He lifted it and noted that there was no writing anywhere on the outer cover. A faint, familiar scent tickled his senses, and he lifted the book to his nose. He opened it, to find that there was no pocket holding a due date card on the inside cover, only a phrase handwritten in black ink: December 7, 2011. The handwriting was distinctive, neat, and boxy, as though the author had taken drafting classes, but feminine too.
After a moment’s debate, he turned the page. Surely there was a nameplate or a due date pocket indicating the title of the book. What he found was more of the same neat, measured, cursive penmanship.
The book flipped open to the page marked with a thin ribbon. There was a date noted at the top, July 4, 2012, but it was the words on the page that grabbed his attention. He sat there for several minutes reading the erotic story. Seth knew he should close the book, but he couldn’t. Something about the author’s voice, the flow of the words, tickled at his subconscious, pushed him to continue, but also made him feel like an interloper reading obviously private writing. His cock grew wickedly hard as images of Jayne were superimposed on the heroine as he read.
Stephan’s smoldering blue gaze traveled up her naked body, searing her as much with his stare as he did with his flesh. He settled within her arms. The sensual smile on his face was made rakish by his neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, which tickled as he brushed his lips against hers. His slow, sensuous kiss was echoed with the rhythm of his hips as he rocked against her mound. Her juices wet the hot, steely hardness of his member. She gasped as the blunt head of his cock brushed insistently at her virgin entrance. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss and lifted her thigh around his hip as he gripped her derriere with the other. His gaze met hers and he—
He turned the page, noting it was blank, and nearly cursed at being left hanging. Erotica wasn’t usually his thing but he was willing to rethink his position if he could get the author’s name. He flipped back to the front of the book and read what he realized was a journal entry after the first few lines, and his heart began a descent in his chest.
The doctors seem optimistic…I’m just scared to hope. Maybe I should trust them this time. For the first time in a long time I have energy. My appetite has returned and I feel like getting out. I guess it’s finally time to start living, no matter how long I have.
This was a journal entry dated December 7, 2011, and it suddenly dawned on him that not only was the scent clinging to the book familiar, so was the handwriting.
Flipping swiftly back through the book, but reading no further, he noted journal entries and then pages and pages of other short stories. A folded sheaf of paper slid from the back of the book, confirming the suspicion growing in his mind. He’d seen this handwriting before, on a tattoo consent form. He closed the book, feeling a rush of guilt. He unfolded the paper and stared at the sketch of Jayne’s tattoo design.
Jayne’s journal.
The elderly librarian had accidentally given him Jayne’s private journal, part of which he’d just read. He flipped back to the beginning of the book. How sick had she been that her thoughts were on possibly dying?
A slip of paper slid from between two pages, and he picked it up off his lap. It was an itemized receipt from a naughty ladies’ boutique in Morehead. Discretion.
“One ultra slimline jelly vibrator, lubricant, small butt plug, and mini purse vibrator.”
Holy shit.
He could see her, the lights dimmed so she’d be able to relax. Fingers wet from the lubricant and her own sweet juices, she fingered her cunt until her back arched. He could almost hear her needy sighs—Thoughts of Jayne masturbating filled his imagination, and his balls ached for release.
Turning to the marked page, he glanced at the date and something clicked. She’d spent July 4th with him. The description of her characters came to mind, and his stomach dropped.
Picking up his phone, he dialed in to voice mail. There were two voice mails from her number, one left earlier that afternoon, right around the time he was headed to Morehead, and the other around five o’clock. His cell phone signal was always spotty when he headed that direction. He glanced at the journal, and the clock in the kitchen. It was after ten. He listened to the first voice mail and confirmed his suspicion. She was frantic. He could hear it in the tremble of her voice and the way she stuttered. She sounded vulnerable. Normally he wouldn’t have called her so late, but he had no choice. He dialed her cell phone number, wondering what he should say.
We need to talk? I read your journal? Am I the hero in the story? Are you the virgin?
