Burn (Indigo)
Page 12
Cinder used her foot to push the coffee table out a little, giving Gian more room. He was imposing enough in clothes, but shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of the pool of denim at his feet, he seemed to expand until he filled her view. Her eyes traced the thick veins and cords standing out against his skin as he hooked his thumbs into the waist band of his briefs, the muscles of his arms and chest lengthened and bunched as he bent over to lower them. Shadows filled the hollows of his hip muscles when he stepped out of his briefs and lightly kicked them to one side.
He straightened, displaying the definition of his abdominal muscles, trying to read Cinder’s expression. Was she pleased? Frightened? Standing before her, he could hide nothing, especially the fact that her gaze affected him as strongly as her touch might have. Only her eyes moved as they traveled over him. They lingered in certain areas, places that responded painfully to her interest. Just when he would have begged her to allow him to do so, she asked him to sit.
“You have so many scars,” she murmured, touching the trio of pale, smooth slash marks striping his left pectoral muscle.
“I got into a fight with Wolverine,” Gian joked. When Cinder didn’t laugh or smile, Gian continued more soberly. “I got that in a skirmish with locals outside Kandahar. They were farmers armed with spades and hoes. One of them got in a good lick with a tiller before we drove them back.”
She scooted closer to him, leaning in to stroke the raised, jagged line of scar tissue just under his navel. “And this?”
“Homemade machete,” he said simply. “That was the last time I underestimated the power of handmade weaponry.”
Cinder repositioned him to recline against the corner of the sofa, his legs up and outstretched. She sat facing him, her hip to his. Her right hand came to rest lightly on his thigh. “May I touch you?”
“I think I might die if you don’t.”
Cinder’s slim hand whispered over his skin, her touch as stimulating as an electric current. Gian breathed deeply through his nose, closing his eyes when she cupped his face, her thumb lightly stroking over his lips once before she ventured to the solid column of his neck.
She took his shoulders and sat on his upper thighs, her knees flanking his hips. She took his wrists, guiding his arms up and above his head, his hands far out of reach of her.
She leisurely reacquainted herself with a man’s body, with Gian’s body. She paid careful attention, intent on learning his textures, how he tasted, smelled, and responded. She threaded her fingers through his hair and found it soft, but so unlike hers. His hair was very straight with a cowlick that would have been more noticeable had his hair been longer. She leaned forward, her bosom in his face, to study his scalp. His maple-gold hair was thick with little space between the follicles. She pressed her nose to his head and inhaled, approving of the fresh, clean scent that reminded her of the forest after a heavy rain.
She liked his ears, deeming them perfect—not too big, not too small. They were sensitive, given the way he tensed when she took the rim of his ear between her teeth, traced it with her tongue and suckled his earlobe before trailing her lips lower. The scent of his neck was very different from that of his hair. No less pleasant, it was warmer, stronger, more him, as distinct as the scent of fresh bread yet decidedly male.
At the hollow of his throat, his pulse drummed against her lips. With the tip of her tongue, she sampled the velvety texture of his skin. His chest was naturally bare, so she had a smooth path to his nipples. The tawny pips hardened, the darker skin around them puckering in response to the moist heat of her tongue. Cinder’s own flesh reacted in kind, tightening when Gian let his head fall back. He took a deep breath that expanded his chest and rocked her back a bit.
Gian kept silent, although he wanted to tell her how much he liked the dance of her fingers over the ridged muscles of his rib cage and the defined squares of his abdomen. A thin trail of golden-brown hair originated at his navel and led downward. Cinder scooted down his legs to settle more comfortably upon him while following the trail of hair, which ended in a silky nest of darker fur from which reared the eager prominence of Gian’s notso-little soldier.
Cinder nuzzled its base with her nose, inhaling his earthy fragrance. He smelled delicious, his aroma inviting her to taste the hard instrument grazing her cheek. She raised her head enough to catch its tip between her lips. Pinching her lips into a snug ring, she lowered her head, drawing him farther into her mouth. Gian’s arms tensed, his abdomen and buttocks flexing, his hips lifting reflexively to drive himself deeper. His hands clenched into hard fists eager to grab Cinder, but Gian knew that he couldn’t, not until she invited him. If they were to proceed any further, he had to follow her lead and respond within her parameters.
Cinder’s hands went beneath him, clasping his backside so hard her blunt fingernails creased his skin.
Helpless, Gian groaned low in his throat, the sound emanating from the depths of his pleasure. His hands opened and closed as he pushed his shoulders into the back of the sofa, his hips pumping in rhythm with Cinder’s head. The softness of her inner cheeks, the thrilling rasp of her tongue and the wet heat of her mouth combined to render him ignorant of all but her exquisite attention.
Cinder measured her breathing, taking him deeper with each down stroke. She removed her hands from his shaft and stroked his legs, smoothing her hands over the hard muscles under his skin.
With a loud grunt, Gian reached the limit of his endurance. He surrendered with a shudder, his elbows and heels digging into the sofa. Cinder held onto the back of the sofa with one hand to keep him from throwing her off as his hips seemed to move on automatic, his noises of relief waning as his excitement subsided.
