“Oh, wow,” Uma breathed as she shifted it into her right hand, let her grip slip into place, the pads of her fingers tingling. It was a crappy point and shoot, but she didn’t care. It was beautiful. Perfect.
Her heart picked up speed. This must be what drug addicts felt with their next fix in hand.
“Wow, this is…” She looked at Rory and would have cried if the tears would come. “Thank you.”
“No worries, love.” He winked, rose to standing, looked down the length of the table, and raised his voice. “Got your hands full, haven’t you, Ive, mate?”
Uma pressed the On button, wound a hand through the strap, and lifted it to her eye. As if by magic, he was there, more real than before. Ivan, saying something to Rory, making everyone at the table laugh. Looking through the lens took the edge off seeing Binx perched on his lap. She snapped a picture, turned the camera, snapped another. Zoomed in. Click, click. Ivan didn’t look exactly comfortable, but he didn’t appear unhappy either, surrounded by women.
Oh, but this was good. Her armor. A relief. Protection.
In her element, Uma stood and took two steps back. Even those steps were right. She never stumbled while she worked, never. It was her superpower: unerring confidence when looking through a lens. Her anti-kryptonite. That’s how Joey had eventually gotten the best of her—he’d broken her equipment, left her defenseless.
Someone settled a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the room.
“Glad to see you like it, love,” Rory said. He clapped her once on the back, then headed to the bar.
“You seem pretty excited about that thing,” Jessie said, her voice reaching Uma from a different plane. She could hardly hear her.
“You have no idea.”
“Guess he’s not an asshole with everybody, then.”
“You mean Rory? He’s been nice to me. Just like everyone else here.”
“Probably wants to get in your pants,” Jessie said, sounding snide.
Uma looked at the man behind the bar, snapped two photos of him and a close-up of Jessie. And she was photogenic on top of everything else. Did the woman have no faults? “No. He doesn’t.”
Jessie snorted in response. “I gotta go. Sitter needs to be cut loose.” She stood and pulled on her coat. It was one of those sporty, silver puffer things that only thin women can wear. “See you next week, ladies! Ive, don’t forget I need you tomorrow.”
The group dispersed. Monica said something about hurrying home to Kevin before he managed to kill their sons. Uma hadn’t finished her drink, but the sight of Binx cozying up to Ivan was nauseating. Her hand on his chest and his clasped over it, a half smile on his face as he shook his head at something she’d said. Probably something sexy and cute and clever. He bent and chuckled at whatever it was, and Uma knew: she’d been delusional about him. He’d never looked at her like that, all lazy and smiley. Not once.
I’m an idiot. He’d been nice to her, letting her sleep in his bed, kissing her and the other stuff, but she realized it was all out of pity. Jessie had been wrong. Ivan didn’t like Uma; he felt sorry for her.
She buttoned up and waved vaguely before heading out.
18
The car wouldn’t start. Of course it wouldn’t.
Of all the times and places, this might not have been the worst, but it was certainly the most infuriating. She turned the key in the ignition again and…nothing. Shit! She’d have to go back in and—
A knock on the car window brought her head up and memories flooding in. Déjà vu from her first week in Blackwood.
She opened the door.
“Trouble?”
“Yeah.”
“Pop it. I’ll take a look.”
She popped the hood, and Ivan disappeared behind it. The tiniest sliver of a hand was visible, a sleeve moving around behind it. She wondered if he knew what he was doing. Of course he did. He was exactly the kind of man who could fix a car.
“Try it again.”
She turned the key to an empty click.
“Battery’s dead. Got cables?”
“No.” Of course not. She wouldn’t even know what to do with them if she did.
“You stay in there. I’ll give you a jump.”
Ivan drove his truck up beside the Honda and rummaged around under both hoods for a minute. Finally, he started his truck and asked her to do the same. Nothing. Not a solitary sound.
“Shit.” Uma laid her head on the steering wheel. It had been an old car to begin with, and the most she’d done in as long as she could remember was fill the tank with gas, so it could be anything, really.
Ivan opened the door and crouched down. “Come on, I’ll take care of it in the mornin’.”
Without lifting her head from the wheel, she took a deep breath. “I owe you so much already.”
“No you don’t.”
She sighed. “Sorry to ruin your night like this.”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
She finally turned to look at him. “You know. You and Binx.”
His eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. “What about me and Binx?”
“You looked like you were having a good time. I’m sorry to ruin that.”
“Binx is an old friend. Wasn’t plannin’ on doin’ anything with her, though.”
Because you like me? Uma’s pathetic inner voice screamed. “No?”
Ivan shrugged and looked away. “Figured you might need a place to crash again tonight.”
His words brought Uma’s body humming back to life. Amazing how little it took to get her going nowadays.
Simmer down, she thought. He’s just offering a place to stay. Besides, she was supposed to be avoiding him for his own good.
“It’d be great if you could drop me at Ms. Lloyd’s. She’s been behaving herself. Gave me a key and everything.”
