The Strongest Steel (16 page)

When their eyes finally met, hers were wet with tears. He could see the effort it was taking to hold herself together. He admired the control she was starting to show.

“I really want to do normal with you, Trent. I want to look forward to wearing a bikini on the beach. I want to enjoy going dancing again. I want to anticipate the first night you sleep over at my place and the first time we, you know … assuming those aren’t the same.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Now that you have an idea of what happened, do you still want to be
normal
with me?”

Words choked him. Until he could find his voice, he took her hand, turned it over, and kissed her palm. He wanted to protect her for the rest of her life.

“More than you know. We can absolutely try normal because I want you to look forward to all those things. Hell, I want to look forward to all those things too, especially the sex part.” He laughed softly.

She smiled at that and blushed. “After everything I said, the sex part is what you pick up on.”

“I’m a guy. We always pick up on the sex part, even if you don’t mention a sex part. And it made you smile.”

He grabbed a tissue and wiped her tears. “So from today, you and me and normal, right? I know enough about what happened, and you know it doesn’t affect what I think of you. And if something we do triggers memories, we’ll talk about it before you run. Deal?”

She shook his hand with the one he’d just kissed.

“Deal,” she said. And this time when she smiled, it reached her eyes.

Chapter Ten

Shit. Trent switched his coffee cup to the other hand and tried to shake himself free of the drips of scalding liquid that were currently burning his arm and falling onto the bench seat of his car.

Harper walked toward him in tiny little denim shorts that showcased her toned, runner’s legs and a white tank top with a little black bikini top underneath. He’d never seen her in so little clothing, and she looked positively delicious. Yes, it was probably bad for business to close the studio on a Friday in May, but it was great for morale and came with the added bonus of spending the day with Harper. The guys had been talking about the beach music festival for weeks and it was a great excuse to take a day off.

He got out of the car, placed his coffee on the roof, reached over and took the bags from her, landing a quick kiss on her lips.

“Morning, darlin’. You look amazing. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby. My back feels so much better today. It’s unreal the difference a few days make.”

Trent dropped the bags in the trunk before slamming it down. “Let me see,” he said turning her to lift her tank.

“Mmm.”

“What do you mean ‘mmm’?” Harper asked impatiently.

“Nothing … just … Mmm.”

“Is something wrong? Did I not put the cream on right or something?” She tried to look over her shoulder.

Trent ran his finger down the edge of the sword before curling up the outlines for the flames, enjoying the way she shivered in response.

“Nope. It’s freakin’ hot is all,” he said appreciatively, continuing to stroke her back. “Told you … hot chick with bad-ass tattoo … actually, a bad-ass tattoo, done by me on
my
hot chick … works for me.”

He laughed when she turned around and smacked him in the ribs.

“You’re a jackass, Trent Andrews.”

“So I’ve been told, Ms. Connelly. So I’ve been told.”

It was a glorious day, and the temperature was supposed to reach the mid-eighties by the afternoon. It was still early enough in May that the beach wouldn’t be as manic as it would be come July.

The drive to the beach was filled with loud, vintage 80s hair rock and a whole lot of laughter. They found the rest of the guys close to the water and set up blankets next to theirs. Cujo was already lying prone on a huge beach towel. Eric and Pixie were swimming, and Lia was sitting in a low beach chair reading a steamy paperback novel, if the front cover was anything to go by.

There was a stage area set up farther down the beach and even though it was still reasonably early, a local radio station was broadcasting live, an irritatingly catchy pop song blasting from the speakers.

Trent grabbed Harper’s hand and pulled her toward him for a longer kiss good morning. The feel of her small hands gripping onto his biceps made him groan.

“Hey,” he grumbled as she pushed him away. “I was enjoying that.”

“I’m starting to sizzle,” she said, smiling.

“So was I.”

“No, in a third-degree-burn kind of way.” He watched as she rummaged around in her bag. “Could you put some of this on my back, please?”

Visions of rubbing the warm cream into her soft skin passed through his head, making their way down to his shorts. He read the label on the sunscreen and laughed.

