Beautiful Wreck

by Kasey Lane

  “Yep. Nice to meet you. Gabby has another appointment.” Bowen tapped his wrist where a watch would be.

  “Right, right.” Her boss nodded and patted Gabby on the shoulder. “Since you usually work from home on Monday, why don’t you start back next Tuesday? We can get caught up on the Ultra Moda project then.”

  “No need. I can come back tomorrow.”

  Derrick shook his head and looked at Gabby with concern. “Gabby, we’ve got it under control. You can check your code in and out from anywhere, communicate with Skype, and email. Get your stuff handled and we’ll see you Tuesday unless you need more time.”

  She nodded sharply. Had she told them the real story? If not, he wondered how much they knew about what had really happened last night. Was he the only one she’d trusted with the truth…or her version of it?

  They said their goodbyes and were following her boss back toward the lobby when the programmer said, “Hey, Gabby, can I talk to you?”

  “Sure, Roland, but I only have a minute.” Before he could turn and protest, Bowen felt her hand land softly on his arm. She lowered her voice and leaned in, looking directly into his face. “Give me a second.”

  The moment seemed so intimate, so personal, and Bowen couldn’t quite figure out why. So, he nodded blankly and waited while Gabby talked to Roland. Did he really want to examine just what the hell was going on with him and Gabby? Probably not. In truth, he just wanted to get back on track with his recovery, his work, and his music. He didn’t need the distraction. Didn’t want it. And yet here she was right up in his grill, a big ole fireworks display of distraction and snark.

  When he was messed up he would have pushed any feelings down and just taken her to bed. Gotten it over with, gotten lost in her for a few hours. But that wasn’t an option. Not for him anymore and certainly not with Gabby.

  What was it about this fierce woman and her vacillating moods that made his chest feel tight and his dick hard enough to pound concrete?

  He was still pondering his feelings about her and what to do about them when they were putting on their helmets and getting back on his bike. Gabby snuggled up close to him, wrapped her arms around his middle and said something he couldn’t quite make out over the roar of his bike.

  When he shrugged, she yelled, “I’m going out tomorrow night.” No preamble. No “do you want to go out?” Nothing.

  Fuck that. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight. Not yet. Not until he knew she was safe.

  He shook his head and yelled back, “Not without me you’re not.” He didn’t hear her response as he kicked the stand of his bike off and rode to the precinct.

  Chapter Eight

  The visit to the police had been a bust. Other than the effort the cops were putting into locating Owen McNeil, they’d basically just asked Gabby the same questions as the night before. After meeting with a new detective, a round older guy who insisted on being addressed as Detective Addle, Bowen and Gabby made a couple stops to pick up some more clothes, toiletries, and groceries. She was pleasantly surprised at how much stuff Bowen could cram into his bike’s saddlebags.

  After a quick chat with the property management company and some more insurance paperwork, Gabby was one fried chimichanga. As Bowen dropped all their bags on the kitchen counter she flopped on the couch with a sigh.

  “Wow, that’s pretty dramatic for my normally stoic roomie.” He dragged his hand through his dark hair, sending shivers through her overheated body. She tried to focus on what still needed to be done and not the bizarre need that his every movement, every deep chuckle seemed to make grow exponentially in her chest.

  She flashed him a pinched look, hoping she was conveying distaste or something close to it. He was right, though. She was being dramatic. But she was also very tired. Worn down by everything. Dealing with her apartment, the loss of all her stuff, and mostly the loss of the safety that she’d worked so hard for. And that kiss. That fucking kiss this morning. He hadn’t kissed her again, but Bowen had been very solicitous, giving her space, but never leaving her on her own. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that since she had absolutely no experience in this area. At all.

  How sad was it, she thought, that no one had stuck by her side and ever given two fucks about her?

  Ugh. Enough with the pity party.

  She started to shove off the couch and help Bowen unpack the bags when her phone buzzed. Great, it was the Jackson County Jail, which could only mean one person: dear old Mom. Staring at the phone in her hand she considered for a moment not answering the call, not letting her mother get into her head at the worst time possible.

