They watched the rest of the movie with her head still on a pillow in his lap. When it was over, he lifted her up, kissed her cheek, and said he’d pick her up at two on Saturday.
She hugged the front door as she watched him walk to his car. Because if she let go, she’d race after him and tell him to stay.
…
Bryce got home to his and Danny’s place and immediately hit the shower. He’d never been more turned on in his life than he was sitting with Honor on the couch and making her feel good. Hearing the breathless sounds she made when she came had made him harder than a steel drum. If there hadn’t been a pillow in his lap offering some barrier, he doubted he would’ve been able to reign himself in.
He knew he’d crossed a line and was treading on dangerous ground. Cooper had made it clear he didn’t want Bryce near his sister, but with her blond hair, blue-gray eyes, killer bod, and naughty smile, no guy in his right mind could look away. Look closer—something Bryce couldn’t stop doing—and there was a woman with much more to offer than a beautiful view. She had substance and sincerity and hated anyone studying her too hard. Which stupidly only made him want to know more.
What started nine months ago wasn’t over despite his mind’s protests.
He toweled off, pulled a pair of sweats on, and headed to the kitchen for a cold drink. He’d keep this unwanted connection with Honor casual because stopping didn’t appeal to him. It felt good being around her and he hadn’t felt good in a long time.
“Feel better?” Danny asked from the living room. His laptop sat open beside him on the couch and one of those home improvement shows played on their flat screen.
“Much.” Bryce guzzled down some milk, wiped his mouth.
“Quit drinking from the carton you douche.”
Bryce ambled to the oversized chair beside the couch and sat, his douche smile firmly in place.
Danny rolled his eyes. After almost three years of living together the guy should get over it already. “If you say the word ‘cooties’ I’m going to punch you.”
“What’s up your ass tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe you should jack-off in the shower.” Bryce leaned back, put his feet up on the coffee table. “Really takes the edge off.”
“Do I want to know?”
“No.” Bryce didn’t want to lie to his best friend. Danny had more restraint than anyone he knew and taking things as far as he had with Honor tonight showed zero restraint. His actions also effed up his relationship with Cooper.
Danny’s phone vibrated with a text. He picked it up and read the message. A heavy-duty frown took over his expression.
“Something wrong?” Bryce asked.
“It’s Olivia. She’s upset about some stuff with work.” He double-thumbed a message back. “I think I’m going to head home this weekend to see her.”
Olivia was the unofficial fourth Musketeer. Home was the small beach town a couple hours north where he, Danny, Zane, and Olivia had grown up. Liv lived next door to Danny, but it wasn’t until sixth grade when a girl called her Chubby Livvy and Danny defended her that they all became friends. More tomboy than girlie, she’d liked to be outdoors as much as they had.
“She didn’t say anything at the wedding.”
Danny kept his phone in his hand and looked up. He’d been closest to Olivia, and felt responsible for her even when he wasn’t close by. “She hadn’t realized how bad it would get. And she didn’t want to be a downer on Zane’s big day. I’ll probably head out tomorrow. Be back Sunday night.”
A picture of Honor immediately flashed through Bryce’s mind. Naked and in his bed. Naked and in his shower. Naked and standing with her palms on the floor to ceiling window right over there. She’d love the view of the ocean and the Santa Monica pier from their high-rise condo. He’d love staring at her.
“Dammit, Bishop,” Danny said.
Bryce blinked away his impure thoughts. “What?”
“Do not screw things up with Cooper.”
It sucked having a friend who could read your mind, but the reprimand cleared his head. He couldn’t get physical with Honor again. Coop meant too much to their agency. His inconvenient attraction aside, Bryce felt a true kinship with the skateboarder. At sixteen, a car had hit Bryce while riding his bike. With traumatic breaks in both legs, doctors doubted he’d walk again without a limp. That prognosis only made him want to prove them wrong. So he had.
“I’ve got this,” Bryce said.
Danny scraped a hand over his jaw. “I’m not so sure.”
“Win or go home, right? I haven’t put everything I’ve got into this agency to blow a deal over a girl.”
“There’s the guy who swore off women.”
“He’s still here.” He’d triumphed over every setback that fate sent his way and this time would be no different.
…
Two days later, Bryce parked his car at the Los Angeles Pottery Show and hurried around to open Honor’s door. He’d almost canceled their Saturday plans, but as she continued to talk about pottery and other antiques without taking a breath he was glad he hadn’t. Her extensive knowledge of design and workmanship kept him fascinated, but listening to her uninhibited enthusiasm, he realized he’d hit on her main passion and she glowed with happiness. “You really know your stuff,” he said.
“It’s kind of my thing.” She pursed her lips and her gaze took a faraway turn, as if she’d caught herself off guard with the remark.
“We never talked price. What does someone with your vast knowledge and exceptional charisma charge?”
“Hmm…” She tapped her fingers to her mouth. A mouth he could tell she tried to keep from being affected by his compliment. “Let’s see how our luck goes and then I’ll let you know.”
“I’m already the luckiest guy here.”
“Bryce.”
