Dust

by Mandy Harbin

  "What you felt earlier," he said softly, and my face flamed at the mention of his erection. "It's still there." I nodded, not sure what he was getting at. He rubbed his face roughly then pinned me with his stare. "Shit, Liv, you're a beautiful woman. I like you. A lot. More than I should. I care about you more than I've cared about any woman before, and that's zero. I'm not sure what to do here."

  His honesty was refreshing. The walls were coming down.

  "Let's start with a kiss." I carefully leaned toward him. He reached out and stroked my hair.

  "Firecracker," he breathed. He pulled me closer to him, and my insides screamed in victory. I wanted this more than anything.

  His lips barely touched mine, and I had to fight the urge to tackle him again. Need. I needed to touch him. He nudged my lips apart and gently sipped from them, taking my top one between both of his, and I was lost to sensation. I opened my mouth wider, wanting more.

  He gave it to me. He pulled me tighter to him, angling my head to his satisfaction before slipping his tongue into my mouth. It was a sensual dance, a gentle caress, teasing, encouraging, and I whimpered as I clutched the sides of his shirt. He groaned, kissing me deeper.

  Hands dove into my hair. Mine released his shirt, slipped around his neck, and into his as well. Since I was leaning toward him awkwardly, it only felt natural to get closer. To climb onto his lap.

  "Easy," he murmured against my lips when I settled onto him. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or reciting an order to himself. Either way, I knew it was best not to push him too far. I wanted to touch him. I didn't want to stop. But this was also so new for me. I made sure my core didn't rub against him, teasing him. Rather, I stayed seated on his upper thighs.

  We kissed for what seemed like hours. He massaged my head, stroked my face, rubbed my back all while devouring me with varying levels of intensity.

  It was heaven.

  When he eased back, he sprinkled a few small kisses on my lips before resting his forehead against mine and panting.

  "Holy crap," I muttered. My lungs were starved, too.

  He chuckled softly. "Yes, that." I bit my lip that was swollen from his kisses, and he groaned. "Jesus, you are going to be the death of me." His smiled dropped, and he squeezed my shoulders, playfulness gone. "Now what?"

  There was a loaded question. Did he mean with us in general or with today's activities? There was a big difference between asking me to be his girlfriend and asking me if I wanted to watch a movie when we got back. I decided to go all in. No more hiding. "I'm not sure. I know you mean a lot to me. I-I'd like to explore that."

  He guided my head to his shoulder and stroked my hair. "I've never done a relationship before."

  "Me, either. What if we chose not to label things. Just be us, not worry about how society defines what we are to each other?"

  He was quiet for a while, just running his fingers through my hair. "Hmm...I like that idea. I'm warning you now though, I'm really tough to get along with. You'll probably regret letting me get close to you." His voice was sad, and my heart ached for him. Knowing there wasn't anything stopping me now, I reached up and rubbed his chest over his beating heart, needing to soothe him.

  "We don't have to be easy, Kill. We just have to be us."

  "Figure it out as we go along, huh?" he asked into my hair as he nuzzled it.

  I nodded, knowing this could lead to something potentially great. Besides at this point, I had nothing to lose. I'd already lost my heart to him. I was in love. It had happened slowly, but it had happened all the same. Somehow he’d managed to sift through the dust of my life and reassemble me, one speck at a time.

  Losing my heart to him had been easy, but I knew to the bottom of my soul that if he ended up breaking it, I would be beyond devastated. Those delicate particles he’d salvaged would be forever obliterated.

  From this moment forward, I was forever changed because of Kill. I had to accept whatever came of my relationship with him, no matter how it evolved.

  And for the first time in my life, I looked forward to a new experience.

  13

  Kill

  I couldn't find my black dress socks. I pawed through dresser drawers, looked in my clean laundry basket—even though I knew I hadn't worn them lately—and even resorted to digging in my dirty clothes when all other locations proved fruitless. They weren't anywhere. I didn't have time for this. I made a mental note to buy more dress socks. I was an adult for crying out loud. I was about to graduate and have a full-time job. I should have nicer threads than jeans and Polos. But I didn't have time to chastise myself about that now. I needed some damn socks.

