Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4) (60 page)

Tania sat up on the sofa. “Wait, she leaves in the book?”

“Yeah, she decides to go back to her Catholic boarding school after all. But she’s concerned about Terry, hoping he’ll escape the hell of their mob-ridden town, too. He’s pretty upbeat though about a new beginning, and he’s feeling all these emotions for her when they say good-bye.”

“They say good-bye?”

“Oh, yes, my little romantic,” I said, squeezing her leg. “She leaves, and he goes missing. Weeks later, a barrel washes up in a Jersey swamp. It’s filled with lime and a mutilated corpse with a load of stab wounds from an ice pick.”

“No!”

“Yep. Terry Malloy ends up being just a bunch of ripped up body parts, never formally ID’d, never claimed by anyone.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes, yes. Sucks, huh?”

Tania pouted. “You just ruined my high. I feel an ugly cry coming on.”

“Go back to believing in the Hollywood fairy tale. Think of Brando and Eva Marie Saint. Go ahead. Go back to that image of her cheering for him on the wharf, their rosy future ahead of them.”

“Can’t there be good endings for the battered and bruised?”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “You know, in the book, they barely kiss. They only have that one dance in the beginning. A couple of minutes at best of being in sync, of them feeling those
feelings
. But he felt something, and he knew how good, how special, those feelings were. He knew, and it was the best thing for him. It comforted him, gave him confidence. And that’s as close as Terry Malloy got to happy in his whole fucking life.”

Her eyes filled with water, and something pinched in my gut. I leaned in and brushed her lips with a gentle kiss, and she softened underneath me. That tender feel of her. Vulnerable. Open to me. A volcanic pulse went off inside me, and I stilled to feel it all.

This is a real high. So damn good.

“A few rays of happiness here and there make life worth all the dull pain. Terry Malloy recognized it and appreciated it in that one moment,” I murmured against her forehead. “That’s a kind of victory.”

“I want more than a moment. I want—”

I pulled back from her. “You want Hollywood?”

Her big dark eyes searched mine. “I don’t want a Hollywood fantasy. I want real.”

“I used to think that the fact that I was still alive was good enough for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that. Don’t be fooled by
good enough
. I made that mistake. I lived
good enough
for what felt like a hundred years. And it’s not enough. It barely skimmed the surface.
Good enough
hangs you out to dry.”

She pushed away from me, but I grabbed her arm, pulling her back in against me.

“Hey, hey,” I said softly. “What is it?”

“When are you going to see that you deserve a happily ever after? A real big juicy one? That it’s possible? That you can have it?”

The oven alarm beeped. My roast chicken and potatoes were ready.

Tania sank back against the sofa. “Saved by the bell.”

I planted a quick kiss on her mouth and went to the kitchen. I tapped the timer off and opened the oven door. “Looks good.”

“It smells really good. I’m starving.” She wiped at her eyes and went to the fridge and took out the cabbage salad that she’d made earlier. She brought the bowl to the small table.

I sectioned up the bird. “White or dark?”

“I’m a leg and thigh girl.” She winked at me.

“Hmm. Good to know.” I placed the meat on her dish and scooped up the golden potatoes with the lemony juice over them. She brought the dishes to the table, and we sat.

Tania put a forkful in her mouth and blinked at me. “Butler, this is really good.”

“You like it?”

“No”—she chewed and swallowed—“I love it. How did you do it?”

“At that one rehab I went to, I hung out with this older woman—”

“Of course you did.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. Gini was about twenty years older than me. She had a problem with pain meds. Gini and I had a lot to talk about. Pain meds were my old pals, too, after the accident with my brother. She was a loner and liked watching cooking shows whenever we had TV time. She used to roll her eyes at the others watching soap operas or talk shows. Very no-nonsense lady. I liked her.” I let out a sigh. “I was getting my appetite back. It was a strange new world to me. And I’d never watched shit like that before. I was all animal and nature shows, the guys that live in the swamps, those Alaska shows. Gini turned me on to Bobby Flay grilling, this little Italian woman who was a total powerhouse, that English guy, Jamie Oliver, and a couple of others. Anyway, Gini told me that everyone should know how to make a roasted chicken, a basic, standard classic.”

