by Sybil Bartel
Two steps out the back door, hands grabbed my arm and pulled, hard.
Instinct, self-preservation, I reacted immediately. I spun around, moved into the grasp and brought my other arm up for a blow to the forearms attached to the hands holding me. Registering the blue eyes that were wide with surprise, I dropped my raised arm but not my sneer.
To give her credit, Carly never flinched. “You are so not getting off that easy.”
“Fuck off.” I jerked out of her grasp.
“I’m driving the Barracuda tonight. Keys.” She made a come-here gesture with her hand.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Who the fuck is Harlan to you?”
“Your swearing increases exponentially when you’re drunk. Keys.”
“Fuck no.” That time I said fuck on purpose.
“You think I’m going to let you drive after all the tequila I poured you?”
“I can handle four fucking shots, Carly.”
“It was five and those weren’t the first you had tonight.”
She might’ve had a point. “Who fucking says I’m driving?” Shit, I hadn’t thought this through. I was slipping. Fucking women.
“Exactly.” Carly’s smile softened. “Come wait inside until I’m done. You can help me close up and I’ll drive you home. I’ll even tell you about Harlan.” She took my arm and urged me back inside.
“I don’t give a shit about Harlan.” I stood my ground, not budging.
“Never said you did.”
I looked into Carly’s honest eyes and everything stilled. The anger, the fight, the hatred, it was all gone. I felt stripped and raw and worse, desperate. A needy, crawl-up-her-body-and-lose-myself desperate. What the fuck was happening to me? I wasn’t supposed to fall for a woman. I couldn’t need a woman. I used women. I used them before they used me then I moved on. Fuck them and leave. That’s how you survived. Women were shit and I was nothing. Nothing couldn’t get broken by a woman. But this? This fucked-up desperation could.
“Come inside with me,” she pleaded with the temptation of everything I knew was wrong for me.
Drunk, stupid, I didn’t walk away. I trailed my fingers down her cheek. “I wanted to kiss you this morning.”
She didn’t flinch. “I know.”
I threaded my hand up the back of her neck. “You pulled away from me.”
“I know.”
I twisted my fingers into her hair. “I still want to kiss you.”
Turning her face, she exposed the smooth skin of her neck. “Please, don’t.”
“Why?” Jesus, she was beautiful.
“You scare me.”
Inhaling, I stilled. “Maybe you scare me, Carly Sullivan.” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.
“No.” She looked up and barely shook her head. “You’re not frightened.”
It was everything she didn’t say that alarmed me. “Tell me what you want.” I moved closer.
“I want to be free.”
I didn’t know what to say. I only knew there was something hidden in her words. Because I didn’t have a choice, I released her and took a step back. “Free as a bird.” I held my hands out.
But her expression turned heavy—with regret, sorrow—I couldn’t tell which. “Not that kind of freedom.”
My gut twisted at the look on her face and sadness in her voice. I wanted to hold her more than I wanted my next breath. And because I was in danger of crossing a line, I asked the first question that came to my Patron-soaked brain that would change the subject. “What kinda bullshit name is Harlan?”
A soft smile spread across her face. “I have no idea.”
This time when she pulled on my arm, I let her. We went inside and Carly ushered me to a seat at the bar. Like I said, drunk, stupid, I let her. She put coffee in front of me.
“Are you fucking serious?” That was just insulting. “Beer.”
Shaking her head, she gave me a beer. I drank it down to prove a point. By the time we were walking out, I was good and loose. Figuring I’d already given her a hard enough time, I handed over the key to the Barracuda before she asked.
“Thank you, Mr. Allen.”
“Why do you do that?” I asked before I could sensor myself.
“Do what?”
“Call me by my last name?”
She stopped walking and looked at me. “It bothers you?”
I tried to think through the haze of alcohol. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth, so I chose the only other arsenal I had. I took a step toward her and bent my knees slightly so I was closer to her eye level. “What’s my name?” My voice was low and quiet.
