by Zoe Dawson
His hawk-like gaze was unnerving. I certainly could imagine how he might have looked in combat. I’m sure fierce was an understatement. I looked at the building to settle my nerves, then at him. “You buying this building?”
He huffed out a laugh. “It’s true what they say about small towns.” Now his voice was like warmed brown sugar,
I lifted my chin and decided that I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. Marine or not. No guts, no glory. Wasn’t that the motto? “Very. We’re all nosy. So you might as well tell me, because it’s gonna be common knowledge tomorrow.”
He flashed me a quick grin. Attraction sizzled all the way down from my head to my toes. “Yes, I’m buying the building as long as its bones are good. Going to get an inspector out here to look at it. Anything else you want to know?”
“Yes, what kind of business are you putting in here?”
He chuckled, and his gravelly laugh traveled right through me, leaving tingles in its wake.
His shoulders were so broad, and I couldn’t stand the curiosity of knowing more about this ex-Marine, this soldier who had put his life on the line for us. He was the complete opposite of everything I’d ever known. He’d carried a gun and used it. Had been in terrible danger.
“A tattoo parlor and, once I get certified, piercing as well,” he said.
That was so sexy. I skimmed my eyes over him, taking in the ink on his neck just peeking out of his shirt collar, the pierced lip. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him, play with that ring. I also realized that my momma wouldn’t like him putting in a shop here. She equated tattoo artists with biker gangs and the criminal element. But Rory had been a Marine. I hoped my momma, who was on the town’s council, wouldn’t cause him any trouble.
“I heard you were a tattoo artist. I was thinking of getting one.”
“How old are you?” His green eyes were as dreamy as his deep, rough voice.
I frowned. “Why, is there some age limit to get a tattoo?”
He met my eyes, his look more direct and crushing than any Southern man would dare—damn brash Yankee.
“Yes, there is. A tattoo is permanent. It doesn’t wash off if you don’t like it.”
His tone wouldn’t discourage me. “I’m old enough.”
“How old?” he said, leaning in, dropping his head.
“Eighteen.”
“Are you a virgin?” He looked back up at me through his black lashes, like the dark side of midnight, and my heart stuttered.
“Excuse me?” I said, my voice a wisp.
He smiled, and there was plenty of bad boy in it. New York made their native sons potent. “Do you have any tattoos, Savannah?”
“Oh…” I said, “No, I don’t have any, yet.”
His voice dropped an octave and my heart dropped with it. “I see. So that makes me your…first.”
Oh, lordy. I was speechless.
“Any other questions?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I almost bit my tongue. I’d had no idea I was going to ask him that, even though it was a burning question and I wanted—no, needed—to know.
His brows rose and he looked away, straightening, all humor and teasing gone. His jaw clenched, and he ran his fingers through that thick, dark hair.
“Not at the moment. I’m focused on one thing, Savannah. Getting this place up and running. I’ve been in the military for ten years, where attachments were difficult to begin with. Maybe someday I’ll bore you with my life’s story. Don’t ask me any more questions, little girl.”
Even though I was mortified, I just played it off like I was cool. I wouldn’t show my disappointment. “How about landscaping? You’ll need to beautify the outside as well as the inside. Boone’s a genius when it comes to design and curb appeal.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and turned away from me.
I was being dismissed, and it seemed that he liked to tease me, but he wasn’t really interested. I guess I should have expected that. It was…but the way he looked at me said different.
“Rory,” I called as he went to get into his car. He stopped and looked at me over the roof.
“I’m not a little girl,” I said with challenge.
He huffed out a breath and dropped his eyes. “You are to me,” he said softly. Then he ducked into the car and peeled away from the curb.
That hurt, because I suddenly wanted to be the kind of woman who would turn his head. But apparently I was locked into this life I was living, and there didn’t seem to be any way out.
I worked the rest of the afternoon, thinking about Rory and how sexy he was. Could be he was a jerk, but it didn’t feel true to me. With him it felt completely different. There was this core of electricity in me that was directly connected to him. I didn’t feel that for Gray. Gray was sedate and safe. Rory didn’t feel safe at all. I wondered if that wasn’t such a bad thing. It would make me step out of my comfort zone. But it felt pretty good where I was right now. Maybe I shouldn’t tempt fate.
As soon as I got home, I headed for my room. My momma waylaid me in the hall. She said, “Have you heard from Gray?”
“No. He must be busy.” I went to go around her, but she blocked my path.
Her eyes narrowed and I got this dropping sensation in my stomach. This was her disapproval look, and the hammer was coming down. “I understand you were talking to that…bartender. That Yankee.”
I rolled my eyes. Damn, the consequences of living in a small town.
“I think he’s buying property here for a business.” I went for casual disinterest, hoping my momma wouldn’t realize how interested I was in him.
“What kind of business?” she said sharply, probably more concerned he was settling here in Suttontowne. She probably wished him a million miles away.
“An antique store, I think.” My momma would hit the roof if she found out the truth, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her.