  But that wasn’t ever an option for Gabby. For all her mom’s issues, and there were a virtual plethora of them, she couldn’t not answer her calls because she might actually be in such terrible trouble that she needed help, real help. Again, Gabby tried to pretend that was in direct opposition of her situation. Just about never had her mother ever helped her out of anything.

  She swiped her finger across the screen and laid her head back against Bowen’s surprisingly comfortable couch. Closing her eyes as if that would somehow soften the blow of hearing her mother’s voice, she answered the call. “Yes?”

  After accepting the charges for the collect call, she heard two clicks and then, “Mi querida? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Oh, baby, I miss you so much. Why didn’t you answer my last call? Are you okay?”

  Gabby sighed. Her mom didn’t really want to know the answer to that question. Well, maybe she did because she was clean and sober. Or Gabby assumed she was because she was in jail—again—but being incarcerated didn’t necessarily equate to sobriety. In the past her mom sometimes got more action in jail than out of it. Regardless, when Alma was high or drunk she didn’t give a shit about Gabby or life or anything. But after her body was purged of the toxins her personality was dependent upon whether or not she was overcome with guilt for her normally lackadaisical relationship with her only child.

  “I’m fine, Alma. What do you want?” Might as well get it over with. Her mom only ever called when she wanted something from Gabby. Money, a place to live, alcohol, drugs, whatever.

  “Why can’t I just call and see how you are? Why do you always expect the worst from me?”

  “Really? Just stop. Obviously, you’re in jail again. What do you need from me? Bail money? I’m not coming to court for you again. What? What do you want?” Gabby forced her tone to stay even, fully aware that while Bowen put the groceries away his eyes kept flicking back to her. She wanted to stomp off to the bedroom and tell her mom off in private, but despite the tsunami of emotions threatening to spill over, she just didn’t have the energy it would take to get up.

  She heard a long sigh and then the phone was muffled while her mother yelled something to someone, probably another inmate impatient for the phone. “Look, mija—”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Alma, you’re about as Mexican as Taco Bell. Quit it with the Spanish endearments. What. Do. You. Want?”

  “My father worked very hard to make a life for his family in this country.”

  “Your father was a middle-class plumber from New Jersey who married a German pre-school teacher.”

  “She was only half German. Gabrielle, why do you deny your own heritage?” Her mother’s whine was cut off by a shout in the background, “Alvarez, five minutes.”

  “Look, Gabby, I only have a minute. I wanted you to know that I’m being transferred to a treatment program in Salem next week. I’m really going to do it this time, mi querida. I know I’ve let you down all the other times, but I promise this time.”

  Gabby rolled her eyes and heard Bowen’s muted chuckle, but she couldn’t ignore the thing rolling around her chest, the thing that felt a little like hope. She immediately shut that down. If there was one thing an alcoholic like her mother did, it was brandish hope and possibility like a weapon. The second Gabby gave in to it, her mother would turn on her with de
mon eyes and slice her fucking heart out. Again.

  “Whatever. That’s great. I gotta go. Keep in—”

  “Gabrielle, wait. How are you? How is your new job? And the women’s center? Throw me a bone, honey. Give me something.” Her mom’s voice was low, pleading. She didn’t deserve any empathy. She didn’t deserve anything from Gabby. Gabby Alvarez had survived on her own. Barely, but she’d done it without any help from anyone. Certainly not from the one person she should have been able to count on.

  But maybe because her resources were low or because she didn’t want to feel so alone at that moment… Or maybe because Bowen lowered his big body next to hers and took her free hand in his… For whatever reason, she said, “It’s good, Mama. My job is great. I love volunteering at Quirk…” She trailed off, not sure whether to tell her about the break-in, about McNeil. Bowen’s warm hand squeezed hers, urging her on. “Someone broke into my apartment last night so I’m staying with a friend.”

  “What,” her mother cried. “Gabby, are you safe? What happened?”

  “Mom?” But before Alma could answer the phone clicked twice and she was gone. Gabby sat stunned. She’d finally opened up to her mom and the call was done.

