House of Payne: Sage

by Stacy Gail

  She winced. “Were you in a lot of trouble?”

  “That right there is another story,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s your turn to share now, and lucky for you, I’ve got questions.”

  “You do?” Still struggling with the enormity of what the child version of Sage had gone through, she could only shake her head. “Can’t imagine why. I don’t have anything remotely like that in my background.”

  “This isn’t about your past. It’s about what you said earlier that got my attention.”

  “What I said earlier?”

  “Why is it an act of courage for you to work at House Of Payne?”

  For an instant everything froze inside her. “Damn, you’ve got a good memory, don’t you? Gotta say, I was counting on you forgetting about that.”

  “When it comes to you, I don’t forget much.”

  Wow. “I’m not sure how I should take that.”

  “Later on I’ll prove how good it is I’m focused in on you. But first you’re going to explain what you meant when you said it takes courage to work at the House. Remember, you agreed to share.”

  “Yeah, I did.” With a sigh, she moved to the unlit fireplace and plucked up a framed photo off the mantel draped in fragrant, twinkle-lighted garland. “My father,” she said simply, handing the photo over to Sage. “I’ve mentioned he’s an artist, yes?”

  “An artist and a critic, primarily of your work.”

  Wow, Sage really didn’t forget much when it came to her. “I was seven when my dad landed a job at a brand-new, hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlor down south. He was so psyched about the kid who’d opened it—a real go-getter who had this wild vision for the future of tattooing. This kid was going to bring tattooing into the mainstream and celebrate it as fine art, just like anything you’d find in museums or galleries. Better yet, he’d even developed a business model that monetized almost every aspect of the tattooing world. My dad believed in this kid, so he decided to go all in with him and produce some of the best art he claims he’s ever done. A couple years went by, then this kid found himself a sponsor with deep pockets to finance his vision. Next thing my dad knows, the little parlor closed up, this kid moved to The Loop, and he took all my dad’s designs with him. The only thing he didn’t take was my father. He was out.”

  “Payne.” He looked at the picture he held—the image of her father leaning back against his beloved classic Gran Torino—before setting it aside. “You said your dad was one of Payne’s first tattooists.”

  She nodded. “I grew up hearing how Payne had stolen my dad’s best work and pawned it off as his own. That betrayal killed my dad’s creative drive, or at least that’s how it seemed to me. He hasn’t produced anything of merit in years.”

  “Then he’s a weak little bitch,” Sage said bluntly, frowning with what looked like growing impatience. “You know as well as anyone that Payne uses a standard release form when it comes to a tattooist’s artwork. Anything produced while on the clock and under Payne’s roof belongs to House Of Payne, with the artist getting full credit and compensation.”

  “Maybe Payne uses that contract now, but my dad insists he never signed anything like that.”

  “Then he’s an idiot as well as weak.”

  “Shut the hell up,” she shot back, a knee-jerk reaction that had her hands fisting even as she stepped right up to him. “You don’t even know my dad, so just shut your damn mouth. He was taken advantage of all those years ago, and then he was left behind like he didn’t matter. All that crap broke him as an artist and busted up my parents’ marriage. Say one more word about my dad, and I swear I’ll throw your ass out so hard you land in Zane’s house.”

  “Damn, you’re a loyal little thing. You’d never abandon anyone, would you? That’s so fucking hot.” With a grin that would make the devil blush, he framed her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Finally.

  Except she wasn't in the mood to be kissed. Oh, no. Not at all. She didn't want to enjoy the heat of his mouth fusing to hers to create the most perfect fit known to man. Nor was she in the mood to wallow in the blazing hunger for her that she could feel straining within him, as if he held his more animal-like self on a tight leash. And she sure as hell didn't want to savor the taste of him when his tongue tangled with hers, or be staggered by the fact that another human being could taste like heaven.

  No.

  She wasn't in the mood for any of that.

  But that’s what she got.

