Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (50 page)

She leaned over my shoulder to inhale the aroma of tomatoes and Italian spices and her eyes widened. "Wow, that smells amazing. Since when do you know how to make chicken parmigiana?"

"Since always," I tossed back. "You just never got a chance to try it because you were too busy trying to kill us with salmonella."

She smacked me on the shoulder and shook her head, muttering, "Asshole."

"You know," I wagged my marinara-stained spoon at her as I spoke. "I worry about you all by yourself in New York. How have you managed to survive all these years anyway?"

"Just fine, thank you very much," she shot back. "I took some cooking classes and everything. But I guess some of us go grocery shopping a little more than others."

I laughed as I dumped the sauce and a shitload of mozzarella cheese on top of the chicken and shoved the dish in the oven. Little did she know that Saul kept all the fridges stocked—the one in our break room downstairs and the one in my apartment. Whatever he bought, I cooked.

When I turned back to her, I leaned up against the edge of the counter with my arms folded across my chest.

"So you've got cooking classes, a kick-ass art studio, the fancy apartment, and a dog," I surmised. "All the makings of a true New York woman. Now all you're missing is the accent."

"Hey, I can take care of myself. You don't even know the half of it. If anybody ever messed with me, I could totally take 'em."

"Oh really?" I cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Yep. You think Coop's all I got? I have a bat under my bed, I carry a knife in my purse,
and
I took a self-defense class with one of the assistants at the gallery a few years ago. I got a certificate from the class and everything. It's official—I'm a real badass."

"Huh."

While part of me was impressed, and a little turned on by the idea of her wielding a bat, the idea of her in an apartment all by herself didn't sit well with me. I didn't even want to think about any times when she hadn't been by herself, if she'd had anybody with her for the night...

"So, you know," she went on lightly. "If you need any protection, you know which girl to call."

That got my attention and I pushed off the counter to crowd her space a little, willingly playing along. "What makes you think I need your protection?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you've got at least two guns here somewhere you're not supposed to have."

Well, she had a point. Legally, I wasn't supposed to own a gun, but since both of those guns were technically licensed to and purchased by Jared, I wasn't too worried about that. Besides, once the ATF and just about everyone else realized the club had never and would never put any money into my shop, my side of town had gotten pretty quiet.

I cocked a playful eyebrow at her, liking the turn this conversation had taken. "Oh
really
?"

"Yeah, you haven't seen my moves," she laughed, grinning up at me like we were the only two people in the world and nothing else around us existed.

"Alright, alright," I pivoted around her to put some space between us and motioned toward myself with both hands. "Bring it. Show me what you got, Martin."

Her head tipped back as she laughed and waved her hands in front of her. "Your funeral. But this only works if you come at me."

My lips twisted into a wolfish grin. Yeah, I
definitely
liked where this was headed. When I took a few confident steps into her personal space, her hands came down to rest lightly on my shoulders, putting just enough pressure on them to keep me from moving any closer.

"So if you were coming at me from the front," she breathed, her voice thick and husky. "I would probably bring my knee up like this."

When her knee lifted up to my groin, just enough to brush up against my jeans, her lips twisted into a knowing, almost powerful smirk. Her knee lingered there for a few agonizing moments, moving up and down with enough sweet pressure to elicit a low growl from me.

"What else would you do?" I murmured into her hair.

"I'd probably go for your knee next," she whispered up at me. With that, the tortured pressure left from between my legs and she playfully tapped my right knee with her left foot, twisting her hip to press into my knee from a side angle.

"That's not a bad move," I chuckled hoarsely.

"I think it's pretty effective," she retorted, even though my hand was already making a leisurely trail from her ankle right up to the inside of her thigh. When my fingers skimmed around the curve of her hip, her eyes fluttered shut at the light contact. I wouldn't let things go much further than this, but for now? I'd let us have some fun.

"Anything else you'd do?"

"Blunt objects are good too," she murmured, her eyes still squeezed shut. "I could always hit you over the head with my phone or stab you with my keys or something."

A low chuckle erupted from my throat and I placed a featherlight kiss on her neck, reveling in the taste and the feeling of her sweet skin underneath my mouth. Using my hands to guide her where to go, I turned her around so that her back rested against my chest.

"What if I came at you from behind, huh?" I hummed into her ear. "What would you do then?"

Her breath was coming in more haggard now and I suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that my hands had curved around her waist, teasing her into doing exactly what I wanted.

"I'd probably do something like this," she pushed out roughly, lifting her left leg up to lightly tap the inside of my foot with her heel. That small amount of pressure against my foot was enough momentum for her to arch her hips right into my jeans, offering up sweet payback with just a little bit of friction.

"Uh huh," I groaned into her hair, digging my fingers even deeper into her soft skin. "That's pretty good, too. Anything else?"

"Maybe this," Isabelle whispered as her right arm reached up over her head and touched her elbow to my cheek. A moment later, her arm continued its ascent and wrapped around my neck, skimming up to run along the buzzed edges of my hair.

"I like your hair like this," she murmured in my ear.

"Yeah?"

It would be so easy to take this opportunity, one she was giving me so willingly, and let my fingers do exactly what they knew how to do, but we were both too vulnerable right now, too emotional and raw, for this to go much further. But
after
tonight? That was a different story.

"Hey, Caleb?" Isabelle's voice called out to me, pulling me from the push and pull of my thoughts. "Do you smell something burning?"

