Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2)

by Verlene Landon

  “John. John mentioned your boyfriend, but even if he hadn’t, it’s pretty obvious. Have you looked in a mirror? Women like you don’t stay single.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbled. “I understand the community has a snowmobile or something anyone can use at one of the cabins, I could drive you in? You really should get this looked at, I’m certain you need stitches.” Her eyes drifted up to his with sympathy pooling in them. Aw, she’s worried about me, genuinely worried. Michael tried to remember the last time someone was authentically concerned for him, because of him, not what he could do for them. He couldn’t remember, and that was sad.

  “Really, I’m not a nurse, but I did spend time shadowing an ER doc while I was exploring different career paths. Don’t ask.” She laughed at his obvious shock. “But seriously, are you sure? I can close it with the strips and stuff in the kit, but I would feel a lot better if you had a professional fix it up. Besides, you will need some pain meds, this is going to hurt like a bitch when it warms back up.”

  Michael leaned forward and laid his good hand on top of hers, still holding his injured one. Looking in her eyes at that moment was a borderline-religious experience. There was so much emotion swirling in her warm brandy eyes. They’d seemed more melted chocolate earlier, but this close, there was an auburn heat to them. There was also a magnetism about her, she drew him in. But there was pain too, pain and fear. This beauty had been hurt, and deeply at that. The kind of hurt that tears you down from the ground up. Michael recognized that all too familiar look, it was a twin to his.

  What kind of weapon could destroy something so beautiful, he wondered? And more importantly, what kind of monster would wield it against such a ravishing soul. He wanted to touch it, her soul that is, having never been so close to someone so genuine; he wanted to imprint it on his own so he would never forget.

  To candidly know this exquisite creature before him would be an unparalleled experience, but he was toxic. A broken man like him would destroy an obviously torn-down woman like her. He resigned himself to look, but not pervert. Maybe he could still imprint her on his heart, if not his soul, without ruining her.

  “You’ve gone above and beyond Tori, the strips will be fine. Plus, I have some pain medicine left over from a recent injury.” He released her hand to do its job and close his cut while he leaned into the sofa back. “I do want to thank you for all your help, if it’s not too much to ask, it would do me a world of good, and take my mind off the pain, if you tell me the story of you?”

  Once his hand was bandaged and wrapped in gauze, she rose and disappeared into the kitchen. Over the faucet, she asked, “Where are these pills of yours?” She returned with a glass of water and her hand went to her hip as he took it from her. As she raised her eyebrows in question, Michael didn’t fail to notice how the placement of her hand caused her coat to ride up her thighs.

  “In my shaving kit, which is,” he looked around, “crap, back on the bathhouse porch. Never mind, I’ll be fine. I don’t want you traipsing through the snow naked. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

  “It’s fine, I’ll take the clothes you offered earlier and be right back.” She turned toward his dresser, removed his sweats from the drawer, and slid them on right there. He caught a glimpse of her perfect ass through the one-inch gap the act of dressing created between the waistband of the sweats and the bottom of the jacket. She slipped her feet into the boots by the door and exited the cabin. Before the door closed he protested again, but all he heard as it shut was, “I’m not a wilting violet, I can handle a walk in the snow. And you better be in the bed by the time I get back.”

  Trekking back through the snow to the bathhouse afforded Tori ample time and open space to have a firm talk with herself. She didn’t know if everyone engaged in self-lecture, but she found it therapeutic…most of the time.

  What the fuck are you thinking, Torionna? You know he’s Richard’s brother, you remember Richard, don’t you? Your boyfriend?

  “Technically, I don’t know he is, in fact, his brother. The evidence does support it, but isn’t it all just speculation at this point?” she asked herself in a soft enough voice only the birds could hear her back-talking herself like a freaking lunatic. “Besides, he’s soon to be my ex.”

  Funny how she said it with an air of superiority, like she just stumped her inquisitor, who was herself.

  Semantics, my dear, semantics.

