Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (17 page)

              “Just a small one, please.”

              “Scotch? Or do you want wine?”

              “Scotch is fine.”

              The room was warm, and smelled faintly of cigar smoke, and cologne, man things. A woodsy, dark smell that seemed so right for him. She watched him fix their drinks, the shadows shifting on his back as his t-shirt stretched; the perfect tight shape of his ass in his battered Levi’s. What long legs he had. Big hands, careful and delicate with the heavy glass tumblers.

              When he turned back around, drinks in hand, she felt a quick urge to look away, not be caught staring. But he’d already caught her, and he looked pleased.

              “Where are Jenny and Colin?” she asked as he closed the distance between them.

              “Asleep, probably.” He put one of the glasses in her hand; it was warm. “They gotta go to bed early ‘cause of Jack.”

              “Right.” She took a small sip, liked the sharp burn down the back of her throat. “He’s a cute baby.”

              “He cries a lot. And he stinks.”

              She grinned. “He’s a baby. That’s what they do.”

              “Yeah. I’ll step in when it’s time to teach him to shoot.” He moved around her and dropped down into one of the chairs. He opened his thighs invitingly and patted one. “Come sit with me.”

              This was her favorite kind of dance; this slow, sultry, intentional progression. No shifting awkwardly around one another, but getting in each other’s space, touching.

              She sat down in his lap and hooked her legs over the arm of the chair, cuddled up with her back braced in the crook of his arm. Their faces were level; in the lamplight, she could see each long golden eyelash, count the lines branching back across his temples.

              “Is this your favorite chair?” she asked.

              “Mmhm.” He took a long swallow of Scotch, throat rippling. “Yeah. It’s not pretty, but it’s comfortable as hell.” He sent her a grin. “Kinda like me.”

              “Oh please. You know you’re a pretty, pretty man, don’t deny it.”

              “Pretty?” His brows lifted. “Not sure I was going for that.”

              She traced his nose with her fingertip. “Yes, pretty. Look at those eyes.”

              He chuckled softly. “You’re flirting with me. I oughta get you drunk more often.”

              “I’m not drunk.”

              “Uh-huh.” His hand slid up the back of her neck, fisted her hair lightly, and he pulled her in for a kiss.

              An easy one. Just a taste.

              There were so many things she wanted to ask him, mostly about his visit to the precinct today. But that would shatter the moment, and it was a lovely moment.

              She was surprised, when she pulled back, to find his expression serious. Pretty blue eyes tracking across her face, hand tightening in her hair.

              “I meant what I said before,” he said, quietly. “What Paul did to you was shitty.”

              “That was a long time ago.”

              “That doesn’t make it less shitty,” he insisted. “He treated you like a groupie, and I can’t forgive that.”

              She wanted to smile. She wanted to cry a little, too, chest suddenly tight. He would defend you, Jinx had said. Maybe he was right. Maybe she’d underestimated Derek Snow.

              “I shouldn’t have said anything about him,” she lamented. “I guess…I guess he’s just been on my mind lately.”

              “Missing him?”

              “No. Just lonely. Wanting a little human comfort, I guess.” She flicked a sad smile. “As pathetic as that sounds.”

              His fingers shuffled, stroking the tender skin at her nape. “Nah. No shame in that. We all need a little liquor and lovin’ to keep us whole.”

              “Is casual loving better than something consistent?”

              “Dunno. I’ve never had consistent.”

              How silly, she thought, that she felt so sad for him. “You like variety?”

              “I…” His expression seemed incredibly vulnerable, open. No, she realized, the variety wasn’t appealing.

              “You never trusted anyone enough to make her your queen?”

              Something in his eyes flared. Some sudden spark. A slow, heartbroken smile. “Better no one than the wrong one, right?”

              “Oh, Candy,” she whispered.

              “Mom was Dad’s queen. And he couldn’t replace her after he lost her.”

              There were tears in her eyes now. She blinked at them. “Dad couldn’t either. Mum was irreplaceable for him. He…” It hurt. All of it. The loneliness, the homesickness, the loss and grief of the past. The sympathy she felt for this man who held her.

