I still don’t like needles.”
“That’s too bad because I’m not done yet.”
Part of me hoped I’d get a kiss like that for every needle he picked up.
9
Brody
Taylor was definitely no shrinking violet. But her bravery bordered on stupidity.
Finding her holding a gun on Snake was pretty amusing. What wasn’t amusing was the fact she didn’t seem to realize brandishing a gun did not give her that much control. She was weak, outnumbered, and obviously didn’t realize these guys were professionals at this.
Clearly, this girl couldn’t be left alone because, clearly, she was a hazard to herself and her own safety.
And then she went and chose a purple Gatorade. Purple. The damn girliest color known to man.
If that wasn’t bad enough, as she was sipping that lavender-colored concoction, she goes and looks at the needles like they’re alien babies come to take over her body.
Not many people surprise me.
But she did.
Her entire being was one big conundrum, a contradiction in heels.
On one hand, she portrayed a sort of tomboy personality (despite being flawlessly beautiful), showing a set of balls most women didn’t possess. Giving tips on fishing, standing up for people in bad situations, taking a bullet like a champ, and then pulling a gun on a known gangster.
I thought I had her figured out. I thought I knew what to expect from her.
Then she went and picked that damn purple Gatorade and became shaky as a newborn filly when presented with a needle.
It was almost as if beneath her tough exterior was a girly girl with the bite of a mouse.
I really hadn’t meant to kiss her. I only meant to distract her from the fact I was about to stick a needle in her arm. The distraction worked… but her honest reaction left me unable to leave it at only a distraction.
Her breathing stalled; her body stilled. I literally felt the anticipation rolling off her. It made me wonder how in the hell no one had managed to claim her yet, how she could say that no one ever kissed her so good that she forgot where she was.
I wasn’t about to back away from that challenge. Yet the second I closed the distance between us, it became more than proving a point. It became about giving her something I knew no one else had. It became about filling my mouth with nothing but the taste of her.
She sent my senses into overdrive and my cock to twitching in my jeans. I wanted to jam my tongue so badly inside her mouth. I wanted to explore the very depths of her until I too was completely lost.
But this wasn’t the time or place.
I couldn’t afford to be distracted like this.
And she couldn’t afford to keep bleeding.
It didn’t help that when I broke our lips apart, she looked sorely dazed and disappointed. Her lips were swollen and round, glistening from the faint moisture in our kiss.
“I have a local numbing agent here. It will numb up the area where
you’re wounded and take away a lot of the sting. Once it takes effect, I’m going to clean you up and bandage you better.”
She made a face like I tried to feed her something very distasteful. It made me smile.
“Here,” I said, pushing the coffee cup back into her hand. “Drink some more of this.”
She took it and sipped dutifully while I opened some of the bandages and wipes. We didn’t speak as I unwrapped the crude bandaging I applied to her arm earlier. I wasn’t surprised when I noted the non-adhesive pads were soaked with blood. The one on the back of her arm, where the bullet exited her body, was worse.
She watched me with a stony expression when I filled yet another syringe with numbing agent.
“This isn’t going to feel good,” I warned her, leaning close to find a place to inject her.
Taylor turned away her face, gazing toward the back wall as her fingers twisted themselves in the front of my T-shirt.
The action endeared her to me even more. Once again, she was making me feel like I was her anchor, her lifeline through this mess. I never wanted to be responsible for someone else… but right now it didn’t seem like it would be that bothersome.
“Ready?” I whispered.
She squeezed her eyes closed and I pierced her skin.
I heard her breath catch and her fingers tightened on my shirt. I worked as quickly as I could, injecting the medicine and trying to move it around the area.
“It shouldn’t take long to work,” I said, pulling back. She didn’t say anything so I used one of the empty bags and picked up all the trash and wrappers I’d already used. Taylor didn’t look at me or her arm. She kept her face turned away and her fingers twisted in my shirt.
“Tell me if you can feel this,” I whispered and dragged two fingers over the inside of her wrist. She shivered. I stroked her again, this time applying a bit more pressure. “Can you feel that?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she confirmed, sounding like a purring cat.
Unable to help myself, I trailed my fingers upward, across the inside of her arm and up her bicep. When I got to the wounded area, I began poking at the red and swollen flesh. I used harder jabs than before, but I really wanted to be sure she was numb.
“I can’t feel that,” she said, relieved.
“That’s good. I’m going to clean it up and then stitch the worst of it closed.”
Her head snapped up. “You’re going to stitch it?”
“Best way to keep the blood inside you where it belongs.” I felt the side of my lip curling up.
“Fine.” She sighed.
The lighting in here sucked so I scooted as close as I could and got to work. Because she was numb, I was able to work faster and do a better job of cleaning her up this time around.
After putting several stitches in the front and back of her arm, I decided to cover the wound, just for added protection because we were in such a dirty pit. I layered the large square pads I swiped from the office and used medical tape to secure them in place.
When I was just about finished, she turned her head. We were so close to each other I could make out the lighter flecks of green in her eyes.
“Are we going to get out of here?” she whispered, her eyes seeking the truth in mine.
“I swear it.” I vowed, something knotting in the center of my chest.
I knew she wanted to ask me how I knew, how exactly I could be so certain. But I couldn’t risk telling her about my phone call, about the raid that was being planned right this moment.
