by S. J. Drum
“Lucy. Lucy, listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. Calm down.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks and pooling on the hand pressed across her mouth. Her entire body shook and her chest felt like it might explode at any second. She couldn’t breathe. He’ll kill me this time.
“Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it. I just want you to calm down. When I take my hand away, try not to scream, okay?”
She managed a jerky nod. The hand over her mouth eased away and she drew in a stuttered breath.
He spun her around to face him, enfolding her in his arms and pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll never hurt you, Lucy. If your neighbors had heard you scream, they would have called the police. I didn’t think you’d want that after what you just told me.” He stroked a hand up and down her back. “Please talk to me. Why did you bolt like that?”
The fog surrounding Lucy’s mind started to clear. This was different. Ross had never stopped an assault once he’d gotten his hands on her. He certainly never tried to soothe her or hold her in his arms like she was something precious. She drew in another breath. Leather and sawdust, not starch and gun oil. Dalton is not Ross.
“I pushed you.” Her voice was a whisper.
“So? I was being an ass.”
She heard the grin in his voice and was so shocked she had to lean back and look up at his face to confirm the state of his lips. “You’re not mad?”
“Ah, darlin’.” He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, then cupped the back of her neck. “Every man needs knocked on his ass every now and then.”
She studied his face, finding only concern, no trace of anger. As her fear faded, her body reacted to being pressed so close against the hard planes of Dalton’s chest and thighs, his muscled arms wrapped around her. Maybe it was his offer of protection, his good humor when she’d struck him—first with her cell phone and then when she’d pushed him—or the comfort he offered instead of condemnation when she’d overreacted. Or maybe she was simply craving the touch of a man that didn’t result in a bruise. Whatever the reason, she had an irresistible urge to do something crazy.
Lucy pressed her palms against Dalton’s firm chest and rose on her toes, her legs shaking slightly from adrenaline. Slowly, deliberately, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.
* * * * *
Dalton froze, keeping his hands at his sides instead of reaching for her, not wanting to make a wrong move and scare her off. Her fingers flexed against his chest and his hips pushed forward before he could stop the action. The strained length of his erection pressed against her belly, she sighed, relaxed and leaned into him.
Lucy’s lips tasted of vanilla and he wondered if other places on her body would taste as sweet. He moved his hands toward her hips in a slow, cautious movement before resting them against the fabric of her jeans with a featherlight touch. Her tongue swept against his bottom lip and he opened for her, drinking her down into his soul. A primal groan rumbled from somewhere deep inside of him.
Dalton fought the urge to take over, to take charge of the moment. He wanted to lay her down on the floor, stretch her arms above her head and tie those teasing hands of hers to a leg of the coffee table. He wanted to make her body shudder in pleasure instead of fear. Most of all, he wanted to worship her body, kiss every scar, every spot a bruise had been and gone.
It took every last one of his functioning brain cells to overpower his desire for dominance. Now was not the time to show that side of himself. It was clear Lucy didn’t really understand the Dom/sub dynamic and it’d take a lot of patience to introduce her to Dalton’s darker desires without igniting her deep-seated fears.
Wanting to get her closer to him but keep her feeling as though she had control, he took a couple of steps backward, pulling her with him until his calves pressed against the couch. He paused to pay her mouth proper attention, teasing and licking, tangling his tongue with hers before gently nipping her bottom lip. In one smooth motion, he dropped backward to sit on the couch and pulled her down with him, leaving her astride him, straddling his lap.
Her breath came in fast pants, drawing attention to her beaded nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt. He ran a hand up her side to cup one full breast then rubbed his thumb over her tight nipple. A tiny moan escaped her and he allowed his other hand to follow the first until he held both her breasts in the palms of his hands.
Working the tight buds on the tips of her breasts between his fingers and thumbs, even through the barrier of fabric, felt so good Dalton’s dick twitched with pleasure. Lucy rolled her hips as if seeking relief.
