Sliver of Truth (Shattered Hearts of Carolina Book 3)

by Jody Kaye

  I wrap my hands around the pillows above my head. I’m searching for purchase, something to hold on to steady my incoherent mind. I bring the sham down over my eyes to silence the reasons for considering a relationship with him wrong.

  Dusty’s forearm bats the pillow off of the bed. I moan and he growls, enjoying the sounds I make. His tongue is relentless, bringing me to the cusp, and making me shatter.

  I want him inside of me, but Dusty’s not done making sure I’m thoroughly ravaged. His fingers replace his tongue, slicking one to press farther back. I mewl at the tight invasion. Visions of doing the same to Dusty swirl in my head; how hot it was when he’d given me dominion over his body. His roaring release: The end result of pent up desire and frustration being without each other has caused.

  His thumb rises up, stroking my clit. The build again is so intense. I’m reaching down this time, riding a wave of pure bliss. My hands tug at his shoulders. Like a rock, Dusty doesn’t move more than replacing his thumb with his lips. My fingers tangle in his cropped dark hair, fucking his face, screaming out, cresting over the peak.

  He draws out the last of my orgasm until my body goes limp and my knees shake. My energy depleted, they fall to the bed like molasses.

  “Was that everything?” I’m panting and need a few minutes to recover, but I sure hope this isn’t the end for today.

  Dusty stands at the footboard, using his wrists to wipe the wetness from his face. I get no response. He turns, giving me a pleasurable view of his firm ass, and walks out into the kitchen. I hear the content on the fridge door clatter, a crisp sizzle-clink of a beer bolt opening, and the cap landing on a hard surface. He returns to the bedroom, proud cock on display, and the bottle’s neck empty.

  There’s a lazy smile on his face as he watches me. I’m a puddle of goo and, rest assured, he’s positive his magic’s melted me.

  “Never asked,” he comments between sips, “just assumed all this” he motions towards the bed and my reclining form, “was as good for you as it is for me.”

  “It is.”

  He hums, clearing his throat. “Glad the problem’s solved.”

  Dusty crawls back up the bed, leaving a slick trail up my midsection with his tongue. He worships each breast, sucking my still tight nipples into his mouth. Finally coming to rest on his side next to me, he places his head in his hand and turns me to face him. The tangy taste of beer tickles my tastebuds as we kiss. Dusty pulls back before I do.

  “Why did you ask?” I caress his cheek.

  “We fuck and we’re done.” He holds my hand up before it falls back to my chest. “I leave. You leave.”

  “I come back for more. You come back for more,” I counter, despite it being the somewhat opposite. He comes to me.

  “Can’t blame a man for wanting to know.” His tone is abashed. Unlike the strong and steady outside, inside Dusty’s soft. He cares. I get the impression his curiosity is part male ego and as much ensuring he hasn’t been careless of my feelings.

  “Why do you come back? I mean, I won’t look at a bathroom the same way ever again, but—”

  “Did I have another option?” He cuts me off.

  I trace his jawline. “I don’t know. Not in the beginning. I was so mad at you.”

  “Why?”

  “You got me all ramped up, kissing me, and didn’t even come inside that night. Then, days later, you go off half-cocked on a customer as if we’d been in a relationship when you’d ignored me. I was so hurt and angry over the mixed signals. Plus, the next thing I knew we were all over one another with my bare ass sitting on the cold sink.” My hands flail and he cuffs both, stilling them.

  When we’re intimate, the tighter he holds, the better it is. But this sensation isn’t sexual in nature. A fist squeezes my lungs and my heart beats like a savage animal trying to break free of a cage.

  “You wanted me to come in?”

  My mouth twitches and I give Dusty a “you’ve gotta be kidding me” look. “I guess by the time you finally were inside with me, I figured it was how you did relationships.

  “Not at all. Thought you wanted to hang with Skye. By the time the guy at Sweet Caroline’s wouldn’t let you alone, my jealousy got the best of me.”

  “You were there in the parking lot? I did kiss you back.” The sarcasm has a twinge of amusement to it.

  “You ran out soon as you saw Holly as compet-ti-tion.”

