Beautiful Defiance: Cambridge High Mayhem (Kiss Starter: Cambridge High Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  “Just checking.”

  “Anything else you’d like to know? ’Cause I’d like the guy’s name now.”

  “No, and I’m not giving it to you.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You can’t mess with him, Seven. He’s not someone to screw with.”

  “Don’t tell me this guy goes to Delridge? I’ll fuck him up when I get ahold of him.”

  “There’s one problem. You don’t have his name.”

  “I have my ways, Leigh.”

  “Why are you so possessive?”

  “I’m keeping you safe from guys more dangerous than me.”

  “Why would a guy be interested in me when there are prettier girls?”

  I think of Rue. Hannah too. She’s gorgeous, with legs that go on and on, caramel-color hair that falls past her shoulders, deep green eyes, and she has an eye for fashion. Plus, she’s popular with the guys and the girls, though she’s been mean-girling as all get out.

  “There are guys who like a girl with attitude. You have so much of it, you could light up a stadium.”

  “Ha-ha, not.”

  “I’m being serious, Leigh. Guys like that want to cage you, bringing you out only so they can break you of your defiance. It’s how they get off.”

  “How is what you’re doing different from what you claim they’ll do to me?”

  “I don’t want to cage you. You can do whatever the hell you want so long as you give me your loyalty.”

  “You also want my obedience. Something I’ll never give. I have my own opinions and ways of doing things. No one will break me of that.”

  “You won’t put aside your ways even for love?”

  “I don’t bow down to a guy, not even for love.”

  “Brutal.”

  “Twenty-first-century mindset.”

  “So eating me is out of the question?”

  I can’t help it. I stick out my tongue and cross my eyes. “I wasn’t literal, Seven. You smell good enough to eat, but I am not putting my mouth on any part of your body except for your yummy lips.”

  “My lips are yummy?”

  “Delish,” I say.

  Smiling, he gets off me, flops onto his back, and crooks his finger. “Come here.”

  My gaze roams over his body, from his tousled hair to the way his shirt stretches over his impressive torso, to how well his jeans hug his hips and his long legs.

  I shake my head. “It’s a bad idea.”

  “I thought you weren’t scared of me,” he challenges.

  “I’m not. Scared has nothing to do with bad ideas.”

  “Leigh, you’re stubborn.”

  “And you only want to feel me up.”

  “Guilty.”

  Ugh, why couldn’t he have denied it? It would make kicking him out of my place, demanding he go out the way he came, so much easier. Except I like having Seven here. He’s fun to talk with. Hot to look at. And seeing the sadness in his eyes earlier still hurts me like a punch to the chest. Maybe if I give in, he’ll give in too and tell me what’s wrong.

  “Are you planning on staying the night?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Then take off your clothes. I don’t plan on hearing you sawing logs again, Seven. The last time left me exhausted and grumpy.”

  “Ladies first. All of it, Leigh.”

  “I . . . I have scars.”

  “Fuck the scars. Any imperfection on you is a turn on, Beautiful Defiance.”

  “I’m beautiful?” No one’s said that about me.

  “Like a siren luring me to my watery grave.”

  I laugh. “Romantic, big guy.”

  “I’m not. Remember, I’m the predator, you’re the prey. I want to toy with you, ravish you, eat you up.”

  His stare is intense and his words hot, searing my flesh. The nervousness returns. I’m in over my head. Messing with a boy I shouldn’t mess with. He’ll use me up, every last ounce of my emotions, then toss me aside when he’s done toying and ravishing me.

  “What are we getting ourselves into, Seven?”

  “Don’t think too hard on it, Defiance. But if it doesn’t feel right, tell me to go the fuck away, and I will. I won’t stop by in the middle of the night again.”

  “That’s the thing. It feels completely right. I like having you here with me.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? I’d love to see your imperfections, beautiful.”

  Turned inside out by the heat in his voice and his earnestness, I grab my camisole by the hem and tug it over my head. Sharp intake of breath from Seven. Self-conscious, I cross my arms over my small breasts.