  With a sigh, she melted into the kiss. She’d be mad at his crappy timing later.

  Her fingers sifted through his short, silky-soft hair without consciously telling them to do it, while their bodies touched from thigh to chest in one long, unbroken line. The heat generated between them was enough to make her head swim. Or maybe that delirium came from Sage and that overwhelming hotness he exuded like a freaking pheromone.

  He seemed to enjoy the sensation of her body pressing against his, if the tightening of his arms around her was any indication. He rubbed against her, as if delighting in that sweet friction. That one move of raw sensuality made all his near-kisses and platonic little pecks laughable. This man wanted her. Fiercely. Utterly. Without any doubt.

  Thank God.

  To show him that she was right there with him, she slipped a hand over his shoulder down to his hip so she could dig her fingers into his impressively tight butt cheek, greedy for a deeper closeness. Obligingly his hips rolled against her, and she moaned in happy relief when she felt a growing hardness behind his zipper.

  Hot damn.

  The heavy drumming of his heart hammered against her breasts, echoing the beat of her own as he slowly raised his head to look down into her face. A soulful pang drifted through her at the loss of his lips, telling her that she’d somehow become addicted to his mouth with that one kiss alone.

  Damn, he was one potent package.

  “Yeah,” he said, as if picking up a conversation they’d been having, while his gaze drifted hungrily over her face. “It was totally worth it.”

  “What was?” she asked, still sifting her fingers through his hair with one hand while refusing to relinquish her hold on his ass with her other. It felt so perfect, cupped in the palm of her hand, that she didn’t want to move.

  “My plan.” His lips teased hers, brushing hers as he spoke. That action was so hot it was a wonder her panties didn’t burst into flames. “Building the fire in you bit by bit until you can’t wait to grind that sweet pussy of yours against me until you scream. It’s just about killed me to hold back with you, but you’re just about ready to forget being skittish and fuck me into unconsciousness, aren’t you?”

  The fire in her blood chilled. “Wait. What?”

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “You’ve been holding back until I was going crazy with wanting you?”

  A wild spark lit his eyes. “Have you been going crazy? Damn, that’s even better than I’d hoped for.”

  That had her yanking herself out of his arms. “So this was just another stupid game? First the sharing game, and now this game of almost-kisses and platonic little pecks that made me think you might not know how to kiss a woman?”

  At that, he burst out laughing. “Fuck me, that’s hilarious.”

  “It’s not hilarious. It’s apparently how your brain works, but I didn’t really get that until just now.”

  That froze him mid-chuckle. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t like games, Sage. And I definitely don’t trust people who play games with me.” She backed up some more, but much to her frustration the added distance didn’t tamp down the desire still grinding away inside. “I know we had plans to bake some cookies before heading off to the hospital, but I think I’m going to go solo from here on in.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered, staring at her in disbelief. “If I’d told you that I’ve wanted to bang you like a drum the moment I first laid eyes on you
, you would’ve bolted into the next zip code.”

  Dear God, was it getting hotter in there? “I guess we’ll never know that now, will we?”

  “I know I’ve never met anyone more stuck in their shell than you. So, games were the way to go until I got your sweet naked ass in my bed where it fucking belongs.”

  “Holy crap.” She almost rocked back on her heels as the impact of his statement hit her first with shock, then with a wave of raw, lusty desire. “Did those words just come out of your mouth?”

  “What? I thought you said you didn’t like games, so fine. No more games. From this point on you get nothing but the unvarnished truth. Think you can handle it, Skittish?”

  Skittish. Clearly that was what he genuinely believed her to be. “I can handle anything you can dish out.”

  “Prove it. Stick with the plans we had for today and have the guts to see where it leads.”

  Manipulative bastard. If a huge part of her didn’t already want to spend time with him, she would have been absolutely livid. “Fine.”

