by Stacy Gail
“I paid for this ride,” he said against her lips, nipping at them then licking away any hint of pain. “I get to do what I want, and what I want to do is spoil you. Now open wider for me, and let me do what I want.”
“But I want you to get as much…” Her train of thought derailed when the angle of his hand changed, so that his finger was sliding inside her while the pad of his thumb pressed and circled her nub. He struck up a deliberate rhythm with his kneading and stroking, pressing up and out toward her belly in search of the golden spot. Helplessly her body writhed, utterly at his command. As the pleasure surged through her in ever-increasing quakes, she could only thank heaven the man was so damn dexterous.
Then she stopped thinking as a sudden shockwave struck, and he clamped his mouth over hers to devour her cries. Blindly she grabbed his wrist so she could grind against him, wringing every possible ounce of ecstasy she could from the moment. The pleasure was so hot it burned itself out, its aftershocks making her shiver in his arms for what seemed like forever.
Wow. Just… wow.
He kissed her one last time before sliding his mouth to her ear, and she could hear the satisfaction in his deep voice. “That, I hope, was a reward worth remembering, ma trésor.”
Chapter Ten
It took a few more trips around on the Ferris wheel before Scout was certain she could walk without falling over. Ivar was thankful for the time himself. His cock had throbbed so wildly when she climaxed that for a moment he’d thought he’d come as well. But the relief of release was denied him, and he bore the pain of it because it was exactly what he deserved.
He wanted to bury himself inside her. God, he wanted that, more than he wanted another day of life. But that would be taking advantage of the situation. She didn’t know why the hell he’d deliberately crossed her path. The truth might not mean anything to her… but then again, it might. He wanted to come to her clean, with no secrets, no ulterior motives. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he had a feeling she’d hate him if he did anything less.
Then he shrugged, irritated. She’d probably wind up hating him no matter what he did; being hated was something he was long used to by now. It was his cross to bear, and he’d learned to accept it, however grudgingly, as penance for existing.
But he didn’t want Scout to hate him.
With a heavy ache in his balls that made him wince with every move, they left the Ferris wheel behind without a single picture being taken. He didn’t give a shit. His preferred subject matter had always been people, not landscapes. And right now, the only person who interested him had breasts that overflowed his greedy hands and an ass he’d give his left kidney to have bared and backed up against him.
Slamming over him.
Sliding up and down his cock.
Milking him with her wet heat.
Oh, God…
He had to find a way to calm the fuck down, or his lame attempts at altruism were going to vanish in a feverish haze of lust.
After visiting the famous 1920s-era carousel and walking all through the Crystal Gardens, he took out his camera, mainly to distract himself from how much he ached to be inside her. Thankfully the magic began to work on him the moment he wrapped his hands around the camera. He loved looking at the world through that all-seeing, unbiased eye. It recorded life as it was, not the way people wanted it to be portrayed. Photography was the one thing he had that proved the horrible things he saw in people like his grandmother. He’d always been mystified by those who thought Baroness Albertine was wonderful; it disgusted him that they couldn’t see the monster behind the noble title.
With camera in hand, he’d discovered he had a talent for capturing the true essence of a person on film. That was when the obsession to show the world what he saw began. Not just in his grandmother. He wanted everyone to be warned that beneath the prettiest of faces could lurk the most evil of creatures
He loved the camera. He loved it, because it recorded the truth.
Scout frowned at the pearl gray sky just as he clicked. “I think I felt a raindrop.”
“Mm-hm.” He clicked again just as glanced over at him. That was going to be a good one.
“Ugh, don’t point that thing at me. It’s loaded.”
“This is not a gun.” He grinned when she threw out a hand, palm out. “You can trust me. You may have heard that I am a professional.”
“Yeah, but I’m not.” Then she looked up again in a one-eye-closed squint that was so damn cute he had to take a shot of it. “I think it’s starting to rain. Does your camera like water?”
“Not really.” But he wasn’t about to put it way. Not when there was still a chance to capture the truest essence that was Scout. “Turn this way and give me a smile.”
“I’ll give you a knuckle sandwich if you keep that up.” But the response was absent as she began digging in her huge catch-all purse. She emerged with a red cylinder and popped a button. Instantly a brilliant red umbrella sprouted above her and she gave him a dazzling smile just as he clicked. “Ta-da.”
“”You are like Mary Poppins with that bag.” He took another picture, just to be sure. The color red was made for her. “Let me guess—you checked the forecast before meeting me.”
“Actually, no. I just try to be ready for every little thing that could go wrong. That way I always have a plan to fall back on.”
“More of your early-life training for scouting out trouble?”
She nodded and twirled the red canopy with a jaunty air. “Remember Crazy-Ass Foster Mom?”
“The dandelion stomper?”
“The one and only. She and her hubs often forgot about things like kids needing food more than once a day and blankets in the middle of winter. That’s when I discovered something important. If you think of all the things that make you miserable—like hunger, or in this case, rain—you can prepare and make the best of it.”
He looked up from the camera, fury spinning inside him at the idea of young Scout being miserable. “This is why you haul that monstrous bag around all the time.”