  "Granddad," I yelled from my room, my hands back to digging in drawers. "Can I borrow a pair of your black socks?"

  I looked at my watch and winced. I was supposed to be at The Rep for my art show in less than an hour, and I still had to pick up Liv.

  Liv. God, just thinking her name did all kinds of excitingand scarythings to me. The last couple of weeks had been amazing. After denying my attraction to her for so long, it had felt weird to finally be free and covet her in the open. Since we weren't defining things, our friends—hell, even those who weren't our friends—questioned what was going on between us. They'd seen us together before, but things were different now, and everyone had sensed it. Even if we hadn't mauled each other in public, the subtle caresses, the closeness, had spoken volumes. When actions weren't enough of an answer, our verbal reply had been simple. "We're just us." Not putting a standardized label on what we had made it easier to accept. At least I knew it did for me.

  No matter how much I cared about Liv, I knew deep down I wasn't good enough for her. Had that stopped me from exploring this thing we had? Hell no. But it ate at my conscience. If I were man enough, I'd put a stop to anything romantic, but I was too weak to deny what...who...I wanted, especially since I knew the feeling was mutual. Knowing Liv was also damaged helped me at times, but it also hurt me for the same reason. On the one hand it helped solidify the fact that no one was perfect, so I should give myself a break. But because she'd had such a tough life, I didn't want to add any problems to it. So yeah, I was still torn when it came to her, but I knew it was because I cared about her. All of her. I reasoned if I didn’t worry about that, it would mean she didn’t matter as much as she did.

  Because of what we'd both been through in our lives, I'd decided that although we weren't defining anything while exploring this thing between us, we would proceed with caution. Liv needed to be coddled. She needed to experience happiness in her life and learn to feel as if she deserved it. The day she'd been hospitalized, I'd nearly been undone. The gravity of her confession weighed more on me than any of my own shit. I needed her to do what was necessary to not only enjoy life but to feel worthy of it, too. She was an inexperienced woman who'd suffered a horrific past. She didn't have to spell it out for me that she'd been raped by her attacker. What little I knew about her life before was all I needed to piece it together myself. She needed to wade gently into this relationship. Otherwise, she could easily drown within it.

  If Liv had been spending her life in the kiddie pool, I'd been diving off cliffs. It was true I'd never had a girlfriend, but I'd seen to my physical needs. That had required a certain prowess with the ladies, which I'd honed over the years. Flirting was an art form I'd mastered, seduction the reward. I was always honest, though, with my expectations. I dove into the waters headfirst, enjoyed the thrill, and got the hell out of the water until I got the urge to dive again. It was fun, but didn't require me to stay in the proverbial water. I, too, needed to learn how to wade.

  "Will this work, son?" Granddad asked as he walked into my room holding a pair of black socks.

  My black socks. The ones I'd been tearing up the house looking for. I was so relieved, I didn't correct him on who I was.

  "Yes! Thanks." I took them from him and sat on the bed to put them on.

  "Going to work?"

  I cleared my throat as
I continued with my socks and now shoes. "It's me, Granddad. Killian. I have an art show as part of my graduation assignment."

  I glanced up after several seconds of silence, and he was frowning. "Oh, right. Right." He rubbed his head, looked around, and then smiled at me. "Killian." He nodded.

  "Is Margo in her room?" When he stared at me, I added quickly, "Your nurse."

  He shrugged. "Not sure where she's at."

  She was around here somewhere. She was his live-in nurse, and a godsend to me. I hadn't realized how much I'd been taking on until I'd finally gotten help with him. She was nice, older. A widow with no kids who really seemed to enjoy spending time with Granddad. The two would engage in playful banter from time-to-time, but it made Granddad smile. That was good. Very good.

  "I still see her, you know. Your guardian angel. Whenever the skies are pink at sunset, I see her. She makes me feel better about leaving you. She assures me you will not be left alone. But this one considers herself a princess, not an angel. I think she's fickle, that one."

