Pretty Broken Bastard

by Jeana E. Mann

  He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me. I was about to withdraw it and slink away in humiliation when he engulfed my fingers in his large hand. The warm roughness of his palm sent a shockwave of heat up my arm. We both froze. He dropped my hand like he’d been stung and shoved it in his pocket. His touch reverberated down to my toes.

  “Truce then,” he said in a voice so soft, I barely heard it.

  “Okay. Well, let’s get to it.” Gathering my stunned wits, I tried to remember where I was and why. The stack of boxes and scattered furniture brought me back to reality. There was work to be done, and it wasn’t going to do itself.

  “What can I do?” Carter avoided my gaze, acting as stunned as I was.

  “These boxes need to go to the bedroom.”

  “Which boxes?”

  “The ones that say ‘bedroom.’” After turning my back to him, I bent over to pick up another box. My backside burned with the weight of his gaze. “Carter! Seriously. Are you looking at my ass again? You promised.”

  “It’s hard not to when you’ve got it stuck up in the air like that.” His smirk was completely devoid of guilt. He laughed, the sound boyish and utterly charming. Damn it. We were back to that again—his hotness and my unrelenting crush.

  I smiled, surrendering to his charm, and threw my hands into the air. “You’re such a creeper.”

  “I know. I know. It’s a gift.” The shrug of his broad shoulders drew my eyes to their width. He was so solid and strong. “Here. Let me get it.” Before I could protest, he heaved the box into his arms. His swollen biceps taunted me. Why, why, why did he have to be so hot? “Where does it go?”

  “The walk-in closet.” I pointed to the master bedroom.

  “Can you get the door?”

  I trotted in front of him, opened the closet door, and followed him inside. To my sister’s credit, she’d found an apartment with amazing closet space. Built-in shelves and racks lined the walls. The door swung shut behind us, closing on silent hinges. “You can set it there, in the corner.”

  “Geez, this thing weighs a ton. What the hell is in here? Rocks?” He placed the box in the corners and straightened, flexing his arms, twitching his muscles like a bodybuilder.

  Less than a foot separated us. Although the closet was larger than my bedroom at home, Carter’s presence dwarfed the space. I swallowed, avoiding his gaze, trying to look anywhere but at him. The walls closed in on us until it was just him and me. Carter’s eyes dipped to my lips and stayed there for one, two, three heartbeats. Oh, Lord. Breathe, Jo, breathe. Needing to escape his penetrating stare, I fled to the door. I turned the doorknob. Nothing happened. I rattled the handle and tried not to panic. “Shit. It’s locked.”

  “No way. Let me try.” In an instant, he was at my side, his large arm brushing against mine. “It’s just stuck.” One shove of his shoulder popped the door open. “Chill out.”

  “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.” I drew in a deep breath and tried to calm the anxiety. “Closed spaces gave me the creeps.”

  Carter stared at me. Electricity crackled between us. His gaze flickered to my lips. “Are you always this tense?”

  “I’m not tense.” Turning my back, I fled to the living room. Carter followed me in silence. He moved the boxes to the appropriate rooms while I unpacked the books for the living room shelves. My gaze kept drifting back to him, his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and strong legs. When he returned to the room, I yanked my attention back to the task and tried to ignore the flush of heat in my cheeks.

  “You and Bronte seem pretty tight,” he said when all the boxes had been relocated. I paused to wipe the sweat from my forehead. He took a seat on the coffee table and rested his forearms on his thighs, clasping his hands between them. “Have you always been close?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” As her older sister, my job had always been to help and protect her. During our childhood, the neighborhood kids had bullied her. I’d been the one to wipe away her tears and hold her hand. “You don’t have any siblings?”

  “Not exactly.” I quirked an eyebrow at his odd answer, but he quickly moved on to another topic. “Your dad’s a character.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “I wish you could’ve met him before Mom passed. He was something else.” Dad had been a shadow of his former self since the funeral. Seeing him so broken hurt my heart. “You were nice to him today. I haven’t heard him laugh in a long time.”