“SPF ninety? Harper, baby. Really?”

“What’s wrong with that? I don’t want skin cancer.”

“Yeah, but you can’t go on looking like a ghost either! You’re the palest person I know,” Trent said, lifting up onto his elbows. “Look around, Harp. Everyone here has some color.”

He did have a point—all she could see were golden tans.

“Here.” Trent dug around in his own bag. “SPF thirty. It’s got all the UVA type stuff in it. You won’t fry.”

“No, I’ll just broil in my own juices.”

Laughing, he squirted some of the cream onto his hand. “Where do you want it?” he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“I can do it myself, you know. I’m not twelve.” Flustered. Just how he liked her.

“And where would the fun be in that?” Taking the initiative, he grabbed her leg as she giggled, smoothing the cream slowly up and down her long limbs.

Bad idea. He was going to be harder than granite within minutes.

He rubbed the cream into her soft, smooth calves, taking his time to massage the firm muscles she had from running. Reaching over her knees and stroking softly around the back of them, he moved up her thighs toward the hem of her shorts. Her perfect skin was warm from the hot sun.

Man, if she got some color on those whiter-than-white legs then she was going to look even more stunning than she already did.

When his fingers brushed gently under the hem, he couldn’t resist. “You leaving these on today, Harper?” he whispered, so close to her mouth that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

Truth be told, he was desperate to see her without them. One less item of clothing between him and the Promised Land.

A soft blush passed over her dewy skin, tempting him, and he stole a quick kiss.

“Trent,” she whispered, glancing over at Cujo and Lia. She grabbed his hand, which was still moving under the hem.

Loving that he could embarrass her like that, he smiled.

“No one is paying us any mind.” Leaning over her, he kissed her softly. “Let me pull them down for you, darlin’,” he murmured softly against her lips. “You know you want me to.”

Reaching between them, he unbuttoned them and slowly pulled down the zipper, brushing against her stomach with his knuckles as he lowered it.

He groaned as he was hit in the ribs by a perfect football shot from Cujo, who was now sitting up on his towel. “Get a fucking room, dude.”

Harper’s eyes went wide, and her flush deepened.

With a quick wink to her, he launched himself at his friend and took him down on the sand.

“Oh my God, you are such boys!” Lia shrieked, shaking sand from inside her paperback.

They continued to wrestle, rolling over the blankets.

Cujo finally gave up. “Uncle.”

Harper pulled some papers out of her bag. He loved the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating and how energized and excited she sounded when she talked about helping her friend, Joanie.

As he walked toward the water to wash off the sand, he wished he could just drag Harper with him, but her tattoo was not even close to being healed. It would be close to the end of the summer by the time all the appointments would be done and the two-to-three-week healing stage passed.

It was great to see her in a tiny tank top with the top of the tattoo just showing above it. She was always so buttoned up in long sleeves. She looked younger today, more carefree. He couldn’t wait for her tattoo to be healed enough that she could show it off.

He should buy her the black-and-white polka-dot bikini she wanted. It would look great with her tattoo and the new tan she was developing. More beach days were required. Or time on his condo balcony, perfect for a little afternoon delight.

Diving into the water helped cool his desire, and get rid of the hard-on that had been growing at the thought of her in a two-piece.

Going slowly was killing him, but there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that the clever and quick-witted woman wrapped up in that sexy body was worth it. The truth was, he was enjoying having to work for it.

He turned in the water to look at her. Harper put the papers down and flipped onto her stomach, shorts off, her pert ass visible to everyone. He could only hope the wait would be over soon.

*   *   *

Abercrombie boys had nothing on these men. All of them were cut. Cujo with his tall, muscular frame, bald head, and piercing blue eyes. Eric with his athletic runner’s build and dirty blond hair. And Trent.

The brief flash she’d had of him that first night at the studio had been nothing but a teaser.