  We stare at one another for a moment and the air shifts. For as magnetic as our attraction has been, we’ve done a bang-up job of trying to jam like poles together and letting them push off one another. Better than a year’s worth of misunderstandings click.

  “Maybe if I’d explained,” I say sheepishly.

  “Forgivenesses’ not a one-way street.”

  “You have to stop letting me off the hook. It’s becoming a problem.” Not communicating is both our faults. However, I need the Dusty who didn’t back down from what he wanted when he sought me out as much as I do this version of him. I hate to admit the gruffness was as attractive as it was. Not that I want to be dominated, but challenged? Hell, yeah.

  “Okay. From here on out, then. Higher standard.” Dusty rolls on top of me, framing my face with his arms.

  I may have died and woken up in heaven. Celine and I did what we do best until exhaustion overtook us. The sheets are knotted everywhere—the fitted one has even come loose—and the comforter fell on the floor sometime after midnight. Cees is in the fetal position and the heat from my body curled around her has roasted us. I get up, admiring how beautiful she is naked in my bed, before finding something to cover her with.

  My stomach growls as I pull on my boxer briefs and walk out of the room. We’d had dinner in bed, but expending all my energy, free to explore her body and savoring the slowness in a way we’ve never been able to before, has me hungry as an elephant. I have to replace those lost calories before doing anything today, including taking Cece back in there for round two.

  I flip open the cooler, tossing the rest of the food I’d packed into the fridge. The mostly melted block of ice keeping it cold tumbles into the stainless steel kitchen sink, clattering louder than I’d like it to have. Water slops everywhere. I grimace, hoping the noise hasn’t woken Cece.

  When I spin around to close the fridge, she’s standing in the threshold wearing the forest green sheet I’d tucked around her like a gown. Her head is tilted as if she’s been watching me.

  “I got cold. Your spot hadn’t cooled. But it’s not warm enough.”

  “Came out a minute ago to make breakfast.” I run my palms over her upper arms. She’s still toasty.

  “I could do breakfast.”

  “Problem. We’re out of eggs. Forgot Renata and Sylvie made cookies last weekend.”

  “You’re here a lot?”

  “As often as we can. No reason to have the place otherwise… Gotta make a run to the store.”

  “Let me get dressed and I’ll come with you.”

  “Sure?”

  She nods her head, running a fingertip down my forearm. My skin catches fire when she does that.

  I’m impressed Cece is a quick-change artist. She’s got her jeans on with a v-neck tee and her hair under a ball cap ready to leave before I’ve gotten my teeth brushed. I guess I’m used to my kid dawdling and figured she’d need more time before snagging her coat.

  We’re in the dairy section at the grocery store before we know it. I open the refrigerated case, inspecting several in a carton of eggs and ensuring none have cracks before placing them in the basket.

  “Bacon?” Cees points to a microwave package display nearby.

  “Have plenty.”

  “Thank goodness. Aidy is a bacon fiend. We always make extra when she’s around so we get some. I wasn’t sure if you were the same.”

  My lip quirks. “I’ll share mine if you need more.”

  “Thank you.” Her response to my generosity comes out soft and her cheeks start to pinken. “I may have und
erestimated that a burly guy would be such a giver… in so many ways.” She rises on her toes to press her lips to mine. I have to tip the brim of her hat up so it doesn’t hit me in the forehead and am rewarded with the minty fresh taste of her toothpaste.

  Certain we only need eggs, it’s proven I’m out of my element shopping with a woman. Cece glances at the next row of freezer cases. “Do we need ice cream?”

  “For breakfast?”

  “Dessert. Um, what’s for dinner?”

  “Grilling steaks.”

  “In the dark and in the cold?”

  “Ice cream is cold.” I shrug, cocking my chin at the half gallons. We amble across the aisle. “Don’t mind standing on the porch alone.”

  “I can wear a sweater. Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Fudge Swirl. Peanut butter cup. What’s that face for?” I ask when she wrinkles her nose.

  “I don’t like stuff in my ice cream. I don’t even like stuff on my ice cream.”

