“Kiss you,” I breathe and lean into her. The shadows of the past that darkened the mood before are long gone. My mouth covers hers and I taste her tongue, warm and tannic against mine. I breathe her in, savoring every scent and absorbing every sensation, before I pull away. It’s been so long since I’ve had this—any of this. A connection with someone. The desire to share myself and give every inch of who I am away, even for just a single moment. I want her, to feel her beneath me and in my arms, but I want to protect her, too. I want her to feel safe and to know that whatever happens between us, I will never hurt her.
Forty-Six
Mac
Colton leads me into his bedroom and stops beside the bed. It’s cooler in here, away from the fireplace, but the brisk air feels good against my heated skin. I can barely catch my breath, and it’s not just the promise of what is to come—not just the excitement and yearning for him.
We kiss. Our tongues tangle, and he tastes like smoke and cherries. He holds me in the protective embrace of his arms, like he’ll never let me go, and I know that this is different than the other night. It feels like a promise more than a claiming—a declaration that maybe we can be more than what we’ve been. That everything is different now.
Playfully, I lick his mouth and step away, leaving him to groan in my absence. I pull off my sweatshirt and let it fall to my feet. I step out of my pants, leaving them in a discarded puddle on the floor.
When I register Colton’s eyes, wide and appraising as they scour me in the moon shadows, my heart begins to race. Standing in front of him without the craze of movements and the flurry of limbs groping and tangling, I take a step forward and give myself to him.
“You’re perfect, Mac,” he says in awe, and leans in for a gentle, unhurried kiss.
My eyes close of their own accord, and my arms wrap around his neck. My nails rake up his neck and into his hair as I press myself against him, needing to feel his heartbeat and warmth.
His lips graze the skin beneath my jaw. . . his tongue trails the length of my neck and he kisses my shoulder . . . my collarbone. When he pulls my hips into him, the bulge of his pants hits me just so, and I can’t help but whimper. The pressure of my bare breasts rising and falling against his chest—the proximity and heat of our bodies—makes my body tremble with need. And the moment I feel his fingertip brush one of my nipples, I gasp and rest my forehead against his. I peer down at his clothed body.
“That’s not fair,” I murmur. I want to explore Colton the way I wasn’t able to in the shower.
Unzipping his jeans, I look up at him. His eyes are glazed over and dark, but focused on me. He cups one of his palms against my cheek, crushing his lips against mine as I tug his pants down, then his boxers before I remove his shirt.
“That’s better,” I purr. The need to mesmerize every part of him is so strong, patience is lost on me. Necessity takes over completely, vanquishing every trepidation, every lingering fear and uncertainty.
Colton’s eyes widen and a wolfish grin parts his lips as I push him back onto the mattress and crawl up onto the bed and straddle him. I press my lips to his neck, let my hands wander and explore the planes of his chest. I take my time, building my momentum, refusing to let this be a crazed blur.
When his greedy hands grab at my hips, I shake my head. “Patience,” I say and press my lips to his. He groans against my mouth as I force his hands back down on the mattress above his head. My fingertips trail from his sternum to his abdomen and lower, and when a growl rumbles in his chest, my tongue quickly follows.
Forty-Seven
Mac
“Can we turn this whiny crap off?” my dad asks, leaning over to change the station. He’s always been a rock ’n’ roll man, but my country music preference should be no surprise to him.
I purse my lips and raise an eyebrow. “You’re in my car, you know. And you insisted on coming with me.”
“That’s because I’m your father, and I have every intention of you finding a safe, decent place to live.” He turns the heater down, too.
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” Although I enjoy giving him a hard time, the truth is it’s nice to have him with me. This town is so small and the options are slim, at least when it comes to the combination of needs on my list: affordable, safe, clean, good landlord, utilities included . . .
“You liked the last studio,” he says, gruff and judgmental, like that explains everything. “You shouldn’t even be considering it.”