Gruffly, he said, “Suit yourself. Come on. I’ll take you.”
She got out of the car and locked it, pointlessly.
Despite the size of the cab and the growl of the engine, the inside of Ivan’s truck was small and quiet, hemmed in. Uma heard his breathing and thought she might be able to smell him too—that woody fire scent that her body was already conditioned to respond to. In some offbeat version of Pavlov’s dogs, she’d sniff him and go into heat.
“You been avoidin’ me, Uma?” His voice sounded harder than before.
“No!” she said, breathless at the lie. “I told you. I’ve been very busy.”
“Hmm.” His mouth curved down.
He pulled up in front of Ms. Lloyd’s and threw his truck into Park. A crack of blue light shone through the living room curtains—the television. Uma looked at the house for a moment. She had no desire to go in there. She wanted to go home with Ivan, to sink back into his bed and let him help her forget. Teach her how to feel real again. And why shouldn’t she have that? Joey didn’t know she was here, after all. He couldn’t possibly, could he? The phone call was some automatic thing set up to scare her, but no way he’d traced her here…right?
“Okay. Thanks.”
“I’ll come get you in the mornin’. We can change the battery.”
“Thank you.” She made as if to open the door, dragging out the motions of getting out. And if she were really dishonest, she could blame Ivan for the look he gave her, the way it held her, forcing her to stay, despite all her misgivings. So light, but still a weight that anchored her there. She couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.
And enough with the paranoia. Joey wouldn’t find her here. He’d never connect her with Ivan.
When her eyes got caught up in his, her breath snagged, tight in her throat, and she wondered, Couldn’t I kiss him again? Just once? Is it so bad to want one more? Didn’t she deserve this little bit of happiness before leaving this place forever?
“Change your mind?” he said, the smile already playing with his lips.
Uma answered after a sigh. “Yeah.”
Blame it on the Singapore Sling.
* * *
Ivan’s workshop was dark and cold. Squeak was there to greet them, but the place had none of the golden, flame-drenched magic of Uma’s previous visits. Ivan went to work providing light and warmth, but something about the space seemed almost sad now.
Why would he live here when he could be in that beautiful house? It occurred to Uma that this man might very well have as much wrong with him as she did.
He bit off someone’s ear, for God’s sake.
As he lit things, she took off her jacket but kept hold of the camera and looked around the room, snapping pictures of everything, despite the lack of light: a rifle hung on an iron rack above the door, a bow and arrow beside it, a random, worm-eaten newel post and a pile of books lay next to the bed on the floor—mostly big, coffee-table-size hardbacks on wrought iron and landscaping, with a couple of ratty paperbacks thrown into the mix. She read a spine—Ender’s Game. Huh. Impossible to imagine Ivan reading for relaxation. Her eyes swung back up to the gun. It should have frightened her but oddly didn’t.
“You hunt?”
“Yep.”
“What do people hunt around here?”
“Deer. Squirrel if you’re dirt poor.”
“And you?”
“Ate a whole lot of squirrel growin’ up.”
Uma shuddered at the thought. Squirrel and rabbits—little bones.
“Today, mostly venison.”
A straight-backed chair sat near the bed, almost invisible beneath a heap of clothing made up of jeans and shirts, maybe boxers. Something sticking out from the bottom caught her eye: a bright-blue tie, oddly out of place here.
“You own a tie.”
“Hmm?”
She dragged it from the precariously balanced pile with a light hiss of slick fabric and let it dangle from her fingertips.
“Think I can’t spruce up?”
“I have a hard time picturing it.” Uma tilted her head and shut one eye. Nope, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of him in a suit. She didn’t mind, though. Joey had been a clotheshorse, made for designer duds. Ivan was made for something more elemental. Uma liked that about him.
“Let me take you to dinner, and I might show you.” There was a challenge there.
“You asking me out again?”
“Maybe. You gonna change your mind if I do?”
She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Just might.”
“I’ll think about it. One rejection’s about all I can take in a week.”
Uma set the camera on the bed and pulled the tie taut between her hands, enjoying its satiny feel. Somehow, she ended up behind Ivan, who knelt, stoking the steadily growing fire. She could see the top of his newly shorn hair, the blunt tips of his shoulders, the rounded, work-hewn muscles lining his arms.
Physically, this man could do whatever he wanted with her. The thought turned Uma on and scared her—the two sensations not mutually exclusive. She stepped closer, daring her fear into submission.
Ivan sat on his heels and let his back flatten against her legs. It was hot in front of the fire, but she stood her ground. God, she liked him there, kneeling at her feet.
The hair under her fingers was silkier than it looked: finer, sweeter, like him. She gave it a slight tug, tilting his head back and bringing his eyes in line with hers. She could almost hear the click as they connected, could feel it somewhere in her abdomen, the echoes skimming along her spine to her fingertips, where the tie in her hand immediately took on new meaning, a second life.
Purposefully, Uma stretched it out, showed it to him before pulling it over his eyes and smoothing it over his battered nose. He didn’t complain when she yanked hard, tying a fat knot at the back of his head.
