Tin Queen

by Devney Perry

  Her shoulders fell. “Right.”

  I took the key and slid it into the lock, then shoved the door open and keyed in the code to shut off the alarm.

  Nova hesitated outside, her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Coming in?”

  She waited long enough that my heart jumped into my throat. Then she stepped inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood.

  Damn, but I’d missed that noise too.

  The second she was clear, I slammed the door behind her and swept her into my arms. “Bed or couch?”

  Her legs wrapped around my hips and her lips came to mine. “Bed.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nova

  What am I doing? I took a long look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Steam from the shower billowed above my head, fogging the glass’s edges.

  What was I doing?

  In the past week, I’d asked myself that question countless times. Did that stop me from coming back to Emmett’s? No. Here I was, staring at myself in his mirror while I let the walls drop for just a moment. While I let the doubts creep in and tangle a nasty knot in my stomach. They screamed at me, shouting so loud they were all I could hear.

  The twisting of my insides felt permanent, and my only reprieve was with Emmett. His mouth, his hands, his body linked with mine was the only time I could shut out the noise in my head.

  What am I doing?

  “What has to be done,” I whispered.

  For Dad.

  For TJ.

  I swallowed hard and went to the shower, stepping inside and under the spray.

  Emmett’s shower was a sanctuary in itself and in the last week, I’d made sure to take a shower here at every opportunity.

  There was no door, just a wide opening. Two large heads dropped water from the ceiling and standing beneath them was like being in a warm rainstorm. One wall was finished in rough, coarse brown stone. The rest was tiled in a smooth bone tile.

  I tipped my head back and let the water cascade over my body.

  My nose was stinging and there was a prick at my eyes, but I squeezed them tight because I didn’t get to cry. This was my choice.

  This was my plan.

  Go slow. Methodical. Gain access to Emmett’s life and home. Except my plan was beginning to fray.

  I’d come to Clifton Forge thinking I could compartmentalize sex with Emmett and take my revenge. Maybe if it was another man, but there was no such thing as compartments where Emmett was concerned. He’d torn through them all.

  The sinking in my heart hurt so much I wanted to curl into a ball and drown.

  Emmett was a good man.

  He wasn’t supposed to be a good man.

  Why couldn’t he have been an asshole? How many jerks had I dated in my life? Why did the one I needed to keep at a distance have to be the one I genuinely liked?

  How did I make these feelings go away?

  Staying away from him wasn’t an option. Not only because that wasn’t the plan, but because I craved him. The four-day break I’d taken last week hadn’t done anything but make me miss him that much more.

  Temptation had won out and I’d given in. I’d come to his house, praying he hadn’t found someone else already, and since then, I’d spent every night here over the past week.

  We still hadn’t shared any important personal details but tonight, I’d almost slipped. I’d had a shit day at work and when I’d come over, all I’d wanted to do was tell him that there were days when I didn’t like being a lawyer.

  I loathed clients who were arrogant and rude. I’d spent my day drafting business documents for a wealthy man in Missoula. He was expanding his empire and starting a new corporation. The man barked orders and the three times I’d met with him in person, he’d spoken to my breasts, not my face. Today he’d called me four times, each time to change his mind, forcing me to redo the work I’d already done.

  It didn’t bother me when clients changed their minds—more billable hours. What bothered me was this guy’s superior attitude and snarky tone, like I wasn’t competent enough to even breathe in his direction.

  Maybe I should have referred him to Brendon and washed my hands of him, but that felt like quitting and damn it, I wasn’t a quitter.

  But as I’d driven here tonight, I’d been on the verge of tears. This was not my dream. And the hell of it was, I didn’t even know what my dream was.

  I’d never been given the chance to come up with my own.

  Law school hadn’t been my idea, but Dad’s.

  The conversation with my father was as clear today as it had been at seventeen. I’d been going through college flyers, narrowing down my options. Shelby had stayed in Missoula for school, but I’d wanted to leave. I’d wanted to stretch my wings and explore the world.

