by Stacy Gail
“Did she tell you that she was sorry for not waiting to remarry your father until you were out on your own, since you were so obviously against having him back in your life?”
She frowned. “No.”
He was quiet a moment as he absorbed that. “How are you with your dad now?”
“We’re cordial.” She lifted a shoulder, and decided she liked the fit of that word. “They have their life, which seems to be genuinely happy and content, and I have mine. Our paths rarely cross.”
“Except when they need a favor from you, like packing up their shit.”
She sighed. He just wasn’t going to let that go. “Look at it this way—I’m helping them get out of Chicago so they can live far, far away.”
“I guess I can live with that,” he muttered grudgingly. “I think I saw your folks at the exhibit of a new set of Biker Chick Fairy Tale characters you did about a year ago, didn’t I? Your rendition of Gretel sucking on a lollipop while wearing candy-striped stockings was so hot I had to buy it.”
“What?” That startled her so much she looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re kidding.”
Sleepy-eyed and tousle-headed, Twist gave her a slow, crooked smile that did weird things to her pulse. “Why the hell would I kid about that? It’s hanging in my studio because it kicks ass and I love it.” When she simply continued to stare at him—after all, he was the last person she would have expected to buy any of her framed artwork—he gave her a little shake. “So? Were they at your exhibit?”
“Yeah, they were there. You seriously bought my art?”
“Yeah. And your parents were seriously at your exhibit.”
“So?”
“So, maybe they’re interested in taking a more active role in your life, and they’re knocking on whatever door they can reach to see if you’ll answer. Not that I’m all that hyped about that,” he added as his brows came together in the scowl she knew so well. The hand at her shoulder moved to cup her chin, an action that pulled her gently back toward him. “I don’t like they way they treat you.”
“The way they treat me?”
“They don’t put you at the center of their universe, when it’s obvious to me that’s where you belong.”
While that statement knocked her flat, he kissed her.
Chapter Eight
Angel’s back settled into the mattress as Twist curled her underneath him. She barely noticed. She was too busy sinking into a multitude of sensations as he angled her face up to his. His warmth. His taste. His touch. His weight. Everything that he was assaulted her senses until he filled all the corners of her world.
If a human being could be the definition of overwhelming¸ Twist was it.
The thin sheet separating them was a hindrance that got quickly shoved aside. His mouth never left hers as he positioned himself over her, the majority of his weight balanced on a forearm beside her. His free hand raked through her hair as if starved for the feel of it. She’d always loved having her hair stroked, and it was as if he knew that was the only way to make her melt from the inside out.
No. That wasn’t the only way. The way he worked his mouth was what truly did it for her. The man could kiss. The hard pressure of it both demanded and conquered, while still being soft enough to meld like molten steel over her lips. His flavor was intoxicating and his tongue knew just how to toy with hers. It was wet and hot, deep and delving, and more exciting than anything she’d experienced with any other man.
If she’d known Twist’s kiss was this extraordinary, she would have stopped looking at him as the enemy a long time ago.
Though she tried to hold it back, she moaned into his mouth, a helpless sound that was no louder than a whisper. It seemed to have a galvanic effect; a shudder rocked through him, and it shook free a low growl in response. More of his weight settled on her, and it felt so good she couldn’t help but squirm under him in sheer delight. She wanted to know what he felt like through the feedback of every nerve in her body, and the only way to make that happen was to have all of him against all of her. In that moment, while is mouth made love to hers, that sounded like a little slice of heaven on earth.
She didn’t consciously direct her hands to slide over the hard muscles on either side of his spine into the dip of his lower back, venturing all the way down to cup his ass, but she didn’t stop them when they reached their destination. Nor did she stop herself from squeezing those first-class butt cheeks once she had her hands on them. She could admit now that while she hadn’t admired much about Twist before her mugging, his butt was a standout exception. For years she had believed it to be his one redeeming characteristic, so rounded and defined it refused to be camouflaged by his usual uniform of worn jeans, dark-colored henleys and concert T-shirts.
Now that she’d gotten to know him better, it was clear there were quite a few redeeming features about Twist. His butt, however, still topped that list as far as she was concerned. Now that she had the opportunity to explore it, she wasn’t going to let it go to waste.
With her mouth eagerly dancing to his tune she moved against him, taking her time to enjoy both his kiss and how perfectly his firm glutes fit into her palms. Her fingers dug into that hard flesh, squeezing his ass in a way she’d secretly hungered to do ever since she’d first gotten a good long look as he’d walked on by. That action pushed him deeper into her body, and everything that was feminine in her thrilled in primal triumph as the unmistakable hard thrust of his penis.
Hot damn, she turned him on.
Her innermost core surged with damp heat, and the intimate tissues of her cleft throbbed and swelled with need. Before she knew it, her knees were on either side of his narrow hips while she pressed him with wordless insistence to get closer, closer.
Closer.
One of his hands left her hair to trail down her neck and claim the subtle swell of her breast beneath the veil of another ruffle-edged chemise. She couldn’t stifle an all-over body jolt when his thumb rubbed her nipple with a barely-leashed urgency, and the catch of her breath again drew a hungry growl from him. That growl tasted like more on her tongue. Feverishly she arched her back, pushing into his touch to ensure she got all that she wanted—needed—from him.