“Hmmm…” was all she said. Then she smiled, and that was even more suspect. “Gray is going to be home for Christmas. That will be nice.”
I nodded, ducked quickly around her, and went upstairs. I decided after my shower to go online and check out the community college, or maybe even a four-year college, and see what they offered for landscape designers. I loved my job with Boone and was beginning to think that planting and making things grow was where I wanted to be. I had a knack for it. And the satisfaction I got from working with my hands, working in the dirt, and then seeing my labor bear fruit was beyond anything I had experienced before.
I fought tooth and nail for this job with Boone, but it had been worth it.
I logged onto my computer and got sidetracked for at least thirty minutes looking at all the possibilities. It wasn’t something I could do. I was on a certain path, respecting my momma and my family’s needs. Then my momma called up that dinner was almost ready. I jumped in the shower and got all cleaned up, but when I came out of my bathroom my momma was at my desk looking at my computer.
“Momma?”
She turned toward me with a puzzled frown. “Why are you even bothering with these? You have Gray, and once you’re married, you’ll be traveling so much with him, you won’t be able to go to school or get a job. Your job will be supporting him.”
My voice got hard at the way she just expected me to do what she wanted. “I was just looking, wondering. Gray is the only man I’ve known. I’ve never had the opportunity to—”
“To what? Play the field? Young Southern women do not do that, Savannah. I thought this was settled and you were pledged to Gray. You’ve already played the field as much as a young lady can safely do.”
Her biting, condescending tone rankled. “I know that, and I told you I just needed some time. I was sixteen years old, momma. That was a long time ago. Now I’m an adult, I might like to see what else I want to do.”
“What?” She laughed softly and it had nothing to do with humor. “Waste your time with an unneeded career? Get your heart bro
ken by wayward men who don’t have roots in this town? Who don’t have the breeding and standing of Gray and his family? Gray can support you fully, he has the resources.”
“He is a catch,” I agreed before turning away. “I’ll be ready for dinner in just a bit.” I pulled some clothes out of my drawer. “Momma, you’ve got to recognize that I can make up my own…” I heard the door close and my momma walking away. She didn’t hear me. She never heard me.
I looked at the application on my computer, disappointment burning through me like poison, realizing it would be futile. I had some money saved from my summer job, but it wouldn’t be enough. I knew who wore the pants in this family. My daddy adored me and my brother, but wouldn’t be any help to me if my momma was against it. I sighed and shut down the laptop, resignation dragging me down.
Gray was safe. He could support me. Being his wife would be effortless, and he was a good man. We got along well.
But then I remembered that ball of electricity that shocked me every time I got close to Rory Finnegan.
Chapter Two
Rory
There was something to be said for belonging to a small town community. I looked out of the newly-installed picture windows to watch Savannah Hawkins landscape my storefront. Boone was a genius, plus he’d refused to take full price for the work. I didn’t want Savannah to be stiffed, but he assured me she would get her full pay.
Winter had passed, my loan had gone through, and I had just finished completing the living area above the parlor. With two thousand feet of space upstairs, the only rooms I blocked out were the bedrooms. Everything else was open in a loft-style layout.
Downstairs I parceled out twelve hundred feet for the shop and five hundred for a storage and break room. To save space, I did put in the spiral staircase. The rest was for my office to do paperwork and run the business.
I was ready to start painting in the shop portion. As soon as the painting was done, I would lay the almost black wood that would complement the counters. I still had to figure out a name for the place, so I didn’t have the sign done yet.
I caught myself for the hundredth time watching Savannah. Her blond hair glowed in the early spring sun, and Louisiana was pretty warm, even in April. There was a fine sheen of sweat coating her smooth-looking arms, shoulders, and long, toned legs. She looked delectable in cut off jeans shorts, tank top, and work boots. All designer shit, of course. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not a smudge of makeup on her face to enhance her smooth-as-silk skin. She looked every inch the debutante, even grubbing in the dirt. I realized that I’d been standing there for at least ten minutes watching her work, even though I carefully avoided touching her all through the winter.
I deliberately turned my back and focused on the paint can. My attraction to that girl hadn’t diminished in spite of my determined self-control—hell, since I stepped behind the bar for that garden party Brax catered at the last moment, my first day on the job, all the way back in August.
I’d never forget the wham when I met her eyes across the room. She was wearing such a pretty, lacy dress. I knew in the back of my mind that she looked young, but it didn’t stop her from my attention every time she was near.
I didn’t know Savannah like I wanted to. It was a constant pressure on me, and not just because I wanted her in ways I shouldn’t. The few minutes I spent talking to her when she crossed the street in December and stuck her nose in my business had made what I wanted from her blisteringly clear.
I was no damn saint, not even when I was a teenager. I got it where I could and when I could, but that was about the unrelenting physical urge to get off.
It was only later when I used it to handle primarily my anger and then every basic need in-between, I started to think I might have some kind of…issue. In combat I got hard often and I wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or the way I coped with my fear. It seemed…strange, made me realize that I had some kind of weird sex thing going. My interactions were then kept strictly to women who were…experienced. Women who knew the score. I’m pretty sure Savannah wasn’t one of those women, but that didn’t make me want her any less.