He really got off on the sexy-sweet way she said his name, a touch of annoyance layered at the tail end, like a little emphasis on the “ssss” would scare him off. It should. But somehow he found himself walking a tightrope without a net and rather than worry about falling, a buzz ran through his veins. “Yeah?”
“You need to stop. This is work. I have to stay focused and I can’t do that when you say nice things to me.”
“Got it. I’ll stay quiet, rely on head nods, the occasional hand gesture, and let you do your thing.”
“Thank you.”
Every person they met on the conference room floor of the convention center fell in instant like with Honor, making it easy for Bryce to stand back and watch. Her warmth and positive energy charmed men and women alike. She treated everyone like an old friend whether they had something of interest or not. A couple of the dealers had sold to her before and one of them had a piece of Roseville Bryce wanted.
He made eye contact with Honor and nodded to let her know his interest. His mom had over two dozen pieces, but he didn’t recognize the design on this particular pot.
She picked up the Roseville. “This pattern is called Normandy. It was introduced in 1928 and its Italianate design features knots of vines, berries, and leaves on a textured background.” She ran her hands over the pot, and her teacher voice had him in need of a lot of lessons that had nothing to do with antiques. “This was a short lived line so there aren’t a lot of pieces. It’s in excellent condition with only minor discoloration to the inside.” She handed it to Bryce. “How much?” she asked the dealer.
“For you? Two hundred sixty-five,” the older man answered.
“Do you mind if I talk to my client in private for a moment?” The man gave a nod and stepped away. “What do you think?” She smoothed her fingers over a vine on the piece. Their hands brushed and their eyes immediately met.
“I like it, but you’re the expert.”
Her face lit up. “It’s a fair price and from what you told me of your mom’s collection, I think this will be a great addition.”
“Sold.”
She clap
ped her hands together before carefully taking the pot from him and giving it to the dealer to wrap up. “That was fun,” she whispered.
Bryce wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her to his side. “It was.”
Her body relaxed under his hold. She laid her head on his shoulder. “Mind if we look around a little longer? I’d like to buy one or two things for the store while we’re here.”
“Sure.” He didn’t want the comfortable vibe they’d struck to end just yet.
She pulled back and like so many times before, her smiling eyes met his and he couldn’t look away. She slayed him with the undisguised emotion he’d learned she didn’t give away easily. Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves, but not Honor. She wore hers in the silver blue depths staring back at him.
Sometime later while driving away from the show, he slowed when he caught sight of a tattoo parlor. Without thought, he pulled over and parked in front of the shop.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her attention out the windshield.
“Getting a tattoo.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah. You’re welcome to get one, too, if you want. No pressure, though.”
She gave a tiny, dubious shake of her head. She wasn’t fooled. “How long have you wanted a tattoo?”
“What makes you think I don’t already have one?”
“You’re about as clean cut as they come, Bryce Bishop. And I’ve seen you…” She clamped her mouth shut.
He turned to face her more fully. “Almost naked?”
“Yes. So unless you’ve got your mama’s face stamped to your butt cheek, I’m betting there’s no ink to be found.”
He grinned and leaned over the center console. “I may be clean cut on the outside, but make no mistake.” He moved even closer, close enough to see her pulse jump at the base of her neck. “I like to get very, very dirty when nobody’s looking.”
“That’s unfortunate,” she whispered, angling her head so her lips were at his ear. “I bet you’re fun to watch.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll prove it to you later.”
“You think so?” She undid her seatbelt and reached for the door handle.
Bryce caught her arm. “”I’m not thinking at all.”
Her lashes swept down and lifted only halfway, her focus somewhere on the dashboard. “Noted.” She climbed out of the car. He came around the hood and picked up her hand. Her clammy palm almost slipped right through his. “You can do this,” he said.
“As much as I want to believe I’d do it on my own, I’m not sure I would. I’m kind of mad at Payton right now.”
“Ever think…” He cut himself off. He may be trying to rationalize the list to himself, but Honor didn’t need to be dragged into the hit his ego had taken. He was already laying himself a little too bare, trusting Honor when his track record with women said that was a stupid move.
“Think?”
Payton wanted to push you out of your comfort zone? That maybe the list was as much about Honor as it was about her friend. “Nothing. Let’s do this. How about you go first? That way you don’t have to worry about it for too long.”
“Can you just strap me to the chair and do it?”
“I can definitely do that, but not anyone else.” He nudged her earlobe with his nose and breathed her in. She smelled all sorts of good.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Maybe if you talk dirty to me, I won’t think about the needle digging into my skin.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll do whatever you need.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?” She squeezed his hand a little tighter. The tiny gesture of thanks was one more reason he couldn’t stay away from her.
“Every time.” He’d stepped this deep into the waters and apparently he didn’t know when to stop. Or if he could. He hated the thought of any other man taking care of her needs. Stupid, since the main purpose here was to help her follow through with her promise to Payton, not bond over getting inked. If anything, she seemed determined to keep an emotional distance from him, too. Just as Payton had done when she dumped him without a word.
Honor let go of his hand and pushed open the door to the tattoo parlor. “This time works.”
“This time?”
