by Dean, L. C.
She looked toward the kitchen where he had promised to find them food. “Hey, Jet! Need some help?”
“Nope. Save your energy. I’ll be right there.”
Even from the other room, his voice caressed her libido into hyper drive. She looked around for a TV or a sound system, but the living space had been designed to promote human interaction. The cabin had no electronics except the computer she’d noticed on the way to the bathroom.
Jet had tossed his keys on the coffee table beside a toiletries bag and a small book. Expecting promotional information about the resort, which rented the cabin and several others, she tugged the book from under his kit and sat back. At least it was something to look at.
An R lying on its back and cradled by a semi-circle had been burned into the leather front cover. The photos inside weren’t what she’d expected. A modest but well-kept farm house, several outbuildings, a few horses in a paddock near one of the barns, and rolling pastureland that reminded her of western South Dakota or eastern Wyoming. Several pictures showed livestock, mean-looking longhorn cattle and buffalo. Lots of buffalo. The whole place was breathtaking, a fantasy retreat away from the hassles of her life.
“Here we go. Not much but we won’t starve.” Jet set a tray loaded with grilled cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and a couple mugs of hot chocolate on the table and flopped beside her.
He hadn’t bothered to button his shirt, but he had kicked off his boots and socks. Even his long bare feet got her going, and she tore her gaze away to trace the brand on the book cover.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“I don’t know. I think someone must have left it behind.”
Handing her a cup, he glanced down at the book on her lap and scowled. “I brought it. I hadn’t decided if I wanted to show it to you yet.”
“Why?”
He offered her a plate and grabbed one for himself, taking a generous bite of his sandwich and a swig of his drink. An odd expression flashed over his rugged face when he looked toward the photo album again. “Madame Eve’s site promises possibilities. I figured if we decided we wanted to explore them, I could show you my place. Pretty decent in size and self-sustaining. I didn’t want my date to think I was a nobody from nowhere.”
Possibilities. Shit. They were on the same level as expectations. Neither of which she had any intention of considering. She picked at the food, unsure of how she should respond to him.
He drained his mug and put the empty cup on the table. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.” When he laughed, she had to smile. “All right you did, but that’s not your fault. I didn’t have to be nosy.”
Taking her plate away, he set it down and turned her to face him. “Listen, Ink. I have to be honest with you. We’ve met. I stole a business card off your desk, and I tried for a long time to get in touch with you, but you refused to answer. No emails, no returned calls, nothing. At first I thought you were just a lousy business woman.”
She glared at him for the derogatory comment. He flashed his irrepressible and panty-dampening smile.
“Eventually I quit trying because I realized you didn’t want to talk to me, maybe didn’t want to remember the night we spent together.”
Could he be the man from Sturgis? Unlikely. No one, no matter how tired could have forgotten Jet. “So you’re telling me you’re one of the creepy guys who call and leave me messages?”
“Or email…but I’m not creepy.”
“Oh yeah? What was it you said?”
Red crept over his cheeks despite his tan. “I talked about how we met and—well, hell. No wonder you didn’t respond.”
She grabbed a throw out of the basket at the end of the couch and covered herself. “Let me guess, I gave you a tat or something and you thought we had a ‘moment’?”
“Something like that.” He stood and grabbed his dishes, shoving her plate toward her. “You should eat. I need a beer.”
“Jet, wait!” He kept walking so she tossed the throw aside and went after him. “Jet! Come on. Tell me. How did we meet? From the look on your face, it has to be a good story.”
He threw his half eaten meal in the garbage and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “You asked me if I wanted to fuck because you needed to let off steam. Now that I think about it, pretty much like tonight.”
“I would never say something so crass.”
Downing the beer, he threw the can away and practically snarled at her. “Right. And you would never set up a one-night stand with the expectation of screwing some poor slob and walking away in the morning. You came here for the same reason I did, for the possibility of more?”
When he stormed past, she caught his arm and jerked him hard, fully aware he stopped by choice, not because of anything she’d done. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at your book.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Then what? Aren’t the photos what started all of this?”
“No.” Jet caught her hips and lifted her, pressing her back to the cool wood of the wall. “What started all of this was the night I helped a beautiful tattoo artist get some sleep. Like a fool I convinced myself maybe she needed me. Someone she could count on, not for a few hours or a night, but always.”
Hope sprang to life in her chest but reality quickly squashed it. Even if he were the guy from her shadowed memories, she couldn’t have him. He might think he wanted more, but when it came down to it, he’d run. She tightened her legs around his hips and cupped his face in her hands. “If I did long term, or sentimental, or any kind of relationship crap, I’d pick someone like you. A man who could maybe look beyond my bullshit to the person underneath.” She kissed him, long and easy, with more tenderness than she’d ever offered any other guy. “But I don’t and I can’t. You deserve a woman who can be there, one who won’t freak out or need to run. Someone who bakes cookies for the Sunday afternoon church social or could head up the PTA when your kids were in school. I’m not the hang-around kind.”
“I’d never ask you to. I could have the whole made-in-Mayberry thing if I wanted it.”
