“I do.”
He bunched her hair, giving it a firm enough tug to have her opening her eyes straight into his. “Who do you want to taste you, Sofia?”
“You.”
“Who am I?”
“I know who you are, what we’re doing.” Her voice teetered. She was on the edge of something and he was just as shaken to know he’d led her to that place. “You’re doing it right, Burke.”
“Then you’ll like it if I do this?” He started at her shoulder, sampling her skin and gently abrading her with his whiskers, and worked his way down to her fingers. Taking two into his mouth, he heard her moan.
She was his in this moment, except it was she who had him caught. They were sitting alone in a sex shop but all he wanted was her.
“Still right?” he asked, letting her digits slide free of his heat. As her mouth returned to his, he edged his hands beneath her shirt and traveled up until two lace-covered mounds greeted him. He knuckled her nipples until they puckered to his satisfaction.
God, yes.
“If I’m working you right, Sofia, you’re gonna want me to unhook this bra and taste you here.” He pinched her, tugged the bra, and freed her breasts. “Say it’s right.”
“It is. It’s right,” she urged him on as he smoothed his palms over her tits. Then his thumb slipped, encountering the tight line of scar tissue in the valley. “Stop! Let me go—now.”
His hands dropped immediately. What the hell had he done to trigger a one-eighty so fast that his head spun as he sat sprawled on the floor with a hard dick and hands that ached to be reunited with her body?
She crawled backward, fixing her clothes, then rubbed her scar.
The scar.
“Did I hurt you? Is it sensitive there?”
“I’m sorry if this looks like I led you on or something,” she said, ignoring his questions, “but the kiss was a stupid idea. I’m not going to let you fuck me on the floor just because you brought me a sandwich.”
She stood up and so did he, sweeping up his baseball cap, which had fallen off while they kissed. “Is that what the hot and cold is about? Then let me tell you I’m sorry for being harsh with you in the apartment that day.”
“What if I don’t believe it? Maybe you did too good a job of convincing me that you’re a cruel bastard.”
There was more, something she was hiding, but the truth was he’d hurt her with hateful words and he owed her the respect of a decent apology.
“It’s up to you to believe me or not. I’m sorry, though. That’s part of the reason I came here tonight—guilt.”
“What’s the other part?”
“I couldn’t stay at the restaurant and go on with my night. I couldn’t head back to the marina and call up a woman who came to me earlier today with nothing but sex in her eyes. I couldn’t do any of that, ’cause I couldn’t think past the crazy instinct or whatever it was that kept putting me right in front of you when we were kids.”
“We’re not kids now. We can’t blame what we do on being young or on coming from wrecked homes.”
“What happened to no arguing?”
Sofia picked up the remains of her sandwich. “We’re not arguing, are we?”
“I’m apologizing.”
She closed her eyes. “Burke, you threw the question out there—how many dinners would it take to spread my legs? I told you I went hungry, and that’s true. But there were times when it would’ve been easier to eat.”
He didn’t want to know, for damn sure didn’t want to let his mind go wild imagining what she might’ve done for a meal.
“After my dad left, I was trying to catch a break—trying to catch my breath, really. Luz wired money when I had nothing left, and that was great. But she told me to prove I could make it without her support. I wanted that, too. That’s why I wrote the bucket list.”
“You made a bucket list?”
“Yeah. The transplant gave me a second shot, but eventually my time’s gonna run out. I started to picture what I wanted my future to look like and I figured it’s not too late to accomplish stuff I’d missed out on, being sick all the time.”
“What’s on it? The list.”
“The most important goal is to own a business. I wanted to be Luz’s miniature for real. I wanted to be like her, but to do that I had to find my way without her. It was so hard when sometimes there wasn’t enough money in my account for food.” She started to move past him but somehow their hands brushed, then tangled, and in a moment he was holding her. It felt as right as the sun yawning awake over his boat in the morning, or the slide of his favorite cold drink down his throat. “When you implied that I screw for food…well, at least I could’ve gotten all this over with if that were true.”