In the silence, his breathing sped up to match hers.
What on earth am I doing? she thought. “Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Nothing.” Almost anxiously, he added, “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”
Uma nudged him so he turned toward her, but when he made to get up, she set a hand on his shoulder, kept him down—as much as she, or anyone, had the power to keep this man down. He hesitated, and Uma sensed the tight strength of him, restrained. The tension eased, and his lips parted.
He sat, head level, back straight.
He’s waiting for me to tell him what to do, she realized.
It was warm beside the fire, but the air was still cool enough to make Uma’s nipples pebble into hard little nubs. She reached forward and tweaked them, enjoying the feel of her own body for the first time in months.
“What are you doing?” His voice sounded pained, impatient, and so fucking turned-on. “Are you touching yourself?”
She nodded before realizing that she had to speak. “Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
“My nipples.”
“What are you doing to them?”
“I’m kind of…pulling on them.”
“Why’re you doin’ that?” Ivan sounded tormented.
Uma spoke, hardly recognizing the words as her own. “They’re so hard they kind of hurt.”
“Oh, shit.” His breathing was frankly asthmatic, his excitement palpable. “Show me.” As an afterthought, he added, “Please,” and it sounded an awful lot like begging.
“You want to feel?” said the vixen wearing Uma’s body.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She dropped to her knees in front of him, bringing their chests together. He followed orders so well. The thrill of being in charge ran through her veins like electricity.
Uma’s voice was a combination of eager and condescending as she said, “Go ahead, Ivan. You can touch them.”
He surprised her, because although his hands shot up, rather than go straight for the prize, he clasped her arms, ran his fingers lightly up them, over her shoulders to her neck, then forward to her jaw. He clasped her gently, one hand cupping her ear and the other under her chin as he bent his head and dropped a kiss on her mouth. A wet swipe of lips and tongue across her cheek to her neck, and back to her face, her lips. He made a lost little noise before dropping his hands, one to clasp her waist, the other, finally, her breast.
His fingers pinched and she yelped. Fuck. He kept surprising her, this man, tender and harsh, playful and helpless. So different from Joey, whose need to control had turned sex into a performance—contrived, choreographed perfection. It had been good for a while, but quickly turned hollow.
Ivan was an animal first and a man second, and by letting Uma lead, he was tamping down those natural instincts. But like a caged feline, he couldn’t seem to help nipping every now and then.
Am I playing with fire? she wondered. Mistaking a lion for a kitten? Maybe, but it was too good to stop.
Ivan’s palm settled over her, warm and rough and a little disorganized. It was so massive covering her breast that she felt small there for the first time ever.
“Oh, Christ, Uma. Christ,” he breathed into her mouth just before she bit his lip. He jumped, and his hands spasmed against her body, clasping and tightening. “I gotta touch your skin. Not this.” He pulled at her shirt. “You, Uma. I wanna feel you.”
Ignoring her frightened inner voice, Uma grasped his hand and led it down, beneath her top, to place it on her breast, over her bra. He squeezed once, brought his other hand beside it, and before she fully understood what he planned, he’d pulled both cups down. Only her shirt kept her from full exposure.
She groaned his name before he put his mouth over hers again, swallowing her words and distracting her from what else he was doing.
He was tweaking her, taking those ha
rd points and flicking them. He pulled away, bent down, and bit Uma through her shirt, right above the nipple, in a way that was so possessive she felt it, a clenching ache deep inside.
He moved his head down a couple of inches. “You’re beautiful, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped out and sucked hard, right through the fabric.
Uma fisted his hair in her hands and pulled him against her, letting her eyes fall closed with a quiet “ah.” It was too much and not enough. Again and again he pulled, nuzzled, bit, and sucked, all the while peppering the air with little grunts that were out of control and sexy as hell. Finally, she urged him over to the other breast, and he went to work there.
Before she knew what she was doing, Uma tugged his head away and unbuttoned her pants. “Take off your shirt,” she whispered, and he did, clumsy in his hurry. She shifted back to her knees and crawled forward until their chests were pressed lightly together, hot skin to damp cotton.
“Fuck, it’s good,” he groaned, and he was right. It was amazing. Too much. So close to being perfect.
He grabbed her hips, and Uma could feel his excitement when he pulled her harder to him. “I’m so fuckin’ turned on with you, Uma. So fuckin’ worked up. How’d you get me like this?”
“I don’t know. This isn’t…me.”
He squeezed her hips, ground them together, and then reached out, found the opening in her jeans, worked his hand inside, and cupped her. “Oh, fuck yeah.”
“Take off your pants, Ivan.”
19
Uma had never seen Ivan do anything as quickly as he whipped off those jeans.
He hadn’t changed since she’d last seen him, but still, his body took her by surprise. It wasn’t the muscles or the prettiness of all that pale skin that got to her. It was how real he was. As if Joey had existed on some other, more ethereal level, but Ivan was right there. With her, solid and true.
Under Her Skin Page 18
