Without giving it a thought, she slid her fingers under his sleeve, pushing it up to see more. His arm flexed, the ink dancing. Did he not realize a woman had limits to her self-control? Hers was at an all-time low when it came to him. She gripped his biceps and pulled him closer. Didn’t all men love morning sex?
“Can’t stay, darlin’. I have to get home to change for work.” His expression was intense, not happy or angry or regretful.
Would she ever learn to read him? Then, when she expected him to lay an unemotional kiss on her cheek or forehead, he pulled the covers to her waist. Her nipples pebbled in the cool morning air. She tried to tug the sheet back over her, but he grabbed a wrist in each hand and pushed them over her head.
She squirmed, not from fear but arousal. The covers slipped even lower. A rumble came from his throat, and he flicked her nipple with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. He repeated the kiss on her other breast.
“Please, Alec. Stay.” In less than a minute, he’d turned her into a blubbering, begging mess.
He let go of her wrists and pulled the sheet to her chin. This time the kiss he brushed over her lips was as chaste as a virgin’s first kiss. “Wish I could, but I’ll be back tonight. With some stuff. That okay?”
“More than okay.” He turned to go, and she bit her bottom lip, sitting up and holding the sheet over her chest.
The front door opened and closed¸ and the nerves and worry holding her upright were cut. She fell into the pillows. He wasn’t moving in, just storing a few of his things. No big deal. But, combined with his sudden appearance the night before, it felt like a big deal. A really big deal.
The day passed both slowly and quickly. The shippers picked up the portrait, which meant a big payday was close. While she had morning light, she went to work on the stadium picture from a photo her cousin Elizabeth had emailed. Being paid for her work was surprisingly satisfying to her muse.
That afternoon she wandered through the woods, heading toward the practice fields. She could hear the boys before she could see them—the clash of shoulder pads, the grunts of effort, the yells from the bleachers. She crossed the street and jogged to the field.
Ms. Elizabeth’s husband Ralph stood at the fence with a half-dozen other gentlemen of a certain age who lived for football. A dozen other people were scattered on the bleachers. Darcy had tucked herself underneath like the outcast cliché. Lilliana joined her. “What are you hiding from?”
Darcy chucked her head toward the crowd. “All anyone wants to talk about are our chances Friday night. They seem to think I have some magical influence on Robbie to play their kid longer or not play some other kid.”
“You are having sex with the man.” Lilliana waggled her eyebrows.
“Trust me, when we’re getting it on, he is not thinking about football.” She shot a narrowed gaze toward her husband who was in a three-point stance with his offensive line. “At least, he’d better not be.”
“I think you’re all good. The man walks around looking like he wants to drag you off and do wicked things to you.”
Darcy’s face transformed with her smile, her soft blue eyes twinkling. “Speaking of wicked things … what’s going on with you and Alec Grayson?”
“What’ve you heard?”
“Only that he went to church with you yesterday. That’s some serious stuff right there.”
“Aunt Esmerelda caught him at my house.”
“Sneaking out of your bed?”
“Not literally, but it was pretty obvious what we’d been up to. His shirt wasn’t even tucked in.”
Darcy looked out at the field and whistled low. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised you two hooked up. You two couldn’t keep your eyes off each other during practices. Your antipathy for the man was a thin cover for your lust.”
Lilliana harrumphed and picked a piece of nonexistent lint off her shirt knowing Darcy was closer to the truth than she wanted to admit aloud.
Practice broke up, and Darcy and Lilliana headed toward the fence. Alec jogged over, and Lilliana hoped she wasn’t imagining the spark of happiness in his face.
“Hey,” she said breathily.
“Hey yourself. How was your day?” He smiled, his gaze darting over her.
“Productive. Shipped off the portrait. Started a new commission. What about you?”
“Busy. Jeb finished Hunter’s car. I’m going to drive him over to pick it up after practice, and then I have a couple more work sites to visit. Make sure everything’s up to my standards. It’ll be late before I’m finished.”
