The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) (11 page)

Lennon grinned as Dred pushed his arm further across his neck. “Just messing with you,” he choked.

Dred shoved Lennon into the fridge, causing the contents to shake and rattle. “Asshole.”

“Thanks for the backup, Jordan,” said Lennon, bending over from the waist, winded by the sudden move.

“You dug your own hole.” Jordan calmly took another drink.

It was a long way from the first, and equally as distant from the last, fight the house would see. They fought constantly, always brushing up against the intersection of their tempers and fears.

“Looks like he didn’t dig
any
hole last night. Wouldn’t be wound up so tight if he—oof!” Lennon collapsed to the floor as his stomach made contact with Dred’s fist. Dred was preparing to pull him up and hit him again, when Jordan stepped in.

“Okay, you owed him that, but it’s done, Dred. And as for you”—Jordan turned to Lennon who was on his knees, winded—“you need to get back upstairs and get ready. Rehearsal starts in half an hour.”

Dred pushed away from Lennon to see Pixie, who had woken up at some point during the interaction and was now sitting up on the sofa, staring at him wide eyed.

“But I wanted to get—”

“No. You didn’t,” said Jordan, cutting him off. “Grab something on your way back down.”

Dred could hear the tap, the banging in the sink, and the sound of the dishwasher door being opened, but he never took his eyes off her.

“Catch you once we’ve got the tunes down,” Jordan said, and Dred heard the footsteps fade in the direction of the stairs to the basement.

Her hair was mussed up, and she pulled the blanket tight around her.

He’d hit Lennon because he made a stupid joke that anyone of them would have made on any other day. But because it was about her, he’d been out of the chair and at his throat, literally, before Jordan had finished his sentence.

There was no clear explanation why Lennon’s words bothered him so much.

Just as there was no explanation for how this woman was starting to mean so much to him.

Jars rattling loudly had woken her, and Pixie had opened her eyes in time to see Lennon pushed up against the fridge. Dred, obviously the larger of the two, had him at a disadvantage. But Lennon didn’t look overly concerned. In fact, Jordan was grinning, even after Dred had punched Lennon in the stomach.

The room emptied quickly, leaving her clutching the blanket to her chest as she decided how to make her excuses and go to the washroom.

Dred walked toward her and joined her on the sofa. “Morning, Snowflake,” he said, following it with a soft kiss, his lips warm and inviting.

She wanted to know what happened. “What was that about?”

“Lennon being an idiot.”

“So you hit him?”

“Yeah. He was disrespectful of this.” Dred used his hand to go between the two of them and the sofa.

“Of you and me?”

“No, that we slept on the sofa.”

“Because the sofa’s bad?”

“Geez, Pix, are you gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Dred put his head into his hands.

“Because we weren’t naked or in bed, fucking each other. He implied we . . . that I wasn’t—”

“I get it.” Because they’d slept on the sofa, clothed. “So your pride was hurt.” Pixie tried not to think about what Lennon would make of her secret.

Dred turned and looked at her. “No, definitely not that. I couldn’t give a shit about how long he thinks I lasted, or didn’t. I didn’t want him saying anything about you. And this. It’s too important. Too . . . God, I don’t know.”

There he was. Protecting her again without even realizing he was doing it. Yes, the man had a short fuse, but he also had a fiercely loyal sense of right and wrong, and his inherent instinct was to always look out for her. “I’m not sure I get your methods, but thank you for defending my honor,” she said with a smile.

“Anytime, Snowflake,” he leaned to whisper in her ear. “Best. Fucking. Night. Ever.”

“You don’t mean that,” Pixie laughed, sadly.

Dred growled and grabbed her, pulling them both to their feet. “Want me to show you how much I enjoyed it?” He pressed up against her and she could feel the hard ridge of his erection against her stomach. It aroused and terrified her in equal measure.

It would be so easy to say yes, and let him lead her upstairs, but the familiar emotions would swamp her once she was there.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Dred. I just . . .”

“It’s fine, Pix. I’m not pushing. I’m chasing away any doubts lingering in that brain of yours that Lennon had a point.”

Stepping up on her toes, she kissed him and he sucked on her lower lip.

“What was that for?”

Pixie smiled. “I’m chasing away any lingering doubts in that brain of yours that I might think he did.”

While Dred went down to the recording room to have a quick discussion with the band, Pixie took a long shower in his luxurious bathroom. But beyond the high-end shower with more dials than could possibly be useful, and towels that were softer than anything she had ever felt, it was sparse and bare, nothing a plant and some accessories wouldn’t solve. Wrapped up in her towel, she blow-dried her hair straight, and deciding on a light makeup day, applied some mascara and lip balm.