  “You must really think I’m a dick.” The heavy note of disappointment in his voice resurrected my guilt.

  I rubbed my sternum, seeking relief that never came. “You have to admit that you can be a bit…abrasive sometimes.”

  His burst of heartfelt laughter brought the heat to my cheeks again. “I’ve been told that a time or two. Tell me, Jo, do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?”

  “Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I?” Confused, I dropped my eyelids and peered at him through the veil of lashes. “I don’t have time for bullshit.”

  “Yeah, neither do I. That’s one thing we have in common.” His gaze darkened, quickening my pulse. “I think we could be friends if we tried. You know, for Rhett and Bronte’s sake. We could go out for drinks, have a little fun.”

  “Fun?” The word tasted foreign on my tongue. I used to have fun, before Mom died and Dad sank into depression. I’d had a fiancé and a job and my own place. There had been laughter and sunshine and playfulness. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago. “I don’t have fun. Not anymore.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m an expert at it.” The promise in his voice tickled my tummy. His eyes, usually clear and light brown, were dark and unreadable. “Having fun is one of my specialties.”

  “There’s no time. I have Dad and Bronte and the coffee shop.” Misery bubbled beneath the surface of my words. If he only knew how much I longed to throw aside my responsibilities and have an adventure.

  “It happens that we both have an hour or so to kill.” The bow of his lips arched further upward, taunting me. “We could take the edge off all those nerves you’re fraying. No one will know. It can be our little secret.” His gaze dipped to my mouth again. I felt my resolve melting away. No one will know. No one will know. If he had any idea how close I was to stripping off my clothes and dry humping his thigh, he wouldn’t talk like that.

  “My nerves aren’t frayed.” I ran the tip of my tongue over the parched roof my mouth, trying to gather the last remaining threads of my self-control.

  “Whatever. Keep telling yourself that. Sometimes a good fuck can do wonders for a person’s attitude.”

  I pressed my thighs together against the ache between them. “I don’t know what kind of friends you have, but I don’t have sex with mine.”

  “Well, you should. If you can’t fuck your friends, who can you fuck, right?”

  In spite of my best efforts, a giggle slipped out. “You’re so messed up.”

  His eyes sparkled. I liked this playful, teasing Carter. “Come on, Jo. You’ve thought about it, right? You. Me. Pounding the sheets.”

  “No,” I said, fighting against the flood of heat into my face at the lie. Lately, he’d been the star of every one of my late-night fantasies.

  “I’ve thought about you. More than once.” My eyes met his. He stared back, pupils dilated, lips parted. “I’ve wondered about those beautiful boobs, how they’d taste in my mouth. If your nipples are pink or brown. Do they pucker up like tiny rosebuds, or do they get hard and big and stick out like thimbles?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the proof that they were small like rosebuds. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away from his face. “You can’t say things like that.” But I liked it. I liked knowing that he thought about me in the privacy of his bedroom. “What else do you think about?”

  His grin widened. “I wonder what kind of panties you’re wearing. White cotton, lace and satin, boy shorts, or a thong? What’s your favorite?”

  “Thong.” The word cracke
d in my dry throat. I ran the tip of my tongue over my lips to moisten them. “I like thongs.”

  “Me too.” He shifted, running his palms along the length of his thighs. The movement stretched the fabric of his pants, outlining his dick—his long, hard, thick cock. Knowing that he was turned on by the conversation lessened my hesitance and snapped the last remaining shred of my self-restraint.

  “I think about your chest.” Emboldened by the fire in his gaze, I plunged headlong into the game. “If you shave it or if you’ve got hair there. How it would feel to run my fingers over it.”

  “You can see for yourself.” In one fluid motion, he dragged his T-shirt over his head.

  I bit my bottom lip to hold back a groan of appreciation. His pectoral muscles, smooth and tanned, twitched under my gaze. A gold ring pierced the left nipple. Ripples of muscle cascaded down his abdomen. Every inch of his torso was taut and lean and begging to be touched.

