The Strongest Steel (11 page)

Drea came over to them. “Gotta go, I’m opening up in the morning,” she said, pulling on her jacket and grabbing her purse. “You coming with, Harper, or staying?”

Harper looked at him. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you out.” He turned to Pixie. “I’ll be back in a minute to settle up.”

“Take all the time you need, sugar,” she said with a knowing smile. Flipping her the bird with a grin, he walked after Drea and Harper.

“Wait here. I’ll go grab the car,” Drea said and disappeared into the side parking lot, leaving them standing side by side on the curb.

“I had a great time tonight. Thanks, Trent.”

“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart. Anytime.” He paused, for once totally uncertain about what to do. He didn’t want to blow it. But fuck it, you only lived once.

Trent turned to Harper. Remembering their first hug in the studio, he slid one finger into the belt loop of her capris. He rested a hand on the back of her neck. Looking hard into her eyes, he was relieved to see only some mild panic and a healthy dose of attraction—but no fear.

“You know what comes next, right, Harper?”

“Yes,” she said, slightly breathless, running her tongue over her lower lip.

“And you aren’t stopping me?”

“No, I’m not.”

Relief and anticipation surged though him. Tugging on the single denim loop, he pulled her toward him, moving slowly as his hand slid around her waist and settled on her lower back. Trent leaned cautiously toward her, his eyes never losing contact with hers, watching her pupils dilate in anticipation as he brushed her lips with his.

Christ. Her mouth was soft and willing, melting against his. He pulled her tighter to him and kissed her again, slowly running his tongue across her lips, savoring her sweet flavor. If this wasn’t coming home, he didn’t know what was. He heard the soft moan as she lost herself in the kiss, and damn if it wasn’t the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.

He felt her tentative grip on his biceps and nearly came apart as her hands made their way around his waist and up his back. He was hard as a rock after one kiss, and there was no way she couldn’t tell. A fire truck raced through a nearby intersection, the wailing siren interrupting the moment, a reminder they were on the freaking sidewalk. But he didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

Despite his reluctance, Trent loosened his grip and pulled away slightly just as Drea’s car pulled out of the lot, stopping in front of them. His breath was still tight in his chest.

With one last look, he ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip and pushed her hair behind her ear. Her eyes were glazed, her lips parted, and a warm pink dusted her cheeks. Staring at each other, they tried to gain control of their breathing.

“Dream of me, Harper,” he said, turning to walk back into the pool hall.

Chapter Six

Stretching with a groan, Harper turned to look at her alarm clock, 9:10 flashing in red. Wow. Nearly ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. When was the last time that had happened?

Rolling back on her pillow, she smiled, brought her fingers to her lips, and thought about last night. Trent’s mouth had been tentative, then passionate. The thought made her stomach flip.

Her body had responded in such an all-consuming way. Heat coursed through her veins, and relief flooded her. The part of her she had thought dead was showing signs of revival.

She shuddered, reliving the feel of his thumb on the soft skin behind her ear and the warmth of his hand on the small of her back. And there was no question that he had enjoyed it as much as she had. She’d felt him against her.

Harper squealed as she buried her head in the pillows. Times, as they said, were definitely a-changin’.

Not knowing what to do with the surplus energy she suddenly had, Harper decided to pound out some miles on a long run. After ten miles, two croissants, and one shower, it was nearly eleven.

Harper flicked open her laptop. She caught up on her daily dose of gossip and made a note of the Victoria’s Secret sale. Maybe the changes she was making in her life should include adding a bit of sexy back into it.

She logged into the account she shared with her parents and opened the draft folder, where a single message was waiting. Messages from her mom always cheered her, catching her up on the comings and goings back home. The message ended, as always, with “Be safe, Love Mom xxx.” Harper deleted it and replaced it with her own response before logging out.

Opening a second account, she inhaled sharply. There was an e-mail from her lawyer with a draft of her victim impact statement in it. It took another half hour of pacing in front of her laptop and two more cups of coffee before she forced herself to open it.

Reading it now was like reading about another person, a bizarre out-of-body experience of sorts. How had she survived what had been done to her? Reading the first-person account made the pain rip through her. So visceral. So real. Thirty-two stitches. A broken jaw. A broken nose. A fractured cheekbone. The list went on.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she let the tears come, shivering despite the humid Miami morning. Shoulders hunched, she physically collapsed in on herself, her forehead coming to rest on the edge of the table.

Would she ever really escape it? She’d foolishly turned a blind eye as Nathan had used more and more coke, hoping the boy she had fallen in love with would