  “I know, I know.” When Tori realized she was literally talking to herself, scratch that, arguing with herself, she made a conscience effort to confine her chastisement to non-verbal conversation. Even though no one was around to hear it, she still felt less nutsy-fucking-coo-coo that way.

  She’d let him kiss her, what was she thinking?

  Let’s be honest here, Tor, you not only let him kiss you, you kissed him back, and he rocked your world. You probably would’ve let him bury his face between your legs right there on the steps if he hadn’t cut your cheek.

  Reflexively, her hand went to the tiny nick there. It was a reminder that she needed to get back on her path, not detour down Michael’s. She’d see that he was out of pain, then, head back to Richard, tell him it was over, and then, wait for John to come back on a grocery run, head back to civilization, sunshine and her very bright future.

  Knowing Richard, he wouldn’t even let her stay in the cabin once she did the deed. She’d have to move to one of the ones without a generator. They’d been closed up for years and she’d most likely freeze to death before the week was out if she did that. But dang it, she would not stay with a man she could barely stand the sight of just to be comfortable.

  Self-sufficient in every way, Tori didn’t rely on another to take care of her. She took care of people, not the other way around. She was like a freaking Beyoncé song—everything she had, she bought it. If worse came to worse, she would abandon her bags, which she knew Richard would torch the minute she left, and hike into town. Hell yeah, she had run marathons, obstacle runs, did one triathlon, and had a fucking can-do attitude when she needed one.

  Arriving at the bathhouse, she scooped up Michael’s stuff from the porch and then entered to retrieve hers. As much as wearing his sweats offered her a measure of comfort, it wouldn’t do to get attached to a man she could never have.

  Changing into her own clothes was bittersweet. Her clothes offered her a sort of protection, cotton armor if you will. But, she hated losing the weird kind of comfort his offered—sort of a buffer from that part of her that believed all the negative things Richard had told her. Somehow, when Michael looked at her, she saw them for the lies they were, and his clothes reminded her of that.

  She dropped heavily onto the bench and folded and refolded his faded, gray sweats, so soft to the touch. Where her future was headed, a man like Michael by her side would be a plus, but there was no way she could fathom dating Richard’s brother. Not because of Richard, screw him, he never considered her feelings, so she would return the favor in kind. But would Michael ever be able to look at her the same once he knew?

  That’s why she hasn’t pointed it out yet, so she didn’t have to witness that transition from lust to loathing. She didn’t know much about their family dynamic, She didn’t know much about his family period, but she did know there was no love lost between them, at least where Richard was concerned. And now, as she was learning to see the forest for the trees, she was sure the sentiment would be returned because, well, Richard is a total grundle goblin. They don’t call him The Dick for nothing.

  Maybe as time passed, she could look Michael up and see where things could lead, but for now, that was off the table. After gathering her and Michael’s belongings, she made her way back to his cabin, just barely. The snow had picked up and the sky turned a biblical gray. They were about to be snowed in, so hiking to town would likely not be an option once Richard threw his temper tantrum. She’d remember to ask Michael for some extra blankets. With her decent stash of protein
bars and granola, she’d be good.

  She entered the cabin without knocking and with the determination to resist the temptation within and stay the course. Michael was curled up on the bed like a little boy fitfully resting. His pain was obvious, both physical and mental. This man had demons.

  What most people didn’t know about her was that she was a grief counselor. Just on a volunteer, a.k.a. free basis, for now. She loved working a beach job with her girls, but her dream had always been to open her own business. Her mother encouraged her to have a fallback career until her business degree could “get her where she wanted to be.”

  It was no struggle for her to choose, the choice had been made for her the night of her junior prom, she just didn’t know it until her mother suggested a second degree. So, she got a bachelors in psychology as well as business, wanting to help people who struggled with demons, but more so, help the ones who cuddled with them.

  They were the people who needed help most desperately—people like her, and obviously Michael—people who threw their arms around the necks of the ghosts that haunted them because it was less painful than fighting them twenty-four seven, or so it would seem.