  I chuckle, remembering when we were out to dinner she inquired if the plain chocolate cake was served with any other toppings. She’s even bucked the idea of trying the whipped cream on mine until I’d force the spoon on her. I slide closer and move Cece’s hair over her shoulder. “Last thing I’d have pegged you for was an ice cream virgin,” I whisper in her ear.

  Red seeps up from Cece’s collar as heat floods her body. Her tongue licks out, touching her upper lip. My hand brushes her torso. I turn away, selecting a large, round tub of Neapolitan to satisfy both our cravings later on… What she’s craving now? Well, we’re not used to having one another whenever we damn well please, and that’s best kept on a slow simmer today as well.

  “Do you have plans for all that ice cream?” she flirts.

  I’m three paces ahead of her on the way to the checkout, getting a kick out of Cece chasing me for once. “Yeah, I’m eating it. In a bowl. With a spoon. Remember, you don’t like stuff in or on it.” I wink.

  She stops in her tracks and starts laughing. By the time she’s done being doubled over, she has to jog to catch up to me at the register.

  “I’m not that funny.”

  “No, but we are. This side of you isn’t what I’m used to, and I was more laughing at myself.” She sidles past me to bag our purchases. “Paper or plastic?”

  I choose paper as the cashier inquires cash or charge. I hold up my card and slide it through the reader. Cece studies me with intent. Taking the sack from her, and Cees by the hand, I carry it out to the truck.

  “Are you afraid I’ll get lost in the parking lot?” She kicks a fat tire.

  “Force of habit.” I stow the groceries behind her seat.

  “Trucks or motorcycles?”

  “Trig and the boys can keep their bikes.” I open her door so she can climb in. She’s more adept in pants than a skirt. I shake my head, walking around the front since I’d had to stop from doing more than admire the view. I like the way her ass looks getting in the truck no matter what she’s got on.

  “Would you have rather had sausage?”

  “No. Bacon is messy to cook, but tastes great.” I fire up the engine. “Why the twenty questions?”

  “I realized there’s a lot we don’t know about one another. Isn’t it why you asked me to come away with you this weekend?”

  I don’t reply. Instead, my right palm rests on her thigh and I squeeze before peppering her with similar either-or questions.

  Back at the house, Cees starts the coffee maker and I scramble the eggs. She’s eager to assist me, but I signal I’ve got it handled. She opts to take her mug and sit on the couch, updating charts.

  We’re hungry, though, I take my time buttering the toast and frying bacon. I steal glances across the room. She’s deep in thought and her nails clickity-clack over the keyboard.

  I don’t miss paperwork or e-mails or endless meetings where everyone says they’re doing something important, but it’s actually a wasted hour and an excuse to eat a dozen glazed donuts. I’m sure Cece’s enjoying her work and that’s what makes it worthwhile. Not having that same sense of fulfillment is how I knew it was time to pop the parachute and let rocket science land back on earth with grace, instead of watching my career implode on the launchpad.

  As I’m getting plates from the upper cabinet, Cece logs off and turns on the radio. Not bothering to adjust the tuner, a sultry Santana melody fills the space. Her foot taps and her hips sway in time with the beat. I watch mesmerized like I’ve done at the club as her hands run up her silhouette and find their way into her hair. I’m not sure she’s aware I’m still in the room when her head lolls back on her shoulders, but then she cha-cha’s, her knees bending, able to keep her balance as she slinks toward me.

  When she’s close enough to tug into my space, my palm encases her middle, bringing Celine tight against me. Joined at the hip, my right foot moves forward and her left goes back. She reaches up to place one hand on my shoulder. The other goes for my forearm and her nails tickle my bare skin.

  “You can dance!” She’s excited.

  I use the hand on her hip to twirl her and she spins back. Our fingers intertwine, palms together. Feet moving in rhythm to the smooth sound.

  “Haven’t in a longer than I’d like to admit. No good reason to.”

  “Am I a good reason?” She fishes for a compliment when I’ve already given it to her. I spin her again to keep her on her toes and wrap my arms around her as her back hits my chest. We rock back-and-forth as the music fades into the next song.

