She’d prepared a salad, baked potatoes, and some kind of fish. It smelled heavenly and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a meal like this.
She appeared apprehensive. “I hope this is okay.”
I laughed, pulling her against me and placing a kiss on her lips. “Don’t go getting shy on me now, Hale. Where’s that know-it-all attitude I love.”
She pulled out of my arms and gave me a light shove. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Alright, I worked hard to make you a nice meal. Eat it and like it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mock saluted her.
I sat down at one of the barstools and noted the fact that she’d poured us each a glass of cold water. No alcohol was in sight.
Maybe I shouldn’t have left her alone in the kitchen. I wouldn’t put it past her to dump out all my drinks.
She picked up her fork and looked at me. “Eat!”
I laughed. I might give her grief for it, but I loved her bossy attitude.
I took a bite of the fish and flavors exploded across my tongue. “This is really good,” I assured her as she stared me down, making sure I ate. “You might have to cook all my meals.”
She rolled her eyes, and muttered, “Let’s not get carried away.”
We bantered back and forth easily through the meal. I hadn’t laughed or smiled that much in…well…five years.
When we’d finished eating, we both cleaned up—goofing around and making a mess of the bubbles in the sink. It felt so good to have fun and act my age for a change.
Grasping her by the waist, I spun her around, dancing to the sound of our beating hearts.
I lifted her on to the counter, and pressed kisses against her neck where her pulse raced. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured you spread out here with me inside you.”
She wiggled away, and slowly eased up her shirt until her full breasts were exposed, held by a lacy black bra. I’d been too occupied earlier to notice how good she looked in that bra.
“Why don’t we make that fantasy a reality?”
At her grin, I knew my eyes had darkened with lust. I didn’t see how I’d ever tire of this woman. I wanted her all day, every day. Maybe even for the rest of my life.
“Mmm,” I hummed, capturing her lips with mine, “yes.”
When she tried to pull my shirt off and was unsuccessful, she then moved to my jeans. I grabbed her hands in mine and pinned them beside her head. Laying across her torso, I swept my nose along the curve of her neck. “Slow, Sutton.”
Her mouth parted slightly and with hooded eyes, she nodded.
Going slow was just as hard for me as it was for her, but I knew it was what we both needed.
I wanted to worship her, and show her that she didn’t need to be punished for what happened to her. She had been a little girl, and she didn’t deserve that. If I ever saw the fucker that did this to her I’d send him to an early grave.
Pushing all thoughts of that man out of my mind, my fingers curled into her soft hair. For once, she didn’t smell like coconuts. She smelled like me.
“I want to hold you forever,” I admitted, almost hoping I’d spoke the words too soft for her to even hear. But she did.
“Forever is a very long time,” she murmured, gliding her finger over my lips.
“It is,” I concurred, “but it’s never enough.”
When you think about it, we’re each gifted with little bits of forever. The time I had with my family—while short—was our forever. It was the time we were given, because we didn’t need anymore. I’d always be able to look back and remember them. That time didn’t disappear. It was always there. Thus, existing forever. The short term could be as powerful as the long term. We were all a bunch of ticking time bombs, and it was up to us to utilize every second of our lives and make it count. I’d been throwing my seconds away for a long time, but not anymore.
I tenderly explored her body with my fingers and mouth. I wanted to make her feel safe. After the horrors she’d experienced, she deserved no less.
When I eased inside her, she gasped my name and satisfaction filled my body. Her lips were made to say my name and my ears were made to hear it.
I kissed her, pouring every ounce of passion in my body into it. I needed her to know that I cared—maybe even too much. I didn’t know where this was headed, but life doesn’t come with a map, and after all, isn’t it the bumps along the way that make it all worthwhile?
As our bodies melded together, the love we were scared to share with anyone else created an impenetrable bond, blocking the world around us.
Sutton Hale had irrevocably changed me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hoped one day I could find the proper way to thank her. For now, this was enough.
CHAPTER 18
Sutton
“I want to get a tattoo.”
I don’t know what made the words tumble from my mouth, but they felt right.
Caelan blinked his sleepy eyes open¸ yawned, and stretched his arms above his head.
“Are you dreaming? Or are you serious?”
I rolled my eyes and let out a laugh. Lightly punching his shoulder, I said, “I’m serious.” I propped my head on my hand and faced him. “Where’d you get your ink?” I nodded towards the script adorning his ribs.
“A place in town.”
“Annnnd,” I scooted closer, “I was wondering…” I paused, hoping this wasn’t forbidden territory I was about to enter.
“You were wondering?” He prompted, swishing his hand through the air.
“What’s the poem from?”
He swallowed thickly, rolling on his back to stare at the wooden boards crisscrossing the ceiling. “My mom wrote it.”
“She did?” I gasped.
He nodded, still refusing to look at me. He was lost in another place and time.