Was he dropping a hint? She repeated the offer she’d made on Sunday. That had worked out rather spectacularly. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked.”
The smile that creased his face was one she remembered from college, carefree and full of charm.
“Hey, Miss Lilliana! My car’s fixed!” Hunter waved from the middle of the field.
“I heard!” she hollered and waved back. He ran toward the practice pavilion with a teammate. “How’s his eye?”
“Still swollen a little. Bruised. But mentally, emotionally, it’s like it never happened.” Alec shook his head and stared into the distance where Hunter had disappeared. “I can’t understand why Hunter doesn’t cut his brother out of his life. He has to know Will is going get in deeper and deeper.”
She grabbed onto the metal rail of the fence and shrugged. “It’s hard to see the people you love the most let you down. You come up with excuses and more excuses until you run out. Just because you cut your parents off doesn’t mean Hunter’s there yet or ever will be with his brother.”
“My parents almost bankrupted me. They cared more about money than they did about me.” His voice turned harsh and cold.
The reversion back to old, defensive Alec put her on guard. “I understand how difficult things have been for you the past few years, but at some point you have to put all that aside unless you want to drown under it. Lord knows, my dad and I—”
A whistle cut through the air. He turned his face in profile, a virtual door slamming between them. “Gotta go.”
“Sure you do,” she said to his already retreating back.
Uneasiness seeped into her stomach. Their relationship might be too new and fragile to survive a sudden frost. She distracted herself with work that evening, no clue whether he was going to show up at her house or not.
The knock came around nine while she cleaned her brushes and debated on texting him. The fact he waited at her front door instead of letting himself in back seemed meaningful.
A duffle hung over the shoulder he’d propped against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his chest, the worry around his eyes belying his confident masculine stance. “Am I still invited?”
She didn’t fully open the door. “Are you going to keep shutting me out?”
He looked off to the side where orange leaves glowed around the streetlight. When he looked back, a puppyish apology softened his face. “I’ve spent the last few years wallowing in my problems. You were right to call me on it. When I think about what Hunter has to deal with … my childhood was idyllic.”
“Yeah, mine too.” She rolled her eyes, a smile coming in spite of a lingering worry. “Come on up, Mr. Football. Invitation stands.”
She led him to the dresser in her bedroom and opened the drawer she’d cleared out for him. Surprised at the burst of nerves that blossomed seeing him unpack something as mundane as underwear and a toothbrush, she retreated to the edge of her bed and pulled a throw pillow to her chest, running her fingers through the fringe.
Unpacking took him all of forty seconds. Dropping his empty duffle on the end of the bed, he rubbed his jaw, the sexy stubble more pronounced than usual, and stared at her. Feeling like a wild animal under the scope of a gun, she shifted.
“You started to say something about your dad this afternoon before we were cut off.”
The question was there, but asked in such a way to give her a way out if she wa
nted to dodge the memories. Yet, she sensed he was testing her. “My father enjoyed swooping in to take me for ice cream or a surprise weekend at the beach, but he wasn’t around when my cat got run over or when my high school boyfriend dumped me. My mom and Aunt Esmerelda handled the hard stuff. He would vanish when things got tough.”
The bed dipped with his weight, and his arm circled her shoulders.
“Whenever he called, I managed to find an opening for one good dig.” The satisfaction that buoyed her after her slicing comments now filled her with shame. “He left me Hancock House in his will anyway.”
“He loved you.”
“Yep. In spite of how big a bitch I could be, he still loved me.” Tears drew her throat tight. “I wish—” She tried to swallow down the regret, but it spewed out. “Why wasn’t I nicer when he was alive? Why couldn’t I understand he was trying? I didn’t deserve to inherit this house. It should have gone to someone else. Someone better.”
He squatted in front of her, inserting himself in her field of vision. “I don’t know anyone better than you, Lilliana Hancock.”
“You obviously need to get out more.” She ducked away from him and under the covers, hoping he’d take the hint she was done talking.