  My top choices had been in Georgia and West Virginia.

  When I’d told Dad about them on one of his rare visits, I’d expected him to help me decide. Maybe offer to go on a trip to visit campuses. Instead, he’d told me that staying close to home was important. That he wouldn’t be able to visit me if I lived so far away.

  His veiled meaning had been crystal clear. If I moved, I would lose my father. When he asked me what I wanted to do, I’d shrugged. General studies had been calling my name. But Dad had suggested I go into political science. That I’d make a great lawyer because I was so smart. And that one day, maybe I could work with him if I was an attorney.

  Desperate daughters made for happy fathers.

  I hadn’t hated school. I’d excelled and after getting a job with Brendon, my paycheck had soothed most of my complaints. And ultimately, I was glad that I’d been in Missoula for college.

  I’d been close to Mom when TJ had died.

  The Tin Gypsies had stolen my brother’s dreams. That was why I was doing this, right? For TJ.

  Maybe when it was over, I’d quit my job. I could sell my condo and get the hell away from Montana.

  Because once this was over with Emmett and the Tin Gypsies, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live here and not think of him. Even after I left Clifton Forge, I’d never see a stretch of Montana highway and not think about the hours I’d spent on the back of Emmett’s bike.

  Every evening this week we’d gone for a ride. The season was changing, and fall was crisp in the air. We’d go out for an hour, taking in the colors—the county was teeming with gold and orange and red and green. Then we’d come back to his place and he’d cook me dinner before we’d retreat to his bedroom and spend the rest of the night naked.

  He stripped me down completely.

  Everything. My clothes. My shoes. My defenses.

  Normally after a few orgasms, I’d pass out in his arms. But tonight, darkness had fallen and I hadn’t been able to quiet the doubts. So I’d slipped out of his arms and escaped to the shower.

  I breathed in the scent of his soap, spicy and male, tipping my face to the water. My hair would be a tangled mess in the morning without conditioner, but I couldn’t bring myself to haul my toiletry case over from the rental.

  Shampoo. Conditioner. Lotion. Face cream. Bringing those would feel too intimate. Tomorrow morning I’d rewash my hair and spend the time necessary to comb out the rat’s nest. That would be my punishment for being so damn weak.

  Lost in the water and the steam, I gasped when a pair of calloused hands came to my hips, sliding down my thighs.

  The heat from Emmett’s chest seeped into my skin and the instant crackle between us had me leaning back. The man was a magnet, and I was cheap metal, helpless against the tug.

  He dropped his lips to my shoulder, the scrape of his beard leaving tingles as he dragged his mouth up my neck. There seemed to be no limit to how much I desired him.

  The feeling was mutual because we were insatiable. No matter how many times we were together, it wasn’t enough. Sex had moved beyond a physical coupling. There was a connection, a language we’d learned.

  He was as in tune with my needs as I was his.

&
nbsp; I placed my palms over his knuckles, lacing my fingers between his thicker ones. Emmett had great hands. They were large enough to cup my breasts in his palms and knead the curves of my ass.

  I pulled his hands up, letting them drag on the skin of my stomach and up to my breasts. Then he squeezed, hard. The rough pad of his thumbs found my nipples and flicked them mercilessly, all while his mouth continued its journey across my shoulder blades.

  What am I doing?

  Emmett’s arousal pressed into me and the doubts disappeared. In their place, the throb in my core became a pounding need. An ache that only he could ease.

  “Ace,” I moaned. “Inside.”

  “I’m out of condoms.”

  We’d used three tonight. Later, I’d chastise him for poor planning.

  A hand slipped free of mine, leaving my breast to trail down my stomach. Then he curled into my sex, one finger sliding through my slick folds. Those large hands meant his palm could massage my clit as his finger stroked.

  But it wasn’t enough. “Need more.” I reached behind me, finding his shaft and gripping it tight.

  He hissed. “I’m clean.”

  That snapped my eyes open. Water clung to my lashes as he continued his delicious torture.