* * * *
Jayne’s heart leaped into her throat when her phone rang while she was brushing out her hair and getting ready for bed. She’d finally given up waiting on his call as all sorts of scenarios, each progressively worse, crowded her imagination. Preparing for the worst, she tried to clear the lump from her throat and slid her fingertip across the screen of her phone.
“Hello?” In her own ears, her voice sounded weak. Terrified. Ready to be rejected again.
“Jayne?” He sounded concerned.
“Um, yes. It’s me. Hello.” She cleared her throat again.
“Did I wake you?”
“No.”
“Can I come over?” His deep voice was soft and gave no clue to his emotions.
“Y–Yes.”
“I’ll be there in three minutes.” He ended the call, and the phone rattled against the bathroom counter as she laid it down. She clasped her hands together to stop them from trembling.
“Oh, God. He read it.” Her voice shook uncontrollably. Adrenaline coursed in her bloodstream, giving her the urge to run away.
No. You’re a grown woman with normal urges. Remember what Grace and Charity told you. There’s nothing wrong with writing erotic stories. You’re not a pervert. You’re a virgin, for crying out loud!
After hurriedly brushing her teeth, she checked her reflection in the mirror and went into the living room taking slow, deep breaths. Her heart lurched at the unmistakable sound of his motorcycle pulling into her driveway.
Steeling herself, she opened the door, not even waiting for him to ring the bell. She heard the muted thud of his footsteps as he approached.
Please don’t hurt my feelings. Please don’t laugh or look at me with disgust. Please…
His black boots came into her field of vision, and fear of the judgment she might see in his gaze made it nearly impossible to raise her eyes to his.
Don’t be a ninny. This was the risk you took, having your notebook out at lunch. Pull your big-girl panties up and take it like a woman.
Seth stood there on the doorstep, her book in his hand. Her fingertips twitched, and she nearly reached out to grab it and run. Seconds passed, seeming like hours, and her tension grew in astronomical proportions. Finally, he held the book out to her, and his hold on it seemed gentle as he took a step closer. Her hands were shaking hard enough for him to notice as she received it from him. She cleared her throat again, cursing the growing lump there, as she finally lifted her eyes. His stoic face was so hard to read.
Clutching the book to her chest like a lifeline, she whispered, “Thank you.”
She waited for his opinion. His judgment. A car drove past her house, its stereo playing loudly as they stood there, for what felt like an eternity, and she was relieved when he finally spoke.
“May I come in?”
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. She backed away and gripped the edge of the door for support. “Of course.” Stars sparkled in the outer field of her vision, and she realized she was holding her breath.
A case of the vapors? Really?
His eyebrows furrowed as he reached out to steady her. “I think you should sit down, Jayne. Here, let me help.”
Her numb fingers slipped from the door, and he caught her as her knees buckled.
Oh, you ninny! Nice going, Scarlett O’Hara!
He walked her to her recliner and helped her sit, still clutching the bo
ok to her chest. “I’m sorry. I—”
He squatted in front of her and gripped her knees gently. She took a deep, slow breath, and the sparkles faded. “Jayne, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been in Morehead most of the day. All my messages finally dumped into my voice mail as I got home. I just listened to them a few minutes ago. You must’ve been frantic.”
“You didn’t…read it?” Hope soared until he bit his lip and lowered his eyes for a second. He lifted his gaze to hers again.
“I sorted through the books I checked out today before I listened to my messages. I found it and at first I didn’t know who it belonged to, so I leafed through it and…”
“Oh.” She focused on the warm hands resting on her knees. She prepared for his good-bye. “What did you read?”
Seth let out a slow breath and tilted her chin. “Look at me.” She complied. “I read one of your stories, and the journal entry on the first page. I—”
Say it first. “Hated it?”
His slight smile took her by surprise. He cleared his throat, and she saw the trace of a dimple in his left cheek which quickly vanished. “No. Not at all. I liked this one as a matter of fact.” He tugged on the ribbon marker and opened it to the one she’d begun on the day she’d met him.
