SinfulSouthernHero

by S. J. Drum

  A sense of foreboding heated Dalton’s gut before racing up his spine, the sensation like static shock with a bit of fire behind it. Being alone with Rachel was not a good idea, instinctively he knew this.

  With a sigh he resigned himself to the encounter and walked to the showroom door. He’d promised himself to take things slow and easy with Lucy and he reminded himself now of how satisfied he’d been with their rather tame encounter that morning. Dalton no longer wanted Rachel but he wouldn’t deny he’d previously found pleasure with her or desired to fuck with the same kind of raw, dominant passion again. He might not want Rachel, but damn if her dark sexuality wasn’t still a temptation.

  Fucking pink Italian marble. A twenty-thousand dollar mix-up, that’s why he was here. He needed to get this taken care of and get his ass back to Lucy.

  Finding the showroom empty, Dalton walked around the customer service counter and through the hallway to the back where Harris and Rachel’s offices were located.

  “Rachel?” Dalton called, wondering what the hell was going on. Hadn’t she told him Harris would be back by now?

  “Back here!”

  He turned a corner, following the sound of her voice, thinking this must be what sailors experienced while following a Siren’s song before being lured too close to shore and crashing upon the rocks.

  “Where’s Harris?” he asked, nearing the open doorway to a room he remembered Harris using for storage. Stepping inside, he swept his gaze over the interior and felt his jaw harden when he spotted Rachel

  She stood with her back to him, reaching for a small—no doubt ridiculously expensive—vase on a tall shelf. She must have heard him enter the room, his heavy work boots weren’t exactly silent on the gleaming hardwood floors. Rachel’s strawberry-and-fresh-grass scent permeated the room enough to make him wonder if she’d recently spritzed the place with her perfume as if it were an air freshener.

  However much he used to enjoy the unique scent, it wasn’t the reason for his current hard-on. No, the current cause of his dick standing at attention was the good three or four inches of smooth naked thigh showing between the bottom hem of Rachel’s skirt and the lacy top of her black thigh-high stockings. The skirt was either entirely inappropriate for work or she’d simply hiked it up at the waist to shorten it for just this purpose. Her tall, lithe body was stretched to perfection as she reached for the vase without success.

  Breathing heavily, Dalton failed to keep his gaze from sliding down the visible straps of her garter belt to the lacy stockings and down to a pair of black platform stilettos worthy of a high class escort. He wanted to believe this scene was nothing more curious than the mishap of a fashion blunder mixed with a genuine need to lay hands on a vase she still hadn’t been able to grab—and no longer seemed to be trying all that hard to acquire—instead of a staged seduction.

  “Where’s Harris?” he repeated, his voice low and rough.

  Rachel turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, somehow managing to look up from under her lashes in the same coy manner she used while sucking his cock. Her pink lips pushed out in a pout. “Is he not back yet?” she asked with an innocence so false it cleared Dalton’s lust-muddled brain for a few seconds.

  Back to business. Back to Lucy. “I didn’t come here to play games, Rachel. I need to speak to Harris, now.”

  Undeterred, she turned back to the shelving unit and made a weak attempt at snatching the vase. With another look over her shoulder, she asked, “Can you help me get this down? I need it for the showroom.”

  He eyed the stepladder resting against the wall a few feet from where Rachel was standing. She followed his eyes to the stepladder and gave a husky feminine laugh. When he raised a brow, she told him, “With these heels, I’d likely fall and break my neck. You’re tall, you can reach it. Please?”

  Figuring it was a simple enough task, he walked to the shelf, not truly surprised when Rachel neglected to move out of his way so he was forced to step into her, press his front to her back while he reached overhead and retrieved the ugly orange-and-brown ceramic vase from its perch upon the high shelf. As he brought the object down, intending to hand it to Rachel, she pressed back against him, circling her hips against the erection inside his jeans, which had begun to flag and was now gaining strength by the second.