  “Hell, yeah, it’s fine.” When he rubbed his hands together he couldn’t have looked more gleeful if he’d tried. “Now that we got that out of the way, let’s get to those cookies you promised me. I don’t want to be late for our art session at your sister’s hospital.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was no fucking way anyone would ever think a pediatric ward during the holidays could be a happy place, Sage thought as he listened to a peppy rendition of “Jingle Bells.” But the hospital’s staff—frigging saints, every last one of them—had done their damnedest to bring the cheer. Sage looked around the common activity room, decked out in holiday finery and flooded with bright circus colors and sunshine. Almost all the activity tables were occupied by kids in hospital gowns and robes, and he had to smile at the sight of Mads cutting out paper snowflakes at a kiddie-sized table with a little girl, who was attached to a complicated-looking IV pole.

  The little girl already had a caricature portrait depicting her as happy and healthy, and swinging on a tire swing in what she’d described as her backyard. He’d done the portrait himself, and initially he’d been surprised that the girl had wanted an everyday scene, rather than being imagined as something else, like a rock star or an astronaut. But all she’d wanted was a picture of herself doing her favorite thing—swinging on a tire swing in her own backyard. That was it. That was her dream.

  It had taken every damn thing he’d had not to bawl like a fucking baby.

  Mads, on the other hand, had been like a machine. She’d made it rain with all those portraits for the kiddos, who in turn seemed to love being around her. Payne was the same way, churning out one portrait after another, all the while joking around with the kids as their parents and even some of the hospital’s personnel crowded in to get a glimpse of the great man himself.

  Sage had turned out several portraits himself, but he would have been the first to admit he knew next to nothing when it came to kids. Hell, even when he’d been a kid himself, he hadn’t had the knack for connecting with his peers. By the time he’d landed at his old man’s garage at the age of twelve, he’d heard and seen more of the seedier aspects of life than most adults.

  Bottom-lining it, he’d never learned to be a kid.

  “He’s really good, isn’t he?”

  The sound of Serena’s voice dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked around to find Mads’s sister standing at his shoulder. “Who?”

  “Sebastian Payne.” She nodded at the man in question as he scribbled away on a sketchpad while his subject, a boy around ten, proudly flexed a toothpick-thin arm. “Creating art comes as easily to him as breathing, doesn’t it?”

  “He’s been like that ever since I’ve known him.” With Mads’s family history front and center in his brain, he turned to study her. The resemblance between the sisters was evident; both were willowy and long-limbed, with pale gray eyes and sleek sable brown hair that looked too silken to be real.

  But there were definite differences in the sisters that grew more apparent the more he got to know them. Mads kept her hair in an edgy, short cut that showed off that gorgeous swanlike neck of hers, while Serena wore her hair in a no-nonsense ponytail. There was also a calm peacefulness about Serena that Mads couldn’t have pulled off even if she were in a coma. Unlike Serena, Mads seemed to run on an endless supply of restless energy, always moving forward with a relentless drive that pushed her toward whatever new horizon was out there.

  He could understand that. That same edgy restlessness hummed inside him to strive for more. And peace? What the hell was that? Peace had never been a part of his world.

  “I suppose Sebastian Payne would have to be a competent artist, to have risen to the top while living in the spotlight like he has.” Serena’s gaze was still locked on Payne with single-minded intensity, and again the similarity between the sisters struck him. How often had he caught Mads looking at their employer like he was some weird mix of Michelangelo reborn and Satan on earth? “But he’s more than competent. He’s… really, really good.”

  “Your father never mentioned that part about Payne, did he? Mads told me,” he shrugged when Serena shot him a startled glance. “She also told me your pops hasn’t created any kind of art to speak of in a long while, yeah?”

  Serena nodded reluctantly. “You could say that.”

  Loyalty. The sisters definitely had it. “What I can say is that as an artist myself, you don’t just stop creating because you think someone did you dirty. Ultimately shit like that doesn’t matter. If you’re a true artist, you just keep creating. And you sure as hell don’t tear other artists down when they try to grow and be innovative with their own art.”