  The condoms had been another barrier. Another defense. Another wall toppled by Emmett.

  “I’m on the pill. I’m clean.” I stepped out of his hold, taking in the sight of his body. All that muscle, glistening with water. The lust in his eyes likely matched my own. “If we do this, you’re mine. Only mine.”

  Maybe he’d been with other women since we’d started this thing. The surge of jealousy made my stomach clench but if I asked him, it would give too much away. And maybe I didn’t want to know the answer. Maybe it would hurt too much.

  He reached for me, his mouth brushing mine. “Same goes. Only mine.”

  I gave him a nod and then he surged, picking me up, twisting us both so my back slammed against the smooth tile. My legs wrapped around his hips and he thrust inside me without any hesitation.

  “Ace,” I cried out, tipping my head back as he stretched me. I was sore from earlier. I’d been sore for a week. He was big and no matter how many times we were together, it was an adjustment. But it was an incredible stretch, one I reveled in every time.

  It was the pain I’d take along with the pleasure from a man who’d hate me before long.

  “Fuck, Nova.” He pulled out and slammed back inside. “Christ, you feel good bare, baby.”

  We should have been doing this all along. He was perfection, velvet and hard. His hips were magic as he fucked me against the wall, the steam billowing around us like a cloud.

  I clung to his broad shoulders, then tipped down to take his mouth. His taste was intoxicating, and I gave myself permission to remember this. When it was done and the destruction of my game finished, I would remember Emmett inside me.

  He gripped my ass, holding me tight as he pounded, stroke after stroke until my orgasm broke and my mewls echoed off the walls.

  “Fuck,” he groaned as I pulsed around him. Then he clamped his mouth on my shoulder, his teeth firm on my skin. While my obsession was leaving nail tracks on his shoulders and chest, his was leaving teeth indentations.

  We marked each other.

  In the years to come, would I look in the mirror and see those marks? Part of me didn’t want them to fade.

  Emmett came on a roar, his body shuddering as he poured himself into me, long and hard. Then he dropped his forehead to mine, holding me as we both came down from the high.

  As the stars cleared from my head, he set me down on unsteady feet and took my hand, bringing me under the water once more. We washed each other and when I stepped out of the shower and into the towel he held out for me, I smelled like his soap.

  I dried my body, then stood naked in front of the mirror, towel drying my hair as he stood behind me, glorious in his own nudity.

  “What’s this one?” I dragged a fingertip over the tattoo on his wrist. It was a black bird, its wings spread wide.

  He reached past me for the top center drawer and opened it, pulling out a wide-tooth comb. I figured he’d brush out his own hair, but instead, he took the ends of mine.

  Tingles raced up my skin as he combed, his knuckles occasionally skimming my shoulder. I closed my eyes, a low hum of pleasure breaking free as he worked from the ends up to my scalp.

  “My mom wanted to get matching tattoos, so on my eighteenth birthday, we went to the local shop and this was what she picked out. Surprised the hell out of me. I figured I’d walk out of there with a heart or butterfly or something dainty. But she liked this bird. She said it suited us both.”

  It did suit him. It was bold and assertive. But there was a feminine edge to it too. The delicate tips of the wings. The sweep of the bird’s tail.

  Emmett finished with my hair, then quickly combed out his own. Tossing the comb aside, he went to the walk-in closet off the bathroom, emerging with two pairs of sweatpants, one T-shirt and one hoodie.

  I got the bulk of the clothes while he only stepped into a pair of pants. Clothed and breathing in the clean scent of the hoodie, I followed him to the kitchen, where he snagged two beers from the fridge.

  “Living room or deck?”

  “Deck.” No question. I loved to sit outside, even if it was cold and dark.

  He opened the door and stepped outside, settling into his lounge chair. I opted to sit with him, between his open legs so I could lean into his chest.

  There was a book on the floor beside us, one that hadn’t been there yesterday. “What are you reading?”

  “Just a book Mom gave me. It was my dad’s. She thought I’d like it.”