  “Take your arms away, Leigh.”

  The heat in his voice intensifies. As does the intensity in his gaze, the soft glow from the outside lights around the guesthouse shining in through the part in the curtains.

  Is that the reason I left the lights on instead of turning them off like normal? I had a feeling Seven would sneak into my room?

  He sits up and yanks off his shirt. My gaze roves over his wide shoulders, the sprinkle of dark chest hair across his pecs, the ridges of his six-pack abs, and the strip of hair disappearing inside his jeans. My attention hangs and lingers on the outline of his erection. Thick, long. I swallow down my nervousness.

  If he thinks I’m beautiful, I’d say he’s stunning, and I tell him so.

  “A guy is stunning, eh?” He lunges forward, slides his hands under my arms, and gets me on top of him.

  His chest hair brushes my breasts. My nipples pebble. Seven pulls the covers over us. His hands go low, and his fingers trace the lines etched into my skin.

  “Whoever did this better be doing hard time. My dad’s got connections to the underworld. One word from me and he’ll send men after the fucker.”

  I weave my fingers into his chest hair and puff out a breath. “It wasn’t one guy but a group of them. They held me down and did things to me.”

  “If you’re speaking of rape, they’re dead men.”

  “They didn’t. Two officers on patrol stopped them before they could get to that point.”

  “What’d they beat you with?”

  “An electrical cord.”

  “These scars are the reason you didn’t want the nurses stripping you of your top.”

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “And your panties? What scars are you hiding, beautiful?”

  “Seven, please, don’t ask to see them.”

  “I’m not asking and never will you beg again. Take them the fuck off, Leigh. I want a good reason to send men after those bastards.”

  I slide off him, get on my back, and remove my pajama bottoms and underwear. Seconds tick by. The bed on Seven’s side dips. He tosses the covers off, and going low, he cups my hips and drops kisses on the words carved into my skin by guys who saw me as nothing but a pain in their asses when I demanded they stop selling drugs and alcohol to the kids on my block.

  “You’re not a snitch. Or the C word. You’re beautiful. Every part of you.”

  His hot breath whispers across my skin, touching a part of me I’ve never shown to a guy. After he showers kisses on my scars, he finds my underwear buried under the covers, tugs them on me, and then rests his head on my belly. His hair tickles my skin.

  “Did your parents love one another, Leigh?”

  “Very much.”

  “Did they fight?”

  “Like a rabid dog and a cat going through catnip withdrawal.”

  His muffled laughter on my skin tickles even more, and I squirm beneath his mouth.

  “Great analogy.”

  “Thank you.” I sift my fingers into his hair. “Beats your helium balloon one.”

  “No doubt.”

  This time, I laugh.

  “What’d they fight over?”

  “Small things like who got the bigger slice of apple pie, both their favorite pie. Or who got the most meatballs in their pho. Usually my mom did. The owner of the restaurant that my father worked for
loved my mother. My mother made the prettiest dresses for her granddaughters, and they all went off and married these wealthy businessmen. She said she owed their luck to my mom’s eye-catching, beautiful dresses.”

  “They didn’t fight over crap like finding a woman in your father’s hotel room?” He untangles my fingers from his hair, gets out of bed, and puts his shirt back on. “Never mind. I should go.”

  I prop myself on my elbows. “Stay. Please.”

  “I said not to beg or ask for a favor unless you’re willing to work for it or am willing to give up something in return.”

  He’s angry. Embarrassed, too, for showing me the vulnerable side of himself. A side that cares enough about his parents’ marriage to ask a girl he barely knows about her parents’.

  I reach for my camisole and pull it over my head. To say my next piece, I need to not be vulnerable. Vulnerable is being half-naked.

  “A kiss. I’ll give you a kiss if you’ll stay the night with me.”

  “A kiss on the corner of our mouths won’t convince me.”

