Beneath This Ink (Page 43)

Her luminous blue eyes darted up to mine, confused. “You changed your mind?”

I lowered her as I replied, “What? No. Just can’t put you on my bike. Should’ve driven the Tahoe. But I didn’t think beyond getting here as fast as I could.”

Once she was seated, I reached into my pocket, palming my phone. I kept my attention on her even as I scanned through my contacts to find the cab company I normally used. Vanessa swiped at the remains of her tears with the side of her hand and seemed to pull herself together.

“Don’t. It’s okay. The bike is fine. I’m not going to fall off.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. This is easier.”

I found the number and was about to initiate the call when she pushed off the bench and stood.

“What—”

I didn’t get the rest of my question out before she marched off toward the parking lot.

The fuck?

“Vanessa, wait.”

She didn’t bother to turn, just kept walking toward my bike—which was still parked in the clergy spot I’d nabbed. I was happy to see they weren’t towing people at this hour. Either that or security bought the idea of a clergyman riding a Harley.

I hurried after her, catching up to her just before she grabbed the helmet off the seat. “What are you doing?”

Her lips were compressed, her brow furrowed, and her jaw set. Determined. Mulish, even. “I want to ride the goddamn bike. So let’s go.”

I wasn’t going to argue with the woman. It was damn near four AM, and I wasn’t going to win. I wasn’t even going to try.

“Fine. Get on. I’ll buckle your helmet.”

She didn’t ask where we were going, and I didn’t offer. There was only one place that seemed right. So I pointed the bike back toward the lake house.

I wanted to ride the goddamn bike.

Traumatic experiences affect people differently. In the past, I’d always pulled myself inward, shoring up my defenses to create a private, hidden place to let the pain batter me into submission. From the outside, you’d never know the battle raging within.

I’d been building those walls, cementing them even as I said Hail Mary after Hail Mary with Ms. Vincent. I had a feeling she was doing the same thing. Because without those walls, we’d have no choice but to break. And as women, we didn’t have time to break. We were too busy trying to figure out how to cope and fix.

But tonight? Con had screwed up everything. His surprise appearance had derailed my emotional masonry. Instead of standing tall on my own, he’d propped me up, lent me his strength. I didn’t know how I felt about that. But now, instead of keeping everything contained, the storm was blowing out of control, and I wanted to do something crazy. Instead of numbing the hurt, I wanted to feel alive.

I wrapped my arms around Con as we rode. He was so solid. So steady.

I didn’t think when he pulled between the stilts of the lake house. I didn’t try to stay his hands as he removed my helmet. I didn’t protest when he led me toward the back stairs and then up and inside. I waited for him to pause inside the massive sitting room just beyond the doors.

And then I acted.

I shoved him toward the sofa where he’d given me the most intense orgasm I’d had since…that night he didn’t remember and I remembered all too vividly.

“Whoa, princess. What the hell are you doing?”

“Shut up.”

Con’s head jerked back, and his eyebrows went up as he let me push him down into a seated position.

I reached for the hem of the scrub shirt and…my not-quite-a-plan unraveled when I remembered that I was still gross from crawling around on the ground.

The wave of disappointment hit me so hard, tears burned behind my eyes. I’d already cried too much tonight. I didn’t want Con to see me cry again—not when I was just feeling sorry for myself. I spun, turning my back to him, and wrapped my arms around my middle.

“Whoa, princess.” The words were the same as those he’d spoken only a few seconds before, but this time his tone was hushed, careful. Like he was worried he was going to watch me lose it again like I had in the elevator.

I fought back the tears and cleared my throat.

“Do you have a shower I can use? I’m disgusting.”

I felt the heat of his body against my back before I even realized he’d stood. For a moment I expected a smart-ass comment, and then realized I was operating on my old assumptions. He’d been nothing short of amazing tonight—a stand-up guy beneath all the ink that colored my and society’s judgment of him.

“You can use whatever you want. Including me, if that’s what you need.”

Jesus. I was so transparent. “It’s not… I mean… Never mind.” I breathed deeply and took a half step forward, but Con’s arms wrapped around me from behind and yanked me back against his chest.

He whispered against my hair, “Maybe I need it, too.”

I squirmed, and he loosened his arms, as though preparing to drop them. I twisted around to face him. His deep blue eyes lowered to mine. “Then don’t make me shower alone,” I whispered.

I ran a hand down his rippling bicep, skimmed along the colorful tattoos on his ropey forearm, and laced my fingers with his. I wasn’t sure if he was going to take me up on my invitation until he squeezed my hand, trapping my palm against his.

His voice was rough when he said, “Follow me.”

I began to second-guess my offer as soon as we hit the bathroom—at the exact moment I realized he was going to see me naked under the bright lights. No dimly lit bedroom. No covers to hide under.