by Kayn, Debra
"Oh," she whispered, warmth filling her. It'd been six years since she'd felt protected by her older cousin and she had to admit, his concern over her safety made her happy.
Emmett held her free hand and walked her to the road. The others forgotten, she concentrated on Emmett walking slower than normal. The grip on her hand firm, promising not to let her get away, while his thumb caressed the back of her hand, reminding her of how incredibly close they were.
The trailers dotted each side of their path. Voices from televisions provided the background sound. Occasionally, a small dog yapped from inside the thin walls in encouragement of them being together. Her chest buzzed with the familiar, and she slunk into a feeling of security she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said.
She leaned against his arm. “I’m sorry I ignored your texts. Shayla was upset with me, and I wanted to give her time to understand our disagreement.”
“I’m not Shayla.”
“I know.” She matched her steps with his. “It was important for me to stay away.”
He stopped walking. “I don’t want to know what is going on between you two, but what I have with you, what I want with you, has nothing to do with Shayla or Nick. Don’t shut me out. I don’t have much time with you, and I want every minute I can get.”
“For the next six and a half weeks?’
“Until I’m ready to watch you walk away.” He kissed her forehead. “Until I know what is happening between us.”
“Is it that easy for you?”
“Didn’t say it was going to be easy, but I’ve never walked away from what scares me, and I’m not starting now.” Emmett pointed into the dark at a small concrete building. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He jogged off into the darkness of the night. She squinted at his back until she could no longer see him. Every park had a laundry facility, and she suspected behind the wall, there would be four or five run-down and dirty washers and a couple of dryers that ate up quarters faster than any of the residents could feed the slots.
An overhead flood light buzzed to brightness. She stepped forward onto the grass. The faded word LAUNDRY on the side of the concrete block building backed her theory of the origins of what was inside.
Emmett walked around the corner of the building and motioned for her. She hurried over the grass.
“What are we doing here?” She blinked letting her eyes get used to the light.
Emmett removed the cans of spray paint from his back pockets and laid them on the ground at his feet. “You mentioned you’re an artist, and you work with rattle cans.”
“I do, or I did.” She tilted her head and held in her laughter. “Are you telling me, Mr. Park Manager, that you want me to vandalize the very grounds that you swore to take care of and protect?”
He stared at her. When she grew uncomfortable, wondering if her sense of humor was one joke short of funny, he smiled. His head tilted back, and he laughed. The freely given baritone chuckle vibrated through her. She pulled off the cap of the spray can and shook the container.
“I’m scheduled to paint the building next weekend. Prove to me your artwork is better than slapping the shit-brown color I have sitting at home in two gallon cans.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Show me your stuff, Nova-girl.”
Competitive by nature, she cocked her eyebrow and stepped to the wall. She rolled the cans lying on the ground with her toe. He had enough colors of paint for her to create anything she wanted.
“Before I start, do you have something in mind?” she asked, holding the can to her ear to listen to the rattle.
“Nope. Give it your best shot.”
With his permission, she swept her arm out in front of her and pushed the nozzle on the top of the can. The image of what the building needed clear in her mind, she worked steadily. First with the black. As her movements, the rush, the need to finish consumed her, she forgot about Emmett standing behind her. The creative juice she’d sought for all those angsty teenage years when street art let her get rid of the pain that continued to hurt her and helped heal her flowed through her body.
An idea came to her. A picture that would speak volumes to those living in Bitterroot Trailer Park.
Chapter Eighteen
Afraid to say a word and interrupt Nova while she lost herself painting the old wall of the laundry building, Emmett stood back and watched in rapt fascination. His gaze dropped to her firm, round ass, almost dancing in front of him. Her speed and precise movements produced different textures on the wall in a scene he would never have believed possible if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes.
The shading of colors overlapping each other almost fooled him into thinking he’d given her an array of different colored paints. With only primary colors to work with, she’d more than impressed him. He'd expected cartoon characters and bubble names. Instead, she'd created an exquisite piece of art that was more than worthy to frame and hang in a museum.
She’d used her talents to depict the Bitterroot Mountains they all called home and the majestic pine trees covering the peaks. The morning sun rose at the top and shadowed the valley below. The dotted, green landscape embraced the homes of everyone in the trailer park.
The realistic rendition took his breath away at the same time comforting him at the view she gave him of his home through her eyes.
Nova stepped back, walked the length of the wall, glanced at him and graced him with a smile that stroked his cock, before moving forward and spraying her name in bold print with a white border in the bottom right-hand corner of the scene.
She dropped the two spray cans of paint she held in her hands and approached him. He couldn’t take his gaze off her. The glow across her cheeks. The mussed hair she’d haphazardly brushed off her face as she worked. The carefree elation she'd experienced smiled at him. He’d thought her beautiful before, but to see her in the atmosphere she loved, doing what sparked her spirit, he wanted to build blank walls all over the damn park and ask her to paint him a brand new world.
