Runes (3 page)

On the first ring, the cell phone flashed to Sean Livingston’s ear. “Pinky,” he shouted.

At the precise moment his sister said, “Weenie.”

They laughed at their childhood game. For years, they’d tried to call the other’s nickname first.

“I’d say that was a draw, Sean.” Below the comforting notes of her voice were the sounds of the New York City street where she lived. A horn blared in his Chicago neighborhood, and he smiled at the volley of curses between a fruit truck driver and a cabby.

Everything was music to Sean today. After kicking ass at the martial arts studio, the muscles of his sweaty body ached. But his chest hummed with the anticipation of arriving home. He lengthened his strides.

“I agree that it’s a draw. What are you doing up so early, Liv?” he asked, side-stepping a group of people congregated on the sidewalk.

Olivia worked as a bartender, and frequently fell into bed exhausted after her shift. Sean’s nighttime deejay job only pumped him up for the day’s activities. He never went to bed until mid-afternoon.

“I’m heading to work, Sean. I got it,” she crowed. He could picture her. Dark head tilted up to the sky, crowing to the skyscrapers that she’d landed her first grown-up newspaper job.

“Liv, that’s awesome. Did you call Mom?” A grin split his face at the utter joy in her voice. But, also, because he was nearing his warehouse apartment where he would unlock the multiple gates and grills to get to the stunning woman who’d been crashing with him. Evangeline Mayer.

As he reached for the keys, his throat clogged with sudden fear. What if she’d left?

Olivia’s voice drew him back to the present. “I called her. She’s thrilled. She’s coming up to the city. We’re going to celebrate the fact that I’m not working a weekend for the first time in half a decade. Too bad you can’t get away. Aren’t you growing tired of the deejay routine yet, Sean? Your art’s too good to throw away. I can’t believe you shucked it for a deejay job. Then again, it’s beneficial to your love life, isn’t it?”

“Actually, Liv, I’ve been seeing someone.” His solemn tone shocked him. It sounded like a Mom-Dad-I’m-marrying-this-girl kind of voice.

Olivia detected it at once. “Uh-oh. What kind of someone? Sounds serious.”

“I think it may be getting serious. She’s staying with me. She’s amazing.” His first key slid into the well-oiled lock and he shoved the gate aside.

“She must be amazing if you’re letting her into your apartment, let alone your bed. I know how territorial you are,” she said.

“She’s not sleeping in my bed, Liv.”

There was a long silence, and then Olivia roared with laughter. He held the phone from his head so she didn’t deafen him.

“Despite your grave tone, I knew you hadn’t changed a bit.”

He paused with his key poised before the second door lock. Mere inches separated him from Evangeline, but he wanted to set the record straight.

“No, seriously, Livvy. I love having her with me. I can’t let her go now.” The words spoke themselves. He didn’t need to think them because he’d been feeling them since the moment he’d opened the door of his apartment to find Evangeline waiting there, guitar and luggage in hand, sporting a black eye.

“Wow,” Olivia said. “I mean—wow, Sean. I can’t believe I’m talking to my brother. Wait. Maybe I dialed the wrong number. Let me check.”

“Whatever, Pinky. I’ve gotta go. I’m home. Good luck on your first day, and I’ll call you tomorrow after Tae Kwan Do.”

In his excitement to reach Evangeline, the second key stuck in the lock. He couldn’t throw open the door fast enough. For the first time he was disgruntled about the four doors that protected him in this section of town. The final door opened, and he squinted at the late winter sunshine that streamed through the upper windows of his loft.

Sean tossed down his coat and duffle bag, pocketed his house keys, and navigated the open space. He found her in the living room, fluffing the sofa cushions. His heart quickened at the sight of her slender back. His hands wanted to circle her waist, and his mouth wanted to nuzzle her throat. She gathered last night’s take-out cartons against her chest, pausing to glance up at the flat screen TV which was tuned to a talk show.

“Hey,” he said. She whirled to him, her face flaming, and he grinned at her embarrassment. She snatched the remote control, then flipped it to another channel. It was a group of ladies discussing sex. Looking mortified, she hit the Off button.

He crossed to her slowly, his boots thudding on the concrete floor. He drank in her appearance which belied her reservations about watching a talk show about sex in front of him. Her short denim skirt was slashed at the hip, revealing a patch of pale flesh. His hands itched to grasp her hips and press his thumb between the fabric.

At his approach, she gnawed her lower lip, and one knee bounced, but when he took the paper cartons from her, he saw a spark of excitement in her deep blue eyes.

He dropped the cartons to the coffee table she’d just cleared, and drew her into his arms. Her moist breath rushed against his shoulder, and she felt so damn right he scooped her up and sank with her to the sofa. The metal grommets of her bracelet—which happened to be his necklace— wound twice around her wrist, were cold against his skin. But she curled into him, her arms winding around his neck. Possessive joy gripped him.

After months of putting him off, of never setting foot in his house, now, she was in his arms. For two weeks, she’d avoided his calls. He hadn’t glimpsed her at the club she frequented. When he asked at various parties, no one had seen her.