“Graham?” she asked, unsure.
“Say it again.”
“Graham.”
“Again.” I leaned closer.
“Graham,” she whispered.
“I like to hear my name cross your lips.” I held her eyes, one heartbeat, two...then I straightened and walked to my car.
Three strides and she scrambled after me. She fumbled opening the doors and I inwardly smiled. Score one for me. I got in the car and told her my address.
She drove the opposite direction of my house. Figuring I was in for a long ride, I sank into the seat. I didn’t care, I was content to just be with her. The first few blocks she was cautious but when she picked up one of the county roads, she opened it up. Gunning it around curves, easing up on the gas instead of braking, she drove like an Andretti.
“I’m thinking you missed your calling with bartending,” I said.
“I love this car! They don’t make cars like this anymore.” She took a turn, sharp and tight.
“Not many women into muscle cars.” I didn’t know any. Sure, women said shit like they liked your car when they were trying to get laid but a woman really into cars? Never met one. Until now.
“Their loss.” She sped up.
Seat back, arms loose, confident grip on the wheel, Carly handled the Barracuda like she owned it. It was a total turn-on. In fact, it was my new definition of sexy. “Where’d you learn to drive? Daytona?”
“My dad taught me.” She glanced over and grinned. “He’s a cop.”
Total buzz kill. Just what every prick on the make wanted to hear. “Am I getting home anytime soon?”
“Oh come on, I’ve never seen you drunk. I am so milking this.” She laughed and I slouched in my seat.
Twenty minutes later, she turned onto my street.
“Fourth house on the left.” I reached for her visor and pushed the garage door opener.
“You rent a house?” She pulled in perfectly.
“No, I own it.” I pushed the opener again to close the garage and got out.
“Nice bike. Playing in a band must pay well.” She glanced around. “You have a lot of tools.”
“I have a day job.” I held my hand out for the key.
She dropped it in my hand, careful not to touch me. “701 is a day job?” She mentioned the club I owned with Myles and Neil. How did she know about that?
“Myles takes care of the day-to-day shit with 701.” I walked into the house, neither confirming nor denying my ownership.
“So what’s the day job?” She looked around as I turned on a few lights. “Nice place. Your job must pay well.”
“Custom Classics.” I named my shop. “It pays the bills.” And then some. The money coming in from the club was all gravy. “You want something to drink?” I tossed my jacket over the couch.
“You’re kidding me!”
Christ. I opened the fridge, grabbed two beers and handed her one. “Not kidding.”
“And here I thought you were a weekend warrior. You restore cars for a living!” She looked more impressed by that than anything else.
“You’re a fucking trip.” I fell on the couch. The last thing I needed was another beer.
Carly sat at the far end, tucking her feet under her. Not an easy task in a skirt. I couldn’t help it, I st
ared. Pretending not to notice, she looked around the living room again. “This is a big place. You live alone?”
“Yeah.” She had great legs.
“Girlfriend?”
My expression must’ve tipped her off.
She laughed. “Just asking, jeez. So is there anything else you’re hiding?”
“I don’t hide shit.”
“You don’t advertise either.”
I left that alone. “Who’s Harlan to you?” If she could ask me about a girlfriend, I could ask her about Fight Club.
“We hung out, he wanted more, I didn’t.” She shrugged.
The thought of that douchebag with his hands all over her pissed me off. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to, she picked up on it.
“Now you wishing you hadn’t hit him?” she asked sarcastically.
“No. I should’ve hit him harder.”
“Ah, a few drinks and the truth comes out. Graham Allen, womanizer, has a jealous streak.”
“I’m not jealous.” Lie. Wait. Was I offended by the womanizer comment?
“No, you just hit anyone who tries to stop you from touching me.”
Okay, now I was offended. “He swung first. I’m not gonna defend my actions. I think you’re wishing there was more to it than that.” Let her dig herself out of that hole.