              She dampened her lips, cleared her throat. “You were really going to call my father, weren’t you?”

              “Yeah.”

              “You don’t have to pick me up,” she whispered. “That isn’t your job.”

              “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

              “It’s high time I stood on my own two feet.”

              “But does that mean you have to be alone and miserable?”

              “I don’t need a man.”

              “No, but you want one. And that doesn’t make you any less of a badass little baby thing.”

              She was the one who initiated this kiss, leaning into him, opening her mouth against his. It was wetter, more demanding. She felt him take the glass from her hand, and was grateful. He set it down somewhere, she heard the clink of it against the table. And she passed her hands up the hard swells of his pecs, up his throat. She wanted to touch his face, and did so. Pushed her fingers into his hair.
Stay with me
, she thought.
Don’t stop kissing me.

              His drink must have been set aside, too, because his other hand was sliding beneath her sweater, skimming up her stomach.

              He broke away from her mouth, kissed her throat when she tipped her head back to give him access. “Let’s go to bed, baby,” he said against her thumping pulse point.

              “Yes.”

              “Let me show you there’s enough room there for both of us.”

              “Please.”

              He stood up and carried her there, the great brute. Heeled the door shut, and set her down on his narrow single bed.

              “I do love your room,” she said as he peeled off his shirt and went for his belt buckle.

              “Yeah?”

              “It’s so organized.”

              “And that turns you on?” he asked with a laugh.

              “Of course.”

              Naked – gloriously so – he knelt and opened her legs, wedged himself between them and reached for the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms, and started to reach for the clasp of her bra.

              “I wanna do it,” he protested, and replaced her hands with his own, drew the garment away and chucked it to the side. Then his mouth was on her breasts.

              She wrapped both arms around his neck, held him to her, dropped her face into the spikes of his hair.

              This wasn’t sex, she knew. This was something dangerous, and consuming.

              And she didn’t want it to stop.

Fifteen

Michelle

She woke to the sound of a baby crying. A sharp, panicked sort of cry that startled her into a hazy alertness. The bed shifted under her, and then she remembered that she wasn’t actually lying on the bed, but full-body on top of Candy, stomach-to-stomach.

              He made a deep, tired sound in the back of his throat and both hands slid down her back and cupped her ass. “Don’t roll over.” His voice was rough with sleep. “You’ll fall off the side.”

              She had no plans to go anywhere. She usually slept cold, and woke curled up in the fetal position. But he was hot as a furnace beneath her; the heat radiating off his skin was luxurious.

              The crying got louder, and then a female voice murmured, shushing it. Jenny up walking around with Jack. A sequence of thumps in the kitchen, sound of the tap running.

              “Does he wake you up every night?” Michelle asked, voice muffled against his chest.

              “Usually. Except it’s not night.” One of his hands left her and he grabbed his mobile off the nightstand. Michelle lifted her head so she could see his face, the way he squinted against the bright glare of the mobile’s screen. “It’s six-oh-six.” He muttered a curse and put the device back, rubbed at his eyes.

              She folded her arms on his chest and propped her chin on the back of her hand, studying him by the dim light of the lamp they’d never bothered to turn off.

              As if he sensed her stare, he propped an arm behind his head and stared back. He looked sleepy, chin rough with stubble, hair in a wild disarray of mashed spikes.

              “Good morning, then,” she said, and she felt her smile start somewhere deep in her chest, and move through her entire body, warming her from the inside out.

              “Morning.”

              Which one of them, she wondered, was going to be the first to mention last night?

             
It’s not too small if I’m on top of you
, he’d said of his bed before, that night they’d come back together from the Armadillo. He’d been right. And he’d made sure the bed was the last thing on her mind. He’d been thorough, unhurried, relentless. And God, the filthy things he’d murmured in her ear. It was just as he’d promised: heavy, and dirty, and sweaty, and yes, fun. He hadn’t allowed her to be self-conscious or shy. He’d guided her hand to his hard cock and said, “That right there is because you’re beautiful.” Softly, right against her throat, almost sweetly: “Get outta your own way and tell me what you want.”