I was now emotionally jacked up over a woman and wasn’t sure I was coming or going. If I wasn’t lying on my bed or in the shower jerking off to the thought of her, I was heading over to Lafayette to find someone to give me relief. Someone who wasn’t Savannah Hawkins, but who served as her stand-in while I pounded into her relentlessly.
She would most likely be turned off by my…appetites. Some girls were, some weren’t. Some liked it bland and really weren’t the girls for me. The wild ones embraced the kind of sex I needed.
In the last nine months, I’d taken Savannah every which way a man could take a woman. And I’d never touched her. Not once. I prided myself on my control, on not letting her push me into doing anything rash. Anything that would actually give her the chance to reject or humiliate me. It was a contest, and I was winning. Go, me, I thought half-heartedly.
I was still fucked up over my past—my father, and what he had done to my mother. Any fantasies I might be harboring for this unattainable little Southern belle princess were fruitless. But, I was diamond-hard for her, and would be the first to admit it took all my restraint not to touch her. Not to push, tease, seduce, take, and find out where the boundaries might be between us.
There was a touch on my shoulder and I whipped around.
“Whoa,” Savannah said, throwing her hands up. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but you must be very deep in thought.”
“Sorry, reflexes. Never have gotten used to someone sneaking up on me.” I was still battle-ready, even after being out of the Marines for almost a year. Although I had a feeling that no amount of gear or weapons would protect me from Savannah.
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I called your name twice.” I didn’t miss the way her eyes traveled over me.
Dammit, did she have to be so damned beautiful? I walked over to a cooler and pulled out a bottle of water and tossed it to her. It gave me distance and something to do with my hands instead of grabbing her.
She caught it deftly, twisted the cap and slugged back the water. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand…and damned if I didn’t like that, too.
After she drank her fill, she looked down at my paint can. “Oh, that is a sweet orange color. I love it.”
“The counters are going to be black, with black wrought iron piping separating them. I’ll build four stations, so I can expand with other tattoo artists in the future.”
“Are you still going to work for Brax?”
I stirred the paint. “Yes, for a bit. I need the income.”
“So, you’ve been in the service since you were my age. When did you learn to tattoo?”
When she came closer, I moved back. It’s a rule that Marines rarely ever retreat, but this was essential. All I had to do was keep my distance.
That was my goddamned flimsy plan.
And it would work as long as I could stop thinking about wanting to take her up against the nearest wall. If. Then I might actually survive this.
“Rory?” she prompted, tensing.
I really didn’t want to be rude, but answering personal questions was part and parcel of getting closer.
“You don’t want to hear my boring story,” I said.
“Yes, I do. I want to know lots of things about you,” she said, her voice hushed.
She tensed further, and I could see her wage her own internal battle. Did she feel the same about me? Trying to maintain distance? The thought tightened me up, made me more interested to know about her inner struggle and why. Why the hell I liked the fact she had to fight her own attraction was beyond my primitive male brain to work out.
I sighed. “I started tattooing when I was young. Got an opportunity when I was fifteen. I started by designing the tats, just doodles at first, and then Stan, my boss, was so impressed, he let me apprentice under the table. I worked at it for three years b
efore I went into the Marines.”
It paid good money, and it helped out my mother, but it was more about the way I felt while creating tattoos. Proud of myself, my skill, and my creativity. I credit Stan with giving me the room to grow and help me to realize that my dad wasn’t right at all about me. Thoughts of my mom hurt, making guilt twist my insides in knots.
Serving my country was something I had always wanted to do. Mostly because my old man had been such a…monster.
A kid from Hell’s Kitchen with not much opportunity really had no other way to better himself. The only other options were gangs, the criminal element—and I wasn’t following in my father’s footsteps on that one—or a crushing life of poverty. I recognized, even at seventeen, that education and training would get me out of the kind of life my mother had lived and died in. My throat tightened thinking of her and how much she’d supported me. It only made me hate my father that much more.
“Why did you go into the Marines?”
“Don’t you have something you need to be doing, Savannah?” I needed her out of my space. I didn’t want to get familiar with her. I didn’t want to share life stories. I didn’t want to get any closer to the fire than I had to. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
“No, I was going to offer to help you paint.” Her sincere and intent green eyes traveled over me again, lingering on my chest and my arms.
My whole body went liquid at the thought of spending time with her. I wanted to say no, be on your way, but my stupid mouth said, “All right.” And my stupid body went, woot!
She smiled at me and my chest expanded. I turned away and grabbed up a roller and she said, “I’ll do the trim, if you like.”
“Perfect. I hate doing the trim.”
She stood next to me, too close, while I poured the paint into one roller pan and then some in a small bowl for her to use. She turned to me, her blue eyes going over my bare chest again, and I cursed myself for not putting on a shirt.
She reached out and touched the tribal tattoo that ran from my shoulder to the mid-point on my upper arm with her fingertips, so gently. I took a heated breath.