  While standing up, I leaned over for my wallet. "Gotta go." I hugged him quickly. By now, I was used to his stories about seeing angels, but the princess reference was new. It still worried me because it only meant he was getting worse, but I'd stopped trying to set him straight. If it made him feel better during his remaining time here, then I didn't want to take that from him.

  "I was thinking about going up in the attic and pulling out some things to donate to the retirement home. They have some rummage sales scheduled this summer. If you want to set some of your stuff aside, I can take that, too."

  Granddad walking around in the attic by himself? Oh hell no. That was all kinds of dangerous, not to mention what seeing old mementos could do to his demeanor. "It's too hot to be up there this time of day. I'll go up there one morning before the temperature gets too unbearable and help."

  He frowned but nodded. "That's true. Okay. But lets not wait too long."

  I glanced at my clock and jogged down the hall. "Heading out," I said when I popped my head into the kitchen where I'd heard Margo knocking some pots and pans in the cabinet.

  "Okay. Good luck, sweetie."

  "And don't let Granddad go up in the attic," I whispered.

  She wrinkled her nose. "That old man is going nowhere near there. You have a bad hip," she yelled.

  I smiled at her as Granddad grumbled something unintelligible and ran out to my truck. If I didn't get to Liv's dorm in five minutes, I was officially going to be running late. I fired off a text to her as my truck roared to life. By the time I hit the main road, she'd replied that she'd meet me in the parking lot.

  Four minutes later, I squealed to a stop several feet from her. She jumped in without me having to get out.

  "How are we on time?" she asked as she buckled her belt and I backed out.

  "Eighteen minutes and counting." I glanced at her, and if I were a cartoon, my tongue would've rolled out of mouth and hit the floorboard. "Sweet baby Jesus, you look hot." I had to force my eyes back to the road.

  "It's just a dress."

  Uh, no. It was a low-cut purple dress that complimented the pink in her hair, which was knotted to the side. She had on high heels. Her legs were bare and the slit in the dress exposed even more of her gorgeous skin. I swallowed a groan as my dick twitched. She was a knockout.

  And mine!

  I reached over and interlaced my fingers with hers. We'd held hands some since that day in the meadow. I'd even kissed her. A lot. But every time we touched, my body lit up. Of course, I did my best to hide that from her. The last thing I wanted to do was scare her with my raging hormones. Even rushed as we were right now, I responded.

  "It doesn't matter what you have on, you're still hot."

  "I was a hot mess this morning. I was running all over town with Jewel. By the time we got back to the dorm, I just knew I wouldn't be ready when you got here. I'm actually glad you're running late. I needed that extra thirty minutes."

  When we pulled in to the parking lot at The Rep, it was already filling. This was a good thing. A good turn out would impress my professor. "I think I'm going to throw up."

  Liv grabbed my face and forced me to face her. "You'll do fine." Then she kissed me. God, I wanted to knock her down and ravish her in my truck, but I pulled back instead. Patience.

  "C'mon," I breathed. She followed me out of the truck, slipped her hand into mine, and practically pulled me into the building.

  Time seemed to freeze... or fly by. I wasn't sure, because it was so surreal seeing my paintings framed on the wall and people inspecting them, scrutinizing them, and even more shocking—appreciating them. When I saw Mrs. Sutherland, I felt Liv wince beside me.

  "I know," I mumbled. "This is it." Time for all the hard work I'd put in the last four years to be analyzed.

  "No," she breathed. "You're hurting me."

  My gaze shot down to her. She lifted our joined hands, and I immediately let go of the death grip I had on hers. She winked.

  "Once the blood flows back to my fingers, you can have it again."

  "Sorry, firecracker. I'm nervous as hell."

  "Don't apologize. I know this is tough for you. You have no reason to worry though. Look at this turnout. It's amazing." Not really. Most art majors attended these as a show of supported, but I didn't tell her that. I'd attended several shows every year, so most of these people were returning the favor. "Don't give me that look." She narrowed her eyes. "I can tell what you're thinking and you'd better switch gears right now."