  Rachel dropped her head back against his chest as a small moan sounded from her throat. As soon as he’d sat the vase down on a lower shelf, she grabbed his wrist, pulling until she’d positioned his palm against her breast. His traitor of a hand offered the small mound of flesh a brief squeeze before he could stop it.

  Seeing this as a sign of acceptance, Rachel spun to face him and went on tiptoe to take his mouth with her glossy lips. He grabbed her hips, growling as he leaned into her and thrust his tongue into her mouth while grinding his erection against her stomach.

  Except…

  This wasn’t right. The hips under his hands were bony instead of softly curved. The scent in the air was redolent with citrus instead of the sweet warmth of vanilla and sugar. The tongue in his mouth was too uninhibited, too skilled. Fuck! This was a mistake.

  He pulled back, surprised when she tried to follow instead of accepting his shutdown. Physically setting her away from him, he shook his head hard, whether he was telling himself or Rachel “no”, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t make a difference, the answer was still the same.

  Dalton felt sick, a bubbling mass of guilt and anger and disappointment in himself weighed heavy in his stomach, spreading to encase his heart and lungs when he imagined Lucy finding out about this. He’d have to tell her, of that he had no doubt.

  Standing there with another woman’s lip gloss slicking his lips, her scent on his shirt and her body making his dick stand at attention, was an odd time for a revelation of this sort, but it struck him sudden and swift, just how much he loved Lucy and how he’d give anything, do anything, be anything he needed to be in order to make her safe and happy. And he was a goddamn asshole for carrying on with Rachel this way, even for a minute.

  In a last-ditch effort it seemed, Rachel pushed two fingers into her mouth, coating them with saliva. Dalton stood statue still while she lowered those fingers to her inner thigh, drew them up toward her pussy while pushing the hem of her skirt up and slipped her wet fingers inside the transparent scrap of cloth covering her mound.

  Unfortunately for the masturbating woman, her little show wilted Dalton’s erection so fast he imagined it emitting a sound similar to the air being let out of a helium balloon. Another revelation followed—Rachel was topping from the bottom, and she had been, albeit very skillfully, for quite some time. Dalton snorted in disgust, then took a long step backward, away from Rachel.

  “Stop.” Her hand paused at Dalton’s order. “Why, Rachel?”

  She seemed to understand what he was asking. Slipping her hand from her panties, she tugged her skirt into a position on her hips which made the hem much more acceptable and covered her nearly to her knees. She crossed her arms over her chest and her thin cheeks took on a flush of red they hadn’t held even while she’d attempted to seduce him. “Because you’re mine.” Her chin—had her chin always been so pointy?—tilted up with an air of defiance.

  Dalton almost laughed. “I was never yours. And you were never mine. We had an agreement, which I ended. That’s all. End of story.”

  She stepped closer, close enough to lay her hands—hands that were too skinny now that he saw them in a new light—on his biceps. “I still want you, so what’s the problem?”

  “I guess the problem would be, I don’t want you.”

  Dalton watched her blue eyes flash with a cold inner light and felt her over-manicured nails dig into his arms. Then, more disturbing somehow than the rest of it, a cruel smile curved her pink lips.

  “It sure felt like you still want me.” She leaned in so her lips brushed against the bare skin of his neck. “You were hard for me, Dalton. Admit it.”

  “You’re right.”<
br />
  A triumphant expression flashed across Rachel’s face.

  “My dick got excited at the sight of you. Old habits and all that.” The triumphant expression on Rachel’s face flickered before he shut it down for good. “I got hard the last time I was at a strip club too, didn’t mean I was gonna fuck a stripper and I sure didn’t want to take one home to my meet my mama.”

  “You…” Her mouth opened and closed like an indignant fish. “I’m not… I’m nothing like those women!”

  Dalton narrowed his eyes, giving her the kind of mean look he’d never before unleashed on a woman. “You sure? ’Cause you sure as hell just put on one hell of a show for a man you’re not in any kind of relationship with.”

  “You’re an asshole!”