  However, she never thought of it as a safety net career or even a career at all. It was something she did from her heart. It wasn’t a business. It was a deeply personal calling. When most people realized what her paying job was, they lumped her in with Botoxed, blonde bimbos who possessed more grams of silicone than brain cells. Well, past job now. The retail store for fit ladies was becoming a reality. No longer would her job uniform consist of bikinis and wet suits.

  So, when she said this man had demons, she knew what she was talking about. There were way too many haunted souls in this world, souls tormented by the minions of Hell—most of whom she knew on a first name basis.

  “Okay, Wingman, upsy-daisy,” Tori barked as she entered. She dropped everything on the foot of the bed and rummaged through his shaving kit until she found the brown bottle with the white oval pills. She made her way to the side of the bed and handed him the glass from the bedside table and two pills.

  “Let’s see if this can take the edge off a bit, hmm. From the looks of the storm brewing out there, a snowmobile trip to town would be ill advised until it passes, unless you’re used to traipsing about through the snow, because I’m sure as Hell not. It appears some hydrocodone will have to do.” Sitting on the bed with one knee bent in front of her and the other foot dangling off, she watched him follow her instructions.

  Michael took the offered pills, and chased them with the tepid water. “Thanks, babe. And Wingman? I can live with that. Between the pills and the bit of cognac I had while you were gone, I should be right as rain in no time.”

  Well, that’s a good sign, he had the wherewithal to at least look slightly cowed by her expression. “Seriously? You couldn’t have told me that before I let you take a schedule II narcotic? How much did you drink? Do you have a drinking problem? I’m not trying to pry into your personal life, but I need to know how worried I should be.”

  Inside, she was terrified, not so much because of the cocktail he’d just taken, as long as it wasn’t a common occurrence, he would probably be fine, but because of Walker.

  Hearing Michael talk about drinking reminded her of her brother and she wondered if he was all right. Last she’d saw him, he seemed to have pulled himself out of that dark place, but she didn’t know if he’d contacted Erika. If Erika rejected him, would she return to a world where her best friend and her brother were just shells of their former selves? She hoped not.

  Deciding to take this trip with Richard wasn’t an easy choice to make with all the mess back home. The timing sucked. The business, Walker and Erika, and starting a family, all needed her attention, but she had to say yes to this time with Richard. If she’d had blown it off, she’d still be firmly entrenched in a loveless, and if she were honest, abusive, relationship a decade from now.

  The truth was, she owed her new-found confidence and understanding to this trip, and by virtue, to Richard. Ironic didn’t begin to cover it. The man responsible for a lot of steaming piles of shit in her life was also partially to thank for cleaning it up, even though that wasn’t his intention. He stole her confidence. No, she gave it to him, but now? Now, she was taking it back, and he made it possible for her to do so. There was a touch of mental-ward worthy laughter building up inside her, but she kept it trapped there, lest Michael think she really was off her rocker.

  Even if she returned to a world of chaos going to Hell in a hand basket, this trip was already worth it. Sometimes, a woman had to stop trying to save everyone else and save herself.

  That realization was staggering.

  Michael finally cut into her thoughts with the answer to the question she had asked earlier, “Relax, mama, I don’t have a drinking problem. Yes, I can tie one on now and then.” When he took a breath, Tori could’ve sworn he mumbled, more so in the last fucking year, but she wasn’t one hundred percent, so she let it go for now, but did file it away as a piece of the puzzle that was Wingman Michael. Seemingly exhausted, he flopped back on the pillow before continuing to speak.

  “Like I said, I don’t have a drinking problem, but your concern warms my heart.” Tori’s eyes dropped to her lap where his masculine, intact hand was lazily stroking up and down her thigh. It was a light touch, almost as if he wasn’t aware of his actions, but it felt very intimate and cozy. She liked it. A lot.

  “Hmm, you changed out of my sweats. I kinda like the thought…” He trailed off and his voice was almost inaudible, almost.