  “Was that your mom?” Bowen asked quietly, still holding her hand. “I didn’t realize she was still in your life.”

  “She’s not.”

  “And…”

  “And nothing.” She pulled her hand away and stood. “Don’t you have practice and a job and stuff?”

  With lightning-quick speed, he snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. Before she could fight back, pull away from his strong hold, he started talking. “My mom died when Kevan and I were kids. She was beautiful and made everything perfect with the world. My dad went off the rails when she passed. Drowned himself in booze and drugs so much that he became dangerous to have around. So it was just me and my little sister.”

  Gabby wanted to run. She didn’t want to get drawn in to the silky warmth of his voice or the deep concern etched in his eyes. She didn’t want any of this: the stalking, her mom, Bowen Landry. She was drowning in it all. So she did the first thing that came to mind, she wrapped her hands around his jaw, the one that was so perfectly angled he could model for trendy clothes catalogs, and pressed her mouth to his.

  *

  When Bowen started telling Gabby about his parents he hadn’t been sure what his intentions had been. Maybe she’d understand that he didn’t pity her or her secrets, that he had plenty of his own. What he hadn’t expected was for her to start kissing him with so much fire he felt his balls draw up and a growl brew in his chest. This girl, this woman, was doing something to his focus. He knew he couldn’t let her derail his life, but having her wrapped around him on his bike all day had short-circuited his brain. Recovery and redemption were the only things he had room for at the moment, but his focus was waning.

  He didn’t have it in him to fuck up again and disappoint the people who continued to love and support him even after he’d shown each of them what a losing bet he was. And yet, when the tip of her tongue touched his and followed through with a nibble on his bottom lip it was on. All his rationalizations evaporated. She wrapped her hands around his neck, sending sparks down his spine and through his body; lighting him up and bringing his long-dormant hormones back to life. Not to mention his dick, which had already been pushing against the zipper of his jeans and was now at full-blown boner status and ready for action.

  Funny, he thought—ironically other women had kissed him since he’d stepped back into his life, but none had elicited this kind of reaction. No one except little Gabby Alvarez and her full soft mouth and sharp little teeth. He wanted her. Wanted her desperately. And she obviously wanted him. So maybe they could make this work.

  But maybe not. She was staying with him now. And he had a plan to stick with. It didn’t include fucking around and it didn’t include screwing yet another person’s life up. That realization had the same effect as a whore taking a bath in a bucket of ice water.

  Regrettably, he ended the kiss. “You can’t just kiss me every time you don’t get your way, pretty girl,” he said using the same phrase she’d used on him just that morning. He’d opted for humor, afraid she might take his withdrawal as yet another whiplash reaction from him.

  Bowen saw fire—the burn it down kind not the sexual heat kind—in her eyes before it flickered and grew into something else entirely. Then she flashed a hot little half smirk full of promise. Before he knew it she slid out of his lap and between his legs with her small hands making quick work of his jeans. She had his zipper down and was reaching into the band of his boxer briefs before he found his voice. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice sounding foreign to him, huskier.

  She looked up through the long fringe of her bangs, with dark lashes framing those goddamn green eyes that now swirled with sex, and want, and just a little bit of fear. God, always this struggle with her, back and forth, back and forth. And yet this time he’d used up his quota on resisting Gabby when he’d tried to end that last kiss. But the way she looked, kneeling between his thighs, was too much for any man to take, especially a flawed, fucked-up man like Bowen Landry. When she looked at him like that heat crawled over his skin, fire threatening to burn him alive if he didn’t act on it. But if she wrapped those dainty fingers around his cock, and—dear God—took him into her mouth, he might just burn in hell.

  Gabby pulled herself up on to her knees and leaned her face closer to his hard-as-fucking-steel cock. Then she blew his mind by looking straight into his eyes, into his barely there soul, and whispered, “Please.”

  He wasn’t a man anymore. He was a beast, a monster consumed with want, and there was only one thing that would appease the beast: Gabby’s mouth around his cock and his hands in her hair.