“Maybe.” She didn’t deny it. “Why all the tequila tonight?”
“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” Not one of my better lines but I was too drunk to care.
“Nice try.”
“That wasn’t trying,” I might’ve smiled. “This is.” I grabbed her hand and pulled. When she fell toward me, I tucked her under my arm. “Better,” I murmured, inhaling the sweet scent of citrus and flowers and Carly.
Stiff at first, she slowly relaxed, then leaned her head against my chest. “Why the tequila?”
Fucked up, tired, it slipped out. “Women are shit.”
Carly said nothing.
I started to drift off.
“Women in general or one particular woman?”
My heavy lids blinked open. “What?”
“What woman?”
Okay. Time to move. Inhaling, I stood up and brought Carly with me. “C’mon, we’re going to bed.” I tried to take a step but Carly planted her feet.
“I should call a cab.” She turned her head but she didn’t move out from under my arm.
I turned her face up to mine. “It’s late and I’m tired. Stay. I’ll drive you home in the morning.” Staring into her pretty blue gaze, I began to wonder how much of her innocence was an act and how much of it was real. I stroked the side of her face. “We’ll sleep, just sleep, I promise.” I didn’t care about sex right now, go figure. Or maybe I just wanted her more than I wanted sex. Maybe for one night, I just wanted her in my arms.
Her voice took on an uncertain edge. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned.
“You should be regretting the fact you let me drive you home the other night.” Now she was under my skin. “But yeah, okay.”
“I don’t regret that.” She looked confused.
Christ, women could be stupid. “How old are you?” It was a rhetorical question, point being, she should’ve known better than to show a stranger where she lives.
“Twenty-two, how old are you?”
“Twenty-four.” Too old for this bullshit.
Chapter Twelve
Hummingbird
I knew something was wrong before I opened my eyes. Really wrong. I was covered in sweat and something was crushing my chest. Vicious headache, pins and needles in one of my legs, I dared opening one eye.
Fuck.
Carly.
Her cheek on my naked chest, arm draped over my ribs, leg over mine and soft blond hair everywhere. I went from panicked to turned-on then back to panicked before I could draw a breath. I wanted to touch her, bad. In my haze I couldn’t remember if we’d had sex. I looked down, boxers on me, T-shirt on her. Wait. Was that my T-shirt? Christ, it was. Beyond her bare legs, I couldn’t tell if she had anything on underneath. Back to turned-on.
Okay, think think think. Jesus, her legs... Yeah, no, no sex. We’d come in the bedroom, I’d stripped and fallen into bed. I was probably asleep before my head hit the pillow. It’d been a rough couple of days but still, nice hospitality. Guess it didn’t matter, she’d helped herself anyway. I would’ve smiled if my head wasn’t killing me.
Christ, my head hurt. And those legs...
I closed my eyes and my hand wandered. I stroked her hair, her back. She didn’t stir. Not minding the warmth of her now, I fell back asleep.
When I opened my eyes for the second time, Carly was looking up at me. Still on my chest, hand under her chin, eyes bright, she looked too curious for this hour of the morning.
“Your eyes are green,” she whispered.
Yeah, okay. “Yours are blue.” And? Inhaling, I stretched, careful not to displace her.
“You have a lot of tattoos.” She traced the turquoise droplets of water surrounding some tribal ink on my left arm.
I didn’t say anything. Her hand on my arm, up, down, soft, it felt good. I had to concentrate on not scaring her away. She reminded me of a hummingbird. If she kept it up, she’d know what was on my mind, I wouldn’t be able hide it.
“I borrowed one of your T-shirts,” she murmured absently.
“I noticed.”
“You work out a lot.” Her eyes dipped, her hand traced my biceps and she fingered some skulls on my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I’d turned one of the bedrooms into a gym. I blamed Myles, told him it was a bitch to keep up with him but in truth, working out and sex were great releases.
