Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4)

by Cat Porter

  Searching…searching…buffering…

  He tilted his head at me, the edges of his full sexy-as-hell lips—lips I’d enjoyed, lips I’d been daydreaming about—twitching.

  “Nice,” I said. “Nina’s very nice.”

  And now that you’re all hot and sweaty and raging with cardio endorphins, you can go wake her up with demanding kisses and wild beast sex, and while you’re banging her, I’ll most likely hear both of your orgasmic moans and satisfied grunts from all the way over here.

  “Tania?”

  “Hmm?”

  His eyes were trained on me, and a ribbon of thrill rippled through me.

  My body was having orgasmic flashbacks.

  Down, girl, down.

  “If there’s anything here that you have a question about, ask me. I was on plenty of runs with Wreck, and if I haven’t obliterated those particular brain cells, I might remember where he found something or why he got it.”

  “Oh, that would be great. Thanks.”

  His pale blue eyes lit up. “Good. I’d like to help you if I can. It’d be fun. I had a good time helping you in Sioux Falls.”

  I held his aqua gaze, and something kindled in my chest. “Me, too.”

  My messenger bag slid off the top of a box along with a pile of Wreck’s Louis L’Amour paperbacks.

  “Dang.” I picked up the yellowed books and stacked them against the wall.

  Butler scooped up my bag, which had fallen on the other side of the box.

  “This yours?” He held out a piece of gray paper, glancing down at it. The acceptance letter from the gallery.

  “You got a job offer in Chicago?”

  “I did.”

  “A fancy high-paying job?”

  “Yes.”

  “You still considering it?”

  “No. I told you, I’m getting my own store together here.”

  “You’re hanging on to the letter though.”

  “Souvenir.”

  “Of what? What might have been?”

  “Yes. But it’s not what you think.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That job is not my dream come true. It would’ve been in another life. I came back to Meager not to escape, not to lick my post-separation wounds, but to do. Firstly, I came back because my mother needed me, but then I realized that I needed to help her, too. And I needed to stop ignoring how really unhappy and unfulfilled I was. My mom’s MS diagnosis was a wake-up call. I had to make a change, to live my life to the fullest, because I could get run over by a bus this afternoon or get an autoimmune disease tomorrow.”

  I took the letter from him. “This job in Chicago? Yes, it’s glittery and attractive and sexy all right, and it would have been easy to say yes to it and move to Chicago with Kyle and carry on. But the job doesn’t turn me on, not really. It’s kind of like what you were to Grace when she was with Dig. A sexy, flirty crush.”

  An eyebrow jumped. “Thanks. Nice metaphor.”

  “Think about it. Even though she had a girl crush on you, Grace’s feet were solidly rooted in Dig’s earth. Rooted—and that’s no metaphor. That’s the way it was. There’s no denying your essence, is there? I realized that when I had dragged Grace out to Nebraska to look at that old man’s property and we ended up finding Becca. I hadn’t gone on a pick in months and months. Those trips were cocaine to me, and I loved them.”

  He chuckled. “You’re putting real effort into these metaphors just for me, aren’t you?”

  I let out a small laugh. “I’d like you to understand, Butler. Cocaine isn’t right though. That day in Nebraska, I felt in tune, alive, like myself, the me I’m most comfortable with, happy with. There was nothing temporary or artificial about it, and I’d missed that. I didn’t realize that in my twenties when I was bopping around or in my thirties, convincing myself I had finally found my groove with Kyle and my freelance work, which I’d fit in here and there. Underneath it all, I was still searching, still restless. But that one afternoon in Nebraska—before Creeper blew it all away—that was all mine, all me. Everything fit, and it was so good and right.”

