Ross 03 Leave Me Breathless (14 page)

“I feel bad for her, and for a while I tried to be there for her if she needed me, but she would never take it for what it was. She wouldn’t give it up. Then in typical Raina fashion, she started getting crazy on me
and
my friends, so…fuck her. It’s done, I’m done. She’s a big girl; she needs to deal with it.”

“What about the other girl she mentioned?”

He’d been absently stroking her hair, but at her question, his hand froze. “Nothing to tell. I was a stupid kid. It wasn’t what I thought it was.” He scoffed and muttered, “Obviously,” so low she could hardly hear it, shifting so that he lay on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Stupid kid or not, it sounds like it had a pretty serious effect on you.”

“Listen to you, getting all deep.” He grinned. He was a pretty good actor, she decided, but not that good. “Like I said, I was a dumbass. She was hot. I thought I was in love. I thought maybe she was too. She wasn’t. End of story.”

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “What was her name?”

“Brooke.”

She wanted to ask more, but the brusqueness of his reply clearly stated he considered the subject closed without even divulging the girl’s last name.

“I was with my first boyfriend for a long time,” she said instead. “We grew up together, so it wasn’t really that I loved him in
that
way. He was just always there, you know?”

“Why are we tossing around the L-word so much?”

“Hey, you said it first.”

“Then I’ll be the first to shut it down.”

“Fine by me.” She searched her brain for another topic maybe he wouldn’t shut down. Speaking of obvious love… “How long have you and Brian known each other?”

“Freshman year. I knew of him before, but we officially met in art class. He was like the big class star, at least in there. I got sick of it, so I went over to his table one day to tell him I thought his still lifes were okay but his perspective sucked. He said, ‘Hey, fuck you.’ After class, we beat the shit out of each other in the hallway and landed in detention together. Started talking about music. And a dysfunctional friendship was born. We still argue to this day over who won the fight. There’s been more than one rematch.”

She snickered. “Sounds like you two.”

“We’re a good team, though. Especially at work.”

“How are you a team at a tattoo shop?”

“Well, see, he’s stellar at portraits. When Brian draws someone’s face, it looks more like them than
they
do. You’ve seen his work, right?”

“I saw the drawing he did of Candace. It’s incredible.”

“But he’s not all that great at lettering. It’s his dirty little secret, and I love to give him shit about it. I’m just the opposite. No way in hell I want to fuck up the face of someone’s loved one on their body, you know? Shit makes me twitchy to even think about. So I draw up all his lettering, and he never throws any portraits my way. Give me a scorpion or a gecko or something any day, I’ll bang it out in no time. But not Grandma Lucy.”

Macy smiled at the way enthusiasm seeped into his voice whenever he talked about his and Brian’s work. “That’s really neat. I wish Candace and I had a story that exciting, but I can’t even remember the first time we met. Our parents are friends. She was homeschooled, and I was pretty much the only person her mom would let her hang out with.” She quieted for a moment, frowning, thinking. “Like with my first boyfriend, probably the only reason she puts up with me is that I’ve always been there.”

“Oh, shut up. There you go again. Although I do hope for your sake that your parents aren’t anything like hers. I don’t know them, but I’ve heard Brian’s horror stories.”

“They’re not. Just your typical nosy, meddling, occasionally embarrassing parents.”

“Huh. I guess you’re lucky to have parents around to be nosy and embarrassing. Mine didn’t hang in there long enough.”

She cringed inwardly. Another touchy subject. “I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. I’m not gonna go to pieces talking about it or anything.”

“So your grandmother raised you after…”

“Yeah. She always said I was the only thing that pulled her through after the accident. My grandpa died when I was a baby, and my older brother was a dick from birth, so she was pretty much all alone except for me and my sister. Made me feel like there was a reason I walked away from the wreck with hardly a scratch, you know?”

“Of course there was a reason. Did you ever doubt it?”

“Through my teen-angst dumbassedness, I think I threw a few ‘fuck the world, I wish I’d died instead of my folks’ tantrums, but I got over that. Brian would always be there to kick my drunk ass if I needed it. Believe me, I fucking needed it.”

“Sounds like he’s been a really good friend to you.”

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, revulsion twisted his voice. “Brian is the brother I should’ve had. Instead of that sorry-ass motherfucker I got strapped with.”

“What’s the deal with your brother?” She racked her brain but couldn’t recall him ever telling her why he hated the guy so much. He barely talked about him at all.

“He’s an asshole. It needs no other explanation.”

“There’s got to be more to it than that. I’m pretty sure everyone has a relative they can say that about. But you…you take it to a whole new level.”

“Yeah? Well, he takes being an asshole to a whole new level.”

“It’s just that I would think after the tragedy you guys went through, you would, I don’t know, pull together.”

“You’d think wrong.” The chill coming off him was palpable. She lifted her head and frowned at him.

“What did he do to you?”

“Let’s change the subject, all right? I don’t want to fuck the night up now.”

Stung, she settled her head back on his shoulder. “Okay.”

He was right. She didn’t want that either. She’d just gotten carried away putting together all his many scattered puzzle pieces. Something told her there wouldn’t be a complete picture for a long, long time, if ever.

God, in the past few minutes they’d covered death, pregnancy and heartbreak—and his
brother
was the deal breaker? Weird. If she kept asking questions, he was probably going to get dressed and bolt.

She
definitely
didn’t want that. Even more disturbing, she found herself wondering what it would be like to have this every night. The warm solidity of his shoulder under her cheek, his fingers lazily traveling up and down her arm.

It couldn’t work. He’d made the terms clear in the car, and she’d agreed. Now that she’d let him in, she had to be on her guard. Lately she’d often thought he was different than he’d seemed when she first met him—the wisecracking, don’t-give-a-damn-about-anyone-or-anything tattoo artist—but it was distinctly possible he wasn’t. At least when it came to her.