Obviously he disapproves, but he hasn’t been looking at what I’ve been looking at the past couple weeks. “I didn’t say I loved it, I said it’s not bad, considering.”
“Why aren’t you getting an apartment at Promenade, like Nick? I like the idea of you being close to him, in case you need anything.”
I stop in front of a duplex. “There are no apartments at the Promenade—trust me, I looked. Plus . . . it would be weird.” Colton and Casey living in the complex, too? As much as I like the idea, I’m not sure it’s smart.
“I spoke with him yesterday.”
“Who? Nick?”
My dad stares at me a moment, his dark eyes and bushy black eyebrows making him look so severe in the night shadows it almost makes me uneasy. There’s a fine line between grumpy-Cal and stern dad-face.
“No, with Colton.”
I feel my face drowning in red and I look away.
“I told him I would kill him if he hurt you.”
“Dad!”
He raises an eyebrow at me this time. “You thought I wouldn’t say something to him? You know me better than that, Machaela.”
I smack his arm. “How embarrassing.” My heart stops for the second time in the span of ten seconds. “What else did you say to him?”
“That’s it, I only threatened him.”
“Oh, good then.” I shake my head.
“Sweetheart, he’s the first guy you’ve ever gotten serious with—to my knowledge, at least.” He looks at me sideways. “You’re delusional if you thought I wouldn’t say anything.”
I rest my head on the steering wheel. “You couldn’t even be sly about it?”
He simply stares at me, brow hardened. “No.”
Leaning my head back against the seat, I stare out the window. I guess the fact that my dad told him he’d kill him and Colton chose to sleep with me again anyway means he’s more committed than I thought.
When I realize my dad is staring at me, I shake my head again. “I still can’t believe you. Back to house hunting . . .” I look out the window. “There aren’t a lot of apartment complexes to speak of, so you’re going to have to lower your standards a bit, I’m sorry to say.”
My dad peers through the windshield at the small tan duplex with a rusty red trim and the sizable front yard that’s covered in a layer of snow. “I’ll help you with the cost of an apartment at Saratoga Downs. It’s a safe community and the condos are new, so you don’t have to worry about things breaking.”
I let out a grateful sigh, his words giving an endearing tug at my heart. His offer is sweet, but . . . “No, you’re not helping me with my rent or a mortgage. We talked about this. That defeats the purpose of me being on my own.”
He shakes his head, his expression unchanging as he continues to assess the neighborhood. I glance at the duplex, trying to see what he sees. The neighbor has a new Acura and it’s a decent neighborhood, just in an older part of town. All the houses are cute and lit up with twinkling lights, making the whole street glow in the darkening winter evening.
“What’s wrong with this place? Why do you already hate it?” I peer around again. “If anything, you should be grateful. I think that’s the owner that lives next door, in case I need anything.”
He appraises it again, his upper lip curling into a snarl.
“Come on,” I say and unbuckle my seat belt. “The owner’s probably waiting.” Flinging the door open, I’m prepared to be accosted by the brisk wind as I step out of the Jeep.
&
nbsp; The Jeep protests as my dad climbs out. “What about a loan?” he asks. “I could loan you money and you can pay me back, that way you can buy a cute little place.”
“How about,” I say as he comes to stand next to me, “we pick a place for me to live in now, then we can talk about me buying something?”
My dad eyes me for a second and starts for the front door. I guess that’s as good of an agreement as I’m going to get.
Forty-Eight
Colton
“Dude, what’s up with your sandwich?” Bobby asks, shoving a HoHo into his mouth. It must be a Carmichael thing—HoHos. Cal generally eats one with his lunch, at least on the days he joins us, and I’ve even seen Mac sneak one on occasion when she doesn’t think her dad is looking. “Where’s the crust?” Bobby looks at me like I have a second head sprouting from between my shoulders.
I chew a bite of my PB&J and shrug. “It’s just habit,” I say and take a few swigs from my water bottle. “I do it without thinking now; you’ll get it when you have kids.”