“So...” She stepped toe to toe with him. “What do you think?”
“A street artist, huh?” he said, pulling the words from his throat.
“Yeah.” She laughed softly into the night. “Fancy name for vandalism.”
He hooked her neck, holding her gaze on him. “I think I’ll have some free time next weekend because there’s no way in hell I’m going to paint over what you created tonight.”
“Oh, yeah?” She leaned into him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, grazing her lips.
She broke the kiss and pulled back holding up her fingers. "I've got paint all over my hands."
He pressed his hand to her palm, finger to finger, thumb to thumb. "I don't give a shit about paint if you don't care about grease-stained hands."
"Working man's hands," she whispered.
He whispered back, "The slow touch of an artist."
Nova curled her fingers between his and pulled him closer. He kissed her. The possessive hold she had on him made an impression. Her declaration of her feelings in Shayla’s bedroom earlier tried to warn him away and yet she gave him enough to stay close and not give up on her.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Tonight, he’d only removed the first layer of what made up Nova Kinsley. A tease of what he’d find if he worked harder.
“I’m going to go slow. A kiss here.” He put his lips on the tip of her nose. “And, here.” He bent his knees, dipping lower, and nuzzled her neck. “And, I'll keep kissing you until you find religion."
"Religion?" She let her head fall back. "Oh, God..."
His lips curved into a smile against her. His woman found Jesus.
Her laughter came fast and she straightened, grabbing his face. "I really, really like you."
He inhaled deeply, running his tongue over his bottom lip still tasting her. “I want to take you to bed and have sex with you. On a morni
ng when neither one of us have to work, I want to lay in bed all day learning all the secrets that will make you smile at me the way you have tonight.”
“Emmett,” she whispered, letting her head fall back and giving him more access to her neck. “It’s not convenient right now—”
“Know that.” He straightened and gazed down into her eyes. “I don’t know what made you leery of me or what happened in the past, but I swear to God, Nova-girl, I will go slow. Just don’t let anything else get between us so we can continue to move forward, too.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” He deeply inhaled. “Is there anything else you need to do to the side of the wall?”
“No. I'm finished.” She glanced back at the building. “The paint you gave me was high quality. It was perfect. Some of the best I've used.”
“Touch-up.”
She blinked up at him.
“Car paint. From my store,” he said, clarifying.
“Nice.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “This has been the perfect night.”
“Not yet, but it will be.”
"Yeah?" Her body quivered in excitement.
"Hold on." He pulled away. “I’m going to go shut off the light. It discourages the kids in the park from sneaking in and prying open the quarter machines when they think everyone is sleeping.”
He jogged to the laundry building, taking one more look at the art gracing the wall. Tomorrow, the park would be swarming with gossip on which one of them painted the scene.
Reaching inside the door, he flipped the light switch and let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark before stepping out on the gravel path. He stared up at the sky until the stars showed in his vision, then headed toward Nova.
She stood exactly where he'd left her and could sense her smiling through the darkness at him. He'd had a plan to force her to admit her feelings, and she'd voluntarily gave him enough he wanted to go slow. She was too special to fuck over by treating her like all the other women he'd seen over the years.
He gathered her in his arms. "Are you warm enough?"
"I am with you holding me." She put her arm around his waist and walked beside him.
"I want to show you something." He placed his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close.
She tucked her hand into his back pocket. "I have to leave soon."
"It won't take long."
She laid her head against the crook of his arm and gazed up at him. "You're mysterious all of a sudden."
"Me?" He laughed. "Everyone knows everything about me."
"How old are you?"
"That's important to you?" He stopped in the middle of the road.
She turned to him. "Not at all, but I thought I'd ease my way into asking you a simple question while I work myself up to asking if you'd mind waiting awhile before having sex with me."
"I'm thirty-six years old." He lowered his chin. "It depends on why you're making excuses for what we both want to happen and why you feel the need to wait."
She placed her hand on his chest. "I'd like to go slow."
"Let me ask you a question now." He pulled her along before he kissed her again. "Has someone treated you badly? Is that the reason why you're skittish on doing more than kissing me?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Her hand went back inside his pocket. "There're reasons why I need to wait, that's fair to both of us, and I need time to finish a few personal things."
Without missing a step, he absorbed the information. She gave him little to go on, and yet he couldn't help thinking she gave him enough to figure out what went on in her head, and he still missed some vital clue.
"You've reminded me several times that your time here is limited." He stopped in front of his trailer. "I don't like waiting."
"I'm sorry, but—"
"Nova, I said I don't like waiting, but I will if this is important to you." He massaged her neck, holding her close.
"Why?" She gazed up at him. "Why would a man who probably has a whole town of women fighting for his attention treat me special after everything I've done to show you how inconvenient I am to your life?"