“I helped you get a gift for your mom. You’re helping me cross something off Payton’s list. After this I say we’re even and there’s no reason to keep seeing each other.”
Bryce flinched. At least Honor gave him some warning.
Chapter Seven
Honor’s entire body trembled. And it had almost nothing to do with the needle about to puncture her skin.
“The inside of your wrist is a great place to do this,” Ryder, the tattoo artist said, holding her hand, palm up. “I don’t go very deep into the skin—about 1/16 of an inch—so you’ll hardly know you’re being touched. The process is more irritating than anything else, like a hot vibrating sensation.”
She squeezed her lips together to keep from giggling like a nervous teenager. Ryder could no doubt feel her shaking, but it was the hot vibrating sensation in her other hand giving her the most trouble. Bryce’s fingers were laced with hers and his thumb kept rubbing across her other wrist.
“Remember it’s all in the mind,” Bryce said. “Think about how bad you want this.”
Sitting in a black leather chair that unfortunately did not include any restraining devices, she held her head to the side, her cheek pressed into the chair back, chin tucked close to her shoulder, eyes on Bryce, and did just that.
She also tried not to think about how bad she wanted him.
“Everyone has a different threshold for pain,” Ryder continued, his throaty voice a perfect match to his muscled, tattooed body. “Feeling apprehensive is normal. Even guys my size with multiple tats get nervous. It’s the body’s natural defense and endorphins kick in. The first minute is usually the worst and then you’ll realize it’s not that bad and relax.”
Honor nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“Here goes,” Ryder said.
Bryce didn’t flinch when she squeezed his hand tighter than she’d ever squeezed anything before in her life. Since the moment she’d sat in the chair, his eyes had been on hers. He’d kept her with him, kept her right there like it was just the two of them. His eyes said even more than his words. They said you’ve got this. They said you’ve got me.
She couldn’t compare his attention to any relationship she’d had before. Guys didn’t stay. They played and left. That’s how she worked it, wanted it. If she never committed, she’d never let anyone down. No one would get hurt. Living up to the kind of love her parents had was something she’d never accomplish.
But Bryce seemed intent on getting to know her, not forgetting her.
It scared her to think about letting his friendship go. If he weren’t holding her hand and staring into her eyes with care and warmth, she would not be sitting in a tattoo parlor right now following through on one of Payton’s wishes.
It freaked her out more to think about keeping him around. Despite her best efforts, her heart had gone and gotten involved. Would Payton approve? Did Honor deserve to feel something good for a little while?
Tiny beads of sweat rolled down her sides. The tattoo gun made a high-pitched buzzing sound, like an electric razor, and she tried to tune it out. She pressed her feet into the footrest on the chair. Instead of thinking a needle punctured her skin, she pictured a tiny pin pushing down and dragging across her skin.
“You’re doing great,” Bryce said. “Tell me why Faith?”
Since reading Pay’s list, she’d given a lot of thought to the kind of tattoo she wanted and it always came back to Faith—the simple, yet meaningful word tattooed in a thin, handwriting font.
“It’s Payton’s middle name.” And maybe, just maybe, having the word inked on her skin would renew her trust and confidence in herself. “It’s not a bad word to live by either.”
“No, i
t’s not. I’m a pretty badass wordsmith, and I like it.”
Honor squinted. “You’re telling me you have a way with words?” He did. He so did. But she’d get a second tattoo before she confessed that.
His lips curled into an irresistible challenge. “Let’s play a game. I’ll give you a word and you tell me the definition. We’ll take turns until one of us doesn’t know the meaning.”
“Okay.” Her dad had drilled new words into her every night for months before the SAT. Not to mention she’d won the poetry slam in college.
“Ladies first.”
“Collywobbles.” She relaxed her hold on his hand, Ryder’s pinpricks not so bad anymore.
“Stomach pain or queasiness.” He scooted back into his director’s chair in an obvious attempt to show her he could do this all night. “Bumbershoot.”
She lifted her cheek from the chair and angled her head sideways. “An umbrella. Wabbit.”
“That’s not your Elmer Fudd impression is it?”
“No smartass, it isn’t.” The muscles in her legs loosened as her feet eased up on the footrest.
Ryder cleared his throat. “That’s good. You need to take this guy down, Honor.”
Bryce let out a fat-chance huff. “Wabbit means exhausted or worn out. Unless you’re in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Then it means rabbit.” He smirked. “Hootenanny.”
“A country or folk music get together.” Honor let out an untroubled breath. “Bishop, you’re making this too easy.” She ran her thumb back and forth over his, their fingers still entwined. “Fard.”
“Repeat the word please.”
Honor chuckled. “This isn’t a spelling bee, but you look really cute all serious, so I’ll give this to you as your one free pass. Fard.” She pictured Bryce as a young boy dressed in a collared shirt and vest, listening to his English lessons in earnest.
“I won the spelling bee.”
She laughed harder. “Of course you did.”
He glared, but she felt it like the sun peeking between clouds. If he only knew how much his brains turned her on. “Face paint.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he rushed to add, “Or make-up.”
Blame it on the Kiss Page 10
