Tears of Ink (Tears of ... Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  “What is it about then? Apart from you having sex with your teacher.” Her face widens in awe. “That’s so cool. Not that I’d ever want to have sex with any of the teachers at St Mary’s, they are all female, and all nuns for a start.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head and try to make sense of what she’s saying.

  “Nuns. You know? They ran our school.”

  I’m wide-eyed. “Wow.”

  Tabitha grins. “I’d say wow, it was interesting.”

  With a wink, I lean over the table and drop my voice. “Was it all Enid Blyton, anchovy paste on toast, and pillow fights?”

  “Anchovies on what?” Tabitha makes a gagging noise which causes the woman behind the bar with the big bust to look over with a frown.

  “Come on, you must have read Enid Blyton?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s no wonder he likes you so much. Eli’s always talking about books like they are real.”

  “Really?” I can’t help but absorb this little nugget of information.

  “Hell yeah, he’s such a geek. You know Peter used to bully him so bad when they were kids because Eli always wanted to read, or make stuff indoors, and Peter said he wasn’t built like proper boys.”

  “Well that’s cruel.” And I can assure Peter that he’s built exactly like other boys. I might not have seen what’s under the clothing, but I’m highly skilled at judging hidden form.

  “Siblings, right?” She shrugs. “I was always out of it because I was so much younger.”

  “That is a massive age gap.”

  “Ten years between Eli and I, but he always looked after me. Peter I never really saw. He was off to Prep school and was happy there. Eli was a home bird. He hated Prep and being away from home.”

  I’m not entirely sure what a Prep school is, but I know it’s something rich people go to, and really that’s all I need to know. I can imagine Peter there all too well. Then I can see those big blue eyes of Elijah absorbing everything and seeing it in shades of depths of colour. Real, painful, and alive.

  “When did your dad leave?” I ask. Without even thinking about it, my gaze drops to the teardrops I have running along the inside of my right wrist.

  Her eyes hold mine. “When I was two.”

  “And you still see him?” Elijah didn’t say much in his studio once he’d tried to explain his weird relationship with his family, and I’ve got to colour in the blanks somehow.

  “No.”

  “What, never?”

  She shakes her head and I know to drop it.

  “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

  A cold creeping crawl spindles sharp tingly claws down my spine. “No.” I drain my glass.

  “That’s sad.”

  “Tragic.” I motion to her glass. “Want another one?”

  She nibbles the inside of her mouth. “We should get back.”

  “One more and then we will get back for a nice sensible night before tomorrow’s fun.”

  Tabitha squints her eyes and I think I probably should have asked her if she’s even drunk before. I guess I just thought all teenagers did. Maybe that’s just in Brighton.

  Three more wines later and Tabitha has wisely switched onto orange juice—straight. The wine is flooding my veins, hot molten lava of reckless inhibition. It calls to me, crooning my favourite song. My legs are a little weak and heavy and I’m beginning to think how lovely it would be to touch someone, to have hands on my flushed skin and to lose myself to that one desperate moment of euphoria.

  “You know.” I lean over the table again, although I don’t think my voice is as quiet as it should be—not that I really care. “There’s a serious lack of talent in this pub. Is the whole village like this?”

  One old man in the corner turns to look at me and tilts his glass. Chuckling, I tip mine back. Yeah, buddy, I’m a bit drunk. I’m not fricking legless.

  “I thought you and Eli were having a thing?” Tabitha asks. She sounds innocent and sane. Clearly, she needs to have her head read.

  “Why on earth would you think that?”

  Okay, so maybe we’ve kissed twice. Maybe if I would allow myself to think about them, I’d admit that they were probably the most electric and seductive kisses I’ve ever experienced. But, she doesn’t know this. No one knows I think that—especially not Elijah.

  “Oh, sorry. I must have misread something.”

  I narrow my gaze and wave my glass at her, sloshing white wine on the table. “What?”