  “A full-on-the-mouth kiss with tongue, Seven. That’s what I meant. Satisfied?” I glower, fully understanding he can see me.

  Or, he hears the annoyance in my tone.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He gets under the covers, and with his back resting against the headboard, he pats his lap. I straddle his thighs.

  “Before we kiss, I want us to talk.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what two people who will never be just friends do.”

  “Fine.” He tips his head back and bounces it off the headboard in this irksome tap, tap, tap.

  I stop the irksome motion with my palms to the sides of his head, and tipping forward, I tell him of my mother’s deal with Tony. Seven then spills his parents’ argument before his mother left his father standing there looking after her with hurt on his face.

  “What if your dad’s situation is like my mom’s? What if he was set up? What if someone is blackmailing him?”

  “How would we know if he was?”

  “I have someone I can contact, but promise you’ll be fine with whatever he asks of me? I owe him for saving my life.”

  “How many lives do you have?”

  “Must be a lot. I was almost run over in this crazy roundabout trying to save a dog.”

  “What? Are you okay?” He runs his palms up and down my arms. Pats my sides and my thighs too.

  I bite down on my bottom lip, unhinged by his concern.

  “I’m fine. Should I get ahold of him? I stole his car, so he might not want anything to do with me.”

  Maddox won’t be thrilled, but he’ll like hearing from me. It’ll give him the chance to even the score for him saving my life from that car of his I wrecked. He pulled me out of it right before a semi truck plowed into the driver side.

  “Wait, the grand theft auto charge, you stole this dude’s car?”

  “It wasn’t an average ‘car’ but a limited edition Bugatti.”

  Seven’s eyes get big. “Those things go for close to three fucking million. Millions, Leigh.”

  I scowl. “I know how much one costs. Maddox reminded me over and over of the price tag, okay?”

  “Maddox. What’s the dude’s last name?”

  “Um, Stassi.”

  “Double fuck me. You stole Mad Maddox’s Bugatti?”

  “I take it you’ve heard of him?”

  “He made headlines for ordering the castration of the men who raped his little sister.”

  “Alleged castration,” I say.

  “Alleged my ass. The public ate up his vigilante act. Why involve ourselves with that dangerous fucker?”

  “He’s good on his word and has connections.”

  “He’ll do this for you why? Did you two do the dirty?”

  “I never slept with him.”

  “You let me sleep with you.”

  “Are you for real?”

  “Say what you mean, Leigh, and I will be as real as the scars on your body.”

  “Fine. I’m a virgin. Satisfied?”

  “More than you’ll ever know.”

  What he says, how he says it. Like it’s the most special thing in the world. Like it means so much to him that I haven’t been with a guy.

  “I . . . Seven.”

  Undone, I press my mouth on his. Move my lips side to side. His lips are soft. His hold on my hips is firm. One peck. Two pecks. Closed mouth kisses.

  “Leigh.” My name is murmured on my lips, and hot from the inside out, I nudge his mouth open with my tongue.

  He is sweet and warm, and our kiss full on the mouth is everything I imagined it would be, starting off slow and tentative then cresting into this intensity that sets me afire from my head to my toes. Moaning, I shove my fingers in his hair and slant his head. I deepen the kiss and grind on his erection.

  I rock back and forth along his thickness beneath his jeans. He feels so good. His mouth on mine, his length and thickness rubbing my pussy through our clothes, my arousal clinging to my panties with every back and forth motion from me.

  “Leigh, babe, God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

  He tips us forward and gets me on my back. I stretch out my legs. Resting on one hip, he kisses a path down my neck, lifts my camisole and takes a nipple in his mouth.

  His wet warm mouth on my hardened bud, nipping and sucking . . . I come off the bed. Clamp his head to my breast. His laughter muffles against my skin, and my toes curl. They curl.

  “Seven, that feels so good, but we should stop.”

  “Agree.”

  “Wait, you do?” I lift my head and look at him.

  “Leigh, we agreed on a kiss. This is rounding second base.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Hold up. Say that again.”