“She was a very creative person, as you know from what I said previously, but she wrote poems for fun. I never knew about it, not until…not until she was dead. My grandparents found the book when they packed up my stuff and gave it to me. When I read it, this one stuck out to me. I knew I wanted to make it a permanent part of me.” He finally flicked his gaze to me and smiled sheepishly. “I got the tattoo the day after their funeral. I guess you could say it was the start of my rebel ways. My grandma just about had a heart attack the first time she saw it.”
“Well, I think it’s beautiful, and the meaning behind it makes it even more special.” I reached my hand out, tracing a fingernail over the elegant script.
“Yeah,” he sighed loudly, his chest rising with a shaky breath. “It’s a good reminder,” he rolled over onto his side to face me. “We’re not guaranteed tomorrow, life can end at any moment and we need to cherish each moment we have.” Rubbing his hand over the tattoo, he said, “Every time I look at this I can’t help but wonder if she had some premonition that it was going to happen.” He let out a nervous laugh and said, “This poem…it was dated the night they were murdered.”
I reached for his hand, entwining our fingers together. Remembering that the information on the website had said that the murderer had never been found I ventured to ask him about it. I really hoped my question wouldn’t upset him, though. The last thing I wanted to do was cause him pain. “I…uh…remember seeing that their murderer was never found.”
His lips twitched in a smile that was anything but happy and shook his head. “Nope. Never found the guy. The police had a few suspects, myself included,” he tapped his chest. “But there was never enough evidence to make a definitive case against anybody.”
“Do you…” I paused, nervously biting my lip, not sure if I should go there. “Do you think you know who did it?”
“I have an idea,” he admitted. “My dad had fired a guy for stealing from the job site at the construction company he owned. The guy…he didn’t take it well. I remember overhearing my parents talking about it. My dad told my mom that the man showed up and basically assaulted him.” Tears pr
icked my eyes and my heart ached for Caelan and the amount of torment he had to live with. It was plain for me to see that his pain was even greater than mine. “And if it was that guy, he’s out in the world with his freedom intact. Even if it wasn’t him, there’s someone out there that killed them and they don’t have to deal with the fucking consequences. It tears me up inside. Someone should be punished for this. And now, this many years later…people don’t care anymore. It’s old news. It doesn’t matter to them, because it isn’t their family. They don’t have to walk down the fucking street and wonder if each person they pass knows something or did it!” He jumped from the bed, tearing at his hair. “I-I need a minute.” He padded into the bathroom and closed the door. A second later I heard him let out a heart-wrenching sob. My stomach clenched and I bit down on my fist to block my own cries. My heart constantly broke for Caelan. I didn’t want him to live with this pain anymore, but I didn’t know how to help him break free.
I chose to leave him alone, knowing the last thing he needed right now was for me to push him.
I grabbed up Brutus and headed back to my own apartment.
I showered and changed into clean clothes. I braided my hair to the side and set about making my necessary cup of black coffee.
I was about to take a sip of the steaming liquid when someone pounded on the door. I let out a sigh, having a pretty good idea who it was.
When I opened the door Caelan stood there with damp hair and a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. His hands were braced above the doorframe and it did amazing things to the muscles in his chest.
“You left me,” he whispered.
“I thought you needed to be alone,” I shrugged.
“No,” he reached out, gently cupping my cheek in his hand and looking at me seriously. “I need you, Sutton. You keep me grounded.”
I swallowed thickly and stepped aside to let him in.
“Coffee?” I asked him.
He smiled wryly and sat down on the couch. “No. I don’t really like the stuff.”
“Ah,” I nodded with a grin, “now I understand why you ordered that fancy iced coffee when you came in to Griffin’s.”
He let out a chuckle and bowed his head. Strands of blond hair fell forward to hide his face. “Yeah, those are actually good.”
“They have hardly any coffee in them.”
Pointing a finger at me, he grinned boyishly—I was surprised by how much it transformed his face. “And that’s why I like them.”
I finally made my way over to the couch and sat down beside him. He grabbed my legs and placed them in his lap. I smiled, letting myself relax. I couldn’t believe how far we’d come since August.
“So,” he started, “you want a tattoo?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
I rubbed a hand over my face, searching for the best words to explain myself. I finally settled on, “It’s time.”
He chuckled. “It’s time? That’s all you’ve got?”
“I’ve always wanted one, but I never thought of anything that I really wanted permanently on my body,” I explained.
“And,” he glided a finger over my foot where it rested on his lap—my foot twitched when he hit a ticklish spot, “what is it you’ve decided to get?”
“Freedom,” I whispered, leaning my head against the couch cushions. I prayed he didn’t think it was silly.
His smile was slow, almost forced, and I knew he was thinking about what happened to me. “It sounds perfect.”
His fingers slowly crawled up my legs and I let out a giggle. “Stop that! It tickles!”
“Oh, it does?” His touch was merciless as his fingers found my stomach and the spot on my side that was quite possibly the most ticklish spot on my body.
Our laughter filled the apartment as I tried to tickle him back. I failed—of course.
I sank down on his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands rested on the small of my back as we looked into each other’s eyes. So many things passed between us in that moment. Both our feelings were on full display once again and neither of us was running. I could see the fear in his eyes, and I was sure it was reflected in my own, but what we had was worth pursuing. He closed his eyes and tilted his head forward to kiss me, but feeling devilish, I pulled away.
