Permanent Ink (Something to Celebrate #1) (24 page)

“Fifty!” called out Lola.

“That’s the spirit.” Blair gave Peter an encouraging smile.

He looked miserable and stared out at the crowd—directly at Starling—who stood motionless, her arms crossed, almost as if she was daring Peter to say something. His face went red, his expression morphed into angry principal, and he opened his mouth. Uh-oh.

“Seventy-five,” Blair said into the microphone.

Peter turned and stared at her.

“Eighty,” called Lola.

“A hundred bucks,” said Blair, hastily. “Going once, twice, and thank you, Peter. I’ll look forward to our date.”

With wide eyes, she gave him a gentle nudge and he stomped off the platform, heading straight for Starling, who backed up a couple of steps and then turned, her long stride eating up the sidewalk. As Blair watched, she veered across the grass and skidded to a stop next to a Jeep, jerking open the door. Ten seconds later, she had peeled out of a parking spot, tires squealing, leaving Peter in the dust in the middle of Main Street.

“Starlie!” he yelled after the Jeep. “Come back!” His hands flew to his head and he stood there, motionless for a moment and then he dropped them, his shoulders slumping, as he walked across Main Street and straight into the Lovin’ Cup.

All the heads in the crowd were turned, watching the scene and Blair pressed her lips together. So
that
relationship wasn’t going well. And now it was completely public. Okay, then.

A cough sounded next to her and she turned, her breath stopping as she met Ben’s eyes. He stood at the bottom of the steps, sunglasses clasped in his hands.

“I’m ready,” he said simply and then climbed the steps to stand beside her. The sleeve of his suit jacket brushed her arm and he stared straight ahead, his face impassive.

Her heart went into overdrive at his nearness, slamming against her ribs, robbing her of breath. And as Starling’s Jeep rounded the corner of Independence Street, gunned up Enterprise Street on the opposite side of the commons, and disappeared from sight, all eyes in the crowd turned back to the podium. Scrutinizing. Hungry for more gossip.

She didn’t want to be the object of gossip. The object of pity and humiliation, like Peter. So she grabbed the edges of the podium and hauled herself forward, willing her voice to remain pleasant. In control.

“For our last man, we have Ben Lambert, who truly is a bachelor. Ladies, shall we start the bidding at—”

“Three hundred bucks,” called out Mildred. She stood in the front of the crowd, holding—Ben’s dog? So that’s where it had gone.

Blair hadn’t thought about that dog since the night…

Since the night she’d given herself to Ben. Oh, God. She was still
his
, no matter what he thought. And she was going to prove it to him.

“Three fifty,” she said into the microphone.

The ladies in the crowd gasped, and Ben chuckled uncomfortably.

“Three seventy-five,” called out Sheila. “We have a lot of floats to build.” She, Paula, and Barb stood next to Mildred, who shot the threesome a disapproving look.

“Four hundred,” said Mildred firmly.

The accounting girls put their heads together and whispered.

“Four fifty,” Shelia said. But she didn’t sound very certain.

Blair shot a look at Ben. He stood stock still, his fingers wrapped around the sunglasses. He hated this, Blair realized. Hated being on display…hated being judged. Even if he came up more than worthy.

She almost didn’t want to continue, but she leaned toward the microphone. “Do I hear five hundred?”

“Five hundred!” Mildred snapped out. A gasp went through the crowd.

The accounting girls looked up at Blair and shook their heads.

“Okay.” Blair let out a sigh. “Five hundred going once. Twice.” She paused. “Congratulations, Mildred. I’m sure you and Ben will enjoy a lovely date. And thank you, ladies, for your generosity. It was a lot of fun.”

Blair smiled as the women clapped with enthusiasm, and then she stepped away and peeked at Ben, who still faced the crowd, his jaw tight. Her heart ached at the sight of him and she wanted more than anything to say to hell with everything. Throw herself into his arms and then…

Then he turned and met her eyes. She reached out her hand instinctively. He glanced down at it, hesitating for a second, and then he walked down the steps.

Right as her heart was sinking to her toes, he turned around. “I wonder…”

“What?” She leaned forward hopefully.

“I wonder if you even realize how amazing you are.”

She wasn’t, though. She was a fraud who didn’t deserve him, but nonetheless was trying to do everything she could to stay with him.

“Ben…” She reached out her hand again. Then took a step forward. And another. Until she was down the steps and standing in front of him. In front of the crowd of women, not caring that her heart was in her eyes.

