Love & Curses (Cursed Ink)

by Debbie Gould

  She tore her gaze away from him, guilt squeezing her lungs. She always let him take care of her. However this time, she was embarrassed by what he saw in her. She was a gullible fool, and she wished she didn’t deserve his pity.

  She tried to pull her fingers free, but he wouldn’t let go. “I’ll be fine, really. I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around here and watch me make an ass of myself.”

  “Nope, not really.” He helped her to her feet

  Pain shot up her leg, and she yelped, her ankle giving out. Scooping her up in his arms, Andy climbed the steps to her back porch. Her keys jangled in his hand—when he’d picked them up, she hadn’t seen. A moment later, he had the door open and headed toward the living room.

  Sitting on the couch first, he settled her on his lap. “Your skirt is all muddy. Wouldn’t want to get your couch dirty. Take a breath then we’ll get you patched up. I’ll even share the Shrimp Ettouffe I brought home from the restaurant.”

  Shame scrabbled to clutch her throat. He was being too kind to her. Again. Shaking her head, she tried to blink away the tears, tried to erase the callous remarks Ben had said the day she’d left. But being in Andy’s arms brought everything missing in her life to the forefront. It wasn’t fair. “I’m barely hanging on here.”

  “You’re doing fine, honey. Let it go. I’ll be right here till the flood passes.”

  That was all it took. She buried her face in his chest, sob after sob quaking through her. True to his word, he held her tight through the torrent of tears. When at last she lifted her head, she stared at his handsome face. Why were all the guys like him so unattainable to her? Why couldn’t she find an Andy for herself?

  Chapter Three

  After tossing and turning half the night, getting about two hours of sleep, Andy crawled out of bed and dragged himself into the shower. But the hot spray did nothing to take his mind off the woman he’d been twisting himself inside out over for better than a year.

  Calista owned his heart. She had from the day he’d moved in next door and saw her on her porch rocking in an old wooden chair swing. Abandoning her books, she’d come over to help, and he’d been blown away by the smile on her face and bright glint in her eyes. God, he’d wanted to ask her out right then, take her to some local place for dinner to say thanks for all her help. But while they’d carried boxes into his living room, she’d mentioned the guy she was seeing at that time—the guy she had a date with later that evening. The guy who’d taken her to a cheap motel, rolled her in the sheets, and promptly disappeared the next day. Afterward, she’d put on a brave face, but her furrowed brow and sunken eyes had told of her pain. Andy grimaced. The whole thing still pissed him off.

  Over the past year and a half, he’d watched her smile slip and the light burn out. He wanted nothing more than to show her what love could really be. He ached to hold her in his arms at night and be the one she woke up to every morning. But he’d known from the very first day, he wasn’t the kind of man she was looking for.

  She liked the bad boys—basically, assholes who held an air of excitement or mystery, or whatever the hell made them attractive, but refused to settle down. So, he’d silently watched her get her heart broken over and over and offered her his shoulder to cry on when one after the other crushed her dreams.

  He slicked the soap over his skin, letting his hand rest on the raging hard-on he’d had since he left her the night before.

  She wasn’t a stupid girl, far from it. She worked at a local law firm as a paralegal and was taking night classes to become a lawyer. No, she was extremely intelligent—except when it came to men, in his opinion anyway. If the damn woman would just open her eyes, he could guarantee she would never have her heart broken again.

  He braced one hand on the shower wall and stroked the rigid length of his erection, Calista the only thing on his mind. He wanted her, with everything in him, he longed for her. Her touch. Her mouth on his. Her body arching beneath him. His grip tightened, his strokes faster, the memory of her bottom firmly seated in his lap. He closed his eyes as he pumped his hand, bringing on a climax that was far from satisfying.

  Letting his forehead rest against the tile, he slammed a fist into the wall next to him. Fuck yeah he wanted her, but he wanted all of her, heart and soul, in his life permanently and for more than a damn leaning post. Maybe it was time to show her what was right in front of her.