“You like that, don’t you, baby?” He whispered the words into her mouth before his lips left hers to trail down her throat with such deliberate intent she knew where he was headed as easily as if she could read his mind. She arched again, lost on the building anticipation of having the sensual suction of his mouth where his hand now teased her. “Arch up to me just like that. Show me you want me.”
The peal of the doorbell was like a cruel joke.
“Fuck.” The violence in Twist’s muttered curse startled her back to reality as much as the intrusive doorbell, and she blinked in growing shock even as he shot away from her.
What the hell had they been doing?
But she knew. Of course she knew. And she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been a thoroughly active participant in it, just as she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t loved every second of it.
Or that she was now frustrated to the point of gnashing her teeth that they’d been interrupted.
“If it’s one of those jokers from next door, I’m going to assume they’ve drilled a goddamn peephole into your bedroom, which means their lives are officially forfeit.” With a grimace and a well-placed hand at the crotch of the sweatpants he’d slept in, Twist rolled off the bed. “Their timing’s just too fucking perfect to be real.”
He’d already crossed the bedroom’s threshold before Angel grasped that he had bloodshed on his mind. That got her moving like nothing else. Bouncing off the bed, she hurried after him, trying to ignore how her legs still shook with residual stimulation. “Wait, wait, no killing on my doorstep.”
“Works for me. I’m fine with dragging their asses inside so there won’t be any witnesses.” Stalking down the front hall, he popped the locks on the front door and yanked it open just as she reached him.
&
nbsp; “Good morning, sunshine.” With a determined smile, Scout stepped into the tiny foyer without waiting for an invitation and held out a familiar flat box. “I brought donuts—crème-filled, jelly-filled and chocolate glazed with rainbow sprinkles. If that doesn’t get me inside, nothing will.”
Twist was busy doing his best to glare Scout to death as Angel joined her on the sofa, sipping coffee and making their donut selection. She’d tried to get him to ease up as she’d set up the coffeemaker, but it just wasn’t happening. The man wanted to hold a grudge against someone for being interrupted, and since Scout had been on the other side of that door, then she had no choice but to be the recipient of it.
Considering what would be happening right now if Scout hadn’t shown up at her door, Angel wasn’t sure what she felt. A little relief at regaining her sanity was there of course, but there was also a healthy helping of disappointment, and that was something that shocked the crap out of her. Was she really that sold on getting into a physical relationship with a man who’d seemed to have so little respect for her a few days ago?
One thing was certain—right now the last thing she wanted to do was be polite and worry about making a selection of what kind of donut she was going to eat.
“External security’s in the process of being totally overhauled at the House,” Scout was saying, taking her time in tearing apart a chocolate glazed confection with crimson-tipped fingers. The crimson of her nails currently matched a wide swath of hair in her pinup-girl hairdo, a daring look that matched Scout’s bold personality to perfection. “Payne flipped his lid over your attack, so as we speak floodlights and cameras for both front and back entrances are being installed. And you, Rocket and I are no longer allowed to head out to our cars on our own. That means he’s got me lining up interviews for an evening security guard.”
Angel curled her bare feet under her, her hands cradling a mug of steaming coffee. “You mean you and Rocket. I know my memory’s a little scrambled, but I do remember telling you that I’m done at the House.”
“You did,” came the measured reply. “Nothing’s wrong with your memory.”
“Then why sound like I’m still an employee at House Of Payne? Since I’ve never resigned before, I guess I don’t know how to do it properly. Is there a specific procedure I have to go through or something? Do I have to work out a two-week notice?”
“No.” Scout’s stormy gray eyes pinned her to the spot. “Your resignation hasn’t been accepted. You’re not quitting.”
Angel stared at her. “Um, I’m pretty positive Abraham Lincoln said something about people being free to do whatever the hell they wanted when it came to labor.”
“Let’s look at it another way. You have a six-month non-compete agreement in your contract with the House. That’s a long freaking time to go in between jobs, don’t you think?”
“First,” Angel held up a finger, “that clause has a twenty-five mile limit from the House, which isn’t that far, all things considered. With my parents pulling up stakes and the way things have been going at work, I’ve been inspired to think long and hard about doing the same. There’s nothing besides the House tying me to this area.”
“What the hell.” Twist pushed away from the doorjamb he was leaning against. “You’d leave Chicago? For God’s sake, why? You were born here, this is your fucking home. You don’t just pull up stakes because you’re pissed off.”
“Second,” Angel went on, ignoring him as she put up another finger, “the non-compete clause says I can’t be hired as a tattooist at another tattoo studio, nor can I start up my own brick-and-mortar tattoo studio. However, those are the only restrictions. I can still get a job as a graphic artist just about anywhere, as well as offer my services online for tattoo design—not as a tattooist, but as a straight-up designer. I’m now known internationally for my work, so offering designs of exclusive body art online is an idea I’ve been playing with for some time now, and I think I’d do very well at that. So much so, I’ve even put together a basic website for an online store.”
