There was none of that. Instead, he witnessed understanding and warmth and, dare he dream, affection. It looked like genuine affection for him as a person. Not just the singer on stage or the trainer in the gym. He used to love those looks of lust and desire he got based just on his voice or physique, Hell, he’d lived for them. So much so he didn’t realize how much he desired a look of attraction based on his inside not his outside. It was beautiful, shit, she was beautiful, and not just outwardly either. How could he hate someone like her?
Reaching out, hesitantly and halting, she placed her hand on his head. The sense of rightness just crashed over him like a waterfall. Slowly, she began stroking, caressing, and twirling his hair. Michael closed his eyes and savored the feelings that her touch brought. The physical sensations were delicious, but the emotional ones were the icing on the cake. Her touch was like coming home.
Fuck, where in the holy Hell had that thought come from?
Before he had a chance to understand everything he was feeling, she spoke in a voice that was stilted and husky, like she was bordering on tears.
“Wow, you just took me back, way back. My mother used to do the same thing, still would if I needed her to. Sometimes, I find it hard to sleep if I’m going through stuff and…,” Something must have been too much for her, because she changed directions on a dime. “My mom didn’t do power ballads, she did country crooners. Real country, Patsy, Hank Sr., stuff like that. The words were about cheating and lost love, but the tune was soothing, especially with her voice. She would slow them down and change some words.”
Michael opened his eyes when she stopped speaking and got lost in her hypnotic ones, as she obviously got lost in her memory. The melted chocolate and warm brandy color captivated him. He almost kissed her and begged her to stay with him forever, and not just as friends. But, his actions were interrupted by her lilting voice.
“My mom had a few go-to standards, one was “Sweet Dreams,” by Patsy Cline.” Her eyes took on a haze of sadness and she mumbled, “How fucking prophetic that was.” Shaking her head, presumably in an attempt to dislodge whatever had brought her so low, she followed up with a whisper, almost to herself, “Well, not so much anymore, thank you.”
“Anyway, she would sing ‘Sweet Dreams’ with an amazing voice. She really missed her calling. She became a nurse instead of the next country sweetheart. Good for me and Walker anyway, because she was always there to rub our heads and sing us to sleep.” She finally made eye contact, real contact, not lost to a memory or sadness, and Michael felt it when the moment clicked, for her too. It was almost audible, the locking of their gazes, the softening of her face. Both their bodies relaxed in an honest moment.
“So, what was your mom’s go-to song, don’t tell me you’re so young it’s still in top forty?” There was humor and lightness in the air at her statement.
“So, what if it is? I’m not too young to know what I want in life and reach out and take it. I’m also not too young to rock your world, that is, if you begged.” A wink from him, a laugh from her, and everything shifted.
Michael was blown away by her laughter, her lightheartedness, and the organic nature of who she was when she let her guard down. The whole, launch a thousand ships thing, or whatever, that shit’s real. He wondered if he’d look back on this moment when he was old and gray and pissing in his pants, only to realize that this was the very second she became the axis on which his world rotated.
Unsure if the high he was feeling was solely her or partially the meds and brandy, but he didn’t care. What he cared about, he was looking at, even if she was blurring and doubling. He closed his eyes to let the drugging effect, whatever the cause, run its course.
“Take My Breath Away,” he said on an exhale.
“Are you okay?” A slight smile graced his face or, at least, he hoped it did, because of the concern threading her voice. “Michael, what was that? Are you having trouble breathing?”
A fuzzy feeling was starting to overtake him—probably the damned pills, they always did that and he hated it. Which was why he still had leftovers. He didn’t take them unless he absolutely had to.
“I’ll always have trouble breathing around you, but no, “Take My Breath Away,” was my mom’s go-to song, until “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” anyway. She’d change them to a mother/son song and I’ve loved ‘em ever since.”
Rambling in 3, 2, 1…Yep, he knew the medicine alcohol combo would loosen his tongue, but it was more her than any drugs. He wanted her to know him, as he wanted to know her.
“My mom, the only woman I call that, wasn’t my birth mother, she was my heart mother. Apparently my father had an indiscretion as the family called it, and she took me into her home and raised me as her blood when my egg donor didn’t want me. Not once did she ever treat me as less than her son by birth, neither did my father. Of course, my bother never let me forget it.”
Was it his imagination or did she just stiffen? With leaden eyelids, he couldn’t open them to see, so he preferred to blame it on his imagination.
Tori went rigid as a pole at the mention of his brother. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the brother who never let him forget it was The Dick. When Richard finally mentioned a half-brother, he shared very little—not even his name—but he had emphasized the half part.
Her heart went out to the groggy man lying beside her, almost asleep. Tori meet demon number one; demon number one, this is Tori.
It was one, but not the only. This particular demon was old and weak, almost defeated. It possessed just enough strength, it seemed, to rear it’s horned head, probably brought on by contact or, in this case, impending contact with its creator.
Having at least one in such a weakened state was a good thing in her book, especially when she sensed the strongest ones, the upper level sons-of-bitches, were fresh and new, which meant, young and vicious. He would need his strength to battle those.