"Because a few hours with you makes my whole week. You got that? You don't worry about me. Concentrate on yourself, so this can happen sooner rather than later when I don't have time to enjoy you because you're hightailing it out of Federal." He lifted his chin and urged her to walk again. "Come on. You need to see something before you leave."
She nodded, staring at him as if she worried he'd change his mind. He walked her through the crowd outside in the yard and in his front door.
In his living room, he went to his desk and rifled through the drawers until he found what he was looking for, and returned to Nova.
"What you created out there on that wall reminded me of this picture. It was taken last summer." He handed her an eight by ten inch photo. "A couple of us rode up the mountain on our ATVs to take a picture of the park from above. Mouths started flapping as soon as we left and when we stopped on the south slope, everyone from the park had gathered in my yard."
"Oh, my God. It's almost exactly like what I painted," she said, studying the photo.
"I hope you know how impressed I am by what you painted tonight. It means a lot to me, and I know everyone here will enjoy seeing it tomorrow."
She lifted her gaze. "This is wonderful. I can see Nick wearing his Ford baseball cap and Shayla standing in the bed of the pickup."
"Keep it," he said.
"Oh, I couldn't do that." She tried handing the picture back.
He shrugged and refused to take it. "We've now got the real picture of the park. You keep that as a memory of what you found here."
She tilted her head. "What have I found?"
"I guess that's what we'll both find out, right?" He leaned in and kissed her.
Her fingers went to his hair. He cupped the back of her head, and when he pulled out of the kiss, he held her from swaying back on her heels and leaving him.
"That right there, Nova-girl," he whispered. "That right there is what we've found."
Her body pitched toward him, and she sighed a happy sound. "I do need to get going. It's late or early, however you want to look at it. The sun will be up shortly."
"Will you come back tomorrow night?"
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll come back."
He walked her outside. She turned and hugged his middle, pressing her cheek against his chest. He palmed her head, holding her against him, protecting her for the moment. A moment that she gave him, and hoped she found the strength in herself to give him more.
Chapter Nineteen
A man— Joe, the fourth Joe of the week— sat atop the throw rug on Nova's bed in the green room. Nova stood naked in front of him. He'd requested the sitting position with her facing away from him. An unusual request for men who preferred her dominating over them, but the promise of a large tip changed her mind on sticking with the basic rules.
If he wanted to ignore the fact she had a face and that she was an actual person outside of sex, she was fine with that. It made the whole session easier for her to ignore.
"Lean back, brace your hands on the rug. I will do the work. Do not touch me." She looked down at the condom covering his cock. The extra latex at the tip pulsed with his arousal.
Joe braced himself on the bed. She lowered her lashes and turned, widening her legs and straddling his thighs. Her face hidden from his view, she dropped the sleepy-eyed look and stared at the far wall where a picture of a half-naked lady lounged on a loveseat—totally cheesy and common art for the nineteen seventies era.
She pushed herself on his dick. The lubrication made the act less of an intrusion and more like a ten-minute cardio workout doing squats. She pumped her legs and slid up and down. Her thighs strained through the movements. Caught up in the strength required of her, she counted each dip.
One.
Two.
Three.
Her w
ork benefitted her health and gave her a tight ass and thighs of steel. She rolled her eyes at her common sense while in reality, men fantasized about her.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The tightening burn showed up in the front of her thighs before she worried about being on the clock. Her toes dug into the carpet, and her heartbeat accelerated. Counting all her sessions with the customers today, she'd had a good fifteen-minute workout six times this evening, and probably burnt close to five-hundred calories. That's not counting the blow jobs.
Whatever Marci and Tiff planned for dinner, she was going to eat her fill. She'd earned her reward.
Joe's hand swept the curve of her hip. She continued moving and gazed over her shoulder. "Do not touch me."
The verbal order excited him. He bucked underneath her and groaned out his release. She gave one last lift and moved away, grabbing her robe off the dresser.
"There's a wastebasket by the door." She watched him take off the condom and deposit it in the trash.
Thankful for the house rule that all men stay dressed, she only had to wait until Joe zipped his trousers and she could look him in the eyes and pretend the last fifteen minutes had never happened. While he would take the fantasy of visiting Red Light with him when he returned home where he existed with a wife or girlfriend, maybe even had kids, no one would guess he sought relief from a stranger in a small room who never touched him. Never asked him how he was doing. Never cared about anything but the one-hundred dollar bill he placed in the box beside the door.
Pleasure had no place in her job. Emotions never appeared. Maybe that's why she was tired of spreading her legs. There had to be more out there than providing a service without any benefits, besides money. Emmett buying her paint and letting her create her art on the wall at the park had shown her everything she missed about doing something she enjoyed and how much energy filled her when she loved a job.
The door opened, and Tiff escorted Joe out of her room. Nova pinched the corner of the rug and carried it to the full laundry basket. Tomorrow, she had to wake up early and see Dr. Brandof for her weekly checkup and testing. Tonight, she'd see Emmett.