  “What if your boss would have walked in? Or is Harris used to that performance?” Dalton rubbed his chin, pretending to consider. “Maybe it’s part of your paycheck. Are lap dances extra?”

  He wasn’t sure why he was being so rude, other than he’d begun to dislike Rachel with an alarming intensity and he wanted to lash out at someone and assuage some of his guilt for touching her.

  “Harris isn’t coming in today. He’s out of the state. It was perfectly safe.”

  Dalton turned and started toward the door. Fucking hell. Waste of time, time he could have spent with Lucy. Now he still had the tile problem and he’d added a dose of betrayal to the mix. Fucking fantastic.

  Behind him, Rachel called out, “She’s married, you know? Bet the chubby nutcase didn’t tell you that, did she?”

  Dalton froze mid-step, one boot raised above the floor, feeling an icy fear slither through him at her words. Without turning, he demanded, “Who told you she’s married?”

  A haughty laugh echoed through the room. “Her husband. Last time I went to visit my brother Lucy’s husband was there looking for her. Apparently, she’s unstable. You should be careful you don’t fall off that high horse you’re sitting on, screwing a married lady and a mental patient at that.”

  He spun to face her. “When was this? When was he here?”

  The anger on his face must have registered because she stammered, “Last…last night. Why?”

  “Stay away from Ross. He’s a dangerous man. I’m only gonna say this once and then I hope to God I never have to speak to you again. Lucy isn’t crazy and she isn’t married. Ross is her ex-husband. The psychotic bastard beat her nearly to death on more than one occasion. Is he still in town?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, looking smaller now with her arms wrapped around herself.

  Dalton spun and rushed for his truck, hoping to hell nothing had happened to Lucy while he’d been away. When he reached his truck he barely had the door open before he swung his body into the cab. His phone, which he’d tossed on the dashboard, vibrated like an angry bee. His heart sank when he looked at the screen. Six missed calls. Four from Hart’s Ink, two from Dez.

  One unread text message from Dez. “Get your ass back here. Lucy’s gone.”

  * * * * *

  Lucy gripped the steering wheel with fingers white from the strain. As she had walked from Hart’s Ink toward her apartment where her car was parked, she’d almost hoped Ross would be there waiting for her when she retrieved the car. Sure, it was broad daylight but that had never stopped him before. If he’d been there, at least the constant worrying and waiting would be over. The worst would have happened and she could then either move on with her life or…

  Stopped at a light, she squeezed her eyes shut for a second to dispel the visual that’d popped into her mind of her mangled, lifeless body, which was a far more probable outcome of another encounter with Ross than a few stitches and another new town. No, the situation was far past that point now. Lucy was sure he’d try to kill her this time.

  The light turned green and she pressed the gas, easing onto the main road which led to the interstate, thinking dying might not be such a bad deal.

  The thought shocked her, stabbed through the cottony yet tough as steel wall she’d built around her mind, striking her inside her safe place like nothing else ever had. A tear trickled a wet path down her cheek.

  Lucy didn’t want to die. What was she thinking? What was she doing hiding inside her mind, shutting off her emotions like she was still a captive in Ross’s household and it was the only way to survive? Shutting down, locking away her feelings, was only giving the bastard one more level of control over her life and she refused to give him anything more than he’d already taken.

  No.

  Her mind felt fuzzy, as if she’d been drugged and was trying to climb her way out of the fog. She pulled to the side of the road and parked, ignoring the few cars speeding past. Opening the clip on her key chain, she removed her old house key. It seemed appropriate for what she needed.

  Using the sharp, jagged edge of the key, she pressed hard on tender flesh of her inner arm and pulled the cold metal across her skin. She sucked in a breath at the sudden rush of pain, using the sensation to further dissipate the cotton in her mind. She repositioned the key for a fresh swipe, pressing just hard enough to abrade the tissue and leave a bright-red welt but not hard enough to cause any actual damage.