I jerked out of her arms and sped right to the stove, waving away the billows of smoke wafting from it. Oh shit. Of fucking course. When I opened the stove, only to be met with more smoke and the horrible stench of salty, burnt cheese, it only confirmed it: I'd epically screwed up dinner.

My eyes narrowed on Isabelle, who'd all but collapsed on my bed in a fit of laughter. "You distracted me on purpose."

That just made her double over with more laughter. "I swear I didn't! You messed up all by yourself."

I threw a hand towel down on the floor. "Oh, that's it."

When I advanced on her, she leapt off the bed and scampered playfully into my bathroom, yelping when I wrapped my arms around her waist and hauled her back into the main room. I tossed her lightly onto the bed and even as she laughed, she'd never looked more beautiful. Her hair fanned out on my comforter, all spread out and waiting for me to run my fingers through it, and all I wanted to do was fall onto the bed with her and let it happen.

But I pulled myself back, firm in my resolve to respect the little bit of room she'd given me to move here.

So I ran a hand over my head and blew out a deep breath as she sat up on her elbows, waiting for me to make the next move.

"What should we do now?" she asked, her breath still coming in and out in short rasps.

Pretty soon
she'll be back where she belongs,
I promised myself.
Just not tonight.

If she stayed on my bed like this any longer, I'd...and then my mouth quirked up.

"I got an idea, Iz."

Caleb

I never thought I'd feel this again. Never expected I'd be here, that she'd be here. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, the hum of my bike in my ears, and the wind whipped around us. This was the closest to flying I'd probably ever been—high on the rush, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and propelling me right up into the clouds.

Up until the moment she walked through my shop a few weeks ago, everything was running out of sync. Being with her again felt like all those missed beats and all those flubbed steps just didn't matter anymore.

Maybe the life I'd wanted, the same life that had slipped right through my fingertips, was reaching out again, just waiting for me to grab it and hold on with everything I had.

I was ready.

The only thing I was waiting on now was Isabelle.

She shifted against my back and leaned into my shoulder as we slowed to a stop light. Her warm breath surrounded my ear, and just like pretty much everything else about her, carried me away like undertow. I'd happily drown in her for—

The roar of motorcycle engines split through the night air and all the hairs on my arms stood on end. They were coming from the opposite direction, most likely from the clubhouse, but their cuts were unmistakable even from the distance. I'd grown up with that black leather, tracing the familiar lines of that devil horse on my dad's cut until I fell asleep.

Marcus was in the front, as usual, with Dom right behind him and Casey to his left. Tiny, ZZ, Heath, and Doc flanked behind them in a familiar formation I'd partaken in more times than I could count.

We sat on opposite sides of the intersection and it was almost as if time had stood still. Isabelle's arms tightened around me and Dom nodded from behind his president, but that was all the acknowledgement I got from any of them. Marcus's dark eyes flicked to me for a second, his lips curled up into a tight snarl, and then he shifted his eyes straight ahead to the road like he was trying to convince himself I wasn't really 40 feet in front of him. Like it was easier to just pretend I didn't exist in the first place.

When the light finally turned green, our engines revved and we moved forward, continuing on in opposite directions, now on separate paths.

By the time I pulled into Graffiti's, my hands were trembling around my handlebars and my nerves were fried. Somehow I still had enough sense to drop my kickstand, swing my leg around the side, and help Isabelle off my bike. I clung to her hand, squeezing my fingertips around her palm, searching for the strength I'd always managed to find when I was standing next to her, and she didn't let go.

I dug through my pocket with my free hand until I found my cigarette pack. It was clenched in my fist, but the second I glanced at Isabelle, I huffed and shoved it right back in my pocket.

"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath.

She tugged on my hand. "Caleb."

"I'm not doing it, Iz,"
 
I sighed. "Don't even try to tell me it's okay."

She just rolled her eyes and shocked the hell out of me by pivoting around, digging her hand in my pocket to pull out my cigarettes. I didn't even have time to react before she pressed the pack into my chest.

"It's okay," Isabelle told me quietly, her eyes shining up at me with an alarming mixture of mischief and concern. "Just this once."

Seeing as how this was a battle I knew I wouldn't be winning anytime soon, I obliged her and lit up a damn cigarette. The second that first hit of nicotine shot down my body I finally felt like the weight settling over my shoulders had slipped off, like I could breathe again—ironic, of course, given the fact that I was currently smoking a cigarette. But I needed it and she knew it.

The question was there; I could see it shimmering in her eyes and honestly, I'd expected her to ask it a long time ago:
if the whole reason you left the club was to stay alive then why in the hell are you still smoking?

I'd been over all those other vices of my past years ago: drinking, weed, and women. Smoking was just the one vice I still let myself have.

But when Isabelle's lips parted, the question that fell from them wasn't the one I expected.

"Do you miss them?"

I blew out a puff of smoke, careful to angle my lips in the opposite direction. That was a loaded question and the answer varied from day to day. So tonight, I just opted for the easiest and most honest response.

"Sometimes."

It was just too bad the only part of my life in the club that had been real was Dom.

There were plenty of times I'd reached for my phone to call him, but the only times we'd really talked recently was just to keep the other up to speed about Wallace. He was stuck in that graveyard of ghosts I dragged around with me, but I never let him get too close.

He'd told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life by leaving the club and I'd told him he was making the biggest mistake of his by staying. There wasn't much common ground left between us after that.