“Sofia, I’m listening. I’m working damn hard to understand. But I can’t read your mind. Don’t ask me to try.”
She retreated, and even though his hands felt useless without her heat under them, he didn’t reach for her again. “It’s not clear? Do you think I have sex with my shirt on the entire time?”
She was throwing out dots and leaving it up to him to catch and connect them. “Are you saying you like to cover up during sex?” he asked gently. “Need the lights off? That’s not strange. I’ve been with women who’re the same way. One time it wasn’t about that—she just wanted me to be in her and couldn’t wait. Another had implants and was still sore. She didn’t want me to touch them. It happens.”
“It’s not about being caught up in the moment and forgetting to take off all my clothes, and it’s not that my scar’s so sore that it can’t be touched.” She shrugged, offering a flat, contrite smile. “I’m different.”
“I know.”
“You don’t, though.” In her gaze was a plea—no, a demand. So he shut up and listened. “Burke, in high school, when kids were hooking up, testing the waters, experiencing stuff, where was I?”
“With me.”
“We got together when we could, but we weren’t the kind of friends who hooked up. You wouldn’t allow it.”
Because she was different, as she’d said.
“Sometimes I was with friends, but what about all those after-school doctor’s appointments and being bounced from Boston to Providence to New York for lab tests and scans? The opportunity to experience stuff passed me by. After the transplant, the panic attacks began. I’m trying to get past that, but it hasn’t happened yet.” The strength in her voice broke, and she had to take a second to regroup. “No one’s hung around long enough to wait for me to be ready. Now I figure that if a guy sees my ugliness, he won’t be able to handle it.”
It hasn’t happened yet…
No one’s hung around long enough to wait for me to be ready…
If a guy sees my ugliness, he won’t be able to handle it…
Was she saying—
“Burke, I’m a virgin.”
*
Sofia hadn’t taken off a stitch of clothing, but she felt naked in front of Burke. Because she’d let her secret slip, and now it circled them in a teasing, predatory way that made her wish she’d shown him the door instead of rambling until she broke.
Until she freed herself.
The truth hadn’t set her free at all—it’d stripped her bare. Burke had been revved and ready to uncover her, and in a way he’d accomplished that.
“You’ve never had sex, Sofia?”
“That’s my interpretation of virgin in this context.” She was uncomfortable—not from the conversation necessarily, but her bra was crooked and she wouldn’t dare go about fixing it in front of the man who’d been set to rip it off her body.
Or maybe he wouldn’t have handled her like that. She didn’t know how he was with a woman, just that he was a listener and seemed…considerate.
He’d worried that he had hurt her when he touched her scar.
“What I said to you in the apartment. I didn’t know I was talking to a virgin.” He took a few steps back, as though preparing to flee the scen
e of a crime.
“You were talking to me, Burke. You wanted to hurt my feelings. So you did. What difference would it make?”
“Every difference. All the damn difference.” He put out a hand to maybe stroke down her hair, but changed direction and adjusted his cap.
She called him on it. “You were about to touch me but you didn’t.”
One step and he was close—filling her view and all her senses completely. And yes, he did smell so fucking good. The clean, basic scent of some practical soap was nothing special, but there was a bite of citrus and it tickled and tortured her at the same time.
“What’s the difference?” she asked. “What difference does it make whether I’m a virgin or a whore? What if I’m both? Would that turn you off or would you keep wanting me anyway?”
“You’re not the whore in this room,” he said roughly. “I have that title and I’m not sharing.”
“A man who admits he’s a whore—that’s rare.”
“I like sex, and coming back for seconds from the same person gets messy. People’d call a woman a whore or a slut or whatever might make her feel ashamed about it, but I’m not above all that just because I have a dick. If folks want to jabber, let them.” Casually he patted a pocket, which held his wallet, which held a condom—maybe more than one. “I’m protected, clean, and not breaking any laws. That’s good enough for me.”