  He left the shower, dried off, and grabbed a pair of jeans and light blue T-shirt—no need to dress in anything more, he didn’t have to be at the restaurant for hours. But Calista would be leaving soon for work, and he wanted to walk with her. Time to start being proactive in his life.

  He crossed the walkway to her back porch, arriving just as she locked the door behind her. “Morning.”

  At first, she barely met his gaze, but then she straightened a little taller and looked him in the eye. A slight blush covered her light brown cheeks as she limped down the steps.

  “Morning. Um…well, I need to thank you for last night. I was a mess.” She glanced down, brushed her hands down her skirt and lifted her gaze to his. ”You always seem to see me at my worst. Sorry.” A small grin appeared on her face. “First thing on my agenda today is waterproof mascara.”

  Laughing, he took her elbow. “You’re still limping. Maybe we should go get your ankle checked out by a doctor.”

  “It’s a little bruised but no swelling. I’m sure it’ll be fine. No biggie.” She stuck her keys in her purse, and they ambled out to the main sidewalk. “So, why are you up and out so early? I never see you this time of the morning.”

  “I had a sudden craving for Café Au Lait and beignets and thought I’d walk you to work on my way.” That was a lie. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the food. He released her elbow, realizing just touching her soft skin had sent a fresh round of heat to his crotch. Damn, he’d never had such a strong craving for any woman. And lately, it seemed to have intensified.

  She paused to dig in her purse. “Where are my…? Here they are.” She pulled out her sunglasses, and a paper fluttered to the sidewalk. “Oh, my shopping list.”

  She bent to pick up the folded sheet, and he couldn’t help but check out the sweet curve of her bottom. Damn, at this rate, he wouldn’t be able to walk right either.

  As she reached down, a breeze sent her list tumbling across the ground.

  Andy frowned. What the…? Narrowing his eyes, he stared. He would’ve sworn a gray mist had brushed over the paper. He blinked, his gaze tracking the list Calista chased. Again, a light gray something swirled over the sheet, knocking it into the road. His neck hairs prickled. What the hell?

  A deep rumbling came from behind him, and he peered over his shoulder. A bus sped toward them less than a block away. Looking back to Calista, he spotted her snatching the paper from the middle of the street.

  A horn blared. Tires squealed.

  Oh, shit! Three leaping strides and he grabbed her shoulders, shoving her from the bus’s path. She let out a yelp as they plunged to the ground, Andy slamming on top of her.

  “Oh, my God,” he said breathless and still clutching her. “Are you all right?”

  Her face scrunched up, and she moaned.

  “Hey! You two okay?”

  Releasing her, Andy twisted around toward the bus driver, who leaned out the window and stared down at them. His gaze shifted to the hulking vehicle and the immense tire inches from his shoes. Fear clenched his gut, and he yanked his feet back. Good God, we were nearly….

  Calista sat up next to him and hunched over her knees. “Yeah, we’re fine,” she called to the driver. She cracked her eyes open and rubbed the back of her head. “I think so anyway,” she mumbled. “Ow.”

  The diesel bus engine growled, and gears ground together. “Stay outta the road. You might not be so lucky next time.”

  Andy gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to demand if the asshole had gotten his drivers license from the local mini-mart. Instead, he hel
ped Calista to her feet and shuffled to the opposite side of the street. The bus roared off, the placard on the side displaying New Orleans Ghost Tours in wavy, haunted-type letters surrounded by a disturbingly familiar smoky haze.

  Calista swayed next to him.

  “Whoa.” He took her arm. “Steady there.”

  “Yeah. I guess I hit my head a little harder than I realized.”

  “Let’s get you looked at.” He guided her to her yard and led her to her back door. Taking her keys, he let them inside and eased her onto the couch. He pulled out his cell phone. “Who’s your doctor?”

  “Really,” she said. “I’m all right. No blurry vision or anything. Just give me some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine.”