Oh, Lord in heaven, take me now.
He’d read the one with him in the leading role. Maybe he didn’t notice.
“Is that really how you see me? As a hero?”
Oh, hell. There goes that hope. You might as well go for it. You may crash and burn, but at least you won’t have any regrets.
“I know you’re only human. A man.” All man. Stay focused, ninny. “Yes, that’s how I see you. I heard about how you helped when Lily’s ex-husband kidnapped her. Protecting other people. Looking out for others.”
“A hero making his claim on the virgin heroine?” Her pussy quivered at the heat in his piercing blue gaze. At her mute nod, he continued, “I got…caught up in it. You’re a good storyteller.”
Her earlier adrenaline rush and embarrassment, combined with the pleasure she felt at his words, left her feeling off-balance. He stroked her knees with his fingertips.
“Think so?” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, her cheeks still very hot.
“Yes. I do. Can I ask you something?” She nodded, filled with curiosity as he took time choosing his words. “Are you the virgin heroine?”
She fidgeted and diverted her gaze over his shoulder as she nodded. Her heart pounded as she waited for the amusement to cross his features, because in this “enlightened” day and age, he was bound to think she was joking.
Seth reached out a hand and gently tilted her chin so she’d meet his gaze. “That’s not something you should feel embarrassed about. I’d never know it from your writing.”
“It is embarrassing. Especially at my age. It’s unheard of.”
Seth shrugged and smiled. “True. But being pure is nothing to be ashamed of. Ever.” She wanted to howl in embarrassment at his word choice, even though he’d hit the nail on the head. “I’d planned to call you this evening to talk about the tattoo but got home too late. Do you still want to do it?”
She very much appreciated the change in the topic of conversation. “Yes. I do.”
“You didn’t say anything about it the other night but I wanted to make sure you knew that if you ever get pregnant, it’ll very likely alter the tattoo.”
“That’s not an issue. I love the design and want it just as it is.”
Checking the time on his phone, he said, “Okay. Why don’t you come after work tomorrow and we’ll do the first session. Bring the drawing with any changes you want made to the design.” He nodded at the book, indicating the sketch, which stuck out of the top. When she opened the book, the receipt from her last trip to Discretion, which she’d used as a bookmark, fell out in her lap. A slight smile crossed Seth’s lips before he schooled it, and she groaned as she grabbed it and slid it back between the pages.
“My mortification is officially complete.” A twinkle glimmered in his eyes, and she found herself giggling. “Well, now that you know everything there is to know about me, holding still for a tattoo that spans my whole torso doesn’t seem like such a big leap after all.”
“Yeah, I think we broke the ice.”
Jayne nodded. “All to hell. Yup.” At least her sense of humor was returning.
“Wear something comfortable that’s easy to get on and off.”
Jayne recalled that she’d be at least partially disrobed while he worked in close proximity to her disrobed self. Jiminy Cricket! His hands all over me! The heat started simmering inside her again at the thought.
Seth stood as she rose from the chair and stroked her warm cheek. “Don’t worry, Jayne. I’ve done tattoos on all parts of the human body. I’ll be very gentle.” His deep, quiet tone sent a wave of longing through her core. Her cunt lips swelled with arousal.
Jayne refused to contemplate how many women he’d had his hands on in the past and instead focused on the mental image of his hands on her. Hot moisture trickled from her pussy at the thought of him doing more than just tattooing her.
“I know you would. I mean—I know you will.” Jeez, way to let on what you’re thinking.
Seth paused, and a serious expression crossed his face. “If I’d known it was your journal, I never would’ve continued reading. I should’ve recognized your handwriting.”
Jayne shook her head. “I shouldn’t have left it on the desk. I was mostly upset because I thought you’d judge me for my…hobby.”
Seth grinned, showing teeth and that little dimple again, dazzling her in the process. “I kind of like your hobby.”
