Ash to Steele (15 page)

   “Feel better?” I ask, making my presence known. 

   Nodding her head, she smiles that smile that drives me insane.  Her gaze travels down my bare chest, stopping at the button of my jeans, before it quickly shifts to my arms, causing me to chuckle at her shy innocence.  As I step out of the shadow of the hall, into the light, her gaze becomes focused on my arm and abdomen. 

   Her cheeks flush as she walks towards me, her eyes never leaving my arm and lower stomach.  “You have tattoos.”

  
Oh yeah, no marking the temple
.  “Does that bother you?” I ask out of pure curiosity rather than to be a smartass this time.

   “No.  They’re beautiful,” she states, her fingers reaching towards my arm before she stops.

   “It’s okay, you can touch them,” I tell her softly, shocked by her reaction and desperately wanting to feel her fingers against my skin.

   Hesitantly, she runs her finger over the ink on my shoulder, slowly tracing the lines down the sleeve of ink on my arm, stopping where the tattoo stops at my wrist, before glancing up at me, silently asking for permission to touch the ink on my abdomen.

   Nodding, I hold my breath at the exquisitely torturing sensation of the soft, heated feel of her finger gently touching my skin, tracing the muscles of my torso as she follows the lines of the intertwining vines and thorns in a curved line across the bottom of my stomach.  She kneels in front of me, and I grasp the edge of the counter, squeezing tightly, as she traces the outline of the hawk getting ready to take flight on my side. 

   “Emma…please, stand up,” I groan.

    “I’m sorry.  It’s just – it’s so detailed, so magnificent.”

    Those words are every man’s dream of hearing, leaving the lips of a beautiful woman kneeling on her knees of front of him.  I want to take that mouth, brand it with every part of me.  Instead, I grab her arm, practically growling from need, “I’m begging you, Emma.  Stand up.” 

   Pulling her to her feet, Emma’s attention returns to my right arm as she takes my hand, pulling my arm closer for better inspection. 

   “The dove and lily?” her eyes meet mine and there’s a sorrow in them that breaks my soul, “Those are the only tattoos with color.”

   We both know who they are for.  My chest constricts and I find it hard to swallow at the intensity of the sadness in her gaze.  Sorrow for me.  Sorrow for her.  Sorrow for both of us combined.  I can’t manage to make my voice work, so I don’t say anything.

   Emma’s finger finds the charm on her mother’s necklace as she absently plays with the golden star.

   “You were close to your mother, weren’t you,” I ask, taking my turn to run my finger down the gold chain, skimming across the soft hollow of her neck.

   “Yes,” she responds before adding, “she gave this necklace to me a few days before she died.  I remember her always wearing it.  I’ve worn it every day since, never taking it off.  She told me it’s the North Star, and as long as I keep my eye on that star, I’ll never lose my way.”

   Damn if the pain in her voice doesn’t lance my heart, and I can’t help but pull her into my arms, holding onto her tightly as I run my hand down her smooth, wet hair.  The smell of my shampoo on her silky strands kills me, so I turn away, pressing my cheek against the top of her head.  “Have you lost your way, Emma?” I ask, my voice low, gentle.

   Easing out of my arms, she wipes away a tear that manages to escape with the back of her hand. “I don’t know,” she admits, her eyes full of desire, questions, and pain.  Then, her clear blue gaze bores into me, pleading for a response that neither one of us has right now.

   At that moment, I know that I will be there for her no matter what differences we may have or how much it hurts me to be close to her; I won’t leave her alone until she wants me to go.  That day will come.  Until then, I will be her way.

Chapter Eight

   “I was an ass to you before.   You didn’t deserve that, Emma,” I say, regret eating me.  “I would like the chance to be your friend.  That is, if you are still offering.”

   Emma’s eyes light up when she smiles, “I would like that, too.” 

   “Friends, then,” I smile, pulling her back into my arms.  As soon as her head is pressed against my chest, my smile fades.  Emma’s fingers slide against my bare back as she finds her sweet spot in my arms, her breath soft and warm against my skin, and I’m lost in the feel of her thick waves tangled in my fingers, losing my mind in the most seductive sensation I’ve never wanted.  Until now.

   Heaven slips from my grasp as Emma slowly pulls away, her gaze falling back to my arm, and she places her hand on the lily, “Were you close to your mom as well?”

   Looking at the dove, I smile sadly, “I was.”

   “Kylianna.  Was that your mom’s name?”

   “Yes.”  Memories come rushing back and I grab the edge of the counter again, refusing to remember.  “I don’t talk about my mother, Emma,” I explain, somehow keeping my voice from sounding as raw as my emotions.

    “I’m sorry.”

   The room becomes quiet.  The only sound is of the rain outside as it pelts against the roof. 

   Emma’s stomach growls, and we both laugh, needing a light moment to relieve the tension.   “I was too nervous to eat today.”

   “I think I’m qualified to take care of that for you.  Let me see what we have in the fridge.

   Emma grabs my arm as I turn towards the large double door stainless steel fridge.