He stayed in a squat for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom. The toilet flushed and water ran. She flipped the lamp off and tucked the covers under her arms. He slid under, smelling of toothpaste and her face soap, and slipped his arms around her.
He picked the conversation up as if she hadn’t blown him off. “Your daddy wanted to make sure you were taken care of once he wasn’t around. Maybe you weren’t the most understanding daughter and maybe he wasn’t the most dependable father. But you loved each other anyway, right?”
She nodded, knowing if she said anything he would hear the wobble in her voice. Brushing her hair off her neck, he skimmed his lips down her sensitive skin. One hand rose to cup her breast. He made love to her as if he understood her mood. Slow tenderness replaced the frantic playfulness of their last encounter. The gentle care he took was a salve on the wound she’d hidden from everyone yet picked at constantly.
Afterward, she cuddled into his side, laying kisses along the tattoo on his chest. “I want a tattoo.”
He raised his head off the pillow, and she propped her chin on his chest to meet his eyes. “You sure about that?”
“I’ve wanted one for years. Is there someone around here you would trust not to screw it up? I don’t want to end up on one of those ‘tattoos gone wrong’ shows.”
Enough time passed to make the silence veer into uncomfortable. He finally dropped his head back and pulled her closer. “I know someone. Be one hundred and ten percent sure you want this.”
“I want this,” she whispered back, the tattoo no longer at the forefront of her mind.
“This weekend soon enough?”
She hummed her response, the hand trailing up and down her back and playing in her hair lulling her to sleep.
Every evening that week followed the same pattern. He arrived late, looking more and more exhausted and worn as the week progressed. Still he’d insisted on oiling the hinge of her back door, grouting the new tile in the bathroom, and repairing the split duct in the attic. She’d managed to gain Ghost’s trust enough to move her and her kittens into a box in the kitchen, gaining only a few scratches in the process.
By Thursday night, he collapsed beside her, snuggling her close but making no move to kiss her. She popped onto an elbow and poked him in the ribs. “Do you work this hard every single day? You’re killing yourself.”
He opened one eye. “Between contracting, the extra time Dalt wants to put in, Hunter, and you, I’m burning out.”
She wasn’t thrilled to be on a list of his obligations, but cut him a break. “Have you been spending extra time with Hunter?”
“I’ve been making sure he does his homework and is eating decent. Been teaching him a little about the construction business. Told him it was part of paying me back for his truck. He insists on going home every night. Not much I can do to keep him from his brother.” The worry in his voice transmitted, and tension hardened his muscles.
“Turn over.”
“Why?” His tone was suspicious.
“Geez, I’m not going to stab you or anything. Too messy.” She kept her voice light and teasing. “I’d be much more likely to poison you. That’s how women roll.”
He chuckled and flipped to his stomach. She straddled his hips and worked the muscles of his shoulders and back. The pillow muffled his groan. She continued the massage until he was loose and pliable beneath her. She didn’t do it as a precursor to sex. Nevertheless, she’d gained pleasure from touching him. The man was gorgeous.
He was also asleep. She leaned over. Yep, definite snoring was taking place. But, instead of feeling gypped, she was content to cuddle next to him.
Chapter 19
Alec parked in front of the tattoo parlor and looked over at Lilliana. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Her laugh cracked too loud in the cab of the truck. “You sound like Aunt Esmerelda.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Obvious was an understatement. She chewed on her thumbnail, her knees were pressed together, and her other hand was tucked under her thigh.
He shook his head, suppressing his laugh, but not his smile. “Not at all.”
She grabbed his forearm. “A tattoo is permanent. As in forever. What if thirty years from now, I hate it?”
“You’re preaching to the choir. Trust me, it’s an expensive regret.”
“But I love your tattoos.” She stroked across his chest and lifted the edge of his T-shirt, exposing the bottom few inches of his ink. Her fingers traced the dark lines he had started not to hate so much anymore. “They’re supersexy.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Her exploring hand sent his blood supply south, leaving him fuzzyheaded. “Are we going in or not?” Because if they weren’t, he was thinking about doing something very inappropriate and most likely illegal, considering it was early afternoon and they were in a parking lot along a busy street.