“Cinder,” he gasped, his body relaxing, “when you said touch, I didn’t think you meant like that.”
She discreetly swiped a napkin across her mouth and tidied him before she lay atop him, resting her head on his shoulder and draping an arm over his chest. Gian considered that an invitation, and he fastened her tight in his arms.
“You aren’t annoyed with me?”
He laughed. “Annoyed is so not the word to describe how I feel right now. Why would you think I’d be annoyed?”
“Because I did what I wanted to do, and you didn’t get to do anything.”
“I understand why you had to do what you just did.”
She shifted, lacing her fingers on his chest and resting her chin on them to face him. “Good. Explain it to me.”
He lovingly touched a fingertip to the end of her nose before tracing the line of her jaw. “I think you want me.”
She giggled. “Really? Is it obvious?” He gave her a half grin that made her want to reach between his legs once more.
“When was the last time you were with a man?”
She dropped her eyes. “My ex-husband is the last man I was with.”
“I think that you needed to establish control,” he said. “You needed to see that you could trust me. That I wouldn’t hurt you or try to force you into something you didn’t want.”
Her head went back to his shoulder and her left arm circled his head, her fingers moving through his hair. “There were a couple of men who were interested in me when I first moved here,” she said. “The first one tried to kiss me after we’d gone to a gallery exhibit. I couldn’t let him. Every time he touched me, it reminded me of Sumchai. It was worse with the second man. We never made it to the end of the first date. He took control of everything. He ordered for me at the restaurant, and chose my bowling ball for me. It made me so nauseous, I just ran out on him. I know how silly and stupid that is, but—”
“It’s not stupid,” Gian assured her. “And it’s not your fault. Your ex is the one responsible for the fact that you link innocent gestures and words to pain.”
“How do you know so much about things like this?”
Gian stroked her arm with his fingertips. He sighed and said, “My sister Lucia was a runner. She used to work out in a differe
nt park every month. There’s so many of them in and around St. Louis because some society lady at the turn of the century decided that parks should be available to everyone, not just the rich folks who lived in the painted ladies downtown.”
“What’s a painted lady?”
“That’s a nickname for the Victorian houses in the neighborhood surrounding Lafayette Park, down on Mississippi, Missouri, and Park Avenues,” Gian said. “In the past couple decades, the houses have been remodeled and painted. The area is real upscale now.”
“Zae took me to Lafayette Park once,” Cinder said. “It’s really pretty. There’s a bridge crossing over a little creek, and with the trees bowing low over it and all the water lilies and moss-covered stones in the water, it looks like something from an old-fashioned book of fairy tales.”
“Lucia liked the bridge, too. It’s the main reason she liked running down there. One Saturday afternoon, though, the park was crowded, and she had to park her car about three blocks away. The neighborhood wasn’t very good, but she hadn’t expected anything to happen in the middle of a sunny Saturday with so many people out on the streets.”
A weak shudder moved through Cinder, and Gian held her closer, sweeping his lips across the top of her head in a reassuring kiss.
“She was never able to tell us how many assailants were involved, but a group of young thugs grabbed her and dragged her between two dilapidated buildings. She’s a real fierce kid, but those creeps outnumbered her. On a day when so many other people had gone to the park to enjoy the weather, these monsters thought it would be fun to spend the afternoon beating and raping my baby sister.”
Gian’s chest heaved. He struggled to hold back emotions Cinder could only guess at—fury, sorrow, pain, and frustration top among them. She comforted him with soft kisses to his temple and the backs of his fingers.
“It’s been four years,” he went on. “I don’t expect her to bounce back and be the same person she was before the attack. I know it doesn’t work that way. But I want her to get through it. To come out on the other side knowing that she survived it. She’s still here and she’s stronger and tougher and better than the bastards who hurt her because she survived it. I haven’t been able to hug her or kiss her, or even touch her unexpectedly, since it happened. She can’t bear to be touched by a man, not even by her own brothers. When I first met you, I saw the same apprehension in your eyes that I see in Lucia’s. The difference between the two of you is that you’ve got the courage to arm yourself against the monsters.”
“Was anyone ever charged with your sister’s assault?” Cinder asked.
“No. DNA was collected and Lucia gave the best descriptions she could, but the offenders apparently weren’t in the system. Pio and I stay on top of the cops, getting them to run the samples once a year, just in case they get a hit. I can’t imagine that Lucia was the last person those bastards hurt. They’ll get a hit one of these days. I just hope it happens before the statute of limitations runs out.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Cinder suggested. “Lucia hasn’t had the chance to confront her monsters. When Sumchai went on trial, I had to force myself to walk into that courtroom and sit down. The next day, I had to force myself to look at him. By the end of the trial, I stared him straight in the eye as he was led back to prison. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was the moment I started rebuilding my life. I moved to Webster Groves a few months later, and a year after that, I walked into Sheng Li.” She caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I met you. And now I want so much of what I’ve missed out on. True love. A family. A dog.”
“What kind of dog?”
“A big one. Something loyal and protective.”
“A German Shepard in bulletproof armor would blend right into your little fortress here.” Gian chuckled. “This is one of only two places I feel completely safe,”
Cinder said.