His eyes popped open and he let out a chuckle. “Playing hard to get, Ms. Hale?”
“No,” I eased off his lap and pulled the band from my hair, releasing the braid. “But if I let you kiss me, things are likely to go too far, and then the whole day will have passed and nothing of importance will be accomplished.”
He smirked, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. “Sex is important.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m going to get a tattoo, maybe walk around town for a while, and then I’m going to work tonight.”
“So, no sex?” He pouted.
I laughed, and as I walked by the couch I bent over him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I whispered seductively in his ear, “Maybe. If you behave.”
He licked his lips suggestively. “I thought you liked it when I was bad?”
“Oh, shut up,” I laughed, retrieving my jacket from the closet and shrugging it on. I slipped on a pair of shoes and looked over at him. “Are you coming?”
He pretended to think. “Um, I might need a shirt.”
“Then get a shirt,” I laughed. “And maybe a coat too, since it’s kind of cold out.”
“I don’t own a coat,” he said, standing and stretching his arms above his head. Staring at his body flex and ripple, I suddenly didn’t want that tattoo as bad anymore. I shook my head, silently telling myself to get it together.
“You don’t own a coat?”
“Nope,” he shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll put on something with sleeves.” With a wink, he was gone.
By the time I walked out of my apartment—careful to make sure the door latched and locked since I didn’t want Brutus to escape again—Caelan had emerged from his.
We didn’t say anything, just headed outside. I stopped by my car, but he shook his head. “It isn’t far. We can walk. Besides, the air feels nice.”
“Okay,” I agreed, falling in to step beside him.
After walking a few blocks, he grabbed one of the shops doors and held it open. “After you milady,” he said with a flourish of his hand.
I pretended to curtsy and entered the shop.
I didn’t know quite what to make of this new playful aspect of our relationship. I’d never had someone who I could be that way with.
The woman behind the counter straightened at our arrival. She was about our age, with dyed black hair with vivid red streaks. She had a nose ring, and both arms were adorned with colorful tattoos. “Hi,” her lips spread into a smile, “I’m Alba. What can I help you with? Well,” she laughed, “I assume you’re here for a tattoo. Do you know what you want?”
We both nodded and she tilted her head, studying Caelan. “Do I know you?”
He nodded. “Sort of. I’ve been here before.” He lifted his shirt up and exposed his tattoo.
She squinted, leaning forward to read the tiny script. “I remember now,” she smiled.
As she and Caelan spoke, I looked around the shop. The walls were painted black with silver glitter sparkling in it. The couches were shiny red leather. Mirrors and chrome accents were scattered about. It had a cool vibe, much like the woman herself. Judging from her appearance and store’s color décor, I assumed she was the owner—not a diehard employee.
Eventually we were led back to a room. I volunteered to go first, lest I lose my nerve. Caelan leaned against the wall while I sat in the chair. Alba fluttered about the room, getting everything ready.
“What do you want done?” She asked.
“I want the word ‘freedom’ here,” I pointed to my wrist.
“Easy enough,” she smiled. “Do you mind if I try something with it? If you don’t like it, we’ll scr
ap the sketch. No worries.”
“Yeah, sure,” I shrugged.
“I’ll be right back,” she smiled at each of us.
When she returned a few minutes later, she held up a piece of transfer paper. “What do you think?” She asked, appearing nervous as to what my reaction would be.
“It’s perfect,” I breathed. The word ‘freedom’ was done in a simple font, but the top part of the ‘m’ was floating away, the ends turned up to look like a bird’s wings. “It’s beautiful,” I continued.
“Great,” she smiled, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
She got everything set up and pulled out the tattoo gun.
“Need to hold my hand?” Caelan joked from somewhere behind me.
I rolled my eyes. “Not likely.”
The whir of the machine filled the room. I closed my eyes and laid back. It didn’t hurt—not at all, at least to me. The slight sting of pain was actually pleasant.
“All done,” she said, wiping excess ink off my wrist. She wrapped it up, going over care instructions. Then it was Caelan’s turn. He handed her a slip of paper that I was sure contained what he wanted. After discussing placement and font, she left us alone again.
“What are you getting?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” was his smart-ass reply.
“Come on, tell me,” I pleaded, but he wasn’t having it. I didn’t get to see the script until she placed the outline on the skin of his upper back. “Fate is always there to carry us home,” I read. He glanced over at me with a sad look in his eyes. “Your mom wrote this, didn’t she?”
He nodded simply and turned away, staring ahead.
I repeated the words in my mind, marveling at their meaning. It made sense, if you believed in fate—no matter what we did, or who we became, some things were meant to be. You couldn’t fight it. You couldn’t question it. You had to accept it.
Once his tattoo was done we paid Alba and said goodbye.
We walked around town—not holding hands, our relationship would never be lovey-dovey, no matter what—and went in and out of a few shops, eventually stopping to eat a late lunch.
Beauty in the Ashes Page 21
