Inked Passions: (A Love Struck Bad Boys Romance)

by Amber Burns

  She watched each day as Crystal Beach started slowly filling with the holiday occupants, campers and vacationers. Slowly but surely things started speeding up at the store. Despite the changes with the oncoming busy season, Annabelle still took her walks. And every evening on her walks she gazed up toward the house furtively, hoping no one was watching her as she looked in that direction.

  As Annabelle stood at the edge of the beach though, she could feel eyes on her, but there were no other houses along this stretch of beach, and she could see nobody in the light of the house’s porch when she looked that way. The feeling of being looked at lingered as she walked back to her house though, and her curiosity about the occupant of the lone house was growing, against her will.

  “What is it about mysterious bad boys…” She walked off muttering.

  Annabelle was sitting behind the check-out counter reading an interior decorating magazine, when the door’s little bell rang to alert her that a customer had walked in. She looked up into the face of a man she immediately felt she needed to know.

  “Good morning, you’re new around here, aren’t you?” She simply greeted, smiling.

  He stuttered and stammered like an idiot and walked off.

  When he came back to the check-out, the first thing she noticed was kitten food. He looked like a real badass; there were tattoos peeking out from under his shirt at the shoulders, as well as on his forearms. She chuckled at the juxtaposition.

  “Ready to try that talking thing again?” She said, brushing a strand of her long hair behind her ear.

  The man paused as she rang up his items and he cleared his throat self-consciously.

  “About that, I’m sorry. It’s just that I see you walking along the beach every evening from my house’s porch, and I never expected to see you face-to-face. Your walks have almost become as much my ritual as yours…”

  Annabelle didn’t show just how taken aback she was; he had been the one watching her! He was the rumored Army vet now living at the Lechat house. She finished ringing up the purchases, and they chatted a little, and by the time he left she knew he was the one for her.

  Though she had only seen him for a few minutes, Annabelle was already in love with this man. She watched him leave the shop, his muscular back moving under his shirt as he walked away from her. She sat there staring at him disappear out through the door.

  “A guy like that would have his pick of the holiday girls that came here,” she thought to herself.

  The thought made her a bit sad. She never saw how he hesitated at the door as though he wanted to come back and talk to her for a longer time, or the emotion in his eyes that would have mirrored her own and perhaps been even stronger if she had looked deeper into them for a moment. His name was Michel, and she remember just how he said it.

  “That was French wasn’t it?” She questioned herself. “He must be Andy Lechat’s relation if he was living in the house… the rumored nephew I use to hear about.”

  She took a deep breath and put him from her mind. She was still young, and if a man was meant to come along, one would. Yet throughout the day found herself thinking of and daydreaming about the man she had just met. She had images of the tattooed soldier holding a kitten, and like it or not, she smiled at the thought.

  5

  I sat on the porch rail waiting and looking at my watch. Armand was draped over my shoulder purring his little Mustang-engine purr, and life was good. He was now eating soft kitten food, and slept on my face if I gave him half a chance. If not he curled up in my neck each night, still a tiny little thing. The only thing missing from my evening was the figure down the beach, because now that I’d made her acquaintance, I needed more than just to see her in the far-off distance.

  I needed more of the wind-chime voice, and more of the turquoise eyes. I was dying to run my hands through the long hair that burned with fire in the early evening rays of sun. I sat there and stroked Armand, and as I looked up and down the beach in expectation, my heart sank when she didn’t come by six. I took the kitten back inside and picked up a bottle of wine I’d bought from the store where she worked; un-corked it and taking a whiff. It smelled divine, but I knew nothing about wine, and simply poured a glass. I read the name, Pinot Grigio, and took a sip. Yum.

  So my evening consisted of watching news updates of what was currently happening in Afghanistan, with a glass of wine, and a cat on my lap. I had avoided the news to date, because I didn’t want to have those nightmares again. They were only just fading without medication-induced sleep. At the first footage of a bomb blast I flicked a switch on the remote and the image flashed off. I didn’t need this shit again. I stood up and walked outside in the near-dark and stood on the porch. It was almost seven, but the sun set late this time of year, and surely, there she stood, staring out to the sea.

  I put Armand down, shooed him inside to close the door, and left my glass on a small table that stood by the porch furniture. I jogged down the steps and then walked toward her, my heart virtually stopping as the scent of her perfume drifted to me on the evening breeze. It was the smell of fresh apples and roses, strawberries and happiness. I frowned.

  “What the fuck? I sound like a fucking woman,” I thought to myself.

  She turned toward me and smiled.

  “Hey, um, are you okay?” She asked. “You look like you are about to kick yourself, or turn back around and run away from me. I don’t bite, promise.”

