Inked by an Angel

by Allen, Shauna

  “And that’s Noble.” She pointed.

  Noble grunted and lifted his drink to his lips.

  Charles’s eyes darted around the room, seemingly not sure who to land on, his brows furrowed in confusion. Bless him, he was absolutely bewildered outside of the country club.

  Kyle grabbed his hand and moved to where Michael stood near some people she had never met. “And this is my friend Michael. This is his party.” She beamed. “Michael, this is Charles.”

  “Ah.” Charles extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I hope you like Merlot?”

  Suddenly, Michael looked unhappy. Very unhappy.

  He totally ignored Charles’s hand and the wine. How could he be like this? She tried to soften the blow of his rudeness and grabbed the bottle to set it on the coffee table with a pointed look. “Who are your friends, Michael?”

  His eyes narrowed fractionally as they stayed trained on Charles’s face. “Gabe and Rafael,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  Kyle smiled at the two men. They didn’t seem a thing like Michael. They could’ve been Charles’s golf buddies or partners at the CPA firm. They wore their hair perfectly slicked back and their neatly ironed shirts were tucked into Chino slacks. “It’s so nice to meet you. How long have you known Michael?”

  “Oh, it seems like forever,” one of them answered.

  “So, you’re his accountant?” the other asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you do, Charles?” the first one asked politely.

  Charles seemed relieved to be on safe territory with safe-looking people for the first time since they arrived. His grip on her hand relaxed just a bit. “I’m a CPA. Just like Kyle.” He glanced over at her. “I work at her father’s firm. Junior VP.”

  “Ah, impressive,” Michael said, sounding anything but impressed.

  Charles turned to Kyle. “Honey, would you get me something to drink? I’m parched.”

  “What, can’t get it yourself, Junior VP?” Jed spoke from where he leaned against the kitchen doorway, beer in hand.

  Kyle jumped to attention, her inner peacemaker at work. This was a client’s home, after all. “No, it’s fine. I’ll get it. What would you like?”

  Charles snapped his gaping mouth shut. “Uh, whatever. A beer is good.” He glanced at Jed then back to her. “Thanks.”

  She looked at Michael. “May I?”

  He appeared to be suppressing a grin. “Help yourself.” He pointed toward the kitchen.

  Kyle stormed past Jed and opened the fridge. She ignored him when he followed her into the room. She rummaged around and found the beer before shutting the fridge and turning around. She tried to breeze past him, but he grabbed her arm.

  “Whoa. Hold up a sec. What’s got your panties in a wad, Muffet?”

  She looked down at his hand on her arm then up into his eyes.

  “Nothing has got my panties in a wad. And would you please stop calling me Muffet.”

  He shrugged and stepped back. “Fine.” But he didn’t move from the doorway.

  She glared up into his face. Again she found herself lost in something deep within the blue of his eyes. What, exactly, she couldn’t be sure. He was studying her like he pitied her. But it was more than that.

  “Why do you let him treat you like that?”

  The label of the beer bottle crinkled beneath her thumb. She forced herself to step further away from him. He was far too imposing and he was shooting out pheromones like electric currents.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re his high-priced servant? ‘Fetch me a drink, would you, girl?’” he mimicked in a phony British accent. “He should be getting you something to drink. It’s what gentlemen do.”

  “And what would you know about being a gentleman?” she shot back.

  He gazed at her for one long moment, sizing her up. “I know a gentleman would’ve taken your coat for you.”

  She glanced down at the light jacket she still wore.

  “He would’ve kept his hand at the small of your back, smiling politely as you introduced him to your friends, no matter how uncomfortable he was.”

  She swallowed. The beer suddenly felt ice cold so she switched hands. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “A gentleman would’ve offered to get his lady a drink. He would try to make her comfortable.”

  She looked up at him.

  “To make her happy.”

  Her heart was pounding now. “Excuse me,” she whispered as she tried to pass.

  He stayed rooted in the doorway. He waited until she turned her face up to his.

  “Excuse me,” she said again. “Can I get by?”

  His ultra-blue eyes studied hers for a moment longer, making her heart nearly beat out of her chest. “Sure, Muffet.”

  She passed through and she thought she heard him laugh under his breath.

  Little Miss Muffet was engaged to a real asshole. And now he was a real drunk asshole. Jed was not impressed. And it had taken all his willpower to keep from punching the fucker’s teeth out when he brought his hoity-toity ass in, sneering at everyone like he was an exterminator and they were a bunch of roaches. Seriously. If Jed wanted that judgmental bullshit, he’d book it to the country club. And, funny enough, though Kyle was engaged to the uptight prick, she had never once looked down her nose at Jed and the guys. So why was she with such a pantywaist? It was obvious she didn’t love the guy. So was it the money? The rock on her hand had to have cost a pretty penny. Was she that shallow? He didn’t know her well enough, but he didn’t get the impression that she was money-hungry.