“I have to agree.”

“I’d never thought about it before. My ma was not a good cook. No creativity. Made the same shit all the time, and it all blended into one tasteless series of lumps. Meatloaf baked with ketchup on top, dried pork chops with stiff mashed potatoes from a box and a side of frozen peas and carrots, mushy and crusty noodle casseroles with soup can sauces, hot dogs and beans. All insanely predictable, each one assigned to its own day of the week. Over and over again.”

“Poor baby!”

“But listening to Gini go on about her family dinners and holidays with such nostalgia and in such loving details, made an impression. She made me see that food could be this connector to good memories of family, friends, big moments in your life. That’s something I never had, had no awareness of. I didn’t grow up with those flavors, that color, but Gini had, and she’d given it to her family while she could. She showed me how food—
good
food—could help make memories stick, help you touch that joy in high and low times, then helps you recreate it later on. A celebration.”

“Did Caitlyn cook?”

“Caitlyn? Nah, not really. She’d experiment sometimes, try out recipes, but nine times out of ten, they wouldn’t turn out right.”

“Would you give her shit for it?”

I shot her a look. “Hell no. Big deal. She tried, always gave it her all. We’d end up making a sandwich or some eggs and call it a day or go out if we had the cash.”

A shadow crossed Tania’s face and then faded.

“What is it?”

She stabbed at a potato with her fork. “Nothing,” she murmured.

“Baby, tell me.”

Her gaze remained on her food. “You were a good husband.”

“I don’t know. I tried.” I touched her leg with mine under the table. “What is it? Tania, tell me.”

She put down her fork and ran her tongue across her lips. “If I ever had a fail in the kitchen, Kyle would let me know in precise detail where I had gone wrong. Flavor, texture, salt level—wherever I had missed the mark. He’d point out what I should have done, what I obviously had not done. He’d shake his head and push the food around his plate or chew on a forkful, like he was a martyr enduring some form of torture. Then, eventually, he’d declare it was unfit for his consumption. We’d argue, and sometimes, he’d even leave the table. I’d lose my appetite and end up giving it all to the neighbor’s dog or throw it away before cleaning everything all up.” She took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Baby—”

She shook her head and swallowed, her eyes remaining on her dish.

That motherfucker.

I wanted to erase that humiliation that was morphing her beautiful face, stiffening her shoulders, streaking her soul. I wanted to obliterate all the negative clouds that fucker had put behind her eyes, the fractures he had created in her heart. The doubts, the mean, the negligence he had singed her soul with.

Here was one of the smartest, most beautiful women I had ever met, and she was shouldering and hiding a mountain of false bullshit that he had molded especially for her. For what? For his own goddamn ego, that was what.

Fuck no.

I slid my leg against hers. “You want my secret roast chicken recipe?” I asked, my voice gentle.

Her face tilted up, the corner of her mouth tugging upward.

Smile, Scarlett. For fuck’s sake, I’m gonna put that smile that’s connected to that big heart back on your face if it’s the last thing I do.

I sliced through a potato wedge. “The recipe is from the Italian lady’s television show. I forget her name now. Want to hear it?”

Tania nodded, her lips rolling, her brows still drawn together. “Sure.”

“You take butter and garlic, some fresh thyme leaves, some rosemary, grated lemon rind, coarse sea salt, pepper. You mash all that together in one of those pounding things.” I gestured with my hand.

“A mortar and pestle?”

“Yeah, that’s it, or you could use some mini blender chopper thingy. Anyway, you mash all that together until it’s a thick paste. Add Dijon mustard, lemon juice, and olive oil, then, you slather it all over your bird, both under and over the skin. Especially under the skin, in all those hidden little places. Then, you pour more lemon juice and olive oil over the chicken and the potatoes. In the oven it all goes for about two and a half hours. Mid-way, you turn the bird over, and that’s it. Done.”

She stared at me, her jaw slack.

“What is it?”

“I think I could listen to you describe recipes all day. That growly, husky voice of yours, coupled with all that enthusiasm.”

“Huh.”

She smiled at me, the tension gone from her beautiful face, and my muscles relaxed. “You did a great job on the bird. It’s incredibly good. Really flavorful. I’ll be making it.”

