“It was nothing, really. I’d sworn off partying, dating, even sex, through college. I wanted a new start, a fresh reputation, and I wanted to succeed. I was lucky enough to score some scholarships and loans. I made it over two years without getting involved with anyone. Then I met Patrick at the campus coffee shop. He was one of those hippy-dippy guys. A free spirit like you, and yet nothing like you.”
“I’m glad you said that, because I hope never to put that expression on your face.”
“What was that?”
“Kinda repulsed and sad at the same time.” He leaned his cheek against his hand, which still had hold of her hand. “So tell me about this guy.”
She was glad when the server brought her beer. Talking about Patrick definitely made her want a drink. “He majored in poetry, or something esoteric like that. The man could wax poetic about a weed, I swear. He used watercolor words to express his ideas, how he wanted to change the world. I thought it was romantic, missing the signs of a man incapable of responsibility or the action it would take to do so much as keep his part-time job at the college library. He’d already been to two other colleges, ‘looking for the right vibe.’ Which he said he’d found in me. But when I went through a crisis he said he’d just decided to quit college and take a hike. Literally. He’d been thinking about hiking the Appalachian Trail and writing a book about it, and he was being called to do it then. He said he had planned to invite me, but he couldn’t wait for me to work through my personal issues. The first part, I knew, was a big, fat lie.”
Tanner pressed her hand against his cheek. “Aw, baby. I’m sorry.”
She loved that he didn’t ask what the crisis was. Didn’t rail on Patrick. He only offered heartfelt comfort…and called her baby. “It hurt at the time, because I thought it was love. But, looking back, I see that it wasn’t even close. More like being in love with being in love. What about you? Have you ever been in any long-term relationships?”
“Been married five and a half times, if you count the drunken weekend in Vegas—which I don’t—but the longest only lasted five months. Is that considered long-term? That is around a hundred and fifty days.”
For a second, her heart dropped into the pit of disappointment. But wait a second. He looked entirely too casual about it. She narrowed her eyes. “Lie.”
“Yep. Never really been in a relationship. I’ve been too busy, with all the traveling and stuff. Plus, women don’t like when their men put more time and money into their car than they do into them.”
“Lie,” she said.
“What do you mean? It’s the truth.”
“You didn’t let me get away with that. So all that might be a factor, but it doesn’t keep drivers from having wives and girlfriends. I read some of their profiles. And I think you have enough money for both. So what’s your real reason? You said you’d never given your heart to a woman. Was that true?”
Honestly, she wanted to know where he got his money as much as his reasons for staying out of relationships. Well, almost as much, but it seemed gauche to ask.
He laid their joined hands on the table and took a drink of his whiskey with his other hand. “What do you think?”
“Truth.”
He nodded.
He was decidedly tight-lipped when it came to his psyche. But since he had no problem digging into hers she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Besides, she wanted to know everything about him, too. As he had on the night they met, he sparked a hunger in her. To know what he was like as a boy. To know who he was as a man. And, especially, to taste his mouth again, and feel his arms slide around her lower back as he pulled her flush against his body.
“Tell me why you drift. In life, I mean.”
The music grew louder, and a few people wandered out to the dance floor. Grace scooted her chair closer to Tanner’s so that she could hear him better. Except he wasn’t talking. He ran his finger over the rim of his glass and contemplated her. She outwaited him.
“No one’s ever wanted to go beyond my answer about being on the road a lot. And especially the part about having to share both my time and my money with a sport that doesn’t garner a lot of fame or fortune. Does it really matter to you?”
“As much as it mattered for you to find out why I felt lost.”
His mouth quirked in a smile, just a quick one. He was clearly uncomfortable exposing his inner layers, and looked away for a second. But he said, “Fair enough, I suppose.”
“I know your mother was a drug addict, and that she and your sister let you down.”