He broke the kiss, pressing his cheek to hers while moving his hands from her breasts to her hips. He pulled her down as his hips thrust upward, doing his best to not come in his pants like a damn teenager experiencing his first dry-hump. His hips took on a rhythm of their own and a craving to taste her skin overcame him.
As Dalton leaned in, intending to swipe his tongue across the pulse visibly pounding in her neck, he felt her stiffen. Between one breath and the next, Lucy’s passion and heat disappeared, replaced by apprehension.
Dalton closed his eyes and slumped back against the couch with a sigh. Lucy tensed, as if prepared to scramble off his lap. This time, instead of allowing her retreat, he kept his hands clasped over her thighs, holding her still.
“Let me go.”
The panic in Lucy’s voice brought a pang to his heart, but she needed this, needed to take at least a small step toward overcoming her fears. He opened his eyes and met her wide, frightened gaze. “No.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes darting left then right as if searching for an escape. “Please. I’m sorry I led you on. Just let me go.” A tremor started in her knees, moving up her body until her shoulders shook.
“Lucy, look at me.” The fight going on inside Lucy’s mind was clear to Dalton as he watched her try to calm herself. After a few deep breaths, she met his gaze. “I will never hurt you. If you want to heal, get past what your ex put you through, you’ll have to do some things that will make you uncomfortable at first. I want to help you, but you’ve got to stop running.” He tried a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “At least stop running from me. Feel free to run from all the other men beggin’ for a taste of you.”
As he’d hoped, she relaxed a fraction and huffed a small laugh.
“Every time I fell off my horse when I was a kid, my father made me get right back on.”
She raised a brow, a tentative smile tugging at her kiss-swollen lips. “If you’re asking me to ride you, the answer is no.”
Dalton laughed, a deep, full-belly rumble. He liked Lucy’s spirit. The way she could be innocent and fearful one second and sharp and witty the next. He suspected she’d been a different person altogether before her ex had twisted her in knots. The strong, capable, funny woman she’d be once the fear stopped stalking her peeked through her shields and he felt a corresponding crack in the walls he’d built around himself. “While I sure as hell wouldn’t turn you down if you offered, I wasn’t going to ask you to ride me.” At least, not yet anyway.
She grinned and her eyes sparkled as though she’d read his mind and didn’t find the idea as abhorrent as she pretended. “Please, continue with your words of wisdom.”
He couldn’t help but grin back at her. He also couldn’t remember ever smiling this much with a woman, probably because most of the time he spent in a woman’s company, she was either moaning or screaming his name, not laughing at him. “Since your mind’s in the gutter, I’ll put it this way. The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else.”
“I thought you wanted me on top.”
Dalton used his grip on her thighs to tug her a little closer to him, placing the heat of her desire right where he wanted it, pressed against the erection working its way back to full strength inside his jeans. Her lips parted and he watched her pupils dilate. “Lucy.” His voice was lo
wer, rougher, all strains of humor replaced by lust. “I’m going to kiss you. Just a kiss, nothing more. I’ll keep my hands right here.” He gave her thighs a gentle squeeze and waited for her reaction.
After a tense moment when he wondered if she’d reject him, she gave a short nod. He leaned in, slowly, allowing her time to change her mind. Just a kiss, but he wanted Lucy to accept his kiss more than he’d wanted to ease his length inside Rachel as she’d been stretched naked over his kitchen table. In the back of his mind, a warning sounded. He ignored the nagging feeling that his life was about to change irrevocably with the simple press of his lips to hers.
He hesitated, his lips a breath away from hers, before closing the space between them. He’d barely had time to register the taste of vanilla and the feel of her lips, smooth and full like a ripe plum, before a pounding on Lucy’s front door had her scrambling off his lap. This time, he let her go.
Chapter Five
Lucy pushed a curl out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Had one of her neighbors heard them arguing? Found her cell phone lying in the grass? Was Ross on the other side of the door, his fist drawn back and ready?