  Lucy knew this wasn’t a good way to deal with her mental state, but she needed to clear the fog from her mind now, not wait who knew how long until she finally felt fully herself again. Though she’d retreated to this safe place inside her mind many times before, she’d never once wanted to break free of it and the only way she knew how was to shock her system, hoping the adrenaline would kick her to the surface.

  It took ten long, red, raised lines on the inside of her tender arm before she was able to pull in a deep breath, blink her eyes and look around, seeing the world like she should. Totally present instead of experiencing her surroundings as if viewed through a screen covered in a thick film of Vaseline.

  Fuck, her arm hurt.

  Then she remembered Dalton. The cheating asshole! They may not have had a verbal agreement of exclusivity, but it was sure as hell more than implied. Well, she didn’t need him. She wouldn’t go as far as to say she didn’t need anyone, but she didn’t need another man who made promises he wouldn’t keep.

  More determined than before, she pulled back into traffic. All she needed to do was get those pictures from the house she used to share with Ross and in which he still lived. She was sure he’d kept them. The sick fuck probably took them out each evening, spread them across the bed, rubbing his hands together like a cinematic villain while enjoying all he’d accomplished. Lucy shuddered at the thought.

  It would take around six hours to make the drive from Clifton to Cincinnati. With her right hand, she reached onto the passenger seat and dug through the purse she’d tossed there, searching until she felt the familiar weight of her cell phone. It was turned off for now, she had no desire to listen to it ringing for the next six hours while she drove and no doubt Abbey and Dalton would be calling, maybe even Dez, to try to change her mind.

  Thinking about her new friends, people who cared for her—not Dalton, the bastard—but Abbey, Jed and Dez, warmed her heart. Lucy hadn’t had friends in years, so long she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been shopping with a girlfriend or had someone she could call if her car broke down on the side of the road. Maybe, regardless of what happened with Dalton, Lucy could settle in Clifton permanently.

  After merging onto the interstate, she set the cruise control for a few miles over the speed limit, flicked the radio on, tuned in a rock station and prayed Ross would stay put in Clifton. She needed to get in, get the evidence to end the threats against her and get the hell out unnoticed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dalton yanked open the back door to Hart’s Inkand strode through, the cool air inside barely registering against his heated, damp skin. The usually calming scent of antiseptic, ointment and ink didn’t comfort him now with his focus solely on finding out what the fuck happened with Lucy.

  Damn Rachel and her stu
pid games.

  Dalton should have been here, keeping an eye on Lucy himself, instead of playing “How to Top from the Bottom” with a woman he used to screw. The low murmur of voices drew him to Abigail’s studio where he found a trio of people looking as if they’d divided his feelings equally between them. Pissed, worried, determined.

  “What happened?” he asked the room at large without preliminaries.

  Three sets of eyes swung to the entrance where Dalton stood. He shoved his hands deep inside the front pockets of his jeans to keep himself from hitting something or strangling one of the people standing before him who had let Lucy walk away unprotected.

  “Lucy had a flashback followed by some kind of mental breakdown that made her eyes look dead and haunted at the same time. Most fucked-up thing I’ve seen in a while. Like she just…shut down all her emotions. Just turned herself off but kept her body moving.” Dez related this in a disturbing, calm tone at odds with the words.

  At least Dalton knew why she ran, though he worried about her mental state and the fact she was alone with a madman on her tail. “All right.” He rocked back on his heels then took a step farther into the room. “Where’d she go? I’ll go get her.”

  “Not finished, yet.” Now Dez’s voice punched out at Dalton with a harshness his friend and foreman had never directed at him before. “After she freaked out, she overheard my conversation with Anderson. She realized you weren’t at the job site, where you said you’d be, but somewhere with Rachel, a woman who Lucy has had the displeasure of seeing naked and knows you’ve fucked on multiple occasions.”

  Not liking where this was going, Dalton moved to place his hands on the leather-covered table in the center of the room and leaned toward Dez, who stood on the opposite side, mirroring his position. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. You think I’d do something like that to Lucy? Or any woman?”

  He watched Dez’s gaze flit over his face, then pause and narrow, focused on a corner of his mouth.