“Ah, you’ve been paying attention to what I say, too. So yeah, I pretty much grew up on broken promises. The social workers had been threatening to take us away for months, and our mom kept promising she’d clean up. Because she loved us so much,” he said caustically. “She never did, but the Tennessee Department of Children’s Services made good on its promise and put my older sister, Macy, and me into foster care. I know they thought they were doing us a favor, but losing the little family and home I had was tough.”
She ran her fingers over his forearm. “And they probably didn’t let you take anything with you.”
“I owned nothing. Anything I considered mine was used by the other kids, endorsed by a foster parent who emphasized that we were all to share everything. I realize now that they were trying to be equitable, but that also took away an important feeling of ownership.”
Now she tightened her fingers over his. “I totally get that. My mom and I left a lot behind when we moved to Chambliss. But at least you earned money and bought that bike.”
“That money became part of me. My pride, my fear, my temptation, all rolled into one. I wanted to buy things. To buy life. But I held on to it, knowing that a bike meant freedom. I had a bitch of a time convincing my foster parents that I didn’t want the other kids to touch it, because they’d wreck it. They called me ‘uncooperative and selfish.’ So I hid it and told them it had been stolen. I kept working, because I wanted to save up for a car next. I hid my stash in a slit in the box spring, and one day it was gone. I didn’t know which of the kids took it. Even worse, I suspected maybe it was my foster mom. And yeah, I was pissed, so I took her car out for a joyride. Which nearly got me arrested. I was sent somewhere else, and by the time I could get to where I’d locked up my bike all that was left was a cut chain.”
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t quite say the word babe. It had sounded so natural rolling off his tongue. But she hadn’t even called Patrick that endearment. She took a sip of her beer, the waning foam tickling her upper lip as the bubbles popped. The tip of her tongue dashed away the remaining mustache.
He’d been watching her, and the hungry gleam in his eyes stirred an echoing hunger deep in her belly. He finished his whiskey. “Does that answer your question?”
“You don’t get attached because you don’t trust people. I get that. Though you didn’t say how your sister let you down.” It wasn’t fair to dig so deeply when she hadn’t been quite up front with him. A lie of omission, she’d call it. But when he assumed that her father had died, she had no idea Tanner would…mean something to her. That they’d be sharing so much. She squeezed his hand. “Tell me about Macy.”
“As soon as I bought my first car, at seventeen, I hunted her down. It hurt that she hadn’t tried to contact me—or, at least, I figured she didn’t,” he said softly. He traced his finger down the condensation on the outside of his glass, the hurt darkening his eyes. “Pretty sure she didn’t. I found her living with these two skeevy guys. By then she could have petitioned the courts to put me in her care, but no way would the social workers let me move into the hole she lived in. She swore she wasn’t using, but I suspected otherwise. She promised to keep in touch, but, just like our mother, she never did. In fact, she moved and didn’t tell me where she’d gone. I went by her apartment and a gnarly dude said she’d split. He wanted me to pay the rent she owed.”
It broke her heart, imagining his teenage self absorbing
his sister’s abandonment. “I hope you didn’t give him money.”
“I told him to suck it. I could tell he was too stoned to try anything.”
She could see the boy in the pictures on the cigar box doing just that. “Did you see her again?”
“I found her once I was on my own. By then I was sharing an apartment with a couple guys, and I worked at a feed store’s loading docks. She was in even worse shape, and she admitted to doing meth. I wanted to save her the way I couldn’t save our mother. I told her she was coming to live with us. She claimed that she wanted to clean up, get a job. But week after week she just lay around, sleeping until two in the afternoon. When I insisted that she go into rehab, she agreed. Then stole our money and valuables and hauled ass. Once again, I’d lost my possessions. But, even worse, I lost my sister, or the idea of what a sister would be like. I haven’t seen her since, and I haven’t looked for her, either.” He met her gaze now, the pain of visiting the past stealing away his usual spark. “Apparently, I don’t have discernment, either, when it comes to telling when someone’s lying to me.”