  He studied the asshole passed out on Michael’s couch. It didn’t appear to be his looks. Jed wasn’t into dudes or anything, but he didn’t think there was much there to write home about. And he definitely treated Kyle shitty. That really got Jed’s goat. After their little discussion, if you could call it that, in the kitchen, the ass had just gotten worse. Especially after Michael and his uptight friends started plying the dude with liquor. And with Michael attending AA meetings, Jed was really surprised.

  He glanced over to where Kyle sat alone in the corner. She looked miserable and exhausted. He made his way over and sat next to her. She regarded him, wariness in her tired eyes.

  “Go away,” she said, her voice quiet and defeated. “I can’t spar with you right now.”

  He glanced at the couch. “You need a ride home?”

  She peered up at him suspiciously. “Are you being nice to me?”

  “I’ve been known to have an off day.” He smiled.

  “What about Charles?”

  “What about him? He’s shit-faced drunk. He’ll probably wake up in a pile of his own vomit in the morning. Michael will make sure he gets home. Don’t worry about him.”

  “You think so?” Her brows furrowed with concern.

  He stood and offered his hand. “Yes. Come on. Stop taking care of him. Serves him right.” He called out to Michael, “I’m taking Muffet home.”

  Michael looked over from where he was playing cards with Noble and his clean-cut friends at the kitchen table. He smiled broadly. “That’s great! Thanks!”

  The super-excited response surprised Jed, but whatever. “Okay. You’ll watch out for the drunk fiancé?”

  Michael glanced at the couch. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Kyle looked at Charles. “You’re sure it’s okay to leave him? I’m so embarrassed. He never drinks like that.”

  Michael waved his hand. “No. It’s fine. You two go ahead. I’m glad he had such a good time.”

  Kyle gave a weak smile. “Well. Okay. If you’re sure.” She reached for her purse. “I’ll check on him later. See you at the studio tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely. Bye, now.”

&
nbsp; Jed grabbed her jacket and held it up for her to slide into before opening the door and walking her to his car.

  He clicked the automatic unlock and opened the door for her, but she had stopped short and was staring wide-eyed from the walkway. “This is your car?”

  He quickly assessed his baby. Perfect, as always. Why was Muffet acting like his car was an alien from another planet? “Yes. So?”

  “This gas-guzzling monstrosity is what you drive everyday?”

  He nearly choked. Had she just called his gem a monstrosity? Oh, hell no. “Listen here, Muffet—”

  “Don’t you care about the environment?” She shot him a pointed glare.

  His jaw slacked open as his gaze bounced between her and the racing stripes on the roof.

  “Our dependence on foreign oil?” she continued. “Your carbon footprint?”

  “What the hell?”

  “What?”

  He pointed to the interior of his ‘gas-guzzling monstrosity.’ “Get in the fucking car, Muffet.”

  She sat silently and buckled her seatbelt. This was going to be one long ass ride. He rounded the hood and got in, starting the engine with a roar and getting some satisfaction from her little jump.

  “Where do you live?” he asked as he eased out of Michael’s driveway.

  She told him. It was a pretty nice area. He pulled into traffic and changed his Foo Fighters CD for Switchfoot. She glanced at him, but didn’t say a word. She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

  “So, you and Kierstan?” she asked after a few minutes, her voice sleepy.

  He glanced over. She hadn’t opened her eyes and her head still leaned back on the seat. He turned back to the road. “What about me and Kierstan?”

  She rolled her head to the side and looked at him now. “There’s some tension there. I just thought . . . I was just curious is all. Were the two of you involved?”

  He wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but that would just make her more curious. “Something like that.”

  “Oh.”

  “Any other burning questions, Muffet?” He glanced at her.

  The lights from the instrument panel illuminated a small portion of her face. “Just one.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Why do you hate me?”

  Chapter 5

  Jed didn’t say a word. He kept driving until they reached her house. Kyle bit her lower lip. It was obvious he hated her. She just wasn’t sure why she had let the question pop out. What did she care if he hated her? She was tired and his hostility had worn her down. And his pheromones had apparently caused a clog in the filter between her brain and her mouth.

  He pulled his gas-guzzling (and, she’d die before admitting, sexy) car up in front of her small condo. Before she could touch the handle, he hopped out and rounded the hood to open the door for her. She stepped out with a small smile of thanks. He followed her to the front door and waited while she rifled through her purse for her key and slid it in the lock. She opened the door and flipped on the entryway light then turned to say goodnight.

  “Thank—”

  “I don’t hate you,” he interrupted.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry if you thought that.” He glanced down.

  She studied him in the light spilling out from her house. Idly, she wondered if her nosy neighbors chose this particular moment to spy on her, what they would think to see him standing there. Tall, bald, tattooed, pierced, sexy-as-hell, exuding testosterone like a chemical reactor. She took the moment of uncomfortable silence—it wasn’t often that Jed Gentry was struck to silence by his own obvious discomfort—to study him.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He tucked his thumb in a belt loop and leaned his weight to one side. “Does what hurt?”

  She pointed to just below her own bottom lip. “That. Or a tattoo. Any of it.”

  “Ah. Well, I suppose that depends on your own pain tolerance.” He smiled. Suddenly she was so fascinated with the little black stud beneath his lower lip that she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. He licked his lips. “Muffet?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You lookin’ to get something done?”