“Fuck,” Twist muttered faintly. “You have?”
“And while I can’t use designs I’ve already come up with for House Of Payne, there’s nothing in my contract that stops me from creating newer, better designs and selling my services that way. Read the no-compete clause and you’ll see I’m right.”
“Remind me to update the contracts,” Scout muttered, then shook her head. “You’re really that desperate to get away from the House?”
“I…” Angel hesitated, and it took all her strength not to glance at Twist. The fact was, he was the one she had been desperate to escape, with his constant disapproval and daily lack of respect grinding her self-esteem down to a nub. But since he’d appointed himself her personal caretaker—an action that still made no sense to her—she’d discovered her single-minded determination to get the hell out had softened. Maybe because she had started wondering if he really was the enemy she’d thought he was.
“Look,” Scout said when she didn’t go on. “I know what it’s like to be so done with that place you want to set it on fire. Swear to God, I’ve totally been there. If you need time away, that’s cool. Take it, please. You need to recover from your injury anyway, so now is as good a time as any for a vacation, yeah? Vacations are necessary to avoid burnout, especially for the creative personality, and I think that’s what you’re going through right now.”
“This isn’t burnout.”
“Then what is it?”
Geez. “Did you get hit in the head as well? Or did it just conveniently slip your mind that Payne took an admittedly smartass story of mine about concierge tattooing, then proceeded to cut me out of it and what’s bound to be a huge bump in pay?”
“You want a raise? I’m sure he won’t have a problem with giving you one.”
A low snarl escaped Angel, and she reached over to bang her mug down on the coffee table. “I’m not asking for a raise.”
“Then what the hell are you asking for?”
“I’m not asking for anything,” she ground out, struggling to hold onto her temper. “What I would’ve liked was a little freaking respect somewhere along the way, but I learned a long time ago that respect isn’t asked for, it’s earned. So for years I kept the peace, pulled my weight and made a name for both the House and, yes, myself in the niche of fantasy body art, not to mention studying hard to become one of the best colorists around. All of which is great, except that when shit was pulled at work, I was expected to swallow it. So I did, again and again. But I finally got so filled up with it, not another ounce of shit could be swallowed. You can’t be surprised by that, Scout. Everyone has a shit-intake limit. I hit mine.”
“So you’re just going to take your toys and go home, is that it?” Twist stood on the other side of the coffee table and folded his arms, cords of muscle standing out in his forearms as if he were physically restraining himself from doing anything more. “You’re throwing a fit because you can’t have your way about the concierge gig.”
Scout pointed at him. “Most of this is on you, so you can shut the hell up.”
“Toys,” Angel muttered, pushing to her feet to go nose-to-nose with Twist. The heat they’d generated in bed earlier iced over and vanished as his words dug into a sore point that had been festering inside her for months—no, years. She’d be damned if she’d let it fester another second longer. “Throwing a fit. See? That right there. That’s the lack of respect I’m talking about. And it’s that lack of respect that’s slowly but surely infected how everyone views me at the House, from Payne on down. I tried to fight it, I swear I did. I tried to hold my ground while holding my head up high, trying to believe I was too established as a professional to be viewed as some stupid little kid tolerated by the so-called real adults around me.”
“Wait, Angel—”
“But I’ve had it. I’m done. You broke me, all right? You win. I can’t fight to prove that I’m good enough to be at the House anymore, to be viewe
d as an equal or worthy or whatever, because it’s never going to happen now. It’s hopeless.”
He flinched. “No, baby, that’s not what I—”
“Even my quitting hasn’t been taken seriously, so don’t tell me I’m wrong on this. I mean,” she added on a bitter huff of laughter, “who the hell has this much trouble quitting a freaking job? When most people say ‘I quit’, that’s pretty much all there is to it, but not me. No. You guys keep acting like I’m some overwrought child who doesn’t know what she’s saying, without even realizing that’s the reason I have to leave. I can’t tolerate being shrugged off and not taken seriously anymore. I deserve better than this.”
“Oh, honey,” Scout whispered, her eyes filling with the realization that there was a boatload of merit behind her words.
“You’re dead wrong about not being taken seriously,” Twist bit off, and his tight expression startled her. He looked as though something terrible was burning him from the inside out and he couldn’t find a way to put out the fire. “Both as an artist, and as a person. The reasons Payne gave for keeping you out of the concierge service make total sense, because this is one hell of a dangerous world. I can’t believe I have to point that shit out to you after you got mugged, but apparently it’s necessary.”
Dear God, this man… “My mugging doesn’t prove anything I didn’t already know. The world’s a dangerous place for everyone. Hell, even Scout got mugged once for her phone, did you know that? But you don’t see anyone rushing to put her under glass to keep her sheltered. Bad things happen, Twist. That doesn’t mean you get the excuse to stop people from going out and living their lives. Nor do you get to try and control them because you think they’re too incompetent to live that life as they see fit.”
“And you don’t get to overlook how people care so fucking much about you that they’ll jump through hoops to look after you and keep you safe from all the shit that’s out there.”