He gathered her close, and she sighed in relief, her breath catching in her throat. “Thank God,” she murmured into his chest.

“Blair,” he said, releasing her slowly. He squeezed her shoulders gently and then dropped his hands. “We need to wait.”

“What?” she asked numbly.

“I want
all
of you.”

What was he talking about? He could
have
her. She was offering.

“You’re not ready. And I’ve realized…neither am I. We both have things to work on, yeah?” He touched her cheek.

She nodded even as a voice inside her told her not to. “You mean Ink Fest. The parade contest.”

“No, Firefly. I don’t.” His smile was wistful and he stepped back before she could touch his shoulder.

Nodding again, she jogged back up the gazebo steps and gathered her papers. Underneath them was her notebook, the leather battered and the edges curling. For the first time in her life, she hated the sight of it. She scooped it up, walked across the wooden floor, and down the opposite steps.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Forty-eight hours later, Blair was still convinced that Ben was wrong. On most things. What made him think that she didn’t know her own mind? Her own heart?

Sighing, she pushed her toe against the floorboards of the porch and rocked the old swing back into motion. The ice in her glass of tea rattled as she swung, and the breeze cooled the back of her neck. But not her anxiety.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Blair pushed harder, causing the chains on the swing to squeak in rhythm. The sound should have soothed her, but it didn’t.

“You’re going to snap those rusty chains and bust your ass.”

Blair looked up at the sound of Kaley’s voice and peered through the screen covering the parlor window. Her cousin lounged on the opposite side, lying on the sofa, still wearing the bathing suit she’d had on earlier that day. A skimpy suit in a neon yellow. Blair sighed. When was Kaley going to learn that her worth as a woman wasn’t wrapped up in her admittedly lovely body?

But when was
Blair
going to learn that her worth wasn’t wrapped up in controlling every little detail of her life? Planning it. Because even though she was letting go of the parade, she was doing it methodically, and all so that she could map out her immediate future.

With a groan, she pushed her toe harder, and the chains protested loudly.

“Blair…” Kaley warned. She sat up, tapping on the screen that separated them. “You’re, like, headed for disaster if you keep that up.”

“I’m well aware,” Blair answered with a rueful laugh. Still, she slowed the swing to a stop and stood up. She plunked the glass of tea down on the porch.

Enough was enough. She had to go see him, and if he didn’t want to talk? Well, there were other ways for them to communicate.

“I’m not headed for disaster, actually. I’m going out.”

Kaley’s eyebrows flew up, and she tossed the magazine she’d been reading onto the coffee table. “Oh yeah? It’s after midnight.”

“I know.” Blair walked into the house and fumbled in her hair, releasing it from the clip and tossing her head. “Don’t wait up.”

“Ooh.” Kaley scrambled up from the couch. “Go get him.”

Blair smiled and grabbed the keys to the van.

…

Ben stumbled to the window in the kitchen and raised the blinds, peering out into the alley below. Who the hell was honking back there at this hour? He focused on a pair of headlights, which illuminated the alley. They belonged to a van.

A van!

He pressed his face against the glass and watched as Blair slid out of the driver’s seat and tilted her chin up. She was smiling.

He smiled back, in spite of his churning anxiety. Did she want to talk? That hadn’t been going so well lately and he wasn’t really in the mood for it. The only thing he wanted to do with Blair was kiss her and—

He closed his eyes for a second, willing his body to shut up. When he opened them, he also opened the window and bent down. “Drive around front,” he called.

She nodded, hopping back into the van. When she pulled away, he raced barefoot for the steps, realizing halfway down that he only wore a pair of shorts. He also realized that he didn’t care.

Breezing through the office, he walked across the chilly concrete floor of his studio and unbolted the front door, watching for her through the plate-glass window. The van pulled up to the curb, and Blair stepped out, taking what was left of his breath away.

Her hair gleamed in the light from the streetlamp, wild and loose. Her thin tank top hugged her breasts and a pair of cutoff sweats curved around her hips. She was barefoot, too—and as if she had suddenly realized that fact—she grinned and picked her way across the sidewalk on tiptoe.

She was beautiful. And he had no intention of letting her open her mouth before he had a chance to cover it with his.

When she reached the door, Ben opened it and hauled her inside, crushing his mouth to her lips before she could say anything to stop what he so desperately wanted—and needed—to happen. With a groan, he pushed his fingers through her hair and backed her up to the counter, leaning her over it and pressing his chest to her breasts.