“Trust me,” I whispered.
“I do.” Taylor moved to turn her head away, but I grasped her chin and brought her back.
“Why?” I demanded. I had to know the reason she went from trying to run away from me to believing I wouldn’t let her down.
“Because you came back,” she whispered.
I released her chin and stroked the side of her cheek, noting the way her faint freckles stood out over her alabaster skin. I couldn’t imagine anyone leaving her behind.
“Drink some more of that,” I said, gruff. “You’re pale and cold.”
I turned back to the bandages, trying to understand why my heart was beating so erratically as I finished up and pulled the flannel shirt away from her. She gasped and tried to pull it back.
“I got you something warmer,” I said, reaching beneath me and pulling out the large NC State hoodie. I held it up for her to see.
“It looks like yours,” she said.
“Lean forward,” I instructed, and she did so I could gently pull the thick fabric over her head. I held the coffee so she could push her good arm through the sleeve and then watched as she slowly and gingerly pushed her newly bandaged arm into the shirt as well.
The grimace on her face made me angry at the asswipes in the other room all over again. When she was done, she sagged against the wall like she just completed a marathon.
After I got up from the cot and moved aside all the trash and supplies, I grabbed up a red Gatorade and took a long drink. I wondered what time it was, if it was fully dark yet, and how much longer we had until the cops showed up.
The situation didn’t feel as urgent now that I was able to get her some medicine and really stop the bleeding. Still, she was in danger from her low body temperature and most likely dehydrated.
“There room on that thing for me?” I asked, nudging her good side.
She scooted over and I sat down, crowding her space and spreading my legs.
“Rude,” Taylor said, scrunching up her nose and gesturing to the way I was making myself comfortable.
I grinned and reached for her. She made a little squeaking sound when I scooped her up and deposited her between my spread thighs and wrapped my arms loosely around her waist.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Oh?”
“You’re incredibly warm.”
“Soak it up, babe.”
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when she immediately sank farther into me, snuggling herself into the oversized sweatshirt and curling her body against mine.
But I was.
I was used to girls who liked to play games, who pretended to be hard to get.
Taylor turned so her injured arm was facing out and her opposite side leaned against me. Her head fit right in the space beneath my chin, and the scent of her shampoo wafted up my nose. I inhaled deep because it smelled so damn good.
So yeah, maybe my arm wound a little bit closer around her middle, and yeah, maybe I liked the way she fit against me. Like I was a puzzle with a missing piece, only I hadn’t realized until it was fitted into place.
Once she was settled, I took the flannel and draped it over her. It wasn’t much of a blanket, but it was all I had.
I was only doing this because of hypothermia. She was in danger.
I wasn’t doing it because it made me want to throw her down on this cot and cover her body with mine. While we were both naked.
I wanted to ask her about herself, but I was afraid the guys would overhear. I didn’t want them knowing anything extra about either one of us. So I didn’t say anything. Really, it was better this way. It wasn’t as if we were going to be friends after this. Getting to know her would just be a waste of time.
She tilted back her head, tipping up her chin, angling those emerald eyes at me. I couldn’t help but look down. “I never realized being a criminal was so boring.”
The chuckle rumbled deep in my chest, vibrating us both. “You mean getting shot wasn’t enough excitement for you today?”
She smiled, flashing a row of white teeth. I liked when she smiled. I really liked when that smile was directed at me. “So is that what they do all day?” she whispered. “Hide?”
“Pretty much. They’re like cockroaches… They only come out in the dark.”
“Except today,” she said, her voice turning a little dark. Taylor pulled her chin back down and pressed just a little closer. I rested my chin on top of her head, enjoying the feel of her sil
ky strands against my unshaven face.
“Today kinda sucked.” I agreed. I remembered the first time I was involved in something like this. The guys I was with wanted me to rob a gas station to prove I would do it.
So I did.
I pulled a black mask over my face, walked in, waved a gun around, and scared the shit out of an entire store of people. And then I stole some money, some booze, and a bag of chips.
(I was hungry and wanted chips.)
Unfortunately, the guy behind the counter wanted to be a hero. I gave him props silently, because defending what you considered yours was a natural instinct. It also showed the guy had some guts.
‘Course, him being a pansy would have been a lot easier.
They were watching from the parking lot. He was challenging me with a loaded shotgun so I shot him.
I remember getting in the car, feeling it accelerate as we ripped down the road. I had to force those chips down the back of my throat. I had to sit there and eat like I was still hungry, like shooting that man for no reason didn’t bother me at all.
It made me sick.
Sick with them, with myself.
I walked around for months wondering about that man, if he was alive or if I killed him. I walked around knowing that I shot him, knowing that if he died, it would be solely my fault. When I finally had a check-in with the PD several months later, the first thing I asked was about that man behind the register.
He hadn’t died.
It didn’t make me feel any better.
And that was just the start of my undercover career as a gangster. That was just the first instance in a long string of criminal activity in which I participated.
As time went on, it got easier. I found myself with a shorter fuse, more willing to rip into someone, more willing to get violent. I would tell myself that the scum deserved it, that he was a drug dealer or some lowlife who knocked up women only to bail on his responsibility.
I told myself that my actions were justified because I was doing it for the greater good, that in order to clean up the streets, someone had to get dirty.
Tattoo Page 7