The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) (10 page)

“Let’s take this inside, and I’ll explain.”

Once they had drinks in hand, double Balvenie for him, and for Pixie, some fruity drink with a cocktail umbrella, they found a seat.

They managed to snag one of the fireside sofas and took their coats off to get settled. Pixie curled a leg underneath her and faced him. He couldn’t resist running his fingers over her thigh. He took a large gulp of whiskey and leaned toward her so he could keep his voice down.

“We’ve all lived together for about fifteen years . . . some a little longer, some a little less. What do you know about group homes and crown wards?”

“Not much.”

Where was he going to start? He had no idea. All he knew was he felt a compelling need to be honest with her.

“When your parents die or can no longer look after you, they try to find a family member to take you in. They call it a kinship arrangement. While they figure that out, you’re put in temporary foster care. If they can’t find any family, they put you up for adoption. In Ontario, if you don’t get adopted, and have been permanently removed from your family, you remain a permanent ward called a crown ward.”

Pixie squeezed his hand. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.” He took another sip of whiskey, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat.

“And you’ve all lived together ever since?” Pixie removed the umbrella from her drink, sucked on the end, then tucked it behind her ear.

No one else in the upscale lounge would have dreamed of doing something like that. Yet with her sexy-as-fuck tattoos and a colorful umbrella behind her ear, she was more beautiful than any of them. He slid his fingers further along her thigh and watched her eyes flare in response.

“Yeah. We all had . . .
adjustment
issues. You pretty much get kicked out of the system at eighteen. Maisey, our social worker, encouraged us to look out for each other, but it was hard adapting to being on our own. So we agreed to live together to help get through it. But those issues have never been resolved.”

“Do you think they ever will?”

“I have hope. They’re my brothers. Leave no man behind and all that.”

Pixie gazed at the fire, and Dred finished his drink. He continued to stroke her leg, and in spite of the conversation, it turned him on as he brushed higher and higher. If only he could feel her skin rather than the tight black denim she wore.

“I respect you more for that than anything you’ve said to me before.” Pixie turned back to face him. “I mean it.”

Dred leaned in and brushed her lips. “Thank you.”

“I need to go to the washroom. Be right back.”

He watched her walk toward the exit, and pulled out his phone, needing to scribble down the lyrics in his head.

This is crazy. So, so crazy. And it’s painful. So, so, painful.

It was going to make a great chorus, if only Pixie could inspire him with the rest of the song.

* * *

Desmond said a man came to the condo looking for you today. You got two guys on the go, sweet cheeks? :-) P.S. Hope the rock star is treating you like a princess.

Pixie read Lia’s message over and over, then glanced up at Dred who was busily building a fire. From a fun afternoon, they’d had a serious evening, although the mood had lightened considerably once she’d returned from the bathroom. Instead of another drink at the bar, they’d decided to return to Dred’s home and watch a movie.

Yes to the princess. No to a second guy. Can you charm Desmond into giving me a headshot from the security cameras?

The head of security in their apartment building had a soft spot for Lia. The man Desmond referred to had to be Pixie’s stepdad. The idea of him turning up unannounced at her home made her skin itch.

“There. That should keep us going for a while.”

Pixie watched Dred stoke the fire. There was something very . . . manly . . . about it. Plus, she got to check out his ass. His mighty-fine ass. Which was tough, because she was in knots from his flirty kisses and the way he ran his fingers along her thigh all night.

And there was the crux of her issue.

While attending rehab, the counsellor had tried to help her unravel her mangled feelings about intimate relationships. Her synapses were crossed after years of conditioning. Her stepfather had been a voyeur. He used to make her watch pornography, and he’d get off on her response to it. Sometimes he’d make her read erotic stories to him or his friends who’d laugh at her as she stumbled through the pages. It confused her. Sometimes the material aroused her in spite of the insidious fear that crawled through her. It left her feeling dirty, something that had dogged all of her attempts at adult relationships.