  I folded the letter. “Getting this gallery job freaked me out because it spelled convenience. Yes, it’s flattering, tempting. Yes, it’s a perfect fit but for the life I don’t want to have anymore. I keep this letter in my handbag to ensure that I don’t turn my back on what’s right for me ever again. That I don’t uproot myself from my earth for an existence that only makes sense on paper.” I folded the letter over. “That’s not me. I tried to make it me, thought I should for a while there. But I realized, maybe a little late, that you couldn’t function on shoulds. I want to function on my desires. What makes me feel alive, what—”

  “What gives you that zing.” His eyes were gentle, his voice soft, clear.

  I averted my gaze. “Yes. And although it’s supremely rotten that my mother is suffering with this disease and will until the end of her days, it’s shaken me and made me see the essentials clearly.”

  “In your gut.”

  “In my gut. Everything fell into place because of it, and crazy as it sounds, I’m grateful for it. I’d much rather be out meeting colorful people all over the country, trying to find a rusty worn-out treasure, and I’d much rather run my own eclectic country store to showcase what I want, the way I want. And I don’t want to have to wear high heels and a dress and blow out my hair every goddamn day anyhow. Yes, running such a prominent art gallery is a great opportunity—”

  “But it’s not your great opportunity. It’s not your truth.”

  “No, it’s not.” That warmth went off in my chest again. “My store here is my truth. That, and being with my mom and making her comfortable, spending time with my niece and nephews, and reconnecting with my sister and my brother and the best friends I’ve ever had. Those are the golden opportunities to me. Making a difference in my community, my hometown. The hometown I’d always thought I needed to get away from in order to find myself.”

  “Full circle.”

  “Yeah. I guess I had to be selfish to do it though.”

  “You’re doing it right.” He nodded at me, taking in a deep breath. “I miss this.”

  “What? Dust?”

  “No. Talking with you, like this. About important things.” Butler held my gaze for one torturous, speechless moment. He quickly turned around and shoved a box to the floor and then another.

  My shoulders fell. I missed it, too. I missed him. I hadn’t expected to, but I did. Every day.

  Could we be friends? Or would it be too hard for me, too annoying, seeing him with Nina? Even though he and I got along so well, and I was attracted to him, at the end of the day, I was not what he wanted or needed in a woman.

  Butler leaned over and ripped open another box.

  I did want to have him as a friend. I needed to stop making mountains out of molehills and get on with it.

  “I have something for you,” I said. “I kept meaning to bring it to you, but I never had a chance.”

  More like I felt awkward in front of everybody else, especially Nina.

  “What’s that?” He glanced up at me.

  I went to the corner of the room and got out the guitar case. I brought it to him, my heart racing in my chest. “This is for you.”

  He stilled, his eyes slid to the black case.

  “Open it.”

  He unlatched it and opened the cover, revealing the acoustic guitar that he’d found at Gerhard’s house.

  “Tania.” His voice was just above a whisper.

  “I had it cleaned and restrung. It’s a Martin Company guitar, Butler—top of the line, made in the USA, going back to the nineteenth century.”

  “I know about Martin guitars,” he murmured.

  “Isn’t it exciting? This one is from the fifties.”

  “Tania—”

  “I want you to have it, Rhett. Consider it my thank-you for coming with me, for helping me so much at Gerhard’s house, for making sure I was safe—” />
  “Baby…”

  My breath hitched, and my stomach dropped at the endearment. I had to say this quickly before I lost it because that look on his face, his shaky voice—all of it was yanking on me, twisting me.

  “But, most of all, for listening. That meant a lot to me. A hell of a lot. I had fun, and I liked getting to know you. Again. Better.”

  “I did, too, but this, it’s too much.”

  “No. It’s a gift, and you have to accept it. Please. Anyway, you see, my instinct was right about you being a musician hipster. I’m a witch that way.”

  He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. “Thank you doesn’t seem enough,” he said, his voice low.

  No, it didn’t.

  I wanted to throw myself at him, take him in my arms, hug him tightly. I wanted to sit with him and hear him play. I wanted to watch him get mesmerized by the music he made, and I wanted him to mesmerize me with his music.