And then she’d arrived at his gate, skittish, and bearing a remarkable new tattoo he couldn’t keep his hands or his mouth off. Though she chose the couch over his bed, he felt his days of being kept at arm’s length were nearing an end. The brief interludes of passion were evolving into the deeper commitment that Sean craved.

When his lips met her sweet, fragrant flesh, his shudder rolled into her. A delicate hand lifted to cradle his head. He kissed a path to the spattering of stars at the corner of her eye, tasting each inky blue line.

“What were you watching on TV?” he whispered, sending another shiver through her.

“Dr. Phil,” she muttered as if mortified.

“Thought so,” he teased, dropping a kiss to her nose ring. Then he tensed, remembering Dr. Phil’s topic. Child molesters and their victims. Evangeline’s eyes had flashed, then shut down. She hid her eyes, and a prickle of awareness overwhelmed him. She’d been watching a show on victims of child molesters. He drew away, ducking his head to peer into her face.

She jumped to her feet, jerkily gathering the takeout cartons and escaping to the kitchen. Sean jumped up to follow, afraid of driving her away from him. He caught her by the kitchen garbage can and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’m good.”

He studied the crinkle between her brows and the strain around her eyes.“Good?” he asked.

She dropped her head to his shoulder. When she was in his arms, she was more likely to talk of her problems and her past, but he understood her language even when her lips were sealed.

He pulled away, but she slipped her hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and held him. A thrill shot through his groin. Before he could think, she was on tiptoe placing her mouth on his. He let her lead, and didn’t yank her closer as he might have with someone he didn’t like as much. But her soft, nibbling kisses made his gut clench and his cock harden.

To feel the length of her supple body and not be able to sink into it drove him wild. Lately their lovemaking had been filled with more heart-melting flashes from her blue eyes than ever, and he couldn’t stop thinking how that had upped the stakes for him.

She broke off and rested her forehead against his lips. He closed his eyes shut against the need warring within him. To grab her and pin her against the wall might alienate her.

He kissed her forehead, and released her. “I’m going to grab a shower,” he said. “Afterward, how about heading out for coffee?”

She nodded, finally smiling at him.

* * * *

Sean sank to the floor across the rustic coffee table from Evangeline, a board game spread between them. On a corner of the wood, carved in blocky letters by a pocket knife were the words,
I love Dan.

Evangeline traced this with her finger, an amused smile on her face. “What’s this about? Is there something you’d like to declare?”

“It’s from the thrift shop. Apparently someone was in love with Dan,” he said with a smile, sorting through a pile of colored money.

“How’d you become a deejay, Sean?” She leaned against the sofa, abandoning their game before it started.

“That’s a long story,” he said, shooting a look at the brick wall where his artwork hung.

She followed his gaze, her lips twisting thoughtfully.

“But do you like your job? That’s important.”

He searched her face. Naturally pale, it pulsed with an inner glow. “Important to me or to you?”

Silence fell, and he hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

“To. . . to us both, I suppose,” she responded, and his heart flipped. She shuffled through the game cards, avoiding his gaze. She held one up. “I want to buy this.”

“First, you need to pay taxes,” he said. She passed him the cash, and he pressed her fingers lightly in the exchange.

“I was a deejay in college,” he said to distract her from the emotion he saw plainly battling on her features.

“I didn’t know you went to college. What did you study?”

“Art.” He gestured toward the layered metalwork that was his signature. That particular piece had been salvaged from sections of his first car. It spanned thirteen feet. “I didn’t finish,” he continued. “I got a job offer I couldn’t refuse. In Chicago. At the club. For the past six years, I’ve dealt in human entertainment.”

“You didn’t answer my first question. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” he said without hesitation. “It’s great. But there’s one thing I’ve failed at, Evangeline.” He leaned across the table toward her.

“What?”

“I never got you to dance, and that’s my express goal.”

With a laugh, she shook her head. “Then failure is your doom. I do not dance.” In that instant, with her laughter ringing in his ears, he knew he wanted more than to see her pulsing to the music he played. In a few short weeks, he wanted her happiness. His fists clenched with the need to touch her luminous skin.

She moved her game piece across the board and looked up, her full pink lips parting.

“Evangeline, you’re beautiful. Do you know that?”

Her lashes lowered, but her eyes flashed. A current of electricity buzzed between them. He laid down his card, and crawled across the second-hand Oriental carpet, curling his fingers around her elbow. She was the most delicate woman he’d ever seen, and his body urged him to explore every inch of her. Her small-boned frame called to his protective instincts.

“Sean.”

He watched her mouth form his name, but no sound passed those luscious lips. A surge of hot lust shot straight to his cock. Holding her gaze, he gathered her in his arms, and felt her quiver with anticipation. With a groan, he tumbled her backward and captured her mouth. The first bruising contact inflamed him, and she clung to him even as her thighs parted to hold him near. The skirt she wore bunched around her hips and he knew—just knew—that her sex was bare beneath it. Her heat was too close, too moist.

“You’ve wanted this all day, haven’t you?” he growled into her mouth, his tongue delving deep before she could answer. He couldn’t stop touching the runes and the stars that ran down her throat to the fine collarbones beneath her oversized top. Her arms were fragile, and he caressed the silky flesh before tearing away her shirt.