“Where’s the other one?”
“Right here.” She kissed his neck. “Right here in your arms.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, I told you that,” she said.
“You’re misunderstanding me. I was just thinking about how safe I feel in your arms. You got me in your arms and my heart in your hands. I can go into a skirmish outnumbered and underarmed without blinking an eye, but when it comes to women, I never put up a fight because I never wanted to lose. I love you, Cinder. I’ll fight for you, die for you—”
She kissed him, stopping his declarations. Gian’s arms circled her, pressing her into his body as he returned her kiss.
“Would you get the ice cream for me?” she asked once they broke for air.
Gian laughed lightly. “Can I put my clothes back on now?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Cinder watched his leisured movement to and from the kitchen. He handed Cinder a spoon and opened the flaps of the waxed ice cream carton. “Ladies first.” He offered her the first taste of the milky-gold dessert.
“What flavor is this?”
Gian watched her savor the confection, his smile broadening. Cinder’s eyes widened, her eyebrows arched higher, and she licked her upper lip.
“Bacon!” She laughed, plunging her spoon into the carton once more and digging out a hearty bite.
Chapter 7
“Is there meat in all the side dishes, too?” Cinder muttered under her breath. Zae’s Labor Day spread was impressive in quantity, quality, and the sheer overabundance of meat. Just about every animal in the barnyard had been on the grill, and Zae’s guests sat around her backyard chomping on ribs, chicken breast, lamb chops, sirloin steak, hamburgers, hot dogs and Johnsonville brats.
Grasping a heavy-duty paper plate, Cinder slowly moved down the buffet table Zae had set up along one end of her deck. Though she had asked guests not to bring anything, many had, and Zae had quarantined their dishes to a rusty old card table bereft of even a tablecloth. Before Zae could see her and stop her, Cinder helped herself to a ladleful of Chip’s fruit salad, a vivid, fragrant combination of watermelon, cantaloupe, blueberries, seedless green and red grapes, and sliced starfruit sprinkled with fresh mint leaves. She also took a few of the homemade taro chips Sionne had brought, eager for her first taste of Samoan food.
Gian had enlisted his mother to make lasagna, and she’d clearly thought Gian had intended to feed five hundred rather than fifty. The lasagna pan was so wide and deep, it looked like a toddler tub. Absently licking her lips, Cinder cut herself a huge square of lasagna. Seven tiers of curly-edged noodles, herbed ricotta cheese, sauce, and mozzarella started her stomach rumbling as she wrangled stretchy strands of melted cheese and clumps of fragrant sauce free from her portion before setting it on her plate.
Cinder turned to leave the potluck table and nearly collided with Zae. Arms folded stiffly, the right side of her mouth pinched in a derisive smirk, Zae glared at Cinder’s plate.
“What?” Cinder asked innocently.
Zae stood close to her and spoke in a low voice. “Every year these people come to my Labor Day barbeque, and every year I tell them not to bring anything. And every year, they all bring some watery casserole or some tasteless, mayonnaise-based salad, or some gruesome bakery product from the day-old shelf. Meanwhile, they eat up everything I cook and leave me with their nasty potluck contributions.”
“Zae, your friends are just trying to be polite,” Cinder said. “I think they made a pretty good showing. I’ve never seen taro chips at a barbeque before, and Chip’s fruit salad is beautiful.” She held her plate up to Zae’s nose. “Doesn’t the basil and garlic in the lasagna smell so—”
“I know, I know.” Zae impatiently pushed Cinder’s plate back at her. “It smells like Italy!”
Cinder choked back a laugh. “You don’t have to worry, you know.”
“Worry about what?”
“About someone bringing a dish that steals the attention from your cooking.”
“The only time I bring food to a barbeque is when I know the host is a terrible cook. What does it say when my best friends bring food to a party where food is the main reason for the gathering?”
Cinder silently stared at Zae for a moment. “You’re really weird.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Are you for real?”
“Look,” Zae demanded, “all I’m saying is that if a perfectly good feast is waiting someplace for you, why on God’s great green Earth would you bring something else to eat?”
Though Zae was speaking to her, Cinder noticed Zae’s line of sight led beyond her, somewhere over her left shoulder. She turned to see a few of Zae’s colleagues from the university and three of her daughters’ friends from Webster Groves High School. And through them, she spotted Chip smiling at the perky blonde he’d brought to the barbeque.
“You didn’t tell the guys that they couldn’t bring dates,” Cinder said.
Zae took her arm and pulled Cinder toward the deck stairs, almost making Cinder lose her food. Cinder offered the “excuse me’s” and apologies as Zae shuttled her through the guests milling on the deck.
“Cory didn’t bring a date,” Zae pointed out once she and Cinder were deep in the tree-shaded backyard, far out of earshot of the other guests. “Sionne didn’t bring a date. Gian didn’t bring a date.”
“I’m Gian’s date,” Cinder said.
“That isn’t the point!” Zae snapped. “If Chip was going to bring someone, he should have at least asked me first.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when Cory brought a date to your July fourth barbeque,” Cinder said. “Why do you care that Chip brought a girlfriend?”