   “What happened?” she asks, concern lacing her voice as her finger is now tracing a much larger, thicker mark on my body. 

   Not turning back around, I continue towards the fridge. “Knife.”

   “Someone stabbed you?” Emma gasps.

   “No.  Someone cut me.” 
Then tried to stab me
.

   “Why?”

   Sighing, I finally turn towards her again, “It was a fight; I let them get too close.  It never happened again.”

   “You said that you used to get into fights.  Well, you said you kicked football players butts, indicating that you fought.  Why did you fight?”

   “I’m a guy; we fight,” I state simply, hoping she’ll drop it.

   “I don’t know of any other guy who has a knife scar on his lower back from a simple ‘guy’ fight,” Emma chastises.

   “Do you really want to know?” I ask her, watching how whether or not she does flitters across her beautiful face.  She’s the most expressive person I’ve ever met; I can tell what she’s thinking just by looking at her.  I already know her decision before she nods her head. 

   “Like I told you last night, I didn’t go looking for fights, except when they were scheduled, but I didn’t back down from them either.” 

   “What do you mean by, ‘except when they were scheduled’?”

   “In high school and college I had some street fights to help pay for Kylianna’s.”

   Emma’s eyes widen, “You were a street fighter?”

   “I wouldn’t give myself the official title or anything, but, yes, I did participate in several street fights when the amount of cash was right.”  I watch Emma carefully, wondering what she thinks of me after hearing how I beat the hell out of people for money. 

   No judgment appears in those blue eyes, just more curiosity.  “Isn’t that illegal?”

   Laughing softly, I open the fridge, taking out eggs, milk, butter, and cheese, “Yes, Em, it’s illegal.”

   “Oh,” she states softly.

   I bet she’s never done one illegal act in her entire life.

   “Is that when you were cut?  During one of the street fights?”

   “No.  The street fights I entered didn’t allow weapons, but that was the only rule.”

   “It sounds dangerous. Wouldn’t your grandfather have helped you open the restaurant?”

   “Granddad would’ve loaned me the money, probably given me a large part of it, but I wanted to do it on my own.”

   “Did he know you fought?”

   Heating olive oil in a skillet, I shake my head, “He knew I was in fist fights at school sometimes, but he didn’t know about the street fights until I was almost done with college.”

   “You must’ve done well to earn the money to open Kylianna’s.”

   “I’ve only lost one fight in my life.  I made sure after that one that I never lost a fight again,” I state quietly, beating the eggs, wanting to change the subject.

   Silence fills the air.

   I glance at Emma who is looking at me with those big, innocent eyes, her lip held prisoner by her teeth as she does that thing she always does when she’s concentrating, her soft, full lip tilting downwards and to the side, while she’s pondering something.  Right now, she’s pondering me.  Her lip is freed from its punishing hold and curves into a soft smile, her eyes shining brightly and open to me and who I am, sending the chilling realization that I’m looking straight at another fight, and Emma will be a fight that I’m going to lose.

   “What did your grandfather do when he found out about the street fighting?”

   Resisting the urge to lean across the counter and graze her lip between my teeth, I pour the eggs into the skillet instead, sprinkling cheese and adding mushrooms and spinach before chuckling, “Granddad is old school.  He beat my ass when he found out.  It didn’t matter to him that I was twenty-one; he knew that I respected him enough not to swing back.”

   “He hit you?” Emma’s eyes widen again.

   “A few times,” I laugh. “It wasn’t a fight so I don’t count that as losing since I didn’t hit back,” I tease, noticing how she’s having a hard time processing what I just told her about Granddad.  “He only did it once, Emma.  It was his way of trying to knock some sense into me so I wouldn’t get into another street fight.”

   “He hit you so you wouldn’t hit someone else?” she questions, the absurdity of the logic missing her. 

   “More like so someone else wouldn’t hit me. He put up with a lot of my shit without ever raising his hand.  I guess he just didn’t know how to handle that situation.”

   “He never saw the after effects of the fights before?”

   “I was rarely touched.  I was good, Emma.  I was also smart.  I studied the men I fought, saw which ones didn’t fight fair, what their weaknesses and strengths were.”

   “You don’t fight still, do you?”

   “Not unless I have to, like the other night.”

   “I’ve never been in a fight,” she states like she’s thinking of what it would be like.

   Laughing, I give her a once over.  She’s petite, about 5’4, but I have no doubt she would put a hurting on someone if she wanted to.

   Joining me at the stove top, she leans against the counter, studying me.  “I thought you were supposed to be fully clothed while preparing food,” she teases.

   “No pesky health codes in my home,” I give her a wink, causing her cheeks to color, “but I can throw on my shirt if you want.”

   “No. That’s okay,” she stammers, “I mean, it doesn’t bother me.” Her eyes quickly shift to my chest before she looks away. “What can I help you do?”

   “Careful. That’s a pretty loaded question that I’m all too willing to answer,” I grin, loving how her body responds to me when her face flushes.  I’m dying to find out every way her body will respond to my touch.  Taming the raging beast inside, I point to the bread, “You can make some toast.  The jam is on the top shelf in the fridge.”