The sweet sugary smell of popcorn filled the air, and a bottle of whiskey complete with two glasses sat on the table in front of her.

With a loud clang, Dred replaced the poker in the stand and moved the fireguard back in place. He stepped back, but seemed to watch the fire snap and crackle for a moment. Eventually, he joined her on the sofa that could well have been a bed given its size.

“Come here,” he growled, and effortlessly pulled her up against him. “Fuck, I’ve eaten burgers that weigh more than you do.”

Pixie couldn’t help but laugh. When she’d first seen Dred fill the doorway of Second Circle, his size had intimidated her, which was strange, because she was so used to being around Trent and Cujo. Now she felt secure in his embrace. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I don’t gain weight. I hated being scrawny when I was younger.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not scrawny now.” Dred rubbed his hand down her side, tracing the indent of her waist and sliding his hand under the hemline of her blouse. He reached for the remote and turned on the wall-mounted television “What do you feel like?” he asked, pulling up the movie menu.

It was hard to make a decision with him touching her. He dragged the tips of his nails, which she’d noticed were filed at funny angles, lazily across her skin. Painfully aware of the way his body surrounded hers, it was a wonder she could remember her own name.

“Action? Horror? . . . I’m drawing a line at chick flicks”

“Musical? You don’t want to watch
Pitch Perfect
? Or
Les
Miserables
?
Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?
”

Dred put a hand over her mouth, cutting off one of her most favorite songs. “I’d rather eat my own arm,” he deadpanned.

She giggled and put him out of his misery. “Old-school horror. Well, old school for me.
Nightmare on Elm Street,
Poltergeist,
Hellraiser
. Something like that.”

“Aren’t you a constant surprise?” Dred scrolled through the list. “How about
The Shining
?”

“Perfect.”

Dred started the movie and settled back into the sofa, and Pixie got comfortable leaning against him. She could hear his heart beat. A slow-and-steady throb that beat in time to the haunting melodic notes of the opening scene. The camera panned across the lake, and caught up with a vehicle winding its way through a dense Colorado forest, but Pixie could barely pay attention.

What was it about this man’s fingers? Perhaps it was the heat from the fireplace that was warming her, or the way Dred’s teasing strokes had moved from her back to an inch beneath the waistband of her jeans.

Maybe if she focused more on Kubrick’s exceptional directing and the symbolism of room 237, the arousal she felt would diminish. Or maybe if she dissected Jack Nicolson’s performance as Jack Torrance, it would drive away the need to slide her hands across Dred’s chest to feel if those pecs were as hard as she imagined.

Pixie sat up and reached for her whiskey—maybe the sharp bite would quell the feelings. It felt strange to end their first date in his arms, or even his bed for that matter, but with Dred it felt different. She turned the stout crystal tumbler in her hand. Dred leaned forward and took the glass from her, placing it back on the table.

Like he did with the fire, he stoked flames within her. She turned to face him, and he cupped her cheek.

When his lips meshed against hers, they carried none of the softness she’d experienced over the course of the day, instead they reminded her of all of the pent-up energy he’d unleashed the night of the concert. A vital expression of his hunger.

“Fuck,” he growled against her mouth.

His kiss consumed her and turned her inside out, leaving her all kinds of raw.

He tugged her to him and she fell forward, hands pressed against the contours of his solid chest. Strong hands ran down her back, the sensations too overwhelming to consider the implications of where they were heading. He reached under her butt and lifted her so that she straddled him. She’d never been with such a physically intimidating man before, and his raw strength turned her on.

She forced away feelings of guilt, attempted to sever the past and present.

Dred pulled away from her. “Sorry, Pix, I . . . Fuck . . . Ten more seconds.”

Pixie fought against the riptide he created. Just when she felt like she had her head above water, Dred groaned against her lips, his muttered curses of desire pulling her back under. She was drowning. Pixie pushed against his chest, torn between the fear and desire of continuing.

“Sorry, Pix. Being around you is . . .”