She hesitated in his arms for a brief second and then wrapped her fingers around his biceps, tearing her mouth away, gasping. “Ben.”

“Shh.” He trailed a path of kisses down her neck. “Come with me,” he murmured gruffly.

“Where?”

“To our bed,” he answered, threading his fingers through hers.

He tugged. She didn’t resist.

And less than a minute later, his hands were on her shoulders, propelling her to his bedroom. As he walked, he swept her hair aside and bit gently down on her delicate shoulder. She shivered, gooseflesh rising on her bare arms, and she crawled onto the bed, turning over on her back. In the moonlight cascading through the window, her hair spread like ribbons on the pillows and her eyes—so bright, beckoned him.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Ben pulled off his shorts and in one motion, swung onto the bed and between her open thighs. He took a shuddering breath and closed his palms over her breasts, watching as her mouth dropped open and her eyelids closed. He dragged his hands to the edge of the top and pulled it up, taking her bra with it. Her breasts, so full and soft, filled his palms and he slowly circled her straining nipples with his thumbs.

A groan, which began low in her throat, rasped between her lips and she reached for his face, pulling him down for a kiss. When her tongue slid into his mouth, he gave himself up to the sweetness and squeezed her nipples even as her groans exploded in his mouth.

“Now,” she said with a gasp and slid her hands between their bodies to fumble at the waistband of her shorts.

He brushed her hands away and hooked his fingers around it—around the satin of her panties—and dragged them both down. When they had been tossed on the floor, he crawled back toward her, right into her waiting hands, which closed around his cock, stroking.

She looked up at him, lust burning in her eyes, and his jaw clenched as he dropped his gaze, watching her fingers slide up and down, teasing, her palm running over the engorged head. “Blair,” he ground out, stilling her hands.

Reluctantly, she removed them and crossing her arms, she pulled the bra and tank top over her head, her breasts bouncing with the movement. That sight sent an uncontrollable urge to possess her rocketing through him. He put on a condom and clasped his hands over her knees, drawing them up. Pushing them out. He ran his palms down the silky insides of her thighs and parted her with his fingers, groaning as he dipped into her wet heat.

Her head fell back against the pillows as she spread for him—his beautiful Firefly.

“I love you,” he said and then pushed into her slowly, capturing her cry of surprise in his mouth. When he was encased in her tightness, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “I love you.”

She stared at him, tears making her eyes glossy. “I love you,” she whispered, her hands framing his face. Her hips rolled slowly beneath his. “You’re the one.”

“I’ve known that for a long time,” he said, answering her hips with a thrust.

She gasped, meeting the thrust, raising onto her heels. “Love me.”

And he did—with every part of himself. His mouth, devouring her skin. His hands, gliding over her breasts. He thrust again, setting a rhythm and one hand slid lower, dipping inside of her cleft—swirling, rubbing—increasing the pressure until her legs came around his back and she let out a high-pitched cry, trembling against him, contracting around him.

His fingers never leaving her, he groaned into her neck, grabbed the headboard and let go, his thrusts desperate and swift as he came—in wave after wave of pleasure, stiffening as she grabbed onto his back and cried out his name. Still pulsing around him, she jerked her hands to his waist and pulled him down until he collapsed on top of her.

“Blair,” he said against her neck, his breaths so ragged they hurt.

“My love,” she answered, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He rolled to the side, taking her with him, even as he remained buried deep within her. Stroking her damp hair back from her lovely cheek, he kissed her, content to stare at her, his gaze caressing her face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m not.”

She smiled then and let out a sigh. “Wish I could say the same.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what you’re thinking,” he murmured.

“Probably not.” She nuzzled his neck. “But I love you. It feels really good to say it.”

He twined his fingers in her hair. “I love you. I think I have since the day we met.”

“The day I rode into town on a float and decapitated the Easter chick?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled and put a finger over her soft lips. “But no talk of floats. Not tonight.”

“I can wait until morning,” she allowed, her eyes teasing. She arched her back, glancing down at her breasts and then back up at him.

He shook his head. “I’m going to hold you to that.” Shifting his hips, he circled them against her. “And to a lot more.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “Again? Already?”

“Mmm,” he answered, pushing her onto her back.

“Uh-uh.” She struggled up and shoved him over, straddling him. Leaning down, she licked her lips and then lowered her head to his chest, her tongue snaking a path up to the curve of his ear. She bit down lightly.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay then.”

With a wicked little laugh, she began to move.