  Then the sound of tinkling laughter crossed her lips, the most beautiful laughter ever. It was light, sweet and full of innocence. I straightened myself out and crossed my arms defensively,

  “I was thinking, sorry to intrude on your privacy, but I just had this urge…”

  I didn’t really know what else to say.

  I sat down in the sand near her and simply breathed, perhaps the awkwardness would sort itself out. She looked down at me and then plopped herself down in the sand about a foot and a half away.

  “Why did you come out here Michel?” She said softly, a note of fear and unease in her voice.

  “I have wanted to talk to you since I started seeing you walk along this beach every evening. There’s just something so deeply sad in the way you hold yourself when you stop here, at this spot, to stare out at the sea.” I shrugged. “I guess in a way the manner in which you move makes me think of how I feel some days. And then I saw you in the shop, and, well…”

  She quickly turned her head away from me and rubbed at her face.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  With a sniffle she faced me again.

  “Just… just sand in my eye,” She chuckled, but I knew better.

  I couldn’t help myself, and asked, “I know this is out of the blue, but do you want to have a glass of wine with me sometime?”

  Annabelle seemed startled.

  “What? Me? Really?”

  Now it was my turn to laugh at her stumbling.

  “Well yes, unless the seagull over there enjoys Pinot Grigio, I meant you.”

  She blushed the most beautiful shade of crimson I have ever seen, and I didn’t imagine ever describing crimson as a beautiful shade either, and burst into giggles again, I had to admit, no matter how sad this girl sometimes looked, she could laugh at herself.

  “And where do you propose we have this wine? I don’t like crowded restaurants and I’m not quite ready to have a date at your place or mine since I don’t know you. Sorry, my mom told me never to trust strange men.”

  I frowned for a moment, deep in thought.

  “I could always just gate-crash your walk again, and this time, bring wine and glasses?”

  She nodded.

  “I like that idea. Neutral territory, and a seagull chaperone.”

  We stood and said good night. I saw her shiver as it was growing darker and chillier.

  “Are you okay to get home alone in the dark?” I asked, hesitant to touch her, yet dying to take her safely home.

  She nodded.

  �
�I’ll be fine, and I will see you tomorrow for that gate-crash of my evening walk and hopefully a glass of wine?”

  “Yes, good night. See you tomorrow,” I said, turning to walk back up to my own house (and avoiding the urge to skip with joy.)

  When I arrived back at my home (that’s still weird to say) I was pounced on by a bundle of claws the moment I opened the door.

  “You little hooligan!”

  I backed away with Armand attached to my chest, rubbing his head under my chin. When I walked into my bedroom I realized he had taken revenge for being left alone when I smelled a strong whiff of urine, and felt my pillow. There was a sopping wet patch.

  “How does something so small even pee so much?” I asked him, holding him at arms’ length

  He only blinked his little mismatched eyes innocently at me.

  “You’re a little devil.”

  But as ever, the little devil won the battle and once again. I fell asleep with a paw on my face as he purred in my neck. I dreamt of turquoise eyes and soft lips that night and woke up covered in sweat with a raging hard-on from the sensation of her small hand moving down my throat. Turns out it was Armand, and when I turned on the light he lay staring at me with his eyes hooded and only half asleep. I turned over onto my side with an exasperated sigh and tried to sleep again to no avail, my mind was in Annabelle-ville, deeply.

  I gathered a few things for our date the next night, well I viewed it as a date, and I was even nervous. I had a picnic blanket, ice-bucket and set of glasses, the wine and a bag of ice. I also took the liberty of sticking a pack of candles and some matches in the basket I threw everything into. We might sit out there late and I wasn’t overly fond of having her feel unsafe, she seemed nervous around me.

  Everything was ready by the time I heard her behind me as I knelt on the blanket emptying the bag of ice into the bucket, Armand was snaking around my knees and standing up against my legs to protest the lack of attention he was getting. She let out that typical loud and girly ‘Awwwww!’ when she caught sight of him. Before I knew what was happening (and I think the same was the case for the poor thing) he was in her arms.

  She squished the little kitten to her chest, and I watched as he seemed to go limp in her hands and allow it. I audibly heard the purring from the ground where I knelt.

  “Traitor.” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him.

  He only blinked at me and continued to purr, so I picked up a glass to fill and hand to her. She sat quite happily with the furry scarf over her shoulder; stroking him when she spoke.

  “How long have you been living in Crystal Beach,” I started.

  “I’ve lived here all my life, and I own the house my parents lived in until my mom passed away a few years ago. It’s cozy but I get lonely.” She stopped herself, “Sorry, that was too much sharing.”

  I took a drink of my wine before replying.

  “No, don’t feel that way, I’ll reciprocate if it makes you feel better.”

  I hadn’t told anyone outside the military about what happened in Afghanistan, and neither had I let anyone get close enough to know me since I made my home here. With a deep breath I opened my mouth and it just began spilling out.