He finished his whiskey and laid his forehead on his hand on the table. “Can we talk about lighter topics? First your story, then mine, it’s breaking my heart.”
She rubbed his back, feeling the strength of his soul in the muscles there. “You started it.” She was sorry to bring him down, but it answered a question about him. And made it less likely that he would trust a woman with his precious heart anytime soon. Fun. This is only supposed to be about fun and letting loose, not about possessing his heart or showing him that a woman can be trusted. Hard to be that person when you can’t trust people, either.
Change the subject, Grace.
Her fingers brushed against the base of his hair. “You’re getting sand on the table, you know.”
He shook his head, and more sand rained onto the wood table. “That’s what happens when you wrestle on the beach, I suppose.”
She brushed it onto the already sandy wood floor, then ran her fingers through his hair. “I don’t think you even own a brush, do you? You kinda go for this windblown, roguish look.” The thick strands slid through her fingers, soft and silky. Then she realized what she was doing and dropped back in her seat.
“Maybe you should, you know, help shake them out. Because that felt mondo good.”
She laughed, but she went for the “excuse” he’d given her for indulging in playing with his hair. “Mmm, I feel a few grains. Ohmigod, your hair is so soft. What do you use on it?”
“It’s a leave-in conditioner I get at my hairdresser’s salon. Because I’m in a helmet a lot, and in the sun, my hair was starting to get dried out. I do own a brush, but I have, like, a hundred cowlicks in my hair, so I find that it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. But that’s why I keep it long; it tends to pull them out. I refuse to straighten it or put spray on it.”
She drew a strand straight with her fingers. “I like it just the way it is. I was teasing.”
“Just keep teasing,” he murmured.
She did, enjoying it as much as he seemed to be. God but she wanted to lean forward and bury her face in those silky tresses, inhale sunshine and his wildness.
“Want me to get the sand out of your hair?” he asked a few minutes later.
She hesitated, because “Yes” wanted to come out. “No, that’s all right.” If it felt that good to touch his hair, she couldn’t fathom how heavenly it would feel for him to touch hers.
He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. “Yes, you do.”
She slid her hand around the back of his neck. “Stop calling me on my shit. That wasn’t part of our deal.”
He gave her a smile that stole her breath away. “We have to be open to possibilities, darlin’.”
She gave in, because she wanted to feel his fingers in her hair. Dammit, she wanted to feel his fingers everywhere. She sat back in the chair, and his fingers scrabbled and lightly scratched over her scalp. She hoped the music drowned out her soft sounds of pleasure.
“Your hair’s silky-soft, too. Just like I imagined.”
“You imagined running your fingers through my hair?”
“From the first time I saw it in the sunlight. Remember the chocolate fountain analogy?”
That made her smile, even if it shouldn’t. After a couple of minutes, she forced herself to sit up again. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to end up a puddle on the floor.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Yes. A very bad thing. I think we should dance.”
Chapter 8
The dance floor was half filled now, lights swirling, people gyrating. The beat thrummed right through Grace’s chest.
Why should it surprise her that Tanner could dance? And dance really, really well. She thought about that study that had been published a while back, where the way a guy danced indicated his likelihood of being a good mate. Something about hip movement and how he used his arms…Then she decided that she really didn’t care about the particulars. Tanner must be doing it right, because watching him was making her hot.
Mondo hot.
And that heat coursed through her like a drug. All the sensuality she’d put in a deep freeze yawned and stretched sinuously, the icicles falling away.
Loosen up. Fall free.
Maybe she would, while they were dancing and nothing could really happen. She was burning up like the lovers on the sun in the David Guetta song pounding through the speakers. Tanner took her hand and twirled her into his body, her back coming into contact with the front of him. Then he spun her out again. She spun in this time, revolving enough to come face-to-face with him. They stopped for a full second, gazes locked, before she twirled out again.