Her heart raced, palms growing damp and clammy.
A reassuring hand pressed against her lower back, the gentleness of the touch contradicting the size and strength of the man now standing behind her. With a deep breath, she swung open the door.
White teeth gleamed, reflecting off the dim illumination from the cheap security light beside the front door. Lucy supposed the man standing on her stoop thought his grin was charming. All straight white teeth and dimples. It reminded Lucy of a wolf. A baring of teeth instead of a smile.
“Hello, Brad. I thought you’d moved into the old Wrigley place across town a few weeks ago.”
Lucy looked at Dalton as he spoke, taking in his reaction to the newcomer. He wasn’t fond of the man standing at her door, that much was clear in the narrowing of his blue eyes and the way his long fingers tensed against her back.
“Change of plans.” Brad shrugged. The move was meant to look casual but Lucy could see the tension in his muscled shoulders. He pulled his gaze away from Dalton and focused on Lucy. A calculating gleam shone within his brown-black eyes. “I’ve been meaning to come say hello. I’m your downstairs neighbor.”
Brad stuck his hand out toward her and she reluctantly slid her palm over his. “Nice to meet you, Brad. I’m Lucy. I guess you already know Dalton.”
His smile slipped before coming back even brighter than before. “Of course I know Dalton, he’s practically family. He’s been dating my sister for quite a while now.”
Lucy flinched and drew away from Dalton and the violent energy suddenly surrounding him. He’d said he didn’t have a girlfriend. Was the blonde he’d been ready to spank and ride atop his kitchen table Brad’s sister? She clenched her fists, feeling more betrayal over the lie than she had any right to. She and Dalton weren’t involved, despite the kisses they’d shared—which was obviously a mistake.
“I’m not dating Rachel.” Dalton’s voice was as harsh as the planes of his face in the dim light.
“Well.” Brad offered another shrug, jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “Maybe involved is a better term for what you do with my sister.”
The tension rose until it hung heavy and palpable in the air. All Lucy wanted was for both men to leave and forget she existed. It’d be better for everyone that way, even if the thought of never seeing Dalton again sent a pang of something she didn’t want to examine too closely rushing around her heart. Never running a hand over those chiseled abs, abs a man should have to file a permit to build. Never again inhaling his scent of sawdust and leather and clean male.
Beyond his involvement with another woman, if Ross ever found out Dalton had looked at Lucy, spoke to Lucy, heaven forbid touched her… She had no doubt in her mind Ross would see it as a challenge to his manhood. Once he set his sights on Dalton, he wouldn’t rest until Dalton was either dead or wished he was. That painful truth shored up her resolve.
Dalton turned toward her, abandoning the pissing contest he seemed to be having with Brad. “Lucy, I never lied to you. If you’ll—”
“No need to explain,” she said, cutting him off. She turned to Brad and plastered on a smile as fake as every smile he’d shared with them tonight. “It was lovely meeting you but I think it’s time for you both to go. I’ve had a shitty day and I’d like to go to bed.”
She held up a hand, palm out, to stop whatever words were begging to come out of Dalton’s mouth. Brad didn’t look like he was budging until Dalton was on the outside of the door with him and Lucy needed to be alone before she did something stupid like cried or asked Dalton to stay and hold her.
The pleading in his deep-blue eyes and the way he’d turned away instead of decking Brad had her wishing she could let him stay. As much as she’d have liked him to hold her, she liked the idea of him staying safe and alive much more. Her voice gentled as she spoke to him. “Please, just let it be for now. I’m not angry with you, I just want to be alone right now.”
Dalton looked like he wanted to argue but heaved a heavy sigh and trudged the two steps over the threshold, taking up the spot Brad had occupied until he’d started down the stairs.
“Good night, Dalton. Be careful.” She shut and locked the door before he could reply.