  His father was dead. Something I shouldn’t know because he hadn’t told me. “Your dad is . . .”

  “Died when I was twenty-six.”

  I stayed quiet. The normal reaction would be to say I was sorry, except I knew I’d choke on the words.

  Emmett’s father, Neal Stone—or Stone, the only name Dad had ever called him—had murdered TJ.

  Dad had taken his revenge. The Warriors had ambushed Stone at The Betsy and killed him.

  My heart began to race because I didn’t want to talk about Stone. That was personal territory, and we weren’t personal.

  “Mom’s been going through his stuff,” he said. “She gave that to me on Friday last week.”

  Friday night he’d texted and told me that he’d be late coming home, that he’d text me when he was on his way. We’d met after nine and I hadn’t left until Monday morning.

  I’d locked myself away, shut out reality and pretended the clock wasn’t ticking.

  “Have you read it yet?” I asked, shifting to see his face.

  “No, but she did. She liked it.”

  His mother would likely be devastated when Emmett went to prison. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To hurt these people the way they’d hurt us?

  Emmett looked down and stared at me for a moment. His gaze was nearly unreadable in the dark light. Could he see the guilt crawling beneath my skin? It was black and tangled with my veins, darker than any of his tattoos.

  I broke first, turning to stare into the black trees. The half-moon shone above us in the cloudless sky and illuminated the tips of the tallest evergreens.

  What am I doing?

  That question crossed my mind and weakness spread through my bones. Dad would hate my weakness. Dad would hate that my weakness’s name was Emmett Stone.

  I gulped a long drink of my beer. If he had any idea I was having these doubts, he’d chastise me endlessly. He’d tell me to do better.

  Actually, he’d replace me.

  He’d arrange for someone else to come after the Tin Gypsies. Maybe he’d contact another club, one that would blaze into Clifton Forge and leave a trail of dead bodies in their wake.

  The only thing keeping death at bay was me.

  My heart was pounding so loudly Emmett might hear i
t, so I inhaled a long breath, giving him my weight, and when I emptied my lungs, I willed myself to a shaky calm.

  His fingers found the ends of my damp hair, twirling a lock around one of his fingers as he brought his own beer bottle to his lips.

  He’d hate me.

  A month ago, I’d hoped for hate. I’d hoped he’d rot in a prison cell, cursing my name. And if everything had gone to plan, I’d be free, reveling in my victory.

  What a fool I’d been.

  “Nova.”

  “Yeah.”

  Emmett bent and kissed my temple. “What’s going on in your head?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. “I had a shitty day at work. That’s all.”

  “Want to talk it over?”

  “That’s not really us, is it?” It couldn’t be us.

  He dropped his bearded cheek to my hair. “No, I guess it’s not.”

  We sat there until our beers were empty and my cheeks were rosy from the cold. Emmett led me inside, flipping off lights and setting the alarm system before we retreated to his bed, where he curled me into his side.

  I relaxed my body but kept my mind alert. Stay awake. His breathing evened out. The hold he had on me loosened. And as he slumbered, I fought the weight in my eyelids.

  It was time to move forward. It was time to act. Before my father deemed me unworthy. Before I lost the nerve completely.

  I shifted away from Emmett and lay perfectly still, and when I was sure he hadn’t woken from my movement, I eased off the bed.

  His room, like the rest of the house, was full of fine furniture. I passed a six-drawer chest, my feet sinking into the plush Aztec-style rug that covered most of the hardwood floor and disappeared beneath his massive king-sized bed.

  My steps were slow, my breath held in my lungs, as I tiptoed out of the room and down the darkened hallway.

  Emmett trusted me in his home. A mistake on his part. Another prickle of guilt on mine. I swallowed it down and hurried down the hallway and past the living room.

  In my time here, I’d spent hours in the living room and kitchen. I’d eaten meals at the dining room table and there was nothing in Emmett’s bedroom I hadn’t seen. But the other side of the house was a mystery. Just like we weren’t the couple to talk about our days, he also hadn’t given me a house tour.