  I smiled at her stern stance. "Really? And just what am I thinking?"

  "That your art isn't worthy of a turnout like this."

  My smile faded. She wasn't far off the mark. "Fine. I'll stay positive." At this point, I needed all the good vibes I could muster.

  Her deep breath was telling, but she didn't argue. I kissed her forehead because I just wanted to.

  "Killian," Mrs. Sutherland said from behind me. I stiffened and turned to face my judge, jury, and executioner.

  "Hello, Mrs. Sutherland." The no-nonsense expression on her face morphed into the brightest smile I'd ever seen on her before. I wasn't sure if I should be thrilled or scared. I decided to hold my opinion on the matter until more words came out of her mouth.

  She reached up and squeezed my upper arm. "I've been here a while already looking over your pieces, and I have to tell you, they are all wonderful."

  The air left my lungs in a whoosh. I reached out and grabbed her hand in both of mine and shook it. "You don't know how relieved I am to hear that."

  "Don't sell yourself short. You are very talented." Then she glanced at Liv and looked at me again. "It seems I'm not the only one who thinks so."

  "No, Mrs. Sutherland. I've been trying to tell him he doesn't have anything to worry about." Liv jabbed me lightly with her elbow.

  "You've come a long way this semester, too, Liv. I think I understand now why that is." She smirked.

  I looked at Liv. Crap, she was blushing. "Er, Mrs. Sutherland, I assure you, all of Liv's assignments have been 100 percent completed by her."

  The instructor waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I know. I've been grading and reviewing your work for years, Killian. I can look at a piece of your artwork and tell instantly who it belongs to. You have a very distinct style."

  "Okay," I muttered, not really sure what else to say.

  "Go on. Look around. Mingle with your guests. You seemed a little stunned, so I wanted to come over here and alleviate some of your worries. We'll talk more about your pieces later."

  "Thank you," I breathed, fighting the urge to adjust my collar. Now that some of the pressure was gone, I was ready to start Liv's tour. The thought brought a knot to my chest, but I forced it away. I knew why it was there, but I was ready for her to see it.

  I took her by each one of my pieces. She'd asked a lot of questions. What was I thinking when I painted that? What kind of feeling did this invoke? And my favorite... Had I eaten a
nything spicy when I'd decided to paint that? I hadn't been able to contain my laughter at that one.

  "Tell me about this one?" she asked softly when we rounded the corner to the last painting on display. I shifted a little uncomfortably. I'd considered not putting this one in the show, but it was the one I'd been working on when we met. This one mattered more to me than all the others.

  "The red signifies death."

  "Something signifies death in all of them, Kill." She rolled her eyes but chuckled. She was right. I was focused on death, finding beauty in something that could be so ugly.

  "Very good, firecracker. You've been paying attention. You get a gold star," I said sweetly. She swatted my arm. "Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted..."

  "I'm so sorry. Please carry on, Mr. Famous Artist Man. I don't know what came over me." She batted her eyelashes, showing me two could play this saccharin game.

  I wished I could keep up the joking banter, but all humor fled. I took a deep breath and cut open my chest. "The red signifies death. The white represents being saved."

  She stepped closer and tilted her head to the side. "It looks pink along here."

  I glowered at her. "It does not. It's red and white. I don't paint pink shit."

  She chuckled and shrugged. "Suit yourself." Then she started to turn away from it.

  What the hell? I'd been saving this one for last, the one I'd been working on up until last week, the only painting I had that I started before we met and finished after, and she was ready to move on? "You don't like it?" I muttered. I didn't know why her opinion on this one particular painting mattered so much to me, but it did. I knew it did, but I hadn't realized the amount of nerves I'd been harboring this afternoon was because I'd been eager to gauge her feelings on this one particular piece. I wanted to take the painting down and fucking break it. I fisted my hands to force myself not to act on impulse.