“Then I’m part of an endless parade of one-night stands?”
“We didn’t have sex, so you’re not part of the parade. The women I hook up with aren’t interested in commitment. A few lie, but most agree that being clear on what we want from each other cuts down on unrealistic expectations.” He looked at her closely. “Tonight we stood in this place talking about wax play. You put a mannequin orgy in the store window. You called it an awakening. Is that supposed to be your awakening? Like a fantasy or something?”
“I think I won’t answer that.”
“Be straight with me, Sofia.”
“Again, what’s the difference? I’d prefer to chat about my fantasies with someone who won’t escape on a cargo ship at a moment’s notice. I don’t have to talk about this any more than I have to show you my scar.”
“Who’s had the honor, then? The cellist? It doesn’t sound like he’s the type to escape on a cargo ship. Has he seen the scar?”
Nathan Swanson was a nice enough guy, but after their coffeehouse kiss she’d let him know there wouldn’t be a second date because she was leaving New York and figured he wouldn’t want the hassle of a long-distance anything. Quick, neat, no unrealistic expectations.
“Doctors have seen it. Maybe a peeping somebody in a dressing room.”
“You’re holding yourself back because of an imperfection?”
“It’s not only that, Burke. It’s the reason for it. Sex is strenuous on the heart. Organ rejection or failure in the first year can happen more often than you’d guess. I didn’t want to take chances. When year one passed, I focused on surviving past year five.”
Burke did touch her, finally, and she sighed. His hands felt ridiculously strong and capable. “Now it’s, what, year twelve? When are you going to trust that this heart is yours?”
“It’s difficult to accept that or get over it when every day I take medication and monitor my diet. Every day I’m reminded that because someone—a fourteen-year-old girl—lost her life, I get to live mine. I don’t want to be careless with her heart.”
“It’s not hers anymore, though, Sofia. It’s yours. The transplant happened so you can live your life.”
“I hear you, Burke. I’m just not there yet, okay?”
“Am I making this worse for you?” he asked. “Because I don’t want to do that. If hashing out the past and dealing with whatever’s sitting here between us is harmful to your heart, then I can…”
“What, stay away?”
“It’s an option.” He couldn’t. Physically he couldn’t stay away. She’d known it when she unpacked the groceries he’d brought her and realized he remembered her favorite sandwich and had taken the care to choose heart-considerate ingredients.
Their friendship wasn’t dead. It had been abused and brutally neglected, but it still pulsed with life.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what to do,” he said softly, releasing her. “Damn it, do I pretend you don’t exist or do I keep coming to you and…”
“Kissing me?” she supplied. “We’ve been alone twice since the funeral, and each time you kissed me. Each time we were headed for more.” She meant to cross her arms but ended up hugging herself as if to protect herself from his rejection. “I’m not sorry. I liked it.”
Burke steepled his hands in an unspoken plea. “Sofia, you stopped me when I touched your scar. You said you want someone who won’t leave on a ship.”
“So no more kissing.”
“We can’t handle kissing.”
Then where are we? Her arms uncurled, fell limp to her sides. She was exposed again, so desperate to let the question tumble out, but equally afraid.
Burke turned away from her, bracing his hands on the counter and dropping his head. “Sofia, kissing you is the best and worst thing I’ve ever done, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
Fourteen years ago she would’ve been thrilled to her toes to hear these words, to hear him admit that he felt something more than friendship and the strange dependency between them. Standing here, her skin still tingling from his exploration, she was lost.
“So we’ll do nothing,” she offered, settling a hand on his back and pressing against the warm, hard muscle. “We’ll coexist. You have your work and I have Blush. Shouldn’t that keep us from jumping at each other?”
“I’ll find another laundromat,” he said, glancing at her with a wry smile. “Ain’t any sense in hanging out at The Dirty Bastards if all I’m going to do is look across the street and imagine what you’re doing in here.”
“You and McGuinty are still friends, then?”
“Yeah. His brother’s my sponsor. Good people.”