  Frowning, he stuffed his cell back into his pocket and went to the kitchen. He opened a cabinet, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. Turning, he strode down the hallway to the bathroom and took a pain medication bottle from the medicine cabinet. He glanced up and caught sight of himself in the mirror. When had he learned where everything was in Calista’s house? And if he knew that, then why the hell wasn’t he a bigger part of her life?

  Returning to the living room, he handed her the water and shook out two pills for her. She gulped them down and set the glass on the coffee table.

  He pulled out his cell phone again and dialed her work number. Crap, he knew that, too. “Hey, this is Calista Page’s neighbor, Andrew Mitchell. I’m just calling to let you know she won’t be in today.”

  “Is she all right?” came a female voice over the line.

  “She fell and hit her head. She says it’s nothing to worry about. She should be fine by Monday.”

  “Oh, wow. Okay,” the female said. “Tell her we hope she feels better.”

  “Thanks.” He ended the call and dropped his phone into his pants pocket.

  Calista gave him a small smile, and the urge to kiss her flooded his veins.

  “Still watching over me.”

  “You were nearly run down by a bus. I’d be an asshole not to.” Bending, he snatched the empty glass from the table and strode to the kitchen, putting a little distance between them.

  “You were almost hit, too. Maybe I should take care of you as well.” Her voice flowed to him, her words intensifying his craving. “We could take care of each other.”

  Andy set the cup in the sink. She’s talking about health stuff. Not sex, not stroking one another, not making each other come. He shook his head. Damn, I am such an asshole. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

  The sound of her shoes clicking over the hardwood floor reached his ears, and he moved to the kitchen doorway.

  “If I’m not going to work,” she said as she headed toward the laundry room at the end of the hall, “I’m getting into something more comfortable.”

  He stared, her movements in the small room casting shadows along the wall. Hell, if she hadn’t wanted him to watch, she would’ve closed the door. But when her skirt landed near the doorway and he glimpsed one hip, the arc of her waist, and up to her shoulder, and mouthwatering curve of her bottom—My God. Is she wearing a thong?—he swallowed. Guilt battled lust. To look or not to look? Damn difficult question. The hard-on knocking at his zipper answered.

  He sidestepped back to the sink and filled the glass he’d just set there with water, gulping down the cool liquid in an attempt to quench the fire in his pants. If she walked out here and found him with a stiffy, she might…she might…. Hell, he didn’t know. But after being dumped by that tattooing asshole Ben, she might not be very enthusiastic.

  Get it together, man. He glanced down at the bulge in his jeans. We gotta work as a team. Ease her into this. Not scare the shit outta her. When his body didn’t respond appropriately, he began mumbling. “Oil, flour, onion chopped, green bell pepper chopped, celery diced, garlic cloves minced—”

  “What did you say?”

  “What?” Andy looked up and clutched the counter. “Nothing. Just listing ingredients for Seafood Gumbo.” And trying to get rid of a hard-on—which, by the way, those tiny jeans shorts and tight T-shirt showing off every hot curve you own are not helping. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” She smiled, and he shifted his gaze to the sink.

  “Since you’ve got the day off, why don’t I take you on a picnic? Sunshine, fresh air.” Good God, where had that come from? He laid the cup in the sink on its side and set it upright again then tapped the faucet with his fingertips. “Maybe Lake Pontchartrain?”

  “I’m up for that.”

  Me, too. He brushed past her. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you at my car.”

  Two hours later, he lounged next to Calista on a quilt, the sun beaming down on them. They’d demolished the French bread and cold cuts he’d brought and packed the remnants back into the cooler. Tipping the bottle of rosé, he refilled their glasses.

  “This is quite the recovery prescription.” She grinned. “Do you take all your patients on picnics and ply them with wine?”

  “Only the ones nearly creamed by buses.” He took a gulp, the sweet-tart liquid sliding down his throat. Damn, she was beautiful. All that long, wavy black hair. How he would love to dig his hands into those strands. And trail his fingers over her light cocoa skin. From the times he’d held her while she sobbed over some asshole who didn’t deserve her, he knew her flesh was smoother than silk. He shifted his gaze to the lake, the dark waters supporting several motorboats as they sped about. Could she be interested in him, or did she see him solely as a friend?