She turned away and hopped out of the truck. Her walk toward the parlor was unusually slow. A few feet from the frosted glass door, she grabbed the front of his shirt and whispered, “What if you hate it?”
He shifted to face her and cupped a hand around her neck. Her dark eyes weren’t flat or cold, but depthless and enveloping, like a hot summer night. She wanted this, and because of that, he wanted it for her. “First of all, this tattoo should be about you, not me. If you love it, that’s all that matters. But, for the record, I could never hate your body.”
“Even if I got a tattoo right here? Of like, a spider?” She splayed a hand over her right cheek.
A laugh spurted out, beyond his control. “So not the itsy-bitsy variety?”
She leaned forward and kissed him. The move was sudden and sweet and unbalancing. Her openness only underscored how cut off he’d become the last few years. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms, resisted the urge to tell her about the feelings battering around in his chest.
Her lips curved into a smile against his. “I’m ready now.”
She opened the door, confidence in the tilt of her chin and her smile. How did she seem to gain strength and bravery from their kiss when it left him trembling and terrified?
The bells over the door tinkled. A Hispanic man with a shaved head, a barbell in his eyebrow, and tattoos up both sides of his neck popped through a doorway in the back, wiping his hands on a paper towel.
“Alec, my man. Thought you were done inking.” Joe Montez held out a hand, his accent pure Alabama drawl.
Alec shook it. “How’s it going, Joe? I am done. My girlfriend Lilliana wants a tattoo.” He’d hesitated only an instant over her word girlfriend.
Joe’s pierced eyebrow rose, and he half-smiled, but refrained from comment, sidesteppin
g around Alec to stand next to Lilliana. She gazed at the hundreds of sample tattoos hung all over the walls.
Joe and Alec had graduated high school together, although they had barely known each other then. Alec hung out with the athletes while Joe had circled the fringes. After Alec left Philly to lick his wounds, their paths crossed when Joe hired Alec to renovate his tattoo shop. They weren’t friends exactly—Alec wasn’t good at making friends—but he appreciated Joe’s no-bullshit mentality.
“Your boys won their game last night, I heard. Playoffs next?” Joe asked.
“Yep. We’re headed to Huntsville. Should be fun.”
Joe wandered over to Lilliana and pointed to groupings of at least fifty different styles of butterfly tattoos. “Butterflies are popular with the ladies. Flowers too.”
Lilliana pulled a sheet of paper from her back pocket. “I know what I want, but I’m not certain where.”
Joe opened the paper and smiled. “Nice.”
Alec took a step over, trying to get a peek, but Lilliana snatched it out of Joe’s hand. “You’ll see it soon enough, Mr. Football.”
Joe laughed. “I like this one. Lots of sass. Come on back, sweetheart.”
She disappeared into the back with Joe. How complex the tattoo was would determine how long the process would take. Alec pulled out his smartphone and scrolled through work emails. Lilliana’s tinkling laughter distracted him and had him pacing, trying to see through the gap in the curtain into Joe’s workroom. At the hour mark, the sound of voices grew louder, and Lilliana emerged with a smile.
“Everything go okay?” Alec’s voice was husky, and he glanced between Lilliana and Joe.
“Muy bonita,” Joe said in Southern-accented Spanish. He took one of Lilliana’s hands. “Senorita, please stop by once you’re healed, I’d love a picture to put on the wall.”
Alec stepped behind her, pulling her hand out of his. “Hands off, Cue-ball.”
Joe kept his smile and winked at Lilliana. “Good luck with that one.”
Lilliana leaned in and bussed his cheek. “Thanks. You are a true artist, Joe. I’ll be by soon.”
Alec was silent on the way to his truck. Once they were inside the cab, he cranked the engine and tightened his hands around the steering wheel, but didn’t reverse. Lilliana was bowed at the waist, patting at the gauze covering her new addition.
Melting Into You Page 19