  “I can handle my liquor, even with a few pain killers. It was only a shot or two to take the edge off. Believe it or not, this hurts like a bitch. I know I look all hard and tough, and for the most part I am,” he delivered with a chuckle, “but you, pretty lady, bring out the softer side of me.” Michael rolled on to his side, still not breaking contact with her thigh, to look her in the eye with what was the most seductive twinkle she’d even been the recipient of, glittering in his.

  “I’m just a big ole teddy bear around you, and you know what teddy bears are good for? Cuddles.” Shit he was spry for someone with a cocktail of meds and drink in him, and with a lame hand to boot. Somehow, he managed to twist her around and she landed with a bounce face to face beside him on the bed. His good hand now stroked her cheek and gently coaxed her hair around her ear.

  What the fuck are you thinking man? The boyfriend was public knowledge. She’d confirmed it herself. But yeah, he’s no good for her. Still, he didn’t need or want anything from a woman, and especially not her.

  The voice of Maury Povich popped into his head as his own, berating him. We have the result here Mr. Brande, are you ready? Our test has determined that, that is a lie. You do need this woman and you want her even more. The fake audience oohed and aahed so loudly he was wondering if they were actually in his head and if Tori could hear them too.

  Yep, he was monumentally screwed. There was something in his heart that was telling him she was his salvation and not his instrument of destruction, or maybe it was his soul, because his heart was still a little blackened toward her.

  Even through his confusion, he could feel her becoming an integral piece of him, coursing through his body, while his blood drummed out her name. Tor - ee, tor - ee, tor - ee. The flow of his blood, his life, being forced through his arteries and veins called to her—the first syllable when exiting his heart, the second on its return.

  Whether he liked it or not, she was now a part of him. He could only pray, with time, that part wouldn’t be as lethal as it felt now. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to pursue a relationship with her, but he was afraid, scared as fuck really. He was terrified he may never see her as the salvation he now wanted to believe she could be, and instead, be doomed to view her as the woman who destroyed the last decent part of him left after Tonya decimated the rest.

  It’s not her fault. It’s that bitch waitress who tried to crush
those last vestiges of you worth salvaging. Tori can save you.

  Fuck, he was turning against himself. The desire to ram his head into a brick wall over and over to quiet that inner voice was damn near irresistible. In spite of all this bullshit, he had an overwhelming urge to know everything about her.

  “So, Tori from the plane, tell me what makes you, you? You can tell me while we cuddle, I wasn’t lying when I said I was good at it. If it were an Olympic sport, I would’ve medaled in it. Gold each winter, guaranteed.” Waggled eyebrows and a well-timed wink usually brought a woman to her knees, so he had no reason to believe she would be immune.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You need your rest, and I need to return to my cabin. I’ll check on you in the morning.” Tori was pushing against his chest, trying to wiggle off the bed. Shit, all she had to do was let her eyes drift to his crotch and she would know her actions were having a side effect she didn’t count on.

  Fuck if she didn’t look like a frightened little lamb, but even that was adorable. His heart picked up a beat, not just because it was cute as Hell, but because it offered him proof that she was not as unaffected by him as she tried to pretend. She was attracted to him on a base level and if he wasn’t over-reading the situation, a deeper one too, perhaps. That served to push some of his anger toward her even further away.

  “Relax, sweetheart, I meant as friends. Platonic cuddling, that’s a thing right? I just really want to get to know you, what makes you tick. And if I have your oath of secrecy?” He waited for her to relax and nod in assent. “I genuinely don’t want to be alone right now.” A look of understanding dawned on her face and Michael felt he should open up a little, get the ball rolling so to speak.

  “When I was little, and I got a boo-boo or was sick, my mom would lie beside me and stroke my hair. Play with it, really. I always had longer hair than was the style. Anyway, she would twirl my hair and sing something from whatever decade she was feeling, or power ballads, to me. That’s where my love of music started, I think. It became the only thing that would soothe me. Even as a grown ass man, I like to have my hair played with when I don’t feel good.” Chancing a glance toward her face, he expected to see her shock or disgust or…something—judgment, or pity, maybe—but that wasn’t even close to what he saw.