  She shifts, uncomfortable, and studies the puddle of wine on the wood. “Nothing. It’s just these days I don’t see him much, and he’s been here a lot since you came, even though that case he’s working on is getting nasty.”

  “Nasty, how?”

  She shakes her head, clearly I’m never going to find out about this case.

  “He’s here because this is his project.” I don’t know if she knows about his painting, so I button up tight. I won’t spill secrets. I slump back in my chair and wish I could erase the memory of that hungry kiss and how it felt when his hands ran along my ink, caressing the skin of my arms. “And honestly, if it was just him and I left in Bowsley because the world had been taken over by flesh eating zombies, I still wouldn’t consider him.”

  Tabitha chuckles into her orange juice. “No, why?”

  “Why?” I’m getting into this. I gulp another two mouthfuls of wine. “He’s obnoxious for a start, I mean seriously how big is his ego? Secondly, he’s so hot and cold, it’s like he doesn’t know who he wants to be, and thirdly.” I pause for breath.

  “Are you stuck for a third thing, Faith? What a relief.”

  Holy crap. I spin a little on my wooden stool and see the delectable shape of Elijah behind my shoulder. Oh god. I burn a hundred shades of red all at once.

  He looks utterly delicious. Pale ripped jeans cling to his hips and thighs, and a navy T-shirt fits across his chest with a snugness I’d be happy to explore with my fingers. I need to close my mouth and stop staring.

  He wasn’t wearing that earlier, but hell, does he look good. Best yet, even better than any of the suits.

  “Did I mention obnoxious?” I force my gaze away from his smirking mouth and glare at Tabitha. “Nice one. How long was he there for?”

  Letting out a pealing laugh she claps her hands together. “Long enough.”

  “What are you two doing here?” He sits on the spare stool at the table and absorbs all the damn space.

  “Getting fucking drunk.” Okay, the wine is definitely in charge now, steaming through my body.

  “Elijah,” the man from the corner calls. “Can you get rid of her? She doesn’t stop talking.” He points at me incriminatingly, and I scowl back.

  “Just because I’m not that drunk, there’s no need to be rude.”

  Tabitha almost howls with laughter, but I’m just staring at the blues, waiting to see what he’s going to say next.

  He stares at me, one side of his lips hitched in a slight curve. “I’m so not covering your arse when you’re hanging like a dog tomorrow.”

  I down the end of my glass. “I’m a true professional.”

  He stands and holds out a hand. “Come on, Faith, let’s get you guys home.”

  “No! I like it here. There’s no atmosphere at Boring Hall.”

  He leans down and places hands under my elbows, easily lifting me from the stool. “How about I make sure you’re not bored?”

  With a circular wave of my hand, I pull a ‘yeah, right’ face. “All talk and ego.”

  “Come on.” He leads me by the elbow and I wave goodbye to the pub, reassuring them all I will be back to see them soon. He’s chuckling as we land on the narrow pavement outside the pub. It’s much darker than I thought it would be.

  “How did you know where to find us Mr. Killjoy?”

  “Tabitha texted me.”

  “Say whaaaaat?” I glare at his little sister. “Traitor.”

  I start to laugh and the
n hold in a breath as Elijah wraps an arm around my waist. “I’m worried you’re going to fall down,” he whispers in my ear, and my stomach thinks it’s a gold medal gymnast flying across the high bars.

  “I’m not that drunk,” I lie and try to shrug free, but he holds tight.

  “Humour me.”

  Tabitha is staring at the pavement as we walk under limited street lights, pretending she can’t see what’s playing out next to her. I can’t remember the last time someone wrapped their arms around me like this. The last time I walked home with a guy not knowing what was going to happen, butterflies of expectation taking to flight in the pit of my tummy.

  Everything unknown.

  Everything unexpected.

  These are things I don’t allow in. I steal a glance up at him in the dark shadows and find him already watching me, his lips curved like he can read every damn thought I’m having.

  “Just relax,” he murmurs, and goose bumps prickle my skin.