He shifted her and the snap of his jeans pressed just above her sweet spot. If he would lift her a little, maybe roll his hips a bit….
“There are plenty of women around who would gladly warm my bed and bear my children. And while I want a family someday, I’m not in a hurry for it.”
The unexpected comment jerked her back from thoughts of his body to fantasies about his life. He was wrong. The man had roots and would expect his woman to put hers down right beside him. “But you will want it.” She nipped at the line of his jaw, already showing signs of shadow. “Are you aware of how good you smell?”
He groaned, his hands squeezing her ass. “Listen Bel—Ink, I have a pretty nice guesthouse about five steps from my front door. I could add some more windows, maybe even a skylight. You could decorate it however you wanted and then you’d have a permanent studio where people could find you. Or we could buy a little place in Sturgis or even Spearfish or Deadwood, and you could set up shop there where you could get more traffic.”
“Jet, I’m a gypsy. I’ve been running all my life. I don’t know how to stay in one place.”
“I’m not asking you to. Travel all over. Hell, I’ll even join you when I can or when you need me. It wouldn’t have to be all or nothing.”
The damn stubborn man had no clue what he wanted. He’d hate the situation and eventually her. She wiggled her hips and slid her hands down his back as far as she could reach, tracing the line of his spine. “I wish I could, but you’re dreaming.”
“All right, what do you want then?” Disappointment laced his acceptance, but passion sparked in his hazel eyes.
“You. Right here, right now, for the rest of the night. I want to pretend what you described could happen. That a guy like you could care about a crazy bitch like me.”
Hot lips covered hers in a hard kiss; his tongue sweeping across hers i
n a primitive call to arousal. She moaned and rubbed her pussy against his abdomen. A flicker of disappointment clouded her mind for a second, a fleeting wish he had fought harder to convince her possibilities existed, but the taste and feel of him quickly overcame useless longing.
He tore his mouth from hers and kissed his way to her neck. “God, you make me forget everything except how much I want you. I remember what it feels like to have your beautiful body stretched over my dick.” His long fingers slid between them and sank into her. “Shit, you’re so wet, sweetheart. I can’t wait.”
“So don’t.”
He fumbled with his zipper, freeing his cock and slamming deep in almost the same move.
Raw sensation ripped through her, and she arched into him. A cry caught in her throat, paralyzing thought and action for a second. As soon as she could inhale again, all her attention flooded back to the strong man holding her. He filled her, possessing her with solid strokes that played her hot spots like a pro. “Fuck!”
“Stroke yourself for me, Ink.” He drove into her harder, demanding she feel him, and she yielded.
She shoved her hand between them, pressing her finger over her clit, but she didn’t rub. Instead, she let his rough strokes slam against her knuckles. His thrusts did it all; her finger only concentrated the sensation.
A scream coiled inside her as he rode her hard. She dropped her head against the wall. Eyes closed, she absorbed the joy of being taken, owned by the big beautiful bastard who eroded her walls and made her consider contemplating possibilities.
“Come. Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t wait. Come with me!”
Jet shoved her hand aside and attacked her clit with aggressive strokes, sending her flying as he pulled out and came against the wall.
Carrying her to the bedroom while she snuggled boneless and content against him made Jet want more. Losing his head and fucking her without protection had been stupid. Not because he worried he’d catch something, but because he didn’t know a damn thing about her. Not her history or her hopes, not even if she was on birth control.
He laid her gently on the bed and her eyes opened. “How do you do it?”
She’s so damn gorgeous. He sat beside her and brushed her hair from her eyes. “Do what?”
“Make me forget everything but you?”
And she says the best things. That deserved a kiss. He claimed her mouth, teasing her lower lip with his tongue. When he sat up again, her fingers dug into his biceps and her eyes had gone sleepy. “It’s easy with the right partner. I sort of forgot myself. I didn’t mean to neglect precautions, but you don’t make things easy.”
“I didn’t even think about it. I’m on the pill, and because I work around blood, I get tested regularly. Something tells me you don’t screw around or use drugs.”
“True. You’ve been my only one-night stand—both nights.”
When uncertainty flitted over her face again, he dropped a quick kiss on her nose and stood up. “Hold on. I need to clean up our mess, but I’ll be right back.” He started to leave then returned and stole a last kiss. “Think of me.”
As he flipped on the bathroom light, he could have sworn he heard, “Like I have a choice.” Hope swelled in his chest and he hurried to finish up so he could return to her arms.
Chapter Six
Ink pushed off the weight of sleep as something tickled. She opened her eyes. Jet gently traced the lace and roses on her side and back, lingering only a moment over each raised center.
“Will you tell me about them?”
Oh God! She had never told anyone about the tattoo or the scars hidden within the ink. It was too personal, far more intimate than giving her body to a stranger.
He pressed a kiss to the center of each bloom before lifting his head. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. Just curious whose ass I need to kick for hurting you.”