“Don’t change your routine on my account. Once I reopen this place, feel free to stop in for condoms. We carry king size.” She patted his back. “No need to sneak to a gas station so my feelings aren’t hurt. I’m not a girl with a crush anymore.”
He straightened and gestured around him. “How long do you think you’ll be able to manage this store without being tempted to really test-drive your heart?”
“Running a boutique means moving product. If I get to a place where I want to test-drive my new ticker, then it’ll happen. One doesn’t influence the other.” She started for the front room and almost smiled at the sparkle of the street outside the side window. “There are a few hurdles, but I’m doing this.”
“What kind of hurdles?” he asked, close behind.
“The gloomy vacant building next door, for one. It’s an eyesore. I’d take it and expand Blush if it meant improving my street appeal.” She turned, expecting an answer but finding only silence. “Sorry, I guess your father’s store isn’t something you want to think about. Anyway, I don’t need the extra square footage. At the same time, I don’t want to babysit a vacant building, and I’m sure Caro Jayne doesn’t, either.”
“If it starts to weigh you down, all this stuff that Luz left you with, don’t be too proud to pack and go.”
“Was that advice or a warning?”
“You decide,” he said as someone knocked on the door.
“Hold that extremely confusing thought.” Sofia peered through the glass, saw a pale slip of a woman topped with hair as white and smooth-looking as a dove’s wing, and hurried to let Paget Mulligan in.
“I’m early, I know, but I brought food.” Paget jostled a patchwork knapsack and a plate of something that seduced Sofia’s stomach to purr even though she’d just eaten. “Oh, and I see you brought muscle. Is he here to help haul up all that furniture you were talking about?”
Her gaze had landed on Burke, and Sofia whi
rled. He stood out of earshot, frowning at an oil painting propped against a wall. It wasn’t meant for boutique décor, but she couldn’t lug it upstairs alone. The piece was a not-so-abstract titled Fellatio, and Joss was the artist. “Him? No. The furniture hasn’t shipped yet, and he’s…um…” He’s the guy who was ready to do me in Vices. “Funny thing, he also brought food. Is it going around town that I’m in need of nourishment?”
Paget’s smile touched every corner of her face. Amber-green eyes narrowed playfully under dark brows, and twin citrine gems twinkled in her dimples. Facial piercings and tats weren’t permitted among Shore Seasons staff, so the cheek bling had been missing and the gothic images inked into the woman’s entire left arm covered with makeup when Sofia had first met her at the inn. Meeting the real Paget had been a charming surprise. According to her, Luz had respected self-expression and only asked that everyone follow a simple and straightforward code of conduct: Don’t be an asshole.
“The only gossip I’ve caught is that you’re rebooting this place. Someone at Seasons isn’t giddy about it.” Meaning Anne Oakley, Sofia would bet. She’d done a crappy job of concealing whatever conflict she and Luz shared. “On this plate is a delicious meal prepared by a bona fide restaurant chef. My friend Hannah invited me over, tried to fix me up with some guy. He stood me up, and here is the yumminess he missed out on.” Paget handed Sofia the plate.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry that happened.” Though she was glad the yumminess in question ended up in her possession. The food smelled delicious.
“It’s fine.” Paget’s voice dipped conspiratorially. “That guy over there completely makes up for it. He’s sex in blue jeans.”
Giggling, Sofia gestured for Paget to follow her. “Paget, this is Burke Wolf. He and I went to school together. Burke, this is Paget Mulligan. She was one of Luz’s assistants and I’m promptly stealing her away from Shore Seasons.”
Paget’s already white face paled further. “Well, hi, Burke. Hannah Slattery wasn’t exaggerating when she said you’re hot…and that you’re an incurable ass.” She turned to Sofia. “Your school chum is the man who stood me up.”
“Really, Burke?” Sofia stepped over to him and whispered, “Don’t let me interfere with your regularly scheduled whoring. Go with her, I don’t care.”
Meant to Be Mine Page 12