  Relax? Is he crazy? I’m drunk and there’s a gorgeous man walking me home with his arm around my waist like he can’t see all the ink on my skin, like he doesn’t think I’m a certain type of girl because of the way I look.

  Bowsley isn’t far, I think, but then it’s kind of hard to tell. The fresh air is turning the white wine into some narcotic concoction and the small lane lined with neat hedgerows is starting to whirl and move. I cling onto Elijah a little tighter. And it’s nothing to do with his man smell and the warm hardness of his chest beneath my arms. It’s because I’m slowly losing the use of my legs. “Did I even eat today?” I ask no one in particular.

  “No,” They both say in unison.

  “That explains some stuff.”

  “It’s something I will be dealing with tomorrow.” Elijah’s gaze stays focused on me in the dark.

  “What?”

  “How many meals have you had since you came to Bowsley?”

  I shrug. “I’ve had a few bread rolls that I can remember.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I pull a face at him and we carry on walking along, me stumbling every few steps, and Elijah guiding the way back.

  When we get down the long drive of the Hall, Elijah makes sure Tabitha is safely inside the front door, muttering something low under his breath I don’t catch. I slump on the wide stone steps, I can sleep right now and be as happy as if I were in a feather bed.

  “Whoa, you can’t sleep here.”

  “It’s fine.” I bat him away. “I’ll move before the kids come tomorrow. They’ll never know.” I close my eyes. I’m going to dream about kisses and wine and then maybe some more kisses.

  He doesn’t answer and finally I open my eyes to find him watching me thoughtfully. “What ya doing?”

  “Deciding how heavy you are.”

  “Like an elephant.”

  He snorts and before I can move, he sweeps me up into his arms, pressing me tight against his chest. “Newborn elephant at the very most.”

  I whack him with my hand, but then drop my head against his chest as he carries me, lulling me with a wonderful rocking motion with every step he takes.

  “You’re a funny woman.” It surprises me when he speaks and jolts me out of my dozing slumber.

  “Funny haha, or funny strange?”

  He grins, and it’s beautiful, shining in the dark. “Both.”

  I place my hand on his cheek, holding his face as I stare at him intently. “I’m totally and utterly fucked-up. And you should beware of damaged goods.”

  When he shrugs, it squeezes me even tighter against his chest.

  I can see the shape of the outhouse looming into focus and my fingers slide around his neck, smoothing into the short hair at the back of his head. Stretching towards him, I place my lips against his, waiting for him to hesitate, to push me away. But he does neither, as the night air and a million possibilities swirl around us.

  “Stay,” I mutter into the warm skin of his neck, and leaning into the door behind him, he snatches the latch and lets us in.

  Chapter Twenty

  The door closes with a soft click and it’s like every second of the past few weeks is screeching to a halt in the very moment.

  “You said you weren’t going to sleep with me.” I’m regretting the last glass of wine, but maybe if I hadn’t sunk it down I would never have uttered that four-letter-word.

  God, his hands are on me. Warm and firm, they slide up my skin, and I shiver despite the heat burning from his touch. With firm fingers he pulls on the band holding my hair and frees the blonde strands until they frame my face. His dark and deep gaze sweeps along every inch of me.

  “I’ve never seen a picture like you before.”

  My knees tremble with the intensity of his words and a dark licking flame kindles in the pit of my belly, stoking a fire of desire.

  I want him to kiss me like I have never wanted to be kissed before. I want to be consumed with that fire like I was earlier in his studio.

  “Wait a minute.” I push him away a fraction, although I regret the space between us instantly. “What Elijah have I got here right now?”

  He smiles, his head cocked to the side. “There’s more than one?”

  I grasp his chin with my fingers and hold his face still as I stare deep into his eyes. “You know there is.”

  “Do you care?” It’s a tight question.

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Kiss me already.”