              She hadn’t been picky; she’d just wanted him inside her. Remembering now, her pulse picked up a little, an insistent throbbing between her legs.

              She was going to cave first, and he knew it; he grinned as she took a deep breath. “Okay, if I say this, you have to promise not to let it go to your head.”

              “I never make those kinds of promises.”

              “Then I guess I won’t say it.”

              He laughed, and the sound moved through his chest and into hers, a vibration through her entire body. “Alright, fine.”

              She felt breathless, excited. “Thank you for last night.”

              “Wonderful?” he guessed, using her word from last night.

              “Better than that.”

              His smile grew dark with satisfaction. “You know, I accept repayment in the form of sexual favors.”

              “Oh really?”

              “And I happen to know that the water stays hot in the shower for thirty whole minutes.” He waggled his brows.

              “Hmm. A lot can happen in thirty minutes.”

              “Yep.” He jackknifed up from the bed, swinging her up into his arms and getting to his feet in one sudden, fluid move.

              Caught off guard, she shrieked, and then, to her shame, erupted into giggles. Oh…bugger all. She was enjoying herself. So she looped her arms around his neck and let him carry her in to the bathroom.

~*~

Candy

He would have been hard-pressed to think of a better morning. Michelle sinking down to her knees in the shower, taking him in her mouth, looking up at him through lashes heavy with water droplets. Returning the favor, listening to the high, breathy sounds she made echo against the tile. Dropping his head on her shoulder at her urging, and letting her wash his hair, her little fingers massaging his scalp. Saying, “I could come again if you keep doing that,” and listening to her laugh. Sitting now on the side of his bed, dressed, hair gelled to perfection, watching her apply makeup in front of his dressing table mirror and listening to a storm blow in from the west.

              Thunder growled overhead and the first fat drops of rain splattered against the window.

              “The storms are violent out here,” she observed, dusting her cheeks with blush.

              “And they come up all of a sudden. No warning. The sky just goes black and the clouds start stacking up.”

              She reached for her mascara; he remembered watching this routine as a little boy, when his mother “put her face on,” as she called it. He’d watched Jenny do it, shocked at the time to see that she was no longer a child.

              “I always like when it’s raining in the morning,” she said. “It’s peaceful. You don’t have to rush off anywhere.”

              “Hmm.” He was content. What an odd feeling, but a good one. Deliciously loose and tired, satisfied, enjoying her company. “You want coffee?” he asked. “I’m gonna go get some.”

              “Please.”

              He wanted to touch her on his way out, so he did, reaching to encircle her throat with one hand, kissing the top of her head. She pressed her hand to the back of his; in the mirror, her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned back against him.

              A beat of silence in his head. A natural pause, like his heart was giving him a chance to acknowledge something important.

              He brushed her pulse point with his thumb and then drew away, went out into the living area.

              The coffee was already made. Colin sat in front of the TV, feeding Jack a bottle, looking half-asleep.

              “Jen getting ready for work?” Candy asked as he pulled down two mugs from the rack.

              “Yeah. I don’t like her having to drive in this mess.”

              Another boom of thunder punctuated the point.

              “It’ll blow over soon.”

              The morning news was on, a reporter standing in front of a convenience store that had been robbed in the wee hours. Bored with it, Colin glanced over, stifling a yawn against his shoulder. “Have you got Michelle back there?”

              His gut tightened, a fast reflex.
Don’t talk about her
, he thought. Because suggesting he “had her back there” meant she must be the kind of girl who’d actually allow herself to be swayed by his sleazy ass, and that wasn’t nice. Except it was exactly what had happened. Except…he didn’t feel sleazy about her.

              Colin grinned. “Take that as a yes.”

              “What?”

              “You look all grumpy.”

              “And you look all stupid. What else is new?”

              Colin laughed.

              Candy headed for his room.

              And a knock sounded on the outer door.

              Their gazes snapped together, suddenly concerned. “Yeah?” Candy called.

              Jinx poked his head around the door. “Can we talk?”