  “Listen, my father isn’t lying about Payne—”

  “I’m not talking about Payne. I’m talking about the shit your old man slings at Mads under the guise of joking whenever he tears into her work. Yeah,” he nodded cynically when her eyes widened before she looked away with a troubled frown. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? You’ve seen him do it. You’ve seen him try to cut the legs out from under Mads, haven’t you?”

  “Our father knows a lot about art,” she muttered without really answering, “and Mads is always saying she needs to work on toughening up—”

  “Did you really just say that? Shit, and here I was, thinking you were just as beautifully loyal as your sister. My mistake.”

  At that, Serena whirled on him, hands fisted. “I am loyal.”

  “Not to Mads. Not when it counts the most.” With his estimation of her going straight off a cliff, he narrowed his eyes and wondered how he could have ever thought the two sisters were alike. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret about artists who create something out of nothing, lady. It’s. Not. Easy. The shit you create is born somewhere deep inside you—so deep there are times you fear for your sanity. You feel that fear because what you’ve created is a fucking part of you, and that part of you is now something the whole world can see and judge. When you put that part of you on display, only to have someone you admire rip the shit out of it, it hurts. No,” he corrected himself with another shake of his head. “It doesn’t just hurt. It fucking cripples you. I’m amazed Mads has come so far when she had someone shadowing her every step of the way, trying like hell to cut her legs out from under her.”

  She gasped, clearly appalled. “Our dad would never deliberately hurt Mads. For God’s sake, he’s her father.”

  “He’s also an artist, Serena. An artist who hasn’t created dick in years. Why? Maybe because Payne moved on without him and he got his fucking feelings hurt, or maybe because he wasn’t that much of an artist to begin with. But considering his history, he does know one thing—he knows exactly how easy it is to cripple an artist. If you have any loyalty to your sister, just keep that in mind the next time you hear your old man joking about how bad her art is.”

  “It’s not like they actually talk anymore,” Seren
a gritted out, crossing her arms in a huff. “Ever since Mads started working at House Of Payne, it’s tough to keep them in the same room for more than five minutes. I’m having them over for Sunday dinner tomorrow in hopes of bridging that gap. But since I am loyal to my sister, I swear to you now that I’ll be on the lookout for anything that might hurt Mads.”

  “So will I. I’m inviting myself over.”

  Serena’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Now that I think about it, there’s no need for you to get between them if shit goes sideways.” He shrugged, seeing the logic of it, even if she didn’t. “I’ll be there to take the pressure off you, just in case. Deal?”

  “I did tell Mads she could bring someone as backup,” she said slowly, before nodding. “You’re more than welcome to join us. I might not like your attitude toward my father, but I thoroughly approve of how you want Mads protected. Should I tell my sister you’re coming over, or do you want to do it?”

  “Leave it to me,” he said, and started to smile.

  *

  “Now that,” Sage said as he walked Mads into her townhome, “is what I call an awesome holiday tradition. Making kids smile while flexing on the art skills is my idea of fun, even though I’m not all that great when it comes to kids. We’re doing this every year.”

  Mads’s heart skipped a beat. How could he imagine them doing anything together a year from now when she couldn’t even see into next week? “I actually do this every year, Sage,” she managed, pausing in the foyer with him as she shrugged off their coats. “And who says you’re bad with kids? I thought you were great.”

  “No one said I was bad at it. It’s just something I feel when I’m around the little squirts, you know? I don’t think I was ever as innocent as those kids we met today. And I know you do this every year,” he went on while she headed into the open-plan kitchen that overlooked the living area. “I’m just including myself in your tradition. Deal with it.”

  Man, her heart was such a klutz, tripping all over itself like it was. “You know, the more you’re around kids, the easier it gets. Who knows? You might even wind up actually liking them at some point.”