  His ability to speak was gone so he simply nodded sharply. He let her set the pace as she slowly peeled back the opening of his jeans. He lifted his hips and let her pull them and his underwear down and off. He wrapped one hand around his throbbing erection and gave it a couple quick squeezes to help focus, to get back some semblance of control. It had the opposite effect and when a small drop of precum leaked from his hard cock, Gabby sighed. Then she leaned forward and her pink tongue darted out and licked it. His moan echoed through the room as he wrapped one hand gently around her loose ponytail. He didn’t add pressure, didn’t give in to his need to control her head so he could fuck her mouth. A small part of his monster brain understood Gabby was not very experienced and this, this was a gift not to be taken for granted.

  When she leaned forward again, settling one hand on his right thigh and the other snaked around his shaft, his hips jutted forward and he almost lost it completely. But then she began to stroke the base firmly and her warm, silken mouth cocooned the round head of his cock and heaven, fucking heaven. Fuck, no other woman had ever made him feel like this…so out of control, so on fire. She was all sweet simmer, until she had his dick in her mouth and she went from slow rolling heat to full-on blow the lid off boil.

  He dragged his palm over her neck and she stroked her hand and her mouth over him. Watching her dark head bob on his cock was erotic and wild. He loved the way his normally controlled Gabby was now using her wicked mouth in a completely different way. She pulled off him with a pop, and began to rub his shaft up and down. Adding her tongue, she licked him like a Popsicle. Slivers of sharp need ran up and down his spine and he felt his balls draw up. Oh, hell no, this wasn’t over yet. He could smell her spicy arousal and he didn’t want this to end before he had a chance to taste her, make her come with his name on her lips.

  He grabbed her shoulders and she squeaked in surprise when he lifted her and laid her on his couch. He wrapped his hands around her slender ankles and put one leg up over the back of the couch and the other up over his shoulder. As he suspected she might do, she clamored to cover herself.

  “No. Relax, babe. Your turn first,” he said as he p
ulled her new T-shirt over her head and tossed it behind the couch before grabbing his underwear and yanking them on. When confusion and then regret tugged at her features, he touched her chin with his finger and caressed her jaw with his thumb. “Just relax. Let me lead.”

  Her jaw clenched and she tried to pull away, but he held her still. “Just relax,” he repeated. “You don’t have to control everything.” Her jaw twitched and her eyes clouded as he watched her process then slowly, begrudgingly, accept. Her eyes softened and she wrapped her hands around his neck again and pulled him in for a kiss, a rough, powerful kiss that he got lost in.

  It had been years since he’d just made out with a woman for the pure enjoyment that tongue and teeth and lips clashing could yield. As he held himself above her and kissed her, he let his hands wander. First he explored her glorious chest over the plain cotton bra that held what promised to be a pair of magnificent tits, the kind a man could fuck and suck. The perfect size to fit right in his big hands. He pinched her nipples through the fabric and felt them harden into tight bullets as she gasped and panted into his mouth. Experimentally, he pinched one tight between his thumb and forefinger and moved down to follow it with a light nip of his teeth. Her sharp intake of air and the way her hips shot off the couch, told him clearly that she liked it.

  When he pulled down the cups to frame her gorgeous breasts he couldn’t help but push them together and just stare at her. “You’re beautiful, little one. Fucking beautiful.” He loved how her already rosy skin turned crimson and felt scalding to the touch, her dark aureoles tight. Around her side the outline of her tattoo was already scabbing lightly and healing perfectly.

  Gabby arched up into his hands. She was on fire. For him.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, relief suffusing her features. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

  Sweet, too. He hadn’t expected that from Gabby. Fierce, yes. Bold, maybe. Perhaps even a little vulnerability. But not sweet. He grinned and reached underneath her to unsnap her bra. After flinging it onto the growing pile of clothes behind the couch he smoothed his calloused fingertips down from her shoulders, over her breasts, and over her ribs, memorizing every curve, every dip of her body with his hands, creating a topographical map of her in his mind. He skipped her new ink work, but traced the outside outline with his index finger. When he reached her hips he splayed his fingers wide, fascinated by the way her body reacted, felt under his—so warm, so responsive, like no other woman he’d ever been with.