The break room door is thrown open and Mac marches in with a broad smile on her face, eyes flashing excitement as she peers around. “Where’s Dad?”
Bobby points toward Cal’s office, remnants of his HoHo on his face. Mac walks over to the counter, grabs a napkin from the pile, and hands it to Bobby, motioning to his upper lip. “I got the duplex,” she says, her eyes sweeping the room, roaming over each of us. She claps her hands together and does a bunny hop in her heels.
My eyes widen. “That’s talent,” I mumble.
Reilly and Felix laugh, and Mac’s continues, “I mean, I just looked at it last night, but they said I can start moving my stuff in next week.” She stalls and the excitement in her eyes fades for a second, then they’re brilliant and glimmering again. “I hope none of you have plans next week after work. I’ll need your help moving my things.” She turns on her heels and heads back out the door, toward her dad’s office.
“Wait,” Bobby says, jumping out of his seat and following her. “I thought dad was buying you a condo or something.”
Their voices turn to murmurs out in the shop and Reilly looks at me. “Wow, that was fast. Good for her.”
Felix nods in agreement, but I’m not sure how I feel, and when Bobby practically drags his feet back into the break room, shoulders hunched, I wonder if I’m not alone in having displaced feelings. He’s still staring out the door as he lowers himself back down into his chair.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. Bobby’s rarely at a loss for words.
He glances at me and nods, but he’s hesitant and reserved. “It’s just weird how much everything is changing.”
I nod, but not just because I understand—I agree.
Bobby looks at me. “Are you guys, you know, together now, officially?”
His question comes completely out of the blue, and I have to think before I can answer. “I—it’s kind of complicated,” I finally say. “We’re just taking it slow.”
Bobby eyes me a minute, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. And then I feel Felix and Reilly’s eyes on me, too. I know they’re all thinking the same thing Cal is every time I catch him looking at me. They have standards and expectations, and I can’t think about that right now if I want to stay focused on me and Mac. Will she be moved out by the time I get back from San Francisco? Maybe it will be good for us to have distance while I’m gone this weekend. Maybe we’re getting too comfortable too fast, even if the thought of not seeing her so often does make me uncomfortable.
Just as I’m about to clock back in on the ancient, not-worth-saving piece-of-shit Taurus I’m working on, I hear Mac’s hurried footsteps coming my way. The sound of her heels echo through my area, and before I know it, she grabs my hand and pulls me out the side door, out into the alleyway blanketed in an inch of snow.
I shiver as the twenty-degree weather assaults me, but Mac’s oblivious. She pushes me up against the cool brick of the building, but I forget about all of that the moment her lips are on mine. I’m stunned, but ridiculously pleased.
Mac’s lips are soft and warm, her kiss deep and lingering. Thoughts I should not be having at work around her dad spark to mind. Mercifully, she pulls away, leaving behind the taste of something sweet and fruity, like strawberries. She rests her hands on my chest, palms open, and grins up at me.
“I’m more excited about getting a new place than I thought I’d be.” Her eyes are sparkling with delight and I take this unexpected make-out session to be a really good sign. “I want to celebrate. Do you know any good tattoo places?”
* * *
An hour after work, we finally arrive at Barney’s in Benton. Not the uppity clothing store that my father shops at, but the best tattoo shop in Benton County, according to my cousin Ben.
I pull the truck up to a stop outside the brick building; it’s graffitied in old-school tattoo art, no doubt the work of one of the artists in the shop. Brown slush lines the street, and between the wind and darkening sky, the last thing I want is Mac slipping and breaking a leg or worse. “Wait a second,” I say, turning off the truck. “I’ll help you.” I can imagine Cal killing me for a number of reasons. Mac breaking a bone while she’s with me could easily be one of them.
I open the driver’s side door, accosted by the angry howl of winter, and hurry around to her side of the truck, rolling my eyes as she climbs out on her own. Of course she is.