  “Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Seven Shanahan.”

  “Leigh.”

  “Okay, fine, you are right. Right, right, right. Happy?”

  “Over the moon. Cool. You’re cool, Defiance.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, liking our easy back and forth. It’s never been this easy talking to a guy.

  Seven hops out of bed, takes off his clothes except for his boxers, and crawls back under the covers. We snuggle. Yep, we snuggled after that hot-as-sin heavy petting.

  “You’ll get ahold of Maddox?” He slides his arm across my shoulder, under my mass of long hair.

  “First thing tomorrow morning.” I curl my body into his.

  “You’ll tell me what he says?”

  “His exact words, Seven.”

  “And those fuckers who messed with you? Want me to fuck them up?”

  “No need.” I cradle his face with my palm. Tilt his head away from me. Kiss the underside of his jaw. “They’re dead.”

  “Maddox?”

  “Mum’s the word. I’m not a snitch.”

  “Gotcha. Night, Leigh.”

  “Goodnight, Seven. Thank you for staying.”

  “Pass up your boner-inducing kisses? Never, Defiance.”

  I laugh. “So romantic, Seven. So romantic.”

  19

  LEIGH

  On Monday, it’s back to the status quo at school. I stay out of Seven’s way until the last bell rings. Then I trudge to his football practice, not looking forward to sitting on my duff out in the cold and on metal bleachers wet from the rain.

  At the gate to the football field, I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder, tug the hood of my jacket over my head, and open my umbrella.

  This girl is going incognito.

  I find a semi-dry spot on the bleachers, wipe off any leftover wetness with my sleeve, and sit. The boys are practicing on the field. The cheerleaders are in the gym. Hannah avoids me like I have a contagious disease, but her avoidance doesn’t stop her from openly glaring at me during lunch.

  We have the same lunch period. She sits at the table reserved for cheerleaders. In front and behind their table is half the football tea
m. The other half has the other lunch period. Lucky me, Seven also has the same lunch period.

  He ignores me too. Except he doesn’t glare or stare or do anything that resembles interest or hate. Not toward me anyway, but Ginger? He goes over to the cheerleaders’ table and talks to her. Makes her laugh. Has her touching his arm in this intimate way that has me wanting to rush over and yank out her hair.

  Him showering her with attention has me disappointed and hurting after what happened between us this weekend. But I don’t forget my promise to help him with his parents’ situation. I called Maddox and left a message.

  He hasn’t returned my call, and I’m not surprised. He’s probably taking part in an orgy of epic proportions, cutting off more guys’ dicks who dare mess with him and his family, or he’s adding more million-dollar sportscars to his collection.

  I rest my elbows on my knees, and setting my chin in my palm, I blow out a breath. Being right sucks. I’m a new toy, and that’s why Seven swindled me into giving him a piece of my heart when I told him of my parents and life back home in Oakland.

  I should regret telling him those personal things. Or letting him see and kiss on my scars. Or let what he did mean something to me; that gets my heart pitter-pattering every time I think of us talking and touching while rain pitter-patters on the skylight. But I have no regrets. And what he did and said means the world to me.

  The wind picks up, and I fold into myself and hold the umbrella closer to my head. A shrill ringing cuts into the silence. I hold on to the umbrella handle with one hand and fumble in my backpack for my phone with the other.

  I glance at the screen. It’s not Maddox. The call is from an unknown number. What if it’s Eleanor? What if something happened to Thomas?

  I answer. “Hello?”

  “Leigh?”

  “Um, yes, who is this?”

  “Leigh, it’s me, Henry.”

  Growling, I hang up on him.

  He calls right back, again and again. After the fourth time and Seven’s coach glowering at me, I pick up the call.

  “What do you want, Henry?”

  “Look, Leigh, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I feel bad.”

  “You’re apologizing because you feel bad? I came down with pneumonia from swallowing pool water. Was admitted overnight.”

  “Shit. Send me the bill.”