Hurts So Good

by Mallory Rush

  It was still a dump, and he didn't want to be here. But he wasn't leaving before taking his lady to bed and finding out how it felt to wake up next to her.

  He clicked the lock and turned in time to see her chafing her arms as she warily eyed the couch.

  "Well, are you gonna stare a hole through it or sit?"

  "I'd rather stand. All that driving and—" She froze when he stroked her arm and leaned down to nuzzle her neck. "And it's hot in here. I'd better turn on the air conditioner." Breaking away, she trotted to the window unit. While she fiddled with knobs and vents, Neil frowned. He frowned even more when she darted from his questioning touch and headed for the kitchenette.

  "I'm thirsty. Would you care for a drink?"

  Grabbing her arm, he pulled her around to face him.

  "No, I would not care for a drink. Not until you tell me what's put you in such a state. The way you're jabbering and jumping and just about as warm as a corpse—" The image caught and held, then released him with a startling quickness as he studied Andrea's distressed face. "Would you please tell me why you look like you're scared I'll yank off your clothes and jump on you without even bothering to pull out the couch?"

  She glanced away, and he gripped her chin.

  "Look at me," he demanded. "That's better. Now you answer me this. Did you take jujitsu for college credits, or did someone give you a reason to learn to protect yourself?"

  She nodded stiffly, and he felt a stabbing pain in the region of his chest.

  "I'm sorry, chere. How bad was it?"

  "Bad enough for you to be the first man I've really trusted since. Bad enough to go to court and find out money and connections spoke louder than fairness and truth."

  "Who was the son of a bitch?"

  "A wealthy benefactor connected with the orphanage. He took an interest in me, set up a scholarship fund and made it clear I was to be the first recipient. I was grateful, especially since he didn't make me feel as though it were charity. It turned out he wanted a payback on his investment. When I refused, he accused me of leading him on. He pressed the issue, and I got away. But not before I thought I would never wash off the horrible, clammy feel of his old hands on me."

  Neil had felt rage, hatred, before—he'd felt them so often, they were as much a bad habit as his vices. But he'd never felt anything like this. Grabbing her to him, he covered her with a fierce, protective embrace.

  "I wish I could get my hands on him. By the time I got done, he'd be screaming to get his privates back. He wouldn't touch a woman again, not being a eunuch."

  Andrea's soft laughter was a welcome tonic, soothing his furious boil down to a simmer. She was all pliable and warm again and making him want that something she had that he needed. Every time he held her, he got closer to it, and the closer he got, the more he was hooked.

  "When you're through with him, do you think you could place a few warnings with some of the jerks I've had the misfortune to meet since? Don't ask me why, but I seem to attract that particular kind of man."

  "Case in point. Here I be."

  "You're not a jerk, Neil. Well... at least not always a jerk. You have many fine qualities."

  "Such as?" He wondered if she counted ego. His wanted some strokes after all the mauling she'd given it.

  "Let's see. You're a hard worker."

  "I certainly am. The work ethic is alive and well in me."

  "So is your attention to your person."

  "Definitely. Even when I don't shave, I brush my teeth three times a day, take a shower twice, and wash my hair while I'm at it. Not to mention I wear only freshly laundered clothes. What else?"

  "Um... you're talented, self-disciplined when it comes to your music, and you can be a lot of fun. You're honest, not a cheat or a quitter. Oh yes, and you're a marvelous dancer."

  "That's all?"

  "I'm sure there's more. Give me a minute to think."

  That she had to think about it made him decide to help her along.

  "For your information I'm also well read in science fiction. I can cook one mean mess of collard greens as well as jambalaya. Though I don't go to it, I contribute regularly to Liza's church. Furthermore, I like children, and it's mutual. You can even ask Lou. He's jealous because every time his grandkids come to visit, guess who they run to first? Me."

  "Careful, Neil. You're starting to sound like Father Knows Best."

  "My favorite show. Star Trek's next. Shall I go on?"

  "No! I'm convinced you have more than your share of redeeming virtues."