She grinned, holding up her slouchy denim hobo bag. “What? Isn’t this fashionable enough for you?”
“If it makes you happy, I am happy.” But if she ever wanted a replacement made of fine Italian leather, he’d get right on that. “Has it occurred to you that you have spent a vast amount of time thinking of things that make you miserable?”
“Ew. That makes me sound like some nut job. I think of how to avoid being miserable. There’s a difference.”
“And a bigger difference still is thinking of things that make you happy.”
“I…” For a moment her smile faltered. “I’ve never really looked at it that way.”
“Perhaps no one has ever given you enough reason to stop looking for things that could make you miserable.” He could be that person—the person who gave her a reason to concentrate on joy rather than misery. But in order to do that, he had to let go of what had brought him into her life in the first place. Having that lie hang over his head made it impossible for him to let his guard down, even when he wanted to.
And he did want to. Enough to forget his past—whatever the hell it was—and focus on the future.
If he wanted to come to her clean, he’d have to let it go.
He could do that.
He had to do that.
And he would. For her.
“Walking in the rain with an umbrella makes me happy.” With a little smile, she peeked out from under the canopy before moving to shelter them both under the bright material. “Sharing my umbrella with you makes me even happier.”
“Yeah?” God, she was cute. He tucked her close to his side and pressed his mouth to her temple, because when she was this near he wanted to kiss her everywhere. “If this is what makes you happy, then I hope the rain never stops.”
“It’s possible to have too much of a good thing, so let’s not go overboard. All I care about is keeping you and your equipment safe.”
“My
equipment, eh?” Grinning, he gave her a squeeze and wished the pier was miles long so he could keep her this close indefinitely. “I like that you are thinking about my equipment, my beautiful Scout. I like it a lot.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and he took a no-look shot in the hope of capturing it. “Typical guy. Here I am, worrying about the expensive tool of your trade, and you’re thinking about another tool entirely.”
“A sprinkle or two will not melt me or my equipment. I have much more stamina than you can possibly imagine.”
“I can believe it.” Her expression, caught somewhere between wry amusement and wide-eyed awe, made him laugh under his breath even as he took another hopeful shot. “You hungry? We’re coming up on a great red hots cart that serves up a taste that’s pure Chicago.”
“Red hots?”
“The rest of the world calls them hot dogs. The rest of the world is wrong.” She greeted the vendor like an old friend—something he was learning she did simply because it was her nature to make everyone feel like they were important—and before he knew it she was motioning him closer. “Drop that camera already and come see a masterpiece being built.”
Ivar watched dubiously as mustard, tomato wedges, pickle spears, peppers, onions and the greenest pickle relish he’d ever seen got dumped on a hot dog cradled in a poppy seed roll. “Is all of that supposed to be on there?”
“He’s from out of town,” she explained apologetically to the vendor, who gave him a gap-toothed smile as big as Lake Michigan.
“Yeah? Well, welcome to Chicago, buddy.” The entire mess was plopped into a cardboard boat and handed to him. “One bite will make you a native, guaranteed.”
“Go on, give it a try,” Scout urged as the gentle patter of rain sounded more insistently on the umbrella. As he looped the camera’s strap around his neck, he paused when she moved once again to share her sheltering space with him. Warmth surged through him—not just along the side where she stood so closely, but throughout his entire body.
If he didn’t know better, he would swear that as she tried to shelter him, she warmed his soul.
“Come on, give it a try. You’re not chicken, are you?” A teasing gleam lit her eyes, and with a quick farewell nod to the vendor, they resumed their slow walk back up the pier. “The peppers aren’t even hot, you know.”
“What is your fascination with chickens, exactly?”
“Haha. Take a bite, already.” When he gave her a doubtful glance but did as she asked just to humor her, she looked at him expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”
“Not bad.” In fact, it was better than he’d expected, given that it was food from a pushcart, something he’d never had before. Swallowing, he held the dog up to her mouth. “I refuse to have pepper and onion breath all by myself. Take a bite.”
“If you insist.” She chomped down with such enjoyment he couldn’t help but grin. Another huge difference that separated Scout from the rest of the women who inhabited his world was the pleasure she took in every aspect of life, including food. No obsessing over every calorie or carb. She just enjoyed.
“There is something so drop-dead sexy about a woman who finds pleasure in everything she does,” he said, then realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. From the age of five he’d learned to guard his every word. What the hell was happening to him?
As she chewed, she shot him a leery glance. “Is that your way of telling me I make a pig of myself?”
“I am not known for my tact, so if I had thought that—which I did not—I would have said so.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love the way you enjoy life. Whether you are selecting flowers, or dancing, or simply enjoying the people around you, you do it with your whole heart.”
“Is there any other way to do it?”
“Oh, yes.” He tried to smile, but he could feel the cold seeping in around its edges. “You could sit in judgment of every human being that enters your sphere and find them wanting. You could look at a flower garden and see only a ragged hedge or a weed among all the blooms. You could thrive on all the negatives there are in the world, and none of the positives, because negative is the only thing you know. Negative is the only thing you are.”