Hope rose in her heart. This wasn’t what she’d expected. The last time she’d been in this position, she’d become an ex-fiancée.
“You need your rest. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.” He turned as if to go.
“If I asked, would you be my first?” She didn’t know where the guts to utter the words had come from.
He turned to her and drew near. A little furrow appeared between his eyebrows as though he was troubled. “Are you asking?”
She exhaled slowly and nodded. “Yes. Would you take my virginity if I offered it to you?”
He gazed at her for a long moment, and the hint of several emotions crossed his face. He gazed down and to the side as if reliving an old memory and then tilted his head.
“When did you decide to save it?”
“When I was a teenager. My best friend became pregnant the first time she had sex. Her boyfriend broke up with her and his parents shunned her and their baby. Her life was hard because both her parents worked and couldn’t help her much with the baby. They were angry and disappointed with her. At fifteen, her adult life began. She finished school but lost out on so much. That made an impression on me. I didn’t even date until college and I dated guys who were…not likely to push me to have sex. After college, I got…”
“You became ill?”
“Yes. I’m a survivor. But being in and out of treatment left little time or energy for socializing or dating. You can imagine facing a potentially terminal diagnosis would hamper the libido and sex appeal. Plus, I’m a little…”
“What?”
“Chunky. The women in my family all tend to be curvy.”
The sexy grin that crossed his lips made her heart palpitate and her temperature rise another degree. “I like that about you too.”
“Anyway, I decided all those years ago that I wanted to save my virginity for my wedding night. I just didn’t plan on saving it this long. Now, I feel just a little ridiculous.”
With a slow shake of his head, Seth took her by the shoulders. “It’s not. It’s beautiful. You may know how to write really hot erotica but you’re innocent. I think it’s a perfect combination. But you need to stick to your guns. Remember your tattoo?” At her nod, he continued, “Why do you want me specifically to do the tattoo?”
“Becaus
e I trust you. We talked and I know you’d be careful and do a good job.” She had a feeling she knew where he was going with this line of conversation.
Damn it.
“You’d never walk into an unfamiliar tattoo shop and ask the first person working there to tattoo your body without getting to know him, his level of skill, his style, and his sanitary standards. I’m sorry for the coarse analogy but it should be the same way with your virginity. You should know the person a while and trust them. If the tattoo artist lacks talent or has no clue what you want or need, then the tattoo would be ruined and so would the experience.”
“But the first time isn’t all that great anyway.”
Seth tilted his head slightly and shook it with a smile. “Not necessarily. You just illustrated my point. Given time and the right preparation, the first time can be special and meaningful. You shouldn’t throw it away. Last week, I redid a tattoo for a female customer. Located on the top of her foot. The original tattoo was done by an untalented hack. Her friend talked her into seeing me to fix it. I couldn’t even tell what it was.”
He pulled out his phone and showed her a photograph of what looked like a wilted head of cabbage. “That’s supposed to be a rose in full bloom. She wouldn’t wear anything but closed shoes because she was ashamed of it. She said halfway through getting it, she’d realized the train wreck it was going to be but didn’t have the guts to stop the artist from finishing it. It took a lot of work, but I fixed it. It’s bigger than what she’d originally intended but now she isn’t ashamed of her body art.”
He slid his finger on the touch screen and showed Jayne the “after” picture of a lovely pink rose, fully bloomed, with a hummingbird hovering over it.
“That’s beautiful.”
“I think so too. I made something she could tolerate out of it. All she’d originally wanted was a small rosebud. It’s good now, but her first experience with a tattoo will stay with her, no matter how well I did. Letting someone you don’t really know that well have access to your body can leave a lasting mark on you. I’m afraid you’ll have regrets down the road. I want it to be a good, pure experience for you. Save it for your wedding night. You deserve that, Jayne, after what you’ve been through. Don’t come this far to throw it away.”
Heather Rainier Page 3