“Yep, my own mother didn’t want me, but my father did and my heart mom did, so I’m not complaining,” he slurred. “I was unwanted by the woman who should’ve moved Heaven and Earth for me. I was bitter for a long time, but I got over it. I swear when I have kids, they’ll never feel unwanted, I’ll see to it.”
The vehemence in that vow, and that’s exactly what it was, a vow, cracked the shell around Tori’s heart. Here was a man who had healed from ultimate rejection, and she was whining about a no-good man. Jesus, were her priorities skewed.
“Will you please stay, Tori? Just until I fall asleep?”
How could she say no? She was fooling herself if she thought for one measly second that she even wanted to leave.
“Of course, I will. I have to make sure you don’t roll over and choke on your own tongue, don’t I?” she joked. “But I absolutely will not sing to you. I have been banned by the state police, the humane society, and wearers of hearing aids everywhere from singing aloud.”
The deep rumble in his chest knocked Tori back, it vibrated through her entire being. He was laughing. And she’d made him laugh. That sound was music to her ears. God, he was someone she could fall hard for, if only she hadn’t dated the man who commanded one of his demons first.
“Come on, babe, no one is that bad, but I concede. Just keep stroking my hair and tell me about yourself and I will be forever in your debt.”
Babe? That word ran chills up her spine. He was using the term generically, but she pretended otherwise.
“Well, let’s see. I was born a poor black child…” Michael popped one eye open and interjected with a sharp laugh.
“Oh, my God, lady, did you just pull ‘The Jerk’ on me? I have to admit, that’s kind of hot, but seriously. I want to know about you, know you.” Michael had interrupted her, but the fact he knew what movie she’d just plagiarized? She might have just lost her heart a little.
Tori lived, breathed, and functioned in movie quotes. The more obscure, the better. Steve Martin was a bit of a gimme, but considering Michael’s age,
not so much. Deeper and more complex than his years imply, it seems.
“Okay, Mr. Movie Buff, I’ll reciprocate, deets for deets. You tell me something shallow, I respond in kind, something embarrassing, the same, something personal, et cetera. You see where I’m going with this? But you start, and when you get too tired, just let yourself drift off. I’ll stay until you’re in no danger and sneak out. Deal?
Tucking her hair behind her ear once more, his eyes fluttered, “Deal.”
A long silence overtook the space until a snarky smile appeared on his too-perfect face. “Okay, miss smarty pants, my cock is double digits when erect and quite impressive, or so I’ve been told, repeatedly. Now you?” The wicked smile he wore wasn’t lost on Tori, and he cracked one eye, presumably to gauge her reaction. Fuck that, she’d heard a lot worse from troubled people trying to shock her into giving up on them. She wouldn’t let one super sexy whatever he was best her.
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, but oookaaay. Shallow it is, let’s see…oh, I can tie a cherry steam into a double knot with my tongue in fifteen seconds flat.” Now, it was her turn to raise an eyebrow and gauge his reaction. She was pleased as punch with his pained expression.
“Time for a subject change. I work three jobs. I’m a trainer, if you hadn’t notice my rocking bod, I freelance articles sporadically for a health and fitness magazine and, I’m in a band.”
“Oh, my God, really, what kind of music do you play?” Michael moved his good hand to still her lips with gentle fingers; they felt like raw electrical wire to her.
“Uh, uh, uh, no questions, just tell. That’s not how this works. If you’re a good girl, I might accidentally answer your questions, but not yet. First, you need to tell me something along the same lines about yourself.”
“Spoil sport.” Tori was eating up this light atmosphere they’d managed to create—a feeling she’d never experienced with Richard, or anyone else for that matter. “Fine, I just quit my job with a major water sports event organizer to open a clothing store for fit women with my two best friends, but I volunteer as a grief counselor. Only a few people outside my family know that, and now, you.”
The ticking of the clock was deafening. Michael seemed stunned or freaked by that information. Damn it, too much, too soon. She knew that info was heavy, but she was compelled to share that little tidbit. No rhyme or reason why, but something told her to.
“Really? That’s…”
“Uh, uh, uh. That’s not how any of this works, remember. Now you, Wingman.”
“Fine, but maybe you can accidentally elaborate? Let’s see. I dropped out of college. Never finished. Got certified as a trainer but that’s it. Academic underachiever right here, sexy, huh? Does ignorance turn you on? Because, I’ve got it in spades.”
Joking tone or not, it was obvious to Tori that his lack of traditional education was a sore spot for him. At some point, someone made him feel inadequate about it, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew the culprit.
“Well, F.Y.I., degrees are not indicative of one’s overall knowledge or even IQ. I have two degrees and I feel like an idiot more often than not. My brother Walker has a genius IQ, yet not a single credit hour. He tattoos and pierces people for a living and, other than his current situation with Erika, is content as he can be.”
“What are your degrees in?”
“Oh, so we’ve moved to a question and answer format? Noted. Business and psychology. What’s your band called?
“Superficial Sinner. Just the one brother?”