He had a goodness-knows-how-many pack and those crazy V-things that led down to the places that currently seemed to be occupying her dreams. In board shorts that hung low on his hips, he was every girl’s fantasy. Watching him walk up the beach, dripping wet and smoothing his dark hair back with both hands so his biceps and pecs flexed, made her tingle all over.

He flopped down on his towel in front of her and rested his head on her stomach. She ran her fingers through his incredibly dark hair as the sun dried it back to soft, messy waves.

Harper had never felt more alive. It was perfect—the sound of gulls flying over the crystal blue water, the hot sun on her skin, Trent’s soft seductive touches as they lazed together.

“As much as I don’t want to interrupt this,” he said, his voice low, “can you put some sunscreen on me?”

She poured some into her hands and rubbed them together.

Trent sat up, and Harper knelt behind him, her thighs tight against his hips.

His skin was warm as she smeared the cream across his shoulders, taking more than a moment to admire his muscles before dropping lower. She hadn’t had the chance to check out the rest of his tattoos up close before. They were spectacular.

“Tell me more about your tattoo.”

“What do you want to know?” Trent asked lazily, stroking his fingers down the top of one of her thighs.

“What they mean. Like what does the one on your back stand for?” Her hands made slow and steady progress, rubbing the cream in lower and lower. It looked a bit like a mountainous landscape with angels leading humans up to the summit.

“Purgatory.”

“And this”—she stroked her hands over a beautiful couple embracing—“looks, well, incredible.”

“My mom used to tell me the reason
The Divine Comedy
is interesting is because it shows how love is connected to everything. The seven terraces on the Mountain of Purgatory reflect each of the seven sins. People end up there because of their love of something considered unholy.”

She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder.

Trent quickly turned his head and captured her lips, laughing as he caught her off guard.

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird, right? Dante wanted to show that the love that comes from God is pure but that when it gets into our hands, we have a tendency to screw it up. Love can be abused by us mere mortals. Like love too strong could be lust. Or love, when abused, can drive a guy to wrath.”

His words hit very close to home. Harper nudged him forward again so she could take a closer look. There were so many details to take in. She could see elements of the story she remembered.

“Who did it for you?”

“Junior. He found Cujo and me when we were thirteen, spraying the back of his studio with a dollar-store aerosol can.”

Harper laughed. “You were a child vandal. I can see that somehow.”

“Yeah … all Cujo’s fault … the worst trouble I ever got into was with him. But Junior taught me everything I know. He did all of this over two years, as soon as I was old enough.”

“Well, he did a spectacular job. I wish I could have met him.”

“Me too. He was something else. Half my size, but could kick my ass from here to New York. If I can be half as good as he was, I’ll be happy.”

Harper put her arms around Trent’s waist, leaning against his back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his skin. His hands covered hers.

“It’s all good. Junior had time to make his peace with the world before he went, and man did he have the craziest life. He gave me three amazing gifts—my ink, the Road Runner, and a career I love. All things considered, I love the guy.”

Harper had a feeling that, from everything she had heard, Junior had felt the same way about the highly loveable man sitting in front of her.

Trent pulled her arms tight around his front and sighed. The sun had turned the sea into a sparkling aquamarine. Parents ran by the waterline, chasing toddlers covered in melted Popsicles and carrying little plastic buckets. Couples walked hand in hand, stopping periodically to kiss each other or to simply stare into each other’s eyes.

“This feels good,” Trent said, turning to her with a soft smile, “if you know what I mean.” She did because she felt it too.

“It’s normal,” she said, kissing him softly.

“I like normal. I’m good with all the other stuff we’ve got to work through, but normal can be pretty spectacular. Just being here with you, on a beautiful day. This feels good.”

For the first time in years, Harper allowed herself to think maybe everything was going work out the way it was supposed to.

Cujo grabbed them pizza for dinner, complemented by the beers everyone was drinking clandestinely from plastic cups—everyone but Trent, her personal designated driver. The festival was in full swing now, and the crowd was growing larger. The music blasting from the main stage down the beach inspired Pixie and Lia to drag Harper up to dance, even though she preferred not to.