  She laughed that bubbly sound he'd developed a mighty fondness for. It pleased him deeply that he'd made her happy again. It also pleased him that he'd had the opportunity to inform her of his more desirable attributes, which he figured made up for the not-so-desirable vices she was all too aware of.

  He had more in both departments, but she'd learn about them soon enough. For now there was one quality in particular at the top of his priorities.

  "I'll go on anyway." All play gone, his voice dipped low, and so did his mouth to tongue an earlobe. "I am also a wonderful lover."

  "Lots of practice, right?"

  "Lots of practice. But with all the wrong women. I'm ready to expand my résumé to include a nice gal."

  "A nice gal, Neil, but one who probably falls short of your usual fare. I can kiss as long as you want, but beyond that, chances are I'll be a disappointment compared to the rest."

  "You're the rest I've been waiting for. Listen up and get an earful of this: I'm glad you told me about what happened to you, because tonight I want to wipe it from your memory. I'll be slow and careful and as patient as I can be. If I do anything, say anything, that upsets you, tell me, and I'll make it right. Will you trust me to do that?"

  "I do trust you, Neil. And I'm no less than amazed that you, of all people, proved to be the man who finally made me want to be touched again."

  "Should I take that to mean that you haven't been with a man for more than a little while?" He slid a finger from her neck to her breast.

  "I've had occasion to throw a few over my shoulder. As you said that night we cleaned up the bar, I wanted to keep kissing when some monsieur got antsy to move things along."

  "It's a wonder you didn't throw me over your shoulder and out the door the first time I was here. Why didn't you?"

  "Because for once I was antsy to move things along, and some monsieur wanted to keep kissing. And kissing. And kissing. My lips were swollen for two days. Every time I touched them, all I could remember was that kiss. Of course, it made me even angrier with you, and with myself, that I wanted more of your kisses. More of... more."

  "Is that why you stuck me full of pins? You did take them out, didn't you? And where is that doll, anyhow?"

  "That's why. Every one. And I threw the doll away."

  "Hmmm... seems to me there was another doll you wanted."

  "It's gone." For a moment she looked ten years old, crestfallen, her mouth turned down in pain over a broken dream. "My tips were extra good this week, and I went back yesterday. There were a lot of others, but they weren't the same."

  "Close your eyes and stay put." Feeling like Santa, Neil went to his bag. There were lots of goodies in there, besides a doll.

  "Neil? How much longer do I have to stay like this? And what's all that noise you're making?"

  "You'll find out in a minute. Hold on to your horses and your britches while you're at it. I'm close to ready."

  While she fought the urge not to peek, Andrea smiled. The noise he was making could have been the crinkling of gift wrap. Not that he hadn't given her priceless presents already. Compassion. Understanding. Making her feel wanted and making her want him more than ever because he'd put her at ease after her attack of nerves.

  She heard the turntable rotating, a needle bumping, then grooving into a record before a scratchy feminine voice filled her ears.

  "Billie Holiday," she said. "Next to you she's my favorite."

  "Just so I come f
irst. Open your eyes."

  Andrea blinked. The room was dark except for the leaping flames of at least a dozen candles.

  "I've got you something here," Neil murmured, his eyelids seductively drooping. "Hold out your hands."

  He placed the doll in her waiting palms. Andrea stared at it for long moments, then hugged it tight against her.

  "My doll! You bought my doll. Oh, Neil. Just when I think you can't turn me inside out any more than you already have, you do it. I love him. His name's Lancelot. I've got all sorts of names picked out for my kids, can you believe it? But Lance is my first. And it goes to him."

  "How about that, our first child together, all dressed in velvet and satin, with silver bells dangling from his hat." He pinged one.

  Had Liza actually pegged Neil right? Andrea wondered, staring from the doll's smiling face to the even bigger smile on his. Strangely enough, he looked like a big daddy, a very sexy big daddy.

  "Thank you. Neil," she said faintly. "I love this doll, and every time I look at it. I'll think of you."

  "I'd prefer you to do more than think. Give Lance another squeeze, then put him down. I'm in the mood for some body shots, and everything we need is ready."