  “Your turn.” His gaze dipped to my cleavage.

  Was I crazy for wanting to show him more? I fingered the hem of my top, wavering between lust and common sense. If I breached the barrier of distance between us, there’d be no going back. On the other hand, I longed to be wild and free, if only for one hour. Who better to do it with than the wildest guy I’d ever met? I lifted the hem of my shirt, baring the satiny cups of my bra.

  A sudden pounding on the apartment door made us both jump. “Jo, are you in there?” Bronte called through the door. “We forgot our key.”

  Embarrassment flooded my cheeks. “Uh, yes.” I yanked my shirt down and glared at Carter. What was I thinking? A few more minutes, and I would have thrown myself at him. He lifted an eyebrow and shrugged, a huge smile bowing his lips. I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn’t. He was just too darn hot. I shook my head and returned his grin.

  “Hang on.” Carter nudged me aside. He chucked me under the chin, his words quiet and only for me. “I like it when you smile. You should do it more often.”

  Chapter 5

  Carter

  Once Rhett and Bronte were settled, I drove Jo back to her house. With every mile closer to home, she grew quieter and smaller, until we traveled in silence. I parked the car in the driveway. Her somber mood unnerved me. While she gathered her things, I went around to her side of the vehicle and opened the door. Then, like a good boy, I walked her to the front steps.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t do stuff like this,” she said when we reached the front porch, her voice teeming with exasperation.

  “What?” I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels.

  “Where is my key?” She rummaged through the depths of her purse. “Be nice. Open my doors. Walk me to the house. It’s confusing.”

  “You’d rather I was a dick? I thought we were past that.”

  “I don’t know.” She let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t know if it was because she’d found the key or because she was finally going to be rid of me. “Here it is.”

  I took the key from her and stuck it in the lock. “I meant what I said earlier. I want us to be friends. It’s the best thing for all of us.”

  “I believe your exact words were, ‘if you can’t fuck your friends, who can you fuck?’”

  “Yeah. I did say that, but I didn’t mean it.” I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. “Not that I wouldn’t love to fuck you, because I would, but I promised Rhett to stay out of your pants. And I’ve never broken a promise to him. Not yet.”

  “Carter, stop talking. You’re making it worse.” She studied me, her blue eyes delving deeper into my soul than I cared to reveal. I blinked away, uncomfortable, afraid she’d see the real me, the coward, the bastard, the kid no one wanted. “You know that guy at the coffee shop? Clarence? The one you jumped? You should have told me you were looking for him.” She pushed open the door, leaving me at the doorstep with my mouth open. “I see him around all the time. He hangs out near my ex-boyfriend’s apartment.”

  I groaned and hung my head. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She dropped her keys on a small table in the foyer and turned to face me. “I can give you the address.”

  “Yes!” I fist-pumped the air. In a flash, I resumed the thrill of the chase. This could be the break I’d been waiting for. “Don’t yank my chain, Hollander. Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Come here.” I grabbed her, bent her over backward until her feet left the ground, and kissed her. Not just any kiss, but long, deep, and lingering. Her fingers curled into my biceps, the nails cutting into the muscle. My tongue found hers. The soft, wet heat of her mouth erased thoughts of Clarence Mortimer Benson III and replaced them with desire. She leaned into me. I slid my hands down her ribs and grabbed a handful of her bottom. The press of her pussy against my groin made me instantly hard. Shit. What was I doing? I’d promised Rhett to stay out of Jo’s bed. If I didn’t stop now, we’d be fucking on the sidewalk in about ten seconds.

  “That you, Jo?” Mr. H called from the darkness inside the house.

  Reluctantly, I set her back onto her feet. Her lips were swollen and pink. She touched a hand to her mouth. Our ragged breathing broke the nighttime stillness. I adjusted the raging hard-on behind my zipper and gave her a lopsided smile.

  “Yeah, Dad. It’s me and Carter.” Her eyes locked with mine, wild and wide, the pupils enlarged to black pools.