She turned on her side, put her head on my shoulder and ran her hand down my stomach. “You surprise me, Graham.”
Her tiny fingers traced the Japanese characters on the side of my ribs. I didn’t say anything.
“Want to know why?” Her finger glanced across my stomach and traced the female ghost form rising from the dead that was along the other side of my ribcage.
Fuck it. “No.” I rolled on top of her, pushed her thigh with my knee and settled between her legs. Sinking my hands in her hair, I pulled her head back and brought my lips down.
She gasped and I was in. I kissed her like she was my last breath.
I was so turned on, my hands shook like a teenager. Her scent everywhere, her soft warm body under me, I snaked my tongue into her mouth and groaned with desire. Wanting her response, needing to feel more of her, I took the kiss deeper and she hesitated, really hesitated.
Instantly I knew. Carly was innocent.
The realization was like a bucket of ice water. I let go of her hair, slipped my arms beneath her and flipped us back over. If this was gonna go anywhere, it’d have to be her decision.
“I’m not having sex with you.” She pulled back but she didn’t move off me.
“So you said.” I brushed her hair aside and touched my lips to her throat. She smelled like sunshine and orange trees. The scent of my T-shirt mixed with her skin and it was the sexiest kind of turn-on I could imagine. Innocent Carly in my bed, in nothing but my shirt. I didn’t want to think about how possessive that made me feel.
My lips moved across her neck to her jaw, tasting her with openmouthed kisses and nipping at her when I couldn’t take it anymore. Her head fell back, her eyes closed and her lips parted. She was so sexy in her innocence, I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed the back of her thighs, hitched her legs around my hips and sat up. Pressing her lower back into me, she let out a sound of shock.
I brought my lips almost to hers. “You know how much I want you.” I tilted my hips and dragged my nose across her cheek, biting back a groan. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Graham.” She cried out my name like a plea.
I couldn’t hold back anymore. I kissed her. My hands snaking into her hair, cupping her face, I kissed her slow and deliberate. Sliding my tongue through the se
xy heat of her mouth, I could only imagine how good it would feel to sink inside her. I practically growled and she made the prettiest little sound, hesitantly wrapping her arms around my neck. Then she kissed me back.
If I was standing, Carly would’ve brought me to my knees. This fragile bird kissing me back was the sweetest kind of victory.
She abruptly pulled away. “Why do you shave your head?”
“Because I can.” And because it kept people away and because two blonds in the band was one too many, but she didn’t need to know that. I kissed her neck and dragged my teeth across her ear.
She inhaled sharply. “What color is your hair?”
Take my boxers off and find out. “Blond.” My hips rocked up in sweet torture.
She made another small sexy sound that made me want to snarl with possession.
“I wish you had hair,” she said breathlessly.
Yeah? Get naked and maybe I’ll grow it out for you. “Why’s that?” I moved to the other side of her neck.
Her voice turned deadly serious. “So I could do to you what you’re doing to me.”
I stilled. My hands were gripping fistfuls of her hair. She liked it? She didn’t like it? I didn’t know. And that was a problem. Releasing her hair, I picked her up by the waist and set her down next to me.
“I’m going to shower. I’ll drop you at home on my way to work.” I got up and went to my bathroom. Carly didn’t say a word.
I took a cold shower, telling myself she was more trouble than she was worth. I knew better than to mess with her. We weren’t in it for the same thing and if I did have sex with her, I’d only hurt her. But none of my reasoning mattered to the primal urge in me to just take what I wanted and be done with it. Fuck.
Hungover, pissed off and horny, I walked into my bedroom in a towel, half expecting her to still be there. She wasn’t. I threw on jeans and a T-shirt and headed to the kitchen. The smell of trouble greeted me.
“Coffee?” Carly turned around from the stove with a big smile. “Your fridge was stocked, I made breakfast. Sit.” She waved a spatula at my kitchen table.