Putting everything away neatly in her suitcase, Pixie heard her phone ping.

So glad dude is not lover #2 . . . we’d be having words about your taste!

Lia had attached a photograph. Her stepdad had attempted to see her at the condo. Pixie put her phone down. His presence confused her. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. Like what had happened after she had fled the trailer. There was no way Arnie would have called the police with all the drugs he had stockpiled around the place. So whatever happened next would have required someone to move the body. Her stomach roiled at the thought.

The smells of breakfast frying wafted into the room, making her feel even more nauseated.

There was something symbolic, or maybe simply ironic, about the timing. In the past, she’d been out on dates because it felt like that was what she was expected to do. Or because Lia had set her up on one. Occasionally, she’d started talking to a visitor to the shop and hit it off, accepting their offer of coffee. But Dred was the first man she could see potential in. That what they were building might have enough momentum to see them over the starting hurdles, even if they didn’t finish the race. So wasn’t it strange that as soon as she found him, her stepdad reappeared in her life, the complete opposite of her guardian angel?

Pixie sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. Not knowing what Arnie intended to do was torture.

Now, she was going to put it all aside. She was in Canada. With Dred. She wanted to enjoy spending time with him, not worrying about what her stepfather wanted. There was a sexy-as-all-heck man downstairs waiting for her. One who had put her comfort first, and hadn’t pushed her, although his whispered words lured her to let go of her inhibitions. To let him take the one thing her stepfather and his cronies had never been able to.

She wandered back down to the kitchen, praying her tummy would settle.

“Perfect timing.” Dred served up two large platefuls of eggs and bacon. It was midmorning and they ate breakfast ravenously. Pixie drank her body weight in coffee, and the low-grade hangover she had from all the alcohol they’d consumed the night before dissipated.

“Okay, here’s what I thought we could do today.” Dred ran through the list, but she wasn’t really paying attention.

Sure, she was watching his mouth, the full bottom lip, wondering if she had the courage to lean over and suck it into her mouth.

Maybe if she simply talked to him, tripped her way through her hang-ups, he’d understand. Trent had all kinds of issues with Harper when they first got together. But this was different. Would he even believe her? There were times, given everything that had happened to her, that even she couldn’t believe it was true. She’d killed the man who’d tried to take the only thing that was truly hers.

“So which of those do you want to do?” he asked her.

“What?”

“Where were you, Pix?”

“I’m sorry, I just . . .”

Dred took hold of her hand. “Say it, Snowflake.”

“No, honestly, please. What were the options again?”

Dred kissed the back of her hand, then turned it over, and kissed her palm. “The options were tell me the truth or we can sit here all day.” He sighed as he let go of her hand and placed it back on her lap. “I want you to share things with me, Snowflake. Big things, funny things, inconsequential things, sad things. Everything.”

Her stomach tightened and she took a deep breath. Was he ready?

His hands gripped her knees and squeezed them. “Trust me.”

“I haven’t . . . before . . . you know . . . with a man . . .”

* * *

Pure like a snowflake.

He knew it was primal and not at all modern or sensitive, but fuck. She’d handed him the greatest gift in the universe. No one had touched her in the way he wanted to. He’d get to be her first. And yet embarrassment tinted her cheeks like it was a bad thing. Trent’s warning about going slow suddenly made sense. Had she told him? “Does anyone else know?” he asked.

“No,” she pulled away from him. “Of course not. You think it’s something I advertise?” She stood and took her plate to the sink.

Shit
. He was handling this all wrong. Finally he had something that was his alone. Something he’d never be forced to share with others. Something nobody could take away from him. Something the beautiful woman in front of him was willing to share with him.

She came to grab his plate, and he reached for her hand. “For a lyricist, I have a unique knack for being completely crap at saying the right thing.”

Pixie faced him, and for a moment, he could see the words she wasn’t saying. Trent and Cujo’s protectiveness, her reluctance, her embarrassment. The reason she hadn’t slept with anyone wasn’t a choice. It was a fear. Borne of the kind of misery she’d suffered. She was like him, and while his heart hurt for her, it meant she understood him. And he understood her.

“Tell me again, Snowflake.” He pulled her toward him so they were eye level.

Gently, Pixie shook her head. He placed her hand on his chest.

“Give me the chance to tell you what my heart felt, rather than what my head thought.”

“I’m a virgin. There. Are you happy?” She wriggled in his arms, which given the topic of conversation had his cock standing to full attention. Not that it was going to get any relief any time soon. He was going to woo the crap out of this woman before he took her to bed for the first time.