  And he does, consuming every molecule of oxygen in my body as his lips crush against mine, tilting my chin with his fingers and dancing his tongue into the depths of my mouth. It’s unreal. No one can kiss that well. Every movement he makes is like I’ve known it for a million years and never tasted it before, all at once.

  He pulls on my bottom lip with his teeth and I groan, throwing my head back so he can have access to my throat. I want him so bad, my legs are shaking. I want him inside me, making all the bad times right. I have this inexplicable understanding in my soul that he could. For every crest I’ve cruised to an unsatisfied ending, I know he could turn that around—it’s all there in his kiss.

  He guides me to the bed and pushes me gently down onto the mattress, straddling my waist, and pressing softly on my hips to keep me in place. “Some rules,” he says.

  Now I know why he’s pinned me down. “Rules?” My head’s whirling a little. I really shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine.

  “Don’t get all stroppy, but I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

  “Why did you say you’d stay, if you don’t want to have sex?” He’s not going to do this to me again is he?

  “I don’t have to have sex with you to enjoy you.” He leans down and kisses the end of my nose, then quicker than I can guess his move—not hard after three large wines—he grabs my hands and pins them above my head.

  “Way to make me feel cheap.”

  His eyes narrow. “There is nothing cheap about you.”

  I laugh, but it’s a disgusted, dirty sound.

  He leans closer, his lips skimming mine, before shifting to my neck and running up the sensitive skin to my ear. “Trust me.”

  I thrash against his hold, but he’s solid and I can’t shift him, not even an inch. Under his slender but broad frame is a steely strength I hadn’t even guessed at. “Trust me,” he says again, his blues holding mine.

  “I can’t. It’s not that easy.”

  His gaze is unflinching, his lips tracing maddening paths across my skin. “Trust me, Faith.”

  There’s something in the way he says my name. Somehow it weaves all the tiny moments we’ve snatched up until now together. It’s him in his suit shaking my hand, it’s him in his sliders stood on my doorstep, him drinking in the kitchen alone, and him sitting cross-legged on his studio floor. His secret studio where he hides his soul.

  A tear slips out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  His thumb rubs across
my cheek, wiping the trail of water. “I want to set you free, Faith.” His words kill me. They slice me clean in half, pulling down my defences and my barriers. “Do you want to be free?”

  Another tear escapes. I want to be free of the past, the hurt, the broken promises. I nod, and his mouth meets mine in a hungry kiss, and I allow myself to submit to the moment. He doesn’t release my hands and I’m desperate to touch him, to run my hand through his hair, to trace the muscles hiding under that navy shirt. He holds them tight, keeping the pace of our kiss under his control, moving his lips languorously slow, licking and nibbling, exploring my tongue with gentle flicks of his. “You taste so good,” he whispers in my ear, and just like that the emotional tidal wave is replaced with a wildfire.

  I squirm, writhing my legs together under the weight of his body. He lets go of one of his hands, and I pull, testing his grip, but he still has the other firmly clasped around my wrist. His palm smooths down my arm, torturously slow. I note his eyes are on my ink, drinking them in as they swirl on my pale skin. His thumb runs along the inner edge of my arm and it sends a dart of desire straight to the heat between my legs. The hand smooths along the swell of my breast, his thumb gently circling across my nipple through my vest. I moan at the delicate, barely there touch. It’s butterfly soft, the briefest of caresses, but it’s more evocative than any touch I’ve felt in a long time. I arch my back when he lifts my top, exposing my stomach. I hold my breath and wait to see how he reacts to my skin. When he meets my gaze, there is something indescribable in his depths. I want it to be desire, but I can’t believe it. It could be worry, disgust.

  “Stop thinking.” He grins, dipping his head to kiss my stomach, his lips working along the Celtic cross I have on my ribcage, across the butterflies with purple wings that are beating just as hard beneath my skin. He lifts my top and bra until my breast and nipple are exposed, catching the hardened bud in his mouth, gently sucking, and applying the slightest pressure with his teeth until I’m arching my back off the bed.