  “I came back from Afghanistan after my best friend was killed. Everyone called him Maxwell, his last name. We were on a simple extraction detail, shit went wrong, and he was killed. It broke something deep inside me, and they sent me home.” I drank a bit more of my wine. “I imagine you’ve heard some stories around…”

  She sat there so quietly with Armand over her shoulder gazing at me.

  “I don’t usually judge until I’ve heard both sides of a story Mr. Deverroux. People can be gossipy. Besides, they probably talk about ‘the frigid nun who lives in mommy’s old house’ just as much as they talk about ‘the drug dealing violent addict’ in the Lechat house… Don’t you think?”

  She chuckled as she stroked the cat, who seemed totally content and in love.

  “Well I haven’t heard about any nuns here, but apparently the drug dealer is mean. Steer clear of him,” I said. “Why would they call you a nun anyway? You are young and beautiful and probably have men falling over their feet to ask you out.”

  I looked toward her when she didn’t reply, and there were tears on her cheeks.

  “I used to be engaged Michel, and I loved him. Again I think this is too much sharing, but I feel like I can talk to you for some reason… He left me after my mom died when I was stuck in the most horrible depression. But he was kind enough to cheat on me first with his assistant. I caught them one night, and then we split up a month before our wedding.”

  I could not help but feel for this girl. That sort of experience is enough to put anyone off relationships.

  “What a dick,” I said, staring out at the sea.

  She burst out laughing.

  “I never swear like that! But yeah, he is a… He is a dick!”

  Her laughter tinkled and drifted out across the beach, making the already beautiful evening even more perfect. It was starting to get dark, so I took out the candles and lit them, sticking them in the sand all around the blanket. She went silent, as I turned toward her I saw her nervous facial expression. “Why are you nervous Annabelle?”

  “I haven’t been alone with a man since Malcolm, my ex, and I am just not ready for the whole candle-light thing. I think. I should get home.” She put down a protesting Armand on the blanket, and stood.

  I frowned.

  “Wait! I was just doing that so that you’d feel more comfortable than being in total darkness…”

  She had already straightened her top though and then smiled even more nervously.

  “Yeah, sorry. Thank you, but I should go, you can do so much better than me…”

  Before I could come up with a response she was walking quickly down the beach, vanishing into the dark. Her sudden strange behavior left me totally perplexed. As far as I could tell, I’d done nothing inappropriate, hell, I hadn’t even touched her. That Malcolm guy really pulled a number on her. I gathered all the stuff together, packed it into the basket and draped a dazed and half asleep Armand over my shoulder for the walk back to the house. I ate grilled cheese for dinner, and vowed to try and talk to her again. There was no way I could let this girl get away, not with what was going on in my heart for her. I knew she was made for me.

  “Thank God she’d never married the other ass!” I told myself.

  6

  Annabelle walked straight into her house, up the stairs, and fell down into a small heap in the corner of her bedroom and let go. She had not allowed herself to mourn the end of her relationship until this very moment. Sobs ripped through her chest and pulled at her ribs so hard it felt that they might burst open to reveal the black hole Malcolm had left there. She didn’t have the strength to stand, so she curled up on the rug where she lay and cried herself to sleep right there.

  The next morning when she woke, her head hurt, her neck was sore, and she felt so weak she could barely crawl to the phone. She notified her dad she couldn’t come to work because she felt sick and somehow convinced him not to come around and check on her. “She didn’t want him catching her germs,” was the excuse she used. Once she gathered the energy, Annabelle dragged herself to the shower. All she wanted was to be alone.

  The water pounded down onto her aching body and soothed some of the soreness from her stiff muscles, but she still had a throbbing headache when she stepped onto the shower mat. She picked up a fluffy towel and dried herself off, walking into her bedroom to get dressed. When she opened her walk-in closet and saw the wedding dress in its pristine white garment bag still hanging there; her crying started all over again. She sank down against the closet wall and sat there on her knees staring at the bag. Through fits of agonizing sobs, Annabelle was overtaken by a deeper rage than she’d ever known in her life. It felt as though her blood was boiling.

  “Was this what it felt like to grieve the loss of a relationship?” She asked her
self.

  She had lost three years of her life to solitude because she had been so intensely terrified of being be hurt again. What man had the right to do this to any woman? Annabelle pushed herself up off the floor and walked to her dressing table. She returned to the closet armed with a pair of large silver dress-maker’s scissors, and stood in front of the garment bag. With one smooth motion she slid the zipper open down the front and pulled out the exquisite Vera Wang creation of tulle and corseted bejewelled bodice. To an outsider she would have looked nuts as she went at the dress with her scissors. Her hair flew wild around her as tulle and sparkling fabric was flung in all directions. Twenty minutes later Annabelle sat on the floor in a mountain of destroyed fabric.