A laugh escaped. Why not tell him? It was one night. She’d never see him again. There was comfort in the brevity of their connection. She flipped to her back and stared at the vaulted ceiling to avoid his kind face. “My mother’s favorite flower was a red rose. I didn’t think anyone even knew that until her funeral. Other than filler, it was the only type of flower there. Apparently everyone knew her better than I assumed.”
“Oh, Ink, I’m sorry.” He flattened his hand over her belly, his palm incredibly warm.
She shrugged. “They buried her in a black lace cocktail dress she’d bought at Goodwill.” Emotion, repressed for too long, welled, shutting down her throat, and she struggled to take in enough oxygen to continue. “It was the nicest thing she owned.”
He didn’t say anything, simply pressed his lips to her temple then settled beside her again, waiting for her to continue. No rush, no demands, no expectations. Just quiet, unbending patience.
A tear trickled from the corner of her eye to puddle in the hollow by her ear. “Everyone felt it important to tell me how often they worried about her. But not one of them did a fucking thing until the day my father beat her to death.” She drew a deep breath and rolled to her side, unwilling to face the tender man in bed with her.
Instead of being repulsed or uncomfortable like she expected, he spooned in behind her. His large body seemed to surround her. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen. I moved in with my father’s best friend the night she died. He’d been screwing me for a year already, so it seemed logical.”
Jet stiffened, his arms firm around her, his lips pressed to her shoulder. “Bastard.”
She snuggled against him, his broad chest a wall of strength. “I lived with him for the next five years. At least I had my license by then. One night he came home from ‘a few beers with the boys,’ cigar hanging out of his mouth and roaring drunk. I told him to get out until he could walk without pissing himself. He beat the shit out of me. While I was passed out, he took his cigar and decorated my body so I’d remember my place.”
“Fucker.” Jet urged her to turn so he could see her expression, his gentle gaze unflinching. “So did you kill him or walk away?”
How could anyone be so understanding without hesitation? She reached up and cupped the side of his face. “You’re fairly amazing, you know.”
He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.
She sighed and dropped her hand to his ribs, his heat an unexpected balm. “I walked away without a tear; Ink was born and Bella died…eventually buried in roses and black lace, like my mother.”
“Has he ever come after you?”
“No.” Thinking back to his earlier comments, she smiled and tugged lightly on the smattering of hair covering his pectorals. “Todd Harris really was a ‘nobody from nowhere.’ He had no money and no resources to find me. I left almost five years ago. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s in jail or dead by now.”
“I hope the shithead rots.” He shifted until he hovered above her, an arm braced on either side of her. “You’re pretty fantastic yourself, you know?”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” A playful grin tilted his mouth and lit his eyes. “In fact, I think I would be remiss if I didn’t show you just how wonderful you are, Ink.”
“Bella.”
Jet lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t let people call you that.”
Blinking quickly to hold the tears at bay did no good. They trickled down the sides of her face. “I like the way it sounds when you say it.”
He kissed her damp cheeks. “So why the tears?”
“My mother loved my name. I somehow forgot. I was so worried about wiping out the bad memories I forgot the only one who ever gave a rat’s ass if I lived or died. What kind of person am I?”
“A brave one.”
She shook her head. “I ran away. That’s not brave.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He touched his forehead to hers. “You’re so wrong. Your mother would be proud of you. You walked away from what she couldn’t.” He lifted his head to study her. “Don’t you think she would have wanted you t
o run? How could anyone see you as anything but brave?”
A sob caught in her throat. Years of shoving everyone away, of building protective walls and a defensive attitude, came crashing down. Sadness and anger exploded. “She left me. Dad went to jail and I only had Todd. No one else. I hated my father, and my fucking asshole of a boyfriend-guardian, and the cops for leaving me with him…and her.” Tears ran freely, each inhale a rattling wheeze. “How could I hate her?”
Jet couldn’t take it anymore. He rolled to his back, bringing her with him and pressing her close. Her pain created a physical ache in his heart, right alongside the burning need to run her ex into a squeeze chute and castrate him like the fucking raging bull he was. He couldn’t undo the things she’d faced. Wouldn’t actually want to because they made her who she was, but he’d love to ensure she never again had to deal with anything more challenging than what color to paint her beautiful toes.
Slowly he rubbed her back in gentle circles, coaxing her to relax. “Shh, don’t cry, pretty Bella. Please don’t cry.”
He cuddled her to him, waiting as her sobs became quiet gasps then finally an occasional shiver and she sat up beside him. Even ravaged by grief, she stole his heart. “Better?”
She nodded and scrubbed her hands over her face. Jet scooted up against the headboard and pulled her into his lap, using the edge of the sheet to dry her tears. Her chin still quivered but overall the crying jag seemed to have passed.
Drawing a deep breath, she offered a shaky smile. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Without a doubt.” He brushed her hair from her forehead and dropped a kiss there. “You obviously needed to talk about it.”
“I guess.” She tried to crawl off his lap but he held her. “I should go clean up.”
“Don’t get in there and start overthinking things and decide you should slip out the window.”
Her laugh, wobbly as it was, offered reassurance she’d return. “I promise. But I want to take a shower, wash off the tears...and memories.”