  Lance nearly got the stuffings squeezed out of him. He was soft and unthreatening... everything Neil suddenly wasn't.

  He extricated Lance from her stranglehold and set the doll gently beside the couch, which he proceeded to pull out.

  "I think you could use two body shots, chere. Maybe three, under the circumstances. Any more than that and this night's over before it gets started. Come the morning, neither of us is gonna be fuzzy and wondering what really went on. We're feeling what happens, wide awake. Starting with me watching you slip into something more comfortable before I slide off what's left. I want you easy in your skin."

  "Are you asking me to strip?"

  "Just your inhibitions, your fears, your past. Nothing I'm not willing to get rid of myself before we shuck off our clothes. Am I getting through to you?"

  Body shots. Layers of clothes covering layers of what lay beneath. He was getting through, and she didn't need to find out what a body shot was to know what Neil wanted.

  "You want more than my trust and more than my body."

  "That's the general idea. Tell me what else you know."

  "You're looking for something, and you think I've got it."

  "You're batting a thousand so far. Let's take it further. What do you want from me in exchange?"

  "I'm looking for something, and you seem to have it."

  "Anything I've got is yours, chere. What say we make a fair trade? Starting with body shots. I'll go first, so you can see how it's done. Arch your neck."

  Her stomach rolled over. Then rolled over again as his tongue forged a path of moistness on her neck. Then she felt tiny sprinkles raining down on the wetness.

  "What's that?"

  "Salt. And this is a wedge of lime. Hold the skin between your teeth so that mine can bite into the pulp once I swallow the shot."

  Salt. Lime. The shot had to be... "Tequila?"

  "Mezcal. Ready?"

  Andrea nodded and placed the lime between her lips. Heat rushed through her when his head lowered and his tongue slowly lapped the salt.

  Cool, humid air licked the wetness while he downed a jigger. Then his head lowered once more, and he bit into the pulp of the lime until he tugged it from her mouth. He replaced it with his tongue, a tongue that tasted of tart juice, the pungent bite of tequila, salt—and desire.

  She felt woozy from his kiss, and she wanted it to never end.

  It did. But in recompense he offered her the shaker of salt, as well as his neck. His knees bent, and one slid between hers. It moved insistently until her legs were spread and his hard thigh stroked the soft flesh at their juncture.

  "I'll hold the shot for you," he said in a gritty whisper. "Lick my neck... good. More... harder. Ummm. Perfect. Sprinkle the salt on me and lick it till there's nothing left but your tongue and my skin."

  She obeyed his arousing command and might have forgone the tequila if he hadn't lifted her head by tugging on her ponytail.

  He pressed the edge of the glass against her bottom lip, and she drank the liquid fire until it burned her throat and warmed her stomach. Tears stung her eyes as her teeth clamped down on the lime, and he fed her the fruit from his mouth.

  He discarded the peel. He kissed her again, longer, deeper, a kiss that burned hotter than the liquor. His leg wasn't nice, not nice at all in the way it pressed harder against her, making her feel a keen discomfort there.

  Again they traded necks. Again they took turns at the glass. A small trickle escaped to dribble down her chin. He sucked it into his mouth, and she threw down the jigger as well as the lime.

  "I've had enough," she said breathlessly. "If you want another, you'll have to drink from the bottle and forget the lime. My hands belong elsewhere."

  "The only thing I want is you." His finger hooked into the band cinching her ponytail. And then her hair was falling to her shoulders, and his fingers were thrusting between the strands. "I want you naked. I want your body loose and ready to take mine. And I want you to remember every word and stroke, every second of what we share. I want you to remember it for the rest of your life."

  "That could be a lot to remember, Neil."

  "Count on it. But don't worry... I'll make sure I give you a night you won't ever be able to forget."

  Chapter 12

  Neil knew one thing and one thing only. He needed to slip into her skin, listen to her heart, and climb into her head. All the way. He was taking this all the way, and he had to do it before the mist swallowed him, and he lost sight of what might be home.