“Do I get an invite when you do?”

“If you’d like to meet Rae, sure.”

“I’d like to meet your mom. Boner knows your mom, right? Of course he does.”

“Boner’s the new son-in-law.”

“Maybe you should get two big birds and have your sister and her hubs, and Jill and Boner over, too, and then we can get the formal intro done that way.”

She stared at me, her fork midair.

“What is it?”

She remained perfectly still. “You want to come over to my house and meet my mother over dinner, a family dinner?”

“I’ve met your sister and her husband at your store parties. And I’d prefer Boner and Jill to Catch and Nina at the moment, don’t you think? We’ll leave that for another time.”

The silent stare remained.

“Unless you think this chicken isn’t worthy of meeting your mom?”

“Oh, it’s plenty worthy.” She slid dark meat onto her fork.

“You should get those Yukon Gold potatoes, too. Boner will flip over those. Guaranteed he has no idea about the different kinds of potato out there.”

“Those purply blue potatoes would really freak him out, don’t you think?” Tania laughed, and something brightened in my chest.

We finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen together.

I ran my fingers through the back of her hair, the soft silk sliding over my fingers. “Do you have to get home?”

“No. Jill and Becca are spending the night since Boner’s out of town. If you need to get sleep though, I’ll go.” She sat up and moved forward on the couch.

“No, no.” My hand landed on her back. “Stay with me tonight?”

We hadn’t been together since I’d gotten hospitalized. If I had to spell shit out for her, I would do it. To be clear. Clear as light through a fucking diamond.

“I want you to stay with me tonight. I’ve missed you. And I have an appetite for you that is not satisfied.”

Her dark eyes lit up.

I kissed those lips. “Needs feeding, babe.” I stroked her tongue with mine. “Needs satisfying.”

“Oh…”

“Could we make a dent in that, you think?”

“Yes, we certainly could. Did you ask the doctor, though?”

“I did. He gave me the green light.”

My thumb stroked the side of her throat, and her eyes fluttered. I laid kisses across her jaw.

She let out a soft cry.

I let go of her and went into the living room and made myself comfortable on the sofa, my eyes never leaving her dreamy ones.

“Strip.”

Her eyes popped open. She pulled off her socks and tugged off her fancy T-shirt. She undid her jeans, shoving them down those sexy legs of hers. Holding my eyes, she unhooked her bra and slid it off her body, releasing those small but firm, round breasts. My mouth dried as she tucked her fingers in either side of her panties.

“Slowly.” My voice rasped.

She tugged them down her legs very slowly, stepping out of them.

She kicked the panties from her ankle, and I shook my head at her as I stretched out my hand. She cocked an eyebrow and leaned over, snatched up her scrap of underwear, and handed it to me. I grinned, holding the damp satiny material in my hand, taking in the heady fragrance of her. Her lust, her desire for me. She blushed, her lips parting. I hung the flimsy underwear on the headstock of my guitar, which stood against the wall at my side. Tania released another low moan at the sight. I gestured for her to come close. She did, standing in front of me.

I held her gaze as my hand slid between her legs and my fingers grazed her very wet sweet spot. She gasped. I held her thighs apart and slowly licked her, my tongue teasing her clit.

Her fingers sank into my hair. “Butler!”

I wanted her to use me.

“Fuck my face, baby.” I pressed the tops of my teeth just above her clit, giving her a hard point of resistance. She groaned and whimpered as she ground her hips into my face. My fingers dug into her full ass as she chased her orgasm.

Fuck yeah.

She came, and I lapped at her quivering flesh, holding her close.

“Tania.”

Her dazed eyes found mine.

“Go to my bedroom and wait for me on the bed.”

Her skin flushed, and she stepped back and strode off into the darkness of my room, the curves of her fantastic ass highlighted by the light we’d left on in the kitchen.

Taking in a deep breath, I ran a hand down my chest. My heart was racing like I was about to lose my virginity. Only that time was a forgettable and pathetic five minutes under the bleachers after football practice. This, however, felt like a game changer. Every time with Tania felt like a new adventure. A step in a new direction.