  “Were you a ballerina?” I have my nose tucked to her neck, inhaling the sweet smell of us still on her skin.

  “Only in my pink-slippered, button-nosed dreams.” She sighs. “My parents didn’t have money for lessons, but I loved watching people dance on TV and in the movies.”

  “So how’d you become a dancer?”

  “A girlfriend and I snuck out and went clubbing when we were teens. I was at a bar in Raleigh when someone suggested I dance for real.”

  “With your clothes off?”

  “No.” Her hand leaves my arm, momentarily waving off the way I tease her. She smiles at me and looks to where I hold her across her middle. “I’m guessing they meant like you’d see in a video or at a concert, but a lot of those background dancers have serious resumes. It’s pretty competitive. I hadn’t given it a second thought until my rent went up and my roommate stiffed me for her part of the utilities. Lamps don’t glow if the power company shuts the lights off, and it’s hard to study in the dark. I also needed patient contact hours in a nursing facility so I didn’t have to take a gap year before PA school and working a third job made undergrad almost impossible. There weren’t enough hours in the day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. She was a sloppy bitch. Though, I suppose living with a crappy roommate is better than living on the streets. Anyway, at the same time I’d driven by Sweet Caroline’s. Jake had a sign out front they were hiring and the pay was better than what I was making combined. I had nothing to lose, other than my apartment, which isn’t saying much. So I danced for him and he gave me the job.” Cece laughs again, wiggling against my tightened grip to turn and face me. “I said I danced for him, not I fucked Jake, Dusty.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I don’t know—” didn’t know? My jaw cracks. My brain and my emotions are at odds, and I’m not sure I used the right context.

  “How I got started? What’s with that bulging vein in your neck? This is the same vibe you gave off to the club’s clientele when you’d go all Incredible Hulk.”

  “You thought I wouldn’t be jealous.” It’s said stern.

  “Of course, I expected something. But I counted on you trusting I wasn’t fucking anyone else. In the beginning, I had to have a little faith it was the same for you, or else—”

  She shrugs and I scrub my face, finishing her sentence, “You’d think I believe you were a—”

  “Complete and total slut.”

  I cup he
r cheek, bringing my forehead to hers. Closing my eyes, I pray she’ll see past my insecurities.

  “Stripping didn’t turn me on, Dusty. It was a means to an end. The audience was in the dark, and I couldn’t see past the stage. I concentrated on the next move, never considering what I was doing to get them off.”

  “They were all going home adjusting hard-ons, same as me.”

  Cece bites then licks her lower lip and I tilt my head as to ask “What?”

  “I wondered if you’d come find me on the nights you were at Sweet Caroline’s or if I’d be stuck waiting for the next afternoon.”

  I’d always stayed to the shadows as not to get Cece in any trouble. “You didn’t like me making you wait.”

  “No. But you always made it worth the wait.”

  We’re still standing in the kitchen and Dusty’s about to plate the bacon.

  “This smells delicious,” I say. “Why hasn’t anyone snapped you up yet? Women love men who can cook.”

  He doesn’t mean to come off as snarky, but the jovial sarcasm is blatant as it can be. “Most women aren’t interested in my kind of baggage. I’m a single dad. Living in my not-quite mother-in-law’s spare room. Top it off by waiting to get custody of my daughter? Not the hottest commodity, Cees.”

  We both look to where I’m holding onto his bicep. My fingers don’t match half the circumference. Glancing up, our eyes meet and Dusty sighs. For a split second, I see the way he views himself through the lens of others. He’s an enormous presence. Reserved, like holding back a bear. The accident didn’t take his mental acuity, but his delayed speech makes it seem so.

  Without understanding how much heart lies beneath his wall of chest, it is a lot for any woman to digest. It was a lot for me. I allowed myself to only see what was on the surface because the shallowness was a layer of protection. Now that we’re getting to know one another, I’m glad Dusty’s given me a glimpse into his soul.

  I pick up a slice of bacon, breaking it in half and feeding him a piece. “You’re wrong. You are a very hot commodity.” The tip of my finger disappears between his lips. Dusty holds my hand up. After he’s done chewing, he licks away the salt.