“I’m fucking ecstatic, Pixie. And nervous as shit. That you’d even consider sharing something as precious as that with me is the greatest gift ever.”

Pixie tucked her head into his shoulder, her hands down by her sides. Moments ticked by. Then he felt her warm lips brush his neck, and he tightened his grip on her. They blazed a trail along his neck and under his jaw until her lips found his.

She wiggled her hands out of his embrace and held either side of his face, which made him feel . . . what? Cherished?

He ran his hands along her sides, feeling the soft swell of her breasts before he moved to hold her face in the same way she held his. Following her lead, he deepened the kiss, reminding himself that no matter how strong the urge to lift her onto the kitchen counter and take her was, they had a lot of ground to cover before that could happen. A fire lit in his chest. He burned for her. Yet for once, he was looking forward to taking the time to help Pixie explore her sexuality.

Breathless, he pulled away from her. Her pout was adorable, all swollen pink lips. “We need ground rules, Snowflake.”

“We do?”

“Yeah.” He ran his hands through her hair, over her shoulders, and down until they rested at the small of her back. “I want you to feel safe with me. So rule one is, you choose the when, and I’ll choose the what.”

“You’ll choose the what?” she asked breathily.

Yeah. The what . . . because he loved control in bed more than music.

He nodded. “Trust me.”

“Are you not going to ask me why?” Pixie eyes went wide.

He didn’t need to think about it. “No,” he said shaking his head. “Because you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But will you answer this one question for me?”

“What is it?” she asked nervously.

“Your reason. It’s not simply a case of saving yourself for the right person, which I would totally respect, is it?”

Pixie shook her head. “I’ve tried this before, Dred. And it never ends well.”

Lucky for him that every other asshole who was given the chance messed it up.
“This will. Because rule number two says I promise to stop if you say so. I want to try. I want to strip you and lick you. I want you to strip me, and lick me, and enjoy it. And if we get to go further, I want to run my fingers over you and in you unless you tell me to stop. I don’t want to ask permission each time I touch you, or to bring it up again and remind both of us what’s going on. I want to savour it. Savour you.”

Because he couldn’t resist, he kissed her again. The rules were working, her hands gripped his shoulders, her body pressed up against his, and it felt like heaven. He ran his hands lower and squeezed her ass, pulling her closer, and bit back a smile when she groaned against him.

“Can I add a rule?” she asked, her lips a hairsbreadth away from his.

Dred nodded, anxious to hear what she had to say.

“You can’t treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m not going to break, Dred.”

“Agreed.” To support his point, he slid his hands inside the back of her jeans, grazing the smooth skin of her butt.

When she gasped, he laughed. “Ready to see our rehearsal?” he asked, changing the direction of the conversation and hopefully redirecting the blood away from his cock. He was ninety percent concerned about Pixie and ten percent ready to take her in every way known to man, so distractions were good.

He gave her the full tour of the studio, something he’d never done with another woman. It was all the groupies ever wanted to do, but he didn’t want to leave a trace of history in the place he went to be inspired. Lingering impressions of people in his workspace would influence the music he created there.

Practice lasted a couple of hours. Remarkably, Dred had been able to focus after the bomb Pixie had dropped on him. Nikan had been playing around with the chorus of a song they were working on where all four guitars played a hugely complex yet different series of notes, and it was taking a while to get the timing right. They stopped for a break before lunch to discuss making some changes. Pixie was busy laughing as Lennon tried to teach her a basic eighth-note rock groove using the hi-hat, bass, and snare. She was useless at it, but when Lennon took over to show her again, she started to sing the opening to “Billy Jean.”

He did a double take. Her voice was . . . perfect. Like tone, pitch, depth. Everything about it absolutely perfect. He’d heard her hum, even sing quietly, but this had power.

Jordan joined in with his bass and Pixie stumbled on her words.

“No,” Lennon shouted, “keep going.”

Nikan and Dred threw their straps back over their shoulders, Nikan taking on an electric equivalent to the violin accompaniment, Dred the guitar solo.

Dred gestured her over to his microphone and she shook her head furiously. He laughed. Sometime he forgot how good it was to just play. And not their own shit, either. Or even their own genre. Songs they loved by other artists, songs they played as kids when they didn’t have their own back catalogue.

When the song finally finished, Pixie whooped and hollered as Lennon high-fived her. Dred swung his guitar off his shoulder and waited for her to come to him.

“Holding out on me, huh, Pix?” he said when she finally made her way to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“That was fun,” she said, her eyes all wide and bright.

“You’ve got quite the voice.” And she had. It made him get all kinds of stupid ideas. Like asking her to record something with him.