by MI
No one ever wanted to hear the whole story, not even her therapist. To be honest, she didn’t either. She wished she didn’t remember.
Even after cherry blossoms and branches concealed the letters on her back, she would never forget, no matter how much she wanted to, what had been underneath.
Whore.
What did it say about her, staying in a marriage so long after she’d been marked with what might as well have been a scarlet letter? Or a neon sign that screamed victim.
What would Christie think of her if he knew the whole story?
I don’t think you’ll let anyone hurt you again, Henrietta Santos. Not like that. The real question is, will you give someone a chance to prove they won’t?
Before last night she’d thought the answer to that was yes. Hell, it was the reason she’d made it her New Year’s resolution to get the cover-ups. To make this year the true start of her new life. To get close to people again. To be intimate with someone. To finally—at some point—have great sex when she was awake. Was she really going to let a bad tattoo and the potential opinion of one sexy, romantic, supposedly reformed wandering musician stand in her way?
She scrubbed her damp face with her hands. If she was going through with this she needed coffee and another chocolate caramel roll, preferably sprinkled with extra courage and something to forget how perfect her dreams had been.
Etta sighed. There wasn’t enough chocolate in the world.
Chapter Six
“Is that coffee from Café Bwe?” Sassy asked Etta with wide eyes. “So that’s why Rosie is coming in before noon on a Saturday. The traitor. That stuff’s so good I’d swear he stole my recipe. You know the owner, Rousseau, came in here for his tattoos and nipple piercings years ago. He almost tempted Eli, Rosie and me to have a wild, passionate—”
“Sassy.” A male voice ricocheted in sharp warning off the shop walls. “Tuat t’en grosse bueche. Rousseau’s cousin doesn’t want to hear you tellin’ tales.”
Etta’s eyebrows lifted at the receptionist’s flustered expression. “Oh. Well, Rosie didn’t tell me Ms. Santos was Rousseau’s cousin.” She offered Etta a smile. “For the record, that was like four or five years ago. I know he’s happily married with babies now, but you have to admit you’re related to a southern-fried batch of sexy. And his reputation as a love doctor was so potent, it may take another year or two for the female population of Louisiana to realize your cousin is truly off the market and all they can get from him now is coffee and chocolate rolls.”
When Etta didn’t respond—mostly because she had no idea how to—Sassy took that moment to glare over her shoulder at the handsome, athletic-looking artist behind her. “And big mouth, Eli? After all I do for you? I thought true love times two would relax the rude Cajun. Pardonne-moi.”
“The boss says no colorful Cajun cussing before noon.”
Christie’s voice behind her made Etta jump, nearly spilling her coffee. She’d been so riveted by Sassy’s exchange with the other man that she hadn’t heard him come in.
Sassy winked at him. “That’s not cussing. Voila merde is cussing.”
Eli snorted.
Christie stared her down until Eli and Sassy spoke in sarcastic unison, “Yes, boss.”
He rolled his eyes then turned to Etta, lowering his voice. “I’m glad you’re early. Rosie won’t be in for at least fifteen or twenty minutes. Can I talk to you in Henry Lee’s old office before she gets here?”
She looked down at the hand on her arm then nodded, feeling Sassy’s curious gaze and hearing her muttered, “Your office” before following him past the artist’s chairs and inside the first open door on the left.
Etta looked around at the printers and scanners, the old antique desk, the classic tattooing chair and all the images of Rosie and Christie’s Uncle Henry in action. She hadn’t realized how many famous people had come to this shop over the years.
Do you really care about silly autographed pictures? Or are you just trying to avoid talking to Christie?
“Etta?”
She turned to face him as he shut the door behind him and reached out to take her coffee, setting it on the desk. He seemed uncomfortable. Was he thinking about how she’d asked him to kiss her and then frozen him out last night? How she hadn’t even let him walk her to her aunt’s door?
Was he thinking he had better things to do today than play guitar to distract a woman who’d basically blown him off?
He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms while Etta braced herself. “I’m thinking we should get this out of the way before Rosie gets hold of you,” he started firmly. “I know it’s last-minute for a Saturday, but do you have any plans for dinner tonight?”
And there it… “What?”
His long lashes shielded his gaze from her. “Dinner. There’s something else you didn’t know about me. Not only do I eat dinner, but I cook it, too. And I’m good. I could give Rousseau a run for his money with my etouffee.”
Her head was spinning. “Tonight? You want to cook dinner for me tonight? At your house?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I bought the family place when my parents moved to the Keys. The last few hurricanes left their marks, but the old lady is still standing. She just needs some attention. And furniture. I do have a big couch, though. And cold packs in the icebox in case your back is uncomfortable after your cover-up.”
Etta knew she looked shocked. She couldn’t hide it. “I thought…”
When she didn’t finish her sentence Christie stood and reached for her shoulders. “Look, I know I screwed up last night. You asked for a kiss and I got carried away. You might not even feel like socializing after a few hours on Rosie’s table, but I’d really like to spend more time with you. Just eating and talking like normal people, instead of me trying to grope you like a delinquent in my car.”