“Yep, younger. Same?” Dang it, it was out before she could think. Not the subject she wanted to chat about. Maybe he would keep the rapid fire pace, and skip right over this one.
“Yep, just the older half-asshole. Age?” Michael kept up the pace, but the cloud hanging over him now was practically visible.
“In my thirties, you?”
Smiling that devastating smile again, he replied with a just-woke-up morning voice. “Twenties. This boyfriend, serious or casual?”
“Why?”
Placing his finger on her lips once more, he shushed her. “Uh, uh, that’s not how this works.” With that, he dropped a quick feather-light kiss on her lips the instant his finger slid away. “Maybe because I want to know if I have a shot at being the next man to make you smile like you did earlier…”
“Fine, neither. It was serious on my side, not on his, maybe it never was. By this time tomorrow, he will have an ex designator. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking to fill the position he vacates anytime soon, so get that thought out of your mind, mister. What about you; girlfriend, wife, groupies?”
That rich rumbling sound bubbled up from him again and it was still panty melting. “Hahaha, not currently, not yet, and do you really want an estimate? Why is he going to be an ex tomorrow?”
“Because he’s an emotionally abusive taint biscuit, who is unable or unwilling to move forward, and I finally wised up. Do you like being on stage and having the whole room focused on you?”
“I used to, now, not so much, but I do love the outlet singing and songwriting provides.” She interrupted before he could pose a question.
“You write songs, too?” Michael just waggled his finger and shook his head groggily no. The medicine was starting to pull him down into that leaden fuzzy, pain-free place.
“Why did you decide to counsel people?”
“Junior Prom. Boyfriend that didn’t understand the word no.” Shit why did she answer that question? No one knew about that. Well, except for the asshole with the hearing problem. The fact she answered that question, even involuntarily, opened up something between them, she hoped. At the very least, it gave her the confidence to pose the question she had wanted the answer to practically from the moment they made eye contact. “Why do you have that haunted look in your eyes?”
Not realizing she had brought her hand around to his temple, she lightly circled her thumb there, waiting for an answer, or waiting to see if he could even formulate one. Many people couldn’t. It wasn’t that they didn’t know why, they just had trouble taking what emotion it was a partner to, and wording it to speak aloud.
The silence stretched out for so long, she thought she had lost him, either moved too fast or the medicine claimed him, until an unsteady and unsure voice shattered it. A hollow, haunted voice, one that if she didn’t witness it whispering past his lips would’ve never believed it came from this larger-than-life man.
“A string of people who didn’t comprehend no. My fiancée who couldn’t or wouldn’t say no to my best friend’s cock and most recently, a sleazy waitress in a hotel room who wouldn’t accept no.”
Michael barked, “Game over.” and rolled away in a huff. Tori knew it was hurt, embarrassment, and the fact that he’d just exposed a herd of demons to a virtual stranger that had him halting the Q & A.
Tori’s heart broke as she struggled to comprehend his confession. A cheating fiancée is one thing, but cheating with the best friend is a betrayal squared, especially for a man. Women tell their friends everything, their BFF’s know all in that aspect. Men? Men are different, they don’t do late night gab sessions over pints of mint chocolate chip, and they expose themselves on a different level to significant people in their lives.
For lack of a better description, women make a conscience choice to let someone in. They pick a best friend first and then chose what to share; men, as a rule, don’t operate that way. They meet someone first, casually, then over time, and almost accidentally, they share parts of themselves with another through their actions and just living and hanging out. It’s a slow as kudzu progression and, typically, men don’t realize they’ve let someone in until they are already so deep, they have the power and the knowledge to destroy him.
Come to think of it, that was really the beginning of the end for her and Richard. Even with all the time they’d been together, he never let her in, not even the insignificant ways. He purposefully kept her out.
Tori’s
internal pity party was interrupted by what sounded like sniffled breathing. Oh shit, Michael was hurting. Having just laid his heart bare was too much for him in his current state. The combo of alcohol and painkillers brought out the emotional side of him obviously, or maybe he needed to get it off his chest and once she opened the floodgates, he let it rip.
Good for him, he needed to speak the words, even if he might not remember in the morning. Needed to let that pois…wait, did he just confess to being raped? She’d missed it, so caught up in the dynamic of betrayal between his fiancée and best friend she totally overlooked the implication. Shit, she was better than that. Having dealt with rape victims through counseling, she was trained to spot these things. Most rape confessions that weren’t reported to police came to her the same way—casual mentions, usually sandwiched between two lesser confessions or self-judgments.
Off her game was an understatement. This man had an effect on her she couldn’t describe nor resist, but she shook it all off to focus. First and foremost, he was a victim and she was a counselor. She could help him cope, maybe even convince him to seek out another professional since she was obviously not the one for the job. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t at least help him tonight.
The weight of her hand was almost nonexistent, but way too significant in its presence. He was hoping the fog in his brain made him imagine speaking those words to the one woman in the world he didn’t want to see him as a lesser man, a broken man. But, the touch of her hand, coupled with her feather soft voice, dashed that hope definitively.
Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) Page 7