He remained true to his word, never once staring down her shirt or grabbing her ass. The problem was, a part of her wanted him to grab her, touch her. She backed into him, coming close but not quite pressing her grinding booty into him. He took her hands and raised them above her head, matching the sway of her hips.
She saw a table full of twentysomethings enjoying Tanner’s dancing nearly as much as she did. Given the birthday balloons and the gift bags, the women were obviously celebrating. Grace felt an odd mixture of possessiveness and smugness. He’s mine, mine, mine.
Even if he wasn’t.
Watch it, a voice whispered as her tongue craved more of that dark, creamy ale. Don’t lose too much control, or you know you’ll be all over that boy.
They danced through a dozen songs, and when her body threatened to collapse she waved for him to go back to the table, where she dropped into her chair. They both sucked down their drinks and ordered more.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked once she could catch her breath. How long had it been since she’d done anything—anything—that made her breathless? That made her body ache from exertion, and filled her with pure exhilaration? She was covered in a sheen of sweat, and God, it all felt so good.
Maybe not as good as certain other activities, but this was safe.
He leaned close to be heard over the loud music. “I was a Chippendale dancer. Did it for a couple of years. Not fully nude stuff, just the rear view.” He sat back with that smirk of his, challenging her to figure out whether it was a lie.
Maybe this lying thing wasn’t such a good idea. Mostly because he was really good at it. She studied him, looking for any telltale twitch of his mouth, his eyes. At first she relished the mental picture of him tearing off his Velcro’d police uniform, dangling handcuffs from his finger. Revealing an oil-slicked body that no doubt was Chippendale-worthy. Then the rest of the picture filled in, a hundred other women hooting and hollering and pushing their bills into his silver pouch.
She leaned close to him now, getting distracted by the tickle of his hair. Get a grip. “Lie,” she said at last. “You were too busy drifting on the weekends to do those kinds of shows.”
“See, Grace, you haven’t lost your ability to sniff out
a fib.”
“If I use logic.” And if I don’t want it to be true. But that’s my problem. I believe what I want to believe is true. “So, how did you learn to dance so well?”
“Thank you for the compliment.” He shrugged. “I didn’t learn, per se. I don’t overthink it; I just move to the beat.”
“I’ve danced with guys who seem to do that, and, frankly, it’s scary. They’re rubberized, with all this weird gyration and kinked necks. You have a way of moving that’s natural.” And incredibly sexy.
“And you out there…I hate to say this but—”
She pressed her fingers over his mouth. “I’m terrible. Don’t say it, okay?”
She kept her fingers pressed against the soft curve of his mouth, feeling the silky hairs above his lips until the gesture started to feel more than purely functional.
He touched her chin. “That’s not what I was going to say. I can see you loosening up with every song, which is why I stayed out there as long as I did. Watching you dance is making me hot. And if you don’t believe me, I have, er, physical proof.”
She had to fight the impulse to drop her gaze lower, or give away the effect of that statement by sucking in a breath.
“Look, I’m just being honest, and if we crash into each other out there you’re bound to find out. So I’m giving you a heads-up.” He slapped his hand over his face. “Bad pun. Unintentional, I swear.” Then he laughed at himself.
She couldn’t help laughing with him. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” Which scares the hell out of me. Are you for real? And did it matter when he wouldn’t be around for much longer?
“I’m going to take that as a good thing, since Mia and Gemma made it sound like you’ve had some interesting dates lately.”
“You don’t even want to know.”
He planted his elbows on the table and gave her his full attention. “Sure, I do. I’m nosy like that. Not those kinds of details, though.”
She eyed him, which was easy, since he was about two inches away, so they could hear each other. “I don’t do those kinds of things on a first date.” Then she remembered her open-to-possibilities invitation to Tanner, and added, “Well, not normally. In fact, it’s been forever since I’ve partaken in any of that with someone other than my BOB.”
Falling Free ( Falling Fast #3) Page 12