  But that wasn’t meant to be.

  “Thank me by taking it and playing it. I hope you can pick up wherever you left off with the guitar. Enjoy it.”

  His dark golden brows drew together as he latched the case again. “I will. Thank you.”

  I let out a breath. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’d better get going.” He rubbed a hand across his chest. “I’ve got to get in the shower, start my day.”

  Shower. Images jangled in my head—that chest and those shoulders with the scars I had explored with my hands and mouth slick with soapy water, his large hands rubbing over himself, up and down—

  Stop, stop, stop.

  Nina would probably be joining him in that shower, getting herself a custom-designed jolt of adrenaline and sex endorphins instead of caffeine to start her day. I was sure that was their morning ritual. What a healthy girl she must be.

  I raised my hand at him, as if staving off the flow of images. “I’ve got to get on with this, too. I guess you and Nina are staying here at the club?”

  “Actually, I found a place in town. We’ll be going there this weekend.”

  “That’s good. You have a good day then.” Cheeriness was encrusted over my voice like cracked icing on a stale doughnut.

  “Yeah, you, too.” He stood still for a moment, the guitar case in his hands.

  I shot him a quick see-ya-later smile and busied myself with pulling open the flaps on a new box, but the heat of his stare smoldered over me.

  He turned and stalked off toward the clubhouse.

  I peeked.

  The muscles in his broad back clung to his sweaty cotton tank, and his running shorts were molded over his rock-hard ass. His long stride was forceful, aggressive. He was marching back to his new life, his new girlfriend.

  I released my grip on the edges of the dusty box and picked up my coffee cup and took a slug.

  “Get back to work, Reigert. Get back to work.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  Nina rubbed her bare tits against my back as I yanked on the laces of my running shoes, her hands squeezing my shoulders. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “Get off me.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  I kicked off my sneakers and ripped off my socks. “Get the fuck off me!”

  “This is one of your responsibilities isn’t it, old man?”

  She thought that was funny, that line, poking at our age difference, the irony of it with our titles.

  I pushed her off my body, and she fell back onto the mattress.

  I put my hand at her throat. “Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that again.”

  She bit her lip. “Sorry. I was kidding. You know what I meant.”

  “Yeah. You’re incredibly articulate, as always.” I released her throat.

  “You’re so fucking sensitive. What’s wrong?”

  I pressed a hand into my chest, my eyes darting to the guitar case I’d propped in the corner of the room. “I’m tired.”

  “You just got back from a run, didn’t you? Shouldn’t you be feeling energized and ready to tackle your day?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  She sat up and moved toward me. “Let me rub your back. That always helps.”

  Her fingers dug into my shoulders, and a burning warmth went off in my muscles. I exhaled. She was good at massaging at least. My head sank forward as she kneaded my knots.

  “Lie down, so I can work your lower back.”

  I turned around and spread over the mattress.

  “Bet if I were someone else, you’d be in the mood,” Nina muttered on a laugh.

  I turned my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve noticed the way you look at her.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Tania. The way you look at Tania.”

  “Tania’s a friend from a long time back. Nothing’s going on with her.”

  She ran her fingers down my spine. “What’s the big deal? I mean, I wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t be cheating. Give me a fucking break.”

  Jesus, shut the hell up already.

  Her thumbs worked my shoulder blades. “We both know I don’t do it for you.”

  That was bordering on insulting, and she knew it.

  I gritted my teeth. “Unlike you, getting laid is the least of my concerns right now.”

  “I’m just saying, I can tell you like her, so do what the hell you want. I know I can’t wait to do the same. Led finally went home, so we don’t have any eyes watching us anymore to report back to Reich.”

  “Don’t be fucking naive.” I turned over and shoved at her with my hips. She climbed off me. “You can’t be sure. Your brother-in-law is never satisfied.”

  “Well, I made sure that Led would be convincing once he got back to Ohio.”