  He gripped her halter, his fists twisting into the fabric he wanted to rip off with the same urgency that had his stomach knotting and his arousal straining to get free.

  "Slow and easy." He could only hope that by saying it, he could make himself obey.

  "Yes. Slow and easy. I need that from you. And this. Making love here when I know it's hard for you. I wish I knew why, but I don't. Tell me when you're ready, and I'll be there to listen. To care. And I'll touch you as slow and easy as you're touching me now."

  Her whisper commanded him. He pulled the halter over her head with a gentleness worthy of the trust she gave him.

  This was heaven. It was hell. Wanting her with a fury, with the poisonous anger she diluted and slowly rid him of until he believed if he could spill what was left inside her, he'd be washed clean. Here.

  In this room that took him back, back to the past he shunned.

  He closed his eyes against it, and her fingertips traced his lashes.

  "Neil? What's wrong?"

  "Something's right for a change, that's what. I'm not numb. Kept myself that way for years, with booze, sex, music. Anything to ignore the stink of all the garbage I've got piled up in me. This room brings it all back and—and damn if I'm not selfish as ever. Listen to me laying this on you when I should be making you forget any man ever put a hand on you, except for me."

  "I'd rather forget together. Maybe the best way for us to make bad memories go away is to share them. I shared mine with you. I wish you'd do the same."

  "They're not romantic, and this is a night for romance."

  "Now you're being selfish. And stubborn."

  One thing about Andrea, he could always count on her to say it straight and, as with castor oil, make him thankful she had, once he had taken the dreaded swallow. He took a deep breath and... swallowed.

  "Okay, you asked for it. See, Andrea. I grew up and saw my mama die in a place like this, and once she died, I lived with worse. A lot worse. I lost my virginity at twelve with a whore my old man brought home and was done with. Wasn't that thoughtful of him? A real father-and-son activity. I threw up afterward and never touched another prostitute since."

  Even in the dark he could see her blanch. Would she find him disgusting now? Had he blown his chance in
his rush to grab it and run? He felt as if he were tied to a whipping post, and she could either free him or lash him to the ground.

  "How horrible for you, Neil." She pressed a deep kiss into his palm, then laid her cheek there. So smooth, so wet with the fall of her tears. "I hurt for that little boy. What happened to him after that?"

  "He ran away, the way his mama should have but didn't. I take that back. She did, only she didn't take me with her." He wiped Andrea's tears, each drop seeming to wash away another layer of accumulated rot. Lord, but he was starting to feel clean. He loved her for this, for accepting him, purging him in a way no amount of money or prestige ever could.

  "It wasn't ever good," he rushed on, eager to spill the poison from his system. "Not with my old man's gambling and drinking and slapping us around from time to time. But Mama kinda kept it together. She was a homebody. Always cooking, cleaning, trying to take lemons and make lemonade. He didn't go completely sour till she was gone. Guess you could say I went sour too. Learned to pickpocket better than I could play the sax. Got in lots of fights, and it's a miracle I didn't get my teeth busted out. That would've put the skids on my career faster than I did. Lucky for me that Lou took me in. I owe him a lot, and my success is just a smidgen of it."

  Andrea opened her mouth, then shut it. He had the feeling she wanted to ask him about his career but thought better of it. That meant a lot to him; for once a woman cared about him, the man, not the man behind the music and the perks he could provide. It made him trust her that much more. He could tell Andrea anything, and she'd keep his secrets safe.

  And because of that he'd tell her someday about his time on the road. He could entertain her for hours on end with the workings of the star-maker machine that had drained dry the creative urge and fattened his pockets. A story full of tragedies and triumphs that had twisted him till he resented his music—hated it.

  The loss had been too much. Damn near took his sanity with it, sucking him to the bottom till he'd tried to destroy himself. Nope, hadn't been a cheating gold-digger wife he'd wanted to die for losing. It was the death of his art, the life squeezed from it by the industry's greed and his own blind ambition. He hadn't needed that gun to join his mama. Not really. Neil Grey, without his music, was already dead.