“Would you sit down for a minute?” Etta pointed to the old Rockwellian tattoo chair. When he complied, she started to pace. She was ready for rejection. Hell, she was ready to do the rejecting—to get out of the situation as politely as possible so she didn’t have to watch his opinion of her change and his expression turn from admiration to pity once he saw what she’d been hiding.
And then he had to go and do this. Invite her to dinner and promise not to touch her. Apologize. Didn’t he know there was nothing for him to be sorry about? She didn’t even want to think about how much more experience he’d had with the opposite sex over the years than she had. Couldn’t he tell last night how wild she was for him?
She studied him as he shifted in the chair, looking like a man waiting to see if he’d been pardoned. It melted her heart a little. More than a little. God he was sexy, even with that grim expression.
Do you want him enough?
Yes, damn it, she did. Despite her best intentions, she couldn’t forget about their kiss or her dream, and she knew she needed to do something about it.
She walked over to the door and clicked the lock, watching his blue eyes widen. “Etta?”
“We should get something out of the way before Rosie gets hold of me,” she echoed softly, walking towards him and trying to slow her racing heart. “I’m being honest when I say I wanted you to kiss me. If you remember, I asked. And there was nothing that happened after the kiss that I didn’t want, or wasn’t completely enjoying, other than the interruption. It—that was what I was reacting to. Not you. Not what we did.”
Christie’s expression changed from downcast to relieved. Hopeful. Sinful. “Thank you for your honesty. Now I can be honest in return and say that I loved kissing you, touching you—so much that I’m not sure I would have stopped if we hadn’t been interrupted. And even after I took you home, it was all I could think about. Dream about.”
He’d dreamt about her, too? “Honesty is good. This is good. I’m glad we got that out of the way.”
“Etta?”
“Hmm?” She moved closer to him, still thinking about her dream, and he reached out to
grip her hips in his hands.
“Why did you lock the door?”
She was afraid he was going to ask about that. “In case you didn’t believe me and I had to convince you.”
His smile made her knees quiver. “I don’t believe you. Convince me.”
“Wow.” Her laugh was breathless. “You really are a bad liar.”
Christie nodded and pulled her between his legs, his blue eyes dark with desire. For her. “I know. Convince me anyway, Etta. I’m begging you.”
She placed her hands hesitantly on his shoulders and, when he made no move to initiate the kiss, she leaned forward until their lips were inches apart. “You sure you don’t just want to take my word for it?”
He growled and she smiled against his lips, pressing hers against them, exploring them with the edges of her teeth and the light teasing flicks of her tongue, stopping each time before she kissed him the way he wanted her to. The way she wanted to.
“Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
She pulled back enough to look at him. “A little. Do you like it?”
His hands moved from her hips to the cheeks of her ass, squeezing. “As long as you’re not planning on stopping anytime soon, I like it.”
She wanted him to love it. “But you’re not convinced. What would it take? What do you want?”
His voice was low and gritty with restraint and sincerity. “Baby, what I want would send you running back to North Carolina with just the clothes on your back. But right now I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Her body responded to his words as if he were touching her. As if he were inside her.
“Christie,” she whispered, kissing him fully and wrapping her arms around his neck.
His kiss was just as hungry as it had been last night, but her body was already primed from the dream. Ready for more. She couldn’t think about all the reasons she shouldn’t want it. Couldn’t think about anything but touching him. Feeling him inside her.
She turned her head, gasping as their lips separated, her hand working loose the buttons of his shirt so she could touch his bare skin. “I have an idea about how to convince you, but it’s going to sound crazy.”
Christie already had his hands inside her yoga pants, slipping beneath her lace panties to squeeze her naked flesh. He groaned, open-mouthed against her cheek. “Oh yeah? I love crazy. I am all about the crazy right now. God, you feel good.”
Etta dropped her hands to her hips and pushed her pants and underwear down, stepping out of them and her flats and kicking them aside. Christie’s breath came out in a pained groan and she bit her lip. “This idea requires protection.”
“It does? Thank you, God.” Christie’s teeth were tugging at the collar of her shirt as she shrugged off her lavender jacket. He stood up just enough to reach for his wallet and flip it open one-handed so she could grab the single, foil-encased condom shoved inside.
Then he dropped the folded leather and reached for her hips again, caressing them with the rough pads of his fingers while she unbuttoned his jeans as quickly as she could.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Couldn’t believe this wasn’t another dream. “I don’t do this,” she rasped. “I mean, this is crazy, right? I don’t usually…”
“I know, baby.” Christie dropped his hands for a minute, lifting himself up again to push his jeans past his hips before taking the foil from her hand and tearing it open. “I know.”
Her eyes dropped to his lap as he rolled the condom down over his—she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning—his hard cock. It was just as long and thick as it had felt in her hands, and inside her, in the dream. Just as intimidating and tempting. Watching him sliding his hands down his own shaft was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen.
“Etta? Still with me?” He reached for her, pulling her up until her long legs were draped over the sides of the chair and she was sitting high on his thighs.
He groaned again and pressed his lips against her ear. “I’m gonna help you convince me now, baby. But it’ll have to be quiet since I’m pretty sure the boss frowns on this sort of thing during business hours. Hard and fast and quiet.”