  I eyed her. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” She grinned, like a kid enjoying a little white lie. “In the meantime, can’t a girl get laid around here? Even by her own old man?”

  Her cool hand cupped my balls and stroked.

  I smacked her hand away, and she only laughed. She sat up and straddled my left thigh, sliding a hand inside her panties. She worked herself, grinding against my leg. Her eyes hooded, her tits swaying with her motion, her jaw slackening, her face a come-on.

  I recognized the desire on her features, the sensual distraction, the heightening degrees of satisfaction ratcheting up, one by one.

  Her hand moved faster between her legs, her face registering every flick, every vibrating stroke. Her upcoming orgasm was to her what hits of coke had been to me.

  My cocaine in all its fervor. My cocaine in its promise of the ultimate pleasure high, always promising more and more.

  I am Superman. I am roaring. I can do no fucking wrong.

  My cocaine had wiped out all my thousand and one failures, obliterating that mudslide of self-loathing, that glittery golden revulsion I hoarded in a special treasure chest just for me. The blow had offered that superficial surge of fullness, of blasting through all my yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows.

  I thrill, I want, I need. More. More. More.

  Oh, one big hungering need. Right here, now in Nina’s face.

  Her features morphed as the sensations hit her, dragged through her. She panted harder, her nipples standing at attention. She grabbed my hand, pressing it over a breast and squeezing it there. Her other hand rubbed faster over her clit as she rocked her pelvis back and forth over my thigh.

  I squeezed her tit, her hand pressing over mine, as she rode my leg.

  But it was Tania’s body that filled my hand, her unhurried moans and whimpers that I could still hear as I’d sunk my fingers into her wet heat, lavishing her smooth skin with kisses. Her flesh trembling as I held her.

  How long had it been since a man satisfied her?

  I remembered feeling the goose bumps racing over her flesh, her body calling out to mine with every moan and press and twist, wanting more of what I was giving. I’
d smelled her excitement, her hunger.

  “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah…” Nina chanted, breaking the spell.

  Ah, shit. Let’s get this done.

  I tugged on her nipple, twisting it hard, and smacked her other tit. She let out a high-pitched cry, her back arching up. She liked that shit.

  I pressed my thigh against her, and her body stiffened.

  “Fuck! Fuck yes!” she moaned loudly.

  She finally shoved off my leg and laughed as she dropped back onto the mattress. Her hair was over her face, a hand rubbing down her throat to her middle.

  “That’ll have to do for now, huh?” she said, brushing her hair from her face before her hands flopped back over her head.

  “Give it a few more months, and then you can go find yourself a fuck toy.”

  “Anything you say, honey.” She let out a groan as she leaned over the edge of the bed, her hand searching through a tote bag. “In the meantime”—she unzipped a pouch and brandished her hot-pink two-pronged vibrator in the air—“I have this fuck toy. Next best thing to a cock. There are times when it’s even better.”

  “I’m happy for you.” I shot up from the bed and ripped off my shirt and shorts.

  “You know, I read on the Internet that if you get used to getting off with the intensity of a vibrator, ordinary touching and fucking just won’t do it for you anymore. You get desensitized or something. Imagine that, huh? Kinda freaky.” She dropped back on the bed again and bent her legs. “But, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” She positioned the vibrator between her legs and let out a whimper. “You can watch if you want. You used to like to watch.”

  “I’ve got to take a shower and get moving.”

  I headed for the bathroom. I showered, jerked off to the Tania-coming-on-the-motel-bed video clip I had on constant replay in my head, washed up, dried off, and went back into the room where I threw on a pair of my jeans that lay crumpled on the floor.

  Nina—her face flushed, a sheen of sweat over her skin—lazed, naked, on the bed, tapping on her cell phone. The vibrator was tossed at her side on the mattress.

  Young girls today. They had an orgasm or two, and immediately, they’ve got to text about it.

  “You going to do some laundry?” I asked, stretching my last clean T-shirt over my head.