   We spend the next few hours after we eat talking and laughing.  I haven’t laughed so hard in as long as I can remember.  Other than Jess, I’m a novice at being with a woman in a normal way, but Emma makes it easy, except when she smiles, or leans in too close, or her eyes meet mine. 

   It’s 2:00 a.m. when I walk Emma to her apartment door, wanting to follow her inside and make love to her until she has to go to work.  That thought screws with my head.  I don’t make love; I never have, but thoughts of simply fucking Emma leaves me cold and void.  Leaving her there, alone, is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a long while.  Her raucous neighbors seem quiet at the moment as I glance towards their apartment on my way down the hall.  There are some seedy places in the city, but this area is one of the worst, and I don’t want Emma living in a place like this.  Worrying about her income and whether or not she can afford a safer place, I come to the conclusion that she probably can’t, especially with her driving that run down, shitty sedan. I’ll
have to come up with a plan to either get her more income, or get her to let me help her out until she can manage on her own.  Either way, she’s not going to be living here for much longer.

͠

         “
You
are ‘just friends’ with a woman?!” Gavin leans back in his chair in a fit of laughter, “Damn, Breck, what the hell is happening to you?”

    I punch Gavin’s arm, and he winces, but doesn’t stop laughing.  “Glad to be able to provide you so much amusement tonight,” I grumble. 

   Gavin’s laughter finally sputters to a stupid ass grin, “What did Jess say?”

   “Jess can’t say a word, she’s the one who befriended Emma in the first place.”

   “When has semantics ever prevented Jess from mouthing off?” Gavin slaps my shoulder, “You better play this right, or Jess will have your ass.”

   “I’ll have your ass for what?” Jess asks me as she makes her way through my suite, placing wine, whiskey, and vodka on the counter. 

   “If our friend here tries to screw Emma’s,” Gavin bursts into laughter again.

   A chuckle leaves Jason’s mouth, and Jess gives him a sharp elbow to his ribs. “Sorry,” he smirks, wrapping his arm around Jess.

   “You’re such a pansy,” Gavin cracks, “I think you’re rubbing off on Breck.”

   “Jason’s my pansy, so shut-up,” Jess banters, slapping Gavin on the arm.

   “Easy, Breck just punched me there,” Gavin fusses, grabbing his arm again.

   “And you’re bitching about me?” Jason laughs. 

   “You’re all pansy asses,” Jess quips, pouring herself a shot of whiskey.

    Stepping next to Jess, I bump her shoulder, whispering, “Easy on the whiskey tonight, okay?”

   Jess pours another shot, shooting me a seriously pissed pointed scowl, “I’ve got it under control.”

   Hoping she does, I make sure to keep an eye on her, noticing that her alcohol consumption since her mom called is a little more than usual.  Alcohol wasn’t her vice of choice, but I’m not taking any chances.

   A simple knock on my door sends an electric jolt through my chest.  This is the first time that anyone, other than Jess, Gavin, and Jason has been in my suite.  Not even my grandfather has been here.  It’s also the first time that a new person has joined our small Thanksgiving meal since Jess met Jason two years ago.  Opening the door, that damn jolt gives me another searing shot when Emma steps inside, her arm brushing against mine, her faint peachy scent torturing my senses. 

   Holding up a covered plate, her lips curve into a shy smile, “I baked an apple pie.  I’m sure it’s probably nothing compared to your dishes, but I wanted to bring something.”

   “That’s my favorite kind of pie,” Jess states, taking the plate and handing it to me before giving Emma a hug. 

   “Your suite is amazing,” Emma slowly spins around, looking at the room before walking to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Charles River.  “You like the classic, contemporary style, huh?”

   “I don’t know anything about any style, but if you’re referring to the white walls and dark wood floors, then you’re right;  I prefer the basics.”

   “Classic is always great, but I’m going to introduce some color into your life before it’s over with,” she teases. 

   Jess turns towards me, wiggling her eyebrow and whispering, “Something tells me that she’s already spicing up your life.”

   “Shut it, Jess,” I growl under my breath. 

   Giving me her smartass smirk, she laughs before joining Emma at the window. 

   Dinner goes by as usual.  Gavin and Jess give each other hell while Jason dotes on Jess, and I sit back and watch my family laughing and cutting up.  There are no blood ties, but Gavin and Jess are more like family than anyone, even Granddad, and Jason is family by proxy.  Tonight, my eyes stray to Emma more times than I’d ever admit.  She’s dressed casually in dark jeans and a caramel sweater that seems to make her eyes an even deeper blue.  Her hair is pulled into a ponytail with a few silky strands falling free, framing her beautiful face. 

   The moon shines through the window, and Emma seems enchanted by its soft glow.  Jason pulls on Jess’ arm, plunking her down on his lap. 
Damn, I want to do the same with Emma.
  Emma’s cell rings, and the spell is broken.  Her eyes dart to her purse and she hesitates before slipping the phone out, taking a few seconds to look at it before shutting it off, “Sorry, I thought I had it on vibrate.”