  “Like what?” Her eyes stayed glued to his fascinatingly beautiful face. He was so different from her and she found him so perfect.

  He stepped closer to her, close enough to take her hand in his. He took her fingertips and brought them up to touch the little stud that held her attention so raptly.

  She sucked in a breath and caressed the cool metal. His eyes never moved from her face.

  She took her time learning the feel of him as her hand slid to his chin, where she felt his day’s growth of stubble. He was mesmerizing.

  Painstakingly slow, he guided her fingers up his cheek, to the small ring in his brow.

  Again, his eyes captured and held hers. There was something there.

  Behind her there was a distant ringing, but she stayed perfectly still.

  His face inched closer. She cupped his cheek as her eyes fluttered closed. His warm breath caressed her skin.

  The ringing stopped and a familiar voice intruded on the hush of the moment with a jolt.

  “Kyle, uhm, it’s Charles.” Hiccup. “I need you to pick me up . . .” Followed by a muffled noise and Michael’s voice saying something about taking him home before the line went dead.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. Jed was looking at her with a strange expression on his face. She dropped her hand to her side.

  “I have to go,” he whispered. Then he turned and walked away.

  When Kyle showed up at the country club the next morning, Charles was as pale as the toilet he’d sheepishly admitted to hugging all night and nobody seemed to notice. Or her family was just too polite to say anything as they air-kissed and conversed their way around golf and politics. Luckily, talk of Kyle’s recent defection from the business was on hiatus. Priorities.

  “So, darling.” Kyle’s mother smiled her piranha-in-a-fishbowl smile and pulled her aside, smelling heavily of her overpriced department store perfume and an early morning cocktail. “Have you and Charles set a date for the wedding yet? You know we have to get a jump on things if we want to get the club. They need at least two years notice, you know. They book up so fast, but I am friends with the manager’s wife and I could probably pull a few strings if the two of you wanted to have a spring wedding next year.” She stared off in the distance and got misty eyed. “That would be so lovely, wouldn’t it, Kyle? A spring wedding?”

  Kyle looked over at her severely hung-over fiancé. He was hanging in there, she’d give him that, while her father pounded his back and plied him with cigars and talk of the latest mergers, business or otherwise. She glanced across the room at the patently unfaithful Mr. Washburn, her father’s golf buddy.

  “Kyle?” Her mother’s impatient voice brought her attention back.

  “Yes? What was that? Oh, right. Spring. Well, actually, Charles and I haven’t decided what we want just yet.” She glanced at her green about the gills mate and gave him a small smile of support. She turned back to her mother. “I was kind of hoping for something small. Maybe something on a beach.”

  Her mother’s mouth fell open and then closed a couple of times like a fish out of water. “A . . . a beach? What are you saying, Kyle? Absolutely not! Why, that would be unheard of!”

  Kyle felt a now familiar pulsation beginning behind her eyes, which had lately been a precursor to horrible migraine headaches. She studied her mother’s pinched face, trying to understand. “Why would it be unheard of, Mother? People do it all the time.”

  Her mother tilted her head and gave her that look that said: Because I’m the mother, that’s why.

  Kyle rubbed her h
ead. “Whatever. Can we discuss this later?”

  Her mother said nothing. A trill of feminine laughter carried from the other side of the clubhouse and Kyle turned. That subtle beginning of a headache suddenly became a full-blown-whammy.

  “Ah, shit,” she said under her breath. Was there no place she was safe?

  “Excuse me, young lady?” her mother admonished.

  She turned to get Charles’s attention so they could get the heck out of Dodge, but it was too late.

  The pheromones preceded him in all their glory and her knees wanted to buckle. He strutted over, his hand at the small of an older woman’s back. He studied her with his intense blue eyes. His deep voice reached right into places she wanted to forget about and made things hum and thrum she’d rather not. She hated it. She wanted to hate him.

  “Muffet.”

  If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Kill ‘em with kindness. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Apparently, one of these was Jed Gentry’s new motto.

  Kyle felt the migraine with renewed vigor as she watched him schmooze her family and act the perfect gentleman like he’d been raised in the country club.

  “Kyle, I’d like you to meet my mother, Paula Gentry.” He smiled a perfectly benign smile as he made the introduction. “Mom, this is Kyle O’Neill. She’s Michael’s accountant at the studio.”

  “Oh!” his mother gushed. “Michael just goes on and on about you! He thinks the world of you! He says you’re an angel when it comes to numbers. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand.

  Kyle couldn’t help but smile back. The woman seemed so genuinely sweet. It was hard to imagine that she had bred such an ill-mannered, hotheaded son. She accepted her hand, which was warm and soft, obviously very well tended. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

  She glanced up at Jed. Now she noticed what was different besides the 180-degree attitude adjustment. He had removed every one of his piercings and was wearing long sleeves so none of his tattoos showed. Other than his slick bald head, he fit right in and looked pretty respectable. You had to look closely—and Kyle knew to look—for the small holes where the piercings belonged.