How would she compare to the mystery girl who obviously splattered his heart all over hell, or even to the one he’d kept around because she was “insane” and exciting?

Macy had wanted to explore her wild side a bit with him…that’s why she was here. She’d wanted to discover if she even
had
a wild side. She hadn’t expected to feel duller than ever afterward.

The last thing he’d planned on was falling asleep with her snuggled at his side, her head on his shoulder like they were…a couple or something. One moment, they’d been lying in her bed in the peaceful semidarkness; the next, a swath of sunlight was hitting him right between the eyes.

Might as well make the most of it. He rolled over and groped for her warm body only to touch the coolness of empty sheets. Lifting his head and focusing, he not only saw visual evidence she was missing, but an aroma was drifting in from the kitchen that awakened parts of him that were famished for more than her body. He always woke up starving.

He wanted a shower, but first he tugged on his jeans and, leaving them unbuttoned, ambled out into her living room to investigate…bypassing a trophy saddle on the way.

Jesus, yes, the girl liked to ride. He could damn sure attest to that.

She was chopping vegetables at the counter in a silky pink robe thing that barely covered her ass. Moving quietly as he could on his bare feet, he sneaked up behind her and slid a finger under the hem.

Macy gasped and whirled, hazel eyes wide. “Dammit! Don’t do that to a woman with a knife in her hand.”

“You don’t scare me,” he murmured, leaning in to taste the sweetness of her neck. She smelled like warm, sugary vanilla. Tasted like it too. The scent had always barely teased him when he was around her, but now, this close, he could get drunk on it. Drunk on her.

Her knife clattered to the counter, and she sighed and wound her arms around his neck. The position raised the hem of her robe, and he took advantage, sliding his hands over the firm globes of her ass.

He loved how she was soft and strong at once, her muscles solid as any athlete’s, the strength belied by the delicacy of her stature. Perfection, he thought yet again. He really wished he would stop it with that. Nobody was perfect.

She might damn well be as close as he’d ever get.

One quick tug and her robe fell open, baring those high, sweet, pink-tipped breasts. Something sizzled angrily on the stove, but it was nothing compared to the sizzle happening down south. He was as hard right now as he’d ever been last night, the sight of her luscious tits revving him until he was like a race car in the red.

“I’m going to burn the bacon,” she murmured as his lips sought a nipple. For some reason, she made him think of cake frosting. A confection. Far too rich for his palate, but damn if he wasn’t going to steal a bite if he could.

Thank God he’d put his pants back on. Thank God he’d put his wallet back in the pocket last night. Thank God there were more condoms in there. She was already shoving at his jeans, pushing them down his hips so that his erection sprang free. He pulled away from her and groaned as she encased him with her slim fingers. The first time she’d done that months ago, he could’ve blown in her gentle grip like a teenager. Just to be in her hands,
Macy’s
hands, when he’d thought he never would be, had almost been too much for him.

“Hang on,” she whispered and, stretching over to her left, turned off the knob on the stove and moved the pan to a cool eye.

He chuckled, but the sound abruptly died when she hit her knees in front of him. All the air pretty much waved bye-bye to his lungs. He shuffled backward until his ass met the edge of her kitchen island, and he braced his hands against it, trying to catch his breath. As she finally came face-to-face with the snarling, skeletal Grim-Reaper-ish ghost low on his abdomen, she paused long enough to glance up at him and smirk. Thank fuck, it didn’t deter her. Her wet little tongue flickered over his tip and then circled it, and he let his head fall back with an agonized groan.

After three long, damp strokes up his dick, he was panting. Once he was glistening with moisture from her clever tongue, her hand curled around his base, her lips sucked in his crown. Slowly. Not even inch by inch but centimeter by centimeter. She worked him deep as his knees nearly gave out.

“Macy,” he choked out, threading his fingers through silky hair still tousled from their wild escapades last night. He wanted to grab the back of her head and shove it, had to make a fist to keep from doing so. She whimpered as her hair pulled tight. “Sorry,” he whispered, loosening. “I can’t stand it.”

She had yet to show him what he couldn’t stand. Her tongue rolled around his shaft, teased at his piercing, and he growled. Her hand stroked him at his base. Her other hand came up to cup his balls. His entire friggin’ life was focused between his legs in that moment.

But he didn’t want to come down her throat. For that matter, he didn’t want to come in a fucking rubber, either.

There were far worse decisions to have to make, he decided, than where and how to release inside Macy’s willing body. But this kitchen island sure was an ideal height…

He was almost too far gone to stop her. Almost. Grasping her hands, he pulled them away as she glanced up at him questioningly. His cock fell from her mouth with a wet sound that almost made him change his mind. The memory of how soft, tight and perfect her pussy had felt wrapped around him was the only thing that gave him strength. He wanted to be there again, wanted to be there as often as she’d let him before she decided to move on.

Move on…maybe to some other undeserving asshole. The thought sent razor blades shredding through his chest.

He hauled her up to her feet and grabbed her around her slim waist, whirled and planted her on the island. She gave a soft laugh as a strand of dark hair fell over her eyes…stunningly beautiful, dreamy, come-fuck-me eyes. He insinuated himself between her thighs and reached for the back pocket of his drooping jeans. She glanced down at his dick. No drooping there. He was damn near pointing straight up.

Macy’s pink tongue slid over her swollen top lip. He’d love to let it slide over him some more, but he was humming with too much adrenaline, too much pent-up energy. As much as he’d like her to suck him off, right now he needed to fuck. Hard. He needed her to never forget what he felt like inside her.

She reached for his cock while he tore the foil, one corner of that luscious mouth kicked up. “Magnum,” she commented.