“Yeah. I know.” She sighed, collecting her emotions that seemed to have run all over the floor like errant marbles. She fidgeted on his lap.

“As good as that feels, Pix, I’m trying to ignore the way your ass feels pressed against my cock.” He looked down at her, his eyes giving none of his feelings away, but the hard ridge of his erection said enough.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Dred lifted her off him and lay down lengthways on the sofa. He held out his hand to her. “Come back here, Snowflake.” She liked the way he called her that. It had a purity to it she wasn’t sure she possessed.

She lay down in front of him, her back up against his chest Dred wrapped his arms around her and pulled her a little higher so her head was on the cushions.

He smoothed her hair back and kissed her gently on the neck. “I’m more than willing to wait for you, Pix, because I think when you and I finally sleep together, it’s going to be unlike anything I’ve experienced. But don’t for a second think that I’m not desperate to strip you naked and take you right here.”

And his words made her want that, too.

* * *

Fuck me, it’s bright.

Dred squinted one eye open and tried to focus.
Shit
. They were still on the family room sofa. Someone had thrown a blanket over them. Likely one of the guys when they’d come home last night. He was so freaking hot, and his mouth felt like something had died in it.

If he didn’t know better, he’d swear an octopus was clamped around him. He lifted his head to look at Pixie. She was still very much asleep, her mouth slightly agape yet still beautiful.

His balls were probably bluer than the Blue Jay’s mascot, but that didn’t stop his cock having a mind of its own.

He looked toward the kitchen counter to see Jordan munching away on the only breakfast cereal he’d eat, Lucky Charms. He had six boxes in the cupboard, always fearful he’d run out. There were provisions in their contract to have them on hand at every gig. Christ, they were a fucked-up bunch.

“Morning, brother,” he said quietly.

Deftly, he untangled their limbs and managed to climb over the back of the sofa. Sure, he had a crick in his neck, but he’d had the best night’s sleep he’d had in months.

The thought of Pixie going home today was like a kettlebell to the balls. Not only had she accepted what he’d told her about living with the guys, she’d told him she respected him for it. The kinds of girls that had stayed over in the past were more interested in fucking the
rock star,
and in some cases, rock stars. Groupies who wanted to land them all at some point or another. They never thought to question why the band all lived in the same house.

What if she went home and decided to not come back? Or worse, what if his anger issues scared her away? Wasn’t it a fait accompli that she would leave? Would she give up on him like his nine sets of foster parents had? The only people who hadn’t were Maisey, Ellen, and the men in this house.

He grabbed a piece of paper from next to the fridge and scribbled as more of the song he’d started the previous night came to him.

I can’t write this song without you. What am I going to do?

Dred tapped his pen against the paper. The other words were ideas. Images. Nothing that he could settle into place.

Jordan pushed a cup of coffee across the counter. He’d not even seen him get up.

“You look like you need this,” he whispered.

Dred looked over to where Pixie was still sleeping. Part of him wanted to carry her upstairs and keep her in bed for the day. But he felt the shift in her when they were kissing on the sofa. She’d been right there with him one minute, then something got into her head and she’d pushed him away. He wanted to push her, not into sex because he would never do that, but he wanted to challenge her into understanding what had come between them in that moment so they could address it.

“Thanks.” Dred took a sip. Sure it was manlier to drink it straight up black, but he preferred it sweeter than sweet.

“Did you guys have a good night?”

“Yeah. Almost too good.” Dred replied with a smile.

Footsteps entered the kitchen behind him. “Must have been a shitty fuck given the state of you, all cuddled up on the sofa like you’re still in high school.”

What happened to the stool he was sitting on or the coffee in his hand, he’d never know. Nor would he ever recall the steps he took across the kitchen floor. Because all that mattered right now was choking the shit out of Lennon for his hugely disrespectful comments.

He’d take a night, fully dressed, on the sofa with Pixie over every faceless groupie that had walked through the front door and fucked him senseless.

“Shut the fuck up, Lennon.”