              Considering it wasn’t eight o’clock yet, it wasn’t going to be a casual talk. “Yeah.” Candy joined him out in the hall.

              Jinx was never a smiling, spirited companion; most days, he was the straight man to Candy’s own joking persona. But this morning, he looked extra sinister. “We need to have a meeting this morning.”

              In all their time together, Candy couldn’t remember ever taking orders from his friend. “About?”

              “Um, Riley. Whatever the fuck the ATF wants.”

              “Right. We’re gonna do that. Can I not have my fucking coffee first?”

              Jinx glanced down at his hands, the two coffee mugs he held. When his eyes lifted, they were accusing. “Phillip’s kid? Really?”

              Something stirred beneath his skin. Anger. Defensiveness. His thoughts flashed to Michelle, tender, sweet, sleepy, sporting major hickeys in front of his mirror as she put her makeup on. The sort of mental image he didn’t like a brother intruding upon in so crass a way.

              “What? Now you’re gonna have a say in my sex life?” he challenged.

              He thought Jinx would back down, but he didn’t. “It doesn’t normally follow you home.”

              “Do me a favor,” Candy said, “and don’t compare Michelle to some bar whore, okay?” He turned back toward the sanctuary. “We’ll have church in ten. When I goddamn feel like it.”

              “Sure,” Jinx said, like a man who was doubting and second-guessing.

              “What was that?” Colin asked when Candy had returned and shut the door.

              “Bullshit,” Candy said, and went back to his room.

              Michelle – before bundled up in his bathrobe – was in the process of dressing, pulling a t-shirt down over her bright pink bra. If anything, his anger intensified. He was forty-five, and had endured the nameless, meaningless sex of a true bachelor for years. He’d put his club, his brothers, and his responsibility above all personal pleasures and joys. And here was this sweet little girl who whimpered and cried when he went down on her in the shower, and who liked to tug on his hair, and who kissed his throat and told him he was not just beautiful, but
pretty
. Pretty, and lonely, and hungry for him, and Jinx would deny him that small joy?

              He was suddenly, furiously angry.

              Michelle turned to face him, and her expression went from pleased to concerned. “Everything alright?”

              “Fine.” He thrust a mug toward her, and she took it uncertainly. “Just stupid club shit.”

              Her brows quirked. “Ah.”

              “Don’t worry about it.”

              She studied him as he moved to the bed, sat down, reached for his boots.

              “Your boys don’t like you being with me,” she said, and he froze, a chill going down his back.

              “Not that you’re with me, in any real sense,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t mean…Anyway. I know some of them don’t like the idea of you being distracted.”

              He paused, boots in his hands. “They can fucking get over it.”

              She stared at him a moment over the rim of her mug, hope in her eyes, twitch of excitement at the corner of her mouth. “You don’t mean that.”

              “Come over here and say that to my face.”

              She set the coffee down, slowly, on the dresser, and moved toward him.

              When she was in striking distance, he grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, close enough to put his arms around her waist and haul her down to his lap, so they were eye-to-eye. Her arms went around his neck. There was no resistance in her now. He had a feeling that if he promised her something, she’d believe him.

              Best to make sure it was real.

              “Hey.”

              “Hey,” she returned, imitating his accent, nose scrunching as she fought a laugh.

              “Chelle, I’m serious.”

              Her face softened. “Okay.”

              “I’m not distracted. Only shit that’s unimportant can be a distraction.”

              “Oh…” she said.

              “I don’t know what’s happening here,” he admitted. “But it’s between you and me, and it’s not their business. If anyone gives you any shit, even for a second, I want to know about it.”

              “Candy…”

              “No, I mean it,” he insisted, thinking of his friend’s disgruntled face moments before. “You tell me. And I’ll make it right.”

              “I don’t need saving,” she whispered.

              “No, you need loving.” He kissed her, and then set her off his lap, got to his feet before he could think too hard about what he’d just said. “I gotta get to church, but I’ll see you in a bit.”

              “Okay.” She sounded a little dazed.

              “Work on that list.”

              “Sure.”

              He felt a hard tug of regret as he left the room, like he’d already disappointed her somehow.