Slowly, the rumble of male voices receded. She put her back against the door and waited until she heard Dalton’s truck start up and drive away. It was another few minutes until she heard the door of the apartment below her open and shut and she wondered what Brad was doing out there in the dark. Maybe he was a smoker.
Lucy bit her bottom lip and tried to decide if it was safe to go collect the cell phone she’d tossed earlier. “Stop being such a pansy and just go get it. Nothing is going to happen tonight. Just because he found your phone number doesn’t mean he knows where you live,” she told herself aloud.
Thankfully nothing required a landline anymore so she couldn’t be tracked that way. She had all of her bills set up to be delivered to a post office box two towns over so even if he knew her cell number, she didn’t think he’d be able to find her through that alone.
Feeling like a total wuss, she flung open the door and raced down the stairs in the humid night air. She spotted her cell phone lying in the short grass, snatched it from the ground and took the stairs two at a time on the way back up. The sound of the deadbolt clicking shut worked to slow her racing heart. She tossed the cell phone on the coffee table on her way to her bedroom, angry all over again at how Ross was capable of ruling her life, filling her with fear, even after she’d left him and moved two states away.
Running, hiding wasn’t going to remove Ross from her life. Lucy needed to come up with a new strategy, and fast.
* * * * *
Dalton pulled open the glass-and-metal door to Hart’s Ink and strode inside. Cold air rushed over his sweat-dampened skin, a welcome sensation after spending the morning out in the summer heat. He brushed a hand over his close-shaved head and moved down the hallway leading to Lucy’s office.
He’d felt her withdrawal from him last night just before she’d all but pushed him out the door. While he understood her reluctance to allow anyone close after what she’d been through with her ex, he wasn’t going to let her run from him. It was obvious she was in some trouble with her ex and Dalton worried for her safety. Her safety was his only concern and his sole reason for tracking her down on his lunch break. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Finding the door to her office ajar, he pressed his hand flat against the smooth wooden surface and pushed it open. An irrational disappointment settled in his chest when he found the room empty. Not giving up, he headed toward Abigail’s office, knowing she came in before noon each day to tattoo clients. He paused, taking in the sight of another empty office while the murmur of two feminine voices fi
lled the otherwise silent building.
Dalton stopped outside the room Abigail used for tattooing and listened. He felt like a creep eavesdropping but the conversation going on between two women kept him rooted in place.
“So, what do you think?” Lucy’s voice was muffled by the closed door but Dalton knew it was her speaking.
“I can’t tattoo over a scar but there’s lots of ways a scar can be camouflaged by a tattoo. Scar tissue, especially from a recent injury, is constantly regenerating, changing, so a tattoo on the scar itself is a bad idea. The ink won’t hold and you’ll end up with eyesore instead of a piece of art. What I can do is tattoo right up against the edge of the scars, using a design that incorporates the white line so it appears as part of the art.” Abigail spoke in the professional tone she used with clients but Dalton could hear the thread of compassion in her voice.
“I’ve thought about this for a long time. I’ll leave the content up to you, but I want my scars gone. Hidden. If I’m going to have a permanent reminder of the hell I’ve lived through, I want it to be on my terms. The marks I have were put there against my will. I don’t want Ross to have that kind of control over me anymore. I can’t control a lot of things, but I should be able to decide what’s permanently on my body.”
A long pause followed before Abigail spoke. Dalton held his breath, hurting for Lucy and angry she’d been abused and no one had helped her.
“All right. I have a few hours free right now and a great idea for the scar on your thigh. I kept this time free so I could get some paperwork done but I can do it later. I fucking hate paperwork, you’re giving me a great excuse to procrastinate.” Abigail’s husky laugh sounded through the door. “I think your thigh would be the best place to start, probably the least sensitive. I have to warn you, nerves around scar tissue are fickle. Sometimes clients say they don’t feel any pain at all, others are extra sensitive and say it hurts like hell.”