  “You gonna invite him in, or are you gonna keep making out on the front porch?”

  Jo rolled her eyes but smiled. I glanced down at the tent in my pants and shook my head. Her eyebrows lifted. “No. He can’t stay.”

  “Good call,” I said. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to me. Those big, luscious tits flattened against my chest. “I’ll catch you later. If I get this guy, I’ll pay you a finder’s fee.” I dropped one more kiss on her mouth then gave her a slap on the ass for good measure. A startled squeak punctuated her gasp. I turned and sauntered down the sidewalk under a sky bright with stars. “Night, Mr. H.”

  Chapter 6

  Jo

  The screen door banged shut behind Carter as he left. I floated into the house on weak legs and a cloud of confusion. My lips throbbed, and the tips of my breasts tingled in the best way. I avoided the living room and headed straight for the stairs. I needed to process in my bedroom what had just happened, away from the prying eyes of Dad.

  “Everything go okay?” To my dismay, Dad’s voice boomed into the hallway before my foot hit the first step. “How is Bronte handling the change?”

  With a sigh, I reversed direction and tried to rearrange my features into their normal nonchalance. The blue light of the television illuminated the room. As always, I found comfort in the dilapidated sofa, Mom’s weathered armchair, and the faded throw rugs on the worn wood floor. Dad sat in front of the TV, a beer at his elbow and the remote control in his hand. He smiled at me through the darkness.

  “She’s doing well.” I dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “You should visit. She’d love it.”

  “I don’t know.” He turned his attention back to the shopping channel, where a lady with too much makeup pitched the virtues of hair restoration serum. “We’ll see.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to get out now and then.” I placed a loving hand on his arm. “Fresh air will do wonders. And I could use your help at the shop.”

  He stiffened beneath my touch. Since Mom had passed away at the coffeehouse, his visits had been minimal, him finding the place overflowing with her memories. “Maybe.” The tone of his voice signaled the end of our conversation.

  “Okay. Well, good night.” Pushing away the disappointment, I squeezed his shoulder gently. “Don’t stay up too late.”

  “Love you,” he mumbled and covered my hand with his.

  The stairs creaked as I headed to my room, reminding me of all the times I’d sneaked out of the house and returned in secrecy, only to be caught by the telltale steps. The memory gave m
e comfort, and after a quick shower, I flopped on the bed. Sleep eluded me. I replayed Carter’s kiss over and over in my head. My toes curled, my lips still buzzing from his mouth on mine. He wasn’t the kind of guy for a relationship, but if his kiss was any indication, he knew his way around a woman’s body. I cupped my breast, feeling the rush of blood into the tip, the ache of arousal. Maybe I could push aside my boycott of men for a one-night stand with him. I fell asleep with my hand in my panties and a smile on my lips.

  The ringtone of my phone woke me at three forty-five in the morning. Adrenalin yanked me into full consciousness. Although the number was foreign, I accepted the call, certain the world was ending.

  “Hello? What’s wrong?” My pulse thundered in my ears as my mind raced through worst-case scenarios. I wedged the phone between my neck and shoulder and jammed my legs into a pair of sweats. “Is it the coffee shop? Has someone had an accident?”

  “It’s me. Carter.” His deep voice vibrated through the phone into my ear, tickling the nerve endings. “Don’t panic. Nothing’s wrong.”

  I froze, disbelieving. “Is this some kind of joke? Do you have any idea what time it is?” Although I tried to sound annoyed, I was secretly thrilled and savored the sound of his voice, warm and intimate, roughened by the early hour.

  “I caught him.” His excitement transferred through the airwaves. “I went straight to the address you gave me, knocked on the door, and the motherfucker answered.”

  “Really?” Tucking a foot beneath me, I settled against the pillows and smiled at his enthusiasm. “I’m glad it worked out.”

  “Yeah. Like I said, I’ve been chasing this guy forever. He’s sitting in the Laurel County lockup as we speak. And I’ve got a big fat finder’s fee for you.”