“Thanks anyway,” she says playfully, and she reaches back inside for her camera. Her hair floats in the breeze around her shoulders and beanie. I can smell her, a warm, floral scent, and I’ve come to miss it when she’s not around.
I shut the door behind her, grab onto her red mitten-covered hand, and usher her toward the building. The instant we step inside the parlor, I let out a breath of relief. The place is warm and smells astringent, which generally means it’s clean, and I can relax a little. Framed images cover the walls from ceiling to floor. The place is two stories, but by the looks of it, upstairs is the business side of things. The shop is wide, with six stations, three on the right and three on the left, all open for viewing, and they’re tidy and clean. There are a few artists hunched over their canvases, all of them in jeans and short sleeves. You’d never know it’s a cold winter’s night outside by the looks of them. The woman closest to us glances up at us and adjusts the purple glasses resting on her pierced nose.
“Hello there, welcome to Barney’s,” she says. “Are you Colton?”
I nod. “And this is Mac.” The woman’s eyes shift from me to Mac and back again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tanya. Feel free to look through the sample books and see if there’s anything you like. I’ll be with you in a few. I’m just finishing up.”
Both Mac and I nod, but I feel her stiffen beside me. When I look at her, scouring the place, her expression is open and welcoming, curious if nothing else. But I can’t see her eyes . . .
“You good?” I ask and help her shrug out of her peacoat.
With reluctance, her eyes meet mine, and I see a shadow of uncertainty—but Mac being Mac, she plays it off with a nod and a smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I know she said she wanted to celebrate, but this doesn’t seem like much of a celebration, especially if she’s having second thoughts.
Mac meets my gaze, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, a telltale sign that she’s undecided and a little nervous. “Definitely. I’m just not a needles person. They kind of make me woozy.”
“I see.” And I guess that makes sense. I wouldn’t guess her dad’s ever stopped her from getting a tattoo given the number of them he has on his arms and who knows where else. “Well then, maybe you should start with something small? Just an idea.”
Mac nods and takes a look around. Before I know it, her camera is in her hands and she’s taking a photo of the place. “Um, Tanya, do you mind?” she asks, holding up her camera. Mac’s face is flushed, like she just realized she might be d
oing something wrong.
Tanya shakes her head. “Hell, if they’re any good, I might buy a few off of you.”
Mac’s head tilts to the side and she considers that a moment. “Sure. I won’t know until I develop them, though.”
Tanya turns back to her canvas. “You let me know,” she says. The burly man in her chair is staring up at the ceiling, his black ponytail so long it nearly touches the ground. He’s already covered in tattoos. I wonder where she could possibly be fitting another one.
Mac and I exchange a surprised grin before she snaps a few more shots. She makes her way deeper and deeper into the shop, completely in awe. Pausing next to an empty work station, she bends over to take a shot. I wonder what beauty she sees in a rainbow of plastic ink bottles. She crouches down to get another angle.
“As much as I enjoy the view,” I say playfully, leaning over the counter, “you should probably be picking a tattoo, since you’re up next. Or do you already know what you want?”
With a sideways grin, she makes her way back to my side of the counter, her eyes never leaving mine. With her full pink lips pulled into a sideways smirk, she sets her camera down on the counter and stops in front of me, toe to toe, our faces only a hairsbreadth apart. “You enjoyed the view, did you?” she says with a suggestive lilt. Her gaze flicks from my lips back to my eyes. “Good to know.”
I’m glad she’s not thinking about needles anymore, but now I’m starting to get a little too warm and riled up, eager to get out of here. I clear my throat and gesture to the row of books labeled by the styles of tattoos that fill their pages: tribal tats and cover-ups, new school and portraits . . . the list goes on and on.
“What were you thinking about getting?” I ask, opening a portfolio with mythical creatures in front of me. The pages are so worn they are falling out of the binding.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 60