  “And how many have there been?” She giggled. “Like, half a dozen or so?”

  “One.” For over a year, there’s been just one. Emptying his glass, he set it aside and looked at her, captured by her intense whiskey-colored gaze. “Only you.”

  She blushed and switched her attention to the lake. “Nice bedside manner, Dr. Mitchell.”

  Unable to stop himself, he reached over and brushed aside an ebony lock, tucking it behind her ear. He skimmed his knuckles along her jaw line, and she turned toward him. Leaning forward, he slipped his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up, and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Oh yes, at last he’d kissed her—and she hadn’t pulled away. Emboldened by her response, he drew the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. She opened to him, and he took her mouth, darting his tongue against hers and drinking in the sweetness that was Calista. Heaven on Earth.

  His body pulsed with fire, need and longing finally met. He pulled her closer, wound his arm around her waist. She was soft and pliant, and her heart pounded so hard he felt it against his chest.

  Andy broke the kiss. Easing back, he stared down at her wet, swollen lips and wide eyes. Oh, shit.

  “Calista, I’m…I don’t know why I—”

  She slammed her mouth to his, threading her hand through his hair. She stroked his tongue with hers, the erotic motions sending lust to careen along every nerve. Lacing his arm beneath her knees, he scooped her onto his lap. As they dueled for dominance, a breeze washed over them, the smell of lavender tickling his nose—not her normal scent, but pleasant all the same. Leaving her lips, he trailed kisses along her jaw to her neck.

  “Oh,” she said on a breathy moan. “Wait.”

  “Calista,” he murmured against the supple flesh of her throat. He slid one hand to cup her breast, taunting him from beneath her tight T-shirt. Grazing a thumb over the tip, he found her nipple peaked, and groaned. She was so hot and delicious.

  Lightning flashed over the lake, and thunder rumbled the air.

  “Wait, Ben.” She shifted in his lap, the unexpected hip action sending his libido into overdrive. “There’s a stor—”

  He kissed her again, another burst of heat spearing his nerves as she responded. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. His body demanded her here on the quilt, now. Her whispered words rang through his mind—

  He broke the kiss, held her shoulders, and frowned. “Did you just call me Ben?”
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br />   “I…um, well….” She blanched and looked toward the lake. “There’s a storm coming.”

  Andy glanced at the murky waters, heavy gray clouds looming above. The sky had been clear blue a second ago. When had that gotten here?

  He dismissed the weather, anger and hurt jabbing his gut. She’d called him Ben. Well, why the hell not? He was her last lover. Just got her heart broken by the bastard. Why shouldn’t she call him Ben? Fuck.

  Calista scrambled to her feet, started gathering their belongings. Grimacing, he grabbed up the quilt and cooler and strode off to where they’d parked the car. Man, he’d so screwed this up.

  “Andy, wait,” she called from behind him.

  He kept walking. When he reached the parking lot, he popped the trunk, tossed the stuff inside, and slammed the lid shut. Without a word, he got into the car and started the engine.

  Calista slipped into the passenger seat. “Look. I’m sorry.”

  His stomach knotted. “No problem.”

  “I like you, Andy.”

  Oh, shit. Here it comes.

  “But when you kissed me—”

  “You thought of the asshole who treated you like shit.” He gripped the steering wheel, wishing he could take those last words back.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” she spat.

  He rounded on her. “No? Then what?”

  She lunged toward him, crushing her mouth against his. Lust warred with anger, leaving him breathless and hungry for her. But when he reached for her, she pulled away.

  “I was going to say I liked it.”

  “But?” There’s always a but.

  She sat back in her seat and buckled herself in. “I need some time to get everything straight in my head.”

  He shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space. “Okay.”

  The ride home was quiet, with Calista mostly staring out the passenger window. He stole glances but couldn’t see her face and had no clue what she was thinking. He gritted his teeth. I so screwed this up.