“Oh, God.”
His fingers dug into her hips. “I know. And you’re right, this is crazy, but I can feel how wet you are. Already, when I’ve hardly touched you. Just the thought of getting inside…” He guided her sex to the head of his erection and started lowering her onto his lap. “Getting inside—fuck. That’s right. I know you can take me. Shh. Breathe, baby. That feels so good it might kill me.”
She’d been thinking the same thing—that, and how hard it was going to be not to shout. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.
Just like in the dream, he was stretching her with his thick shaft, but it was a sweet pain. Her body was lowering onto his, but she knew she couldn’t lose herself completely with Sassy and Eli on the other side of the wall. Why did that make this hotter? Customers and other artists could come in at any moment. The fact that she had to be quiet, that they were doing something forbidden right under their noses… Oh, it turned her on, and sent another flood of heated arousal to ease his way.
And Christie could feel it. He knew. “Hold onto something,” he muttered.
She reached over his shoulders and gripped the vinyl of the chair, her mouth opening on a soundless scream when he began to pound her body against his, lifting and lowering her onto his erection with a power that was overwhelming. All-consuming.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed loudly in the silence of the office. The near-desperate pace he set made it impossible to catch her breath, but in her mind she was shouting. Cheering him on. Yes! Fuck me. Faster. Faster. Yes, oh God, yes!
She was in his control, her body jarred over and over as he took her like a man possessed. The chair shook and creaked with the force of it each time their bodies slammed together. And she loved it. Loved every second of the hard, fast, and dirty ride.
Was he as lost to it as she was?
She tilted her hips and squeezed his shaft with the muscles of her sex, making Christie moan low against her nipple, heating the fabric of the shirt that still covered it.
“Convinced?” she whispered against the vein pulsing at his temple, amazed that she was capable of speech.
He shuddered beneath her, his rhythm never faltering. “I might be. Keep seducing me with that sexy fucking voice and I might be. Tell me that you love this as much as I do. Tell me that you’re close, baby,” he whispered roughly. “That you’ll come for me before you kill me.”
Oh God. He wanted her to say it. The dream again. She bent her head, her grip tightening on the chair. “I love it,” she gasped. “Love feeling you inside me. Your cock. Christie, I’m close but I don’t want it to stop.”
“Fuck.” His grip slipped at her words. “You have to come for me, Etta. Ride me and come for me now.”
He bit her nipple through her shirt and she gasped, a jolt of electricity zinging through her body. As his teeth tugged her flesh, he picked up the pace of the ride, making her small breasts bounce, and her climax crashed around her as if obeying his command.
“Oh God,” she rasped.
“Yes.” His mouth left her breast and he pressed the back of his head against the chair, his teeth bared. “Squeezing me so tight, babe. Kiss me.”
She covered his mouth with hers just in time to muffle his loud moan of release. His body was vibrating against hers, his hips pumping up almost helplessly off the chair as he found his release. Etta could sense it all through the waves of her own powerful orgasm.
It was better than the dream. She hadn’t thought that was possible.
Christie released her hips and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her curls. “Good morning, my sweet Henrietta.”
She closed her eyes, too shattered and utterly satisfied to do anything but think about how nice that sounded. How easily she could
get used to hearing those words.
The mechanical sound of the printer humming and paper crinkling as it moved through the machine set them both in instant, if shaky, motion.
Christie sent her a pained expression as he lifted her off his lap, moving away from the chair to help her gather her clothes, heedless of the jeans that had fallen down around his ankles when he stood.
Etta snickered when Christie looked at himself and then her in consternation. “This never happened. You see nothing. I’m sexy and I know it.”
“I see a lot.” She slid her underwear on, watching him slip off the condom and bend over to gather his dignity with the denim. “And you really are.”
His smile as he buttoned himself up was pure seduction. “You like being bad, don’t you? And here I thought you were shy.”
“I am.” But she wasn’t. Not really. It wasn’t her natural state, just another habit. She didn’t like being bad with Christie. She loved it. She wanted more. “Do you still want me for dinner?”
Christie moved so fast she hardly had time to gasp before he was behind her, one hand on her breast, the other slipping between her thighs and rubbing her still-wet, sensitive flesh. “And dessert, and breakfast,” he growled into her ear. “I’m still starving for you Etta. One taste was not enough.”
“The printer,” she moaned softly. “My pants.”
He moved away with a kiss on her shoulder and she reached for her pants while he walked toward the printer to study the paper it had spat out. He snorted.
“What?”
He picked it up and waved it in the air. “Sassy. She says she sent Rosie to the store around the corner on an emergency errand and that we should be out of the office before she gets back. She also mentions needing a raise.”
Etta covered her face with her hands. “But we were quiet! How did she know?”
Christie shrugged. “As I understand it, her powers of sexual perception are practically paranormal. She’s also going through a matchmaking phase and talking a lot about arrow-polishing. I’m thinking maybe she does deserve a raise for helping us duck Rosie’s wrath.” Her frown got his attention. “What did I say?”