“That sounds like a pretty dismal existence.” She transferred the umbrella handle to her far hand, freeing up the hand closest to him so she could loop it companionably through his arm. “Who’s like that in your life?”
“I am.”
“Bullshit. Try again.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Pardon?”
“I call bullshit. You don’t see yourself as superior, though you do have a rigid concept about how you should and shouldn’t act. FYI, doing the Chicken Dance at a party, when surrounded by about a hundred other people doing the Chicken Dance at a party, is totally permissible, sweetheart.”
“So noted.”
“You also didn’t judge me when I danced like a chicken in public. In fact, if I may be so bold, you rather seemed to enjoy my dancing.”
Ah, hell. When she shot him those sexy coy glances, all he could think about was embedding his cock so deep inside her he wouldn’t know where he ended and she began. “Be as bold as you like. It drives me wild.”
“And you haven’t been Judgy McJudgerson at any other time that we’ve spent together, so I know you’re not talking about yourself. But it’s obvious you’re talking about someone.”
Slowly his smile faded. He’d judged her. Long before he’d met her, he’d judged her by his own lowly standards. “I was raised in a highly formal household.”
“Yeah, I already figured out the formality part of your background. I’m just not sure what all that means, since I’m a blue-collar orphan. I’m going to need some help in understanding what a blue-blood’s formal household is like.”
“It is without life, my Scout.” A flood of memories gushed forth before he could slam a lid on them—being dragged by his hair to that hideous, airless closet where he was positive he’d spent at least a year of his life, if all the time was added up. Being made to stand, unmoving, his stomach growling while he was made to watch the “real” family eat until he answered to the name “Monster.” The abject humiliation of when he did finally answer to it. The daily reminder that his existence was an obscenity, and nothing he could ever do would cleanse him of the evil that created him. “There was no laughter. No raised voices. Children were not allowed to speak unless spoken to, even if you were not feeling well and needed to communicate that to an adult. No messes. No toys. Nothing but order... no matter how chaotic things actually were.”
“Sounds like a kid’s idea of hell.” Though the words were light, the hand in his elbow went up to his biceps to give it a squeeze. He had the strangest impression that it was her way of hugging him, and for some reason it seemed as though she’d clenched something in his chest as well. “So, I take it there was no blowing bubbles in your chocolate milk, or dancing around in your underwear?”
He snorted. “Not only would that not be allowed, I can assure you that the very idea has never even occurred to anyone with the last name Fournier. It certainly never occurred to me.”
“Too bad. Shaking your ass in your undies is a kick, man. For real.”
“Maybe you can teach me.”
“Sounds like a plan.” The canopy of red dipped to enclose them in their own private world as she arched her neck to kiss his cheek. “We can start this evening, if you’re interested. It just so happens I’ve been researching recipes for poutine, and since you’ve been such a good sport about trying a favorite regional food of mine, the least I can do is reciprocate.”
He stared down at her, stunned. “You researched poutine?”
“Yeah. You said it was your favorite food, right?” Then she frowned. “Am I not saying it right? The dude on the YouTube video said it weird, so I blame him if I’m saying it wrong.”
“You researched poutine.” He shook his head, hardly able to get his head around it. Someth
ing indescribably sweet moved through him, so intensely it stole his breath. How amazing she was, to take an idle comment about something he loved, and doing what she could to learn about it. Other than his assistant Maceio and his manager Estelle, no one had ever given a shit about what he liked, much less gone to the trouble of researching it.
He had no clue what to do with that. The only thing he did know was that he didn’t want to lose that sweet feeling sinking into every dark corner of his soul.
“It looks easy enough to put together,” she went on, her attention sliding past him and over the storefronts they passed. “But I’m probably going to need an expert around to tell me if I’m getting it right. If you’re up for it tonight, we can experiment with it and see how it goes.”
“Sounds good.” It sounded better than good. It sounded like the most perfect thing in the world. Even if her experiment in French Canadian cuisine sucked, he’d eat every bite and be happy about it. And after that…
He’d make a meal of her.
“Geez, the poor thing.” Scout came to a halt and surprised him by handing him the umbrella. “Do you mind if I take a pinch off the end of your red hot?”
“What? No, go ahead. But why—”
Without another word, she pinched off the end of the hot dog and made a beeline for the storefronts they were passing. Only then did he see what had caught her attention—the most bedraggled looking calico cat he’d ever seen was peeking out from under a sandwich-board sign. It was nothing but skin and bones, probably no more than a kitten and looking out at the world with huge, wary eyes. Scout approached cautiously and at an angle, ripping a small piece of meat off to throw it near the cat as she went.
The tiny thing didn’t seem to know whether to be alarmed by her approach or tempted by free food, until eventually hunger won out. Scout hunkered down off to one side of the sign and tore off another small morsel. The cat saw the movement just as it swallowed, then pounced on the bite Scout threw a little closer to her high-heeled feet. Absently Ivar put the remnants of his food and the umbrella on the ground where he stood, freeing his hands to grab up his camera. Without pause he began to shoot, never taking the camera from his eye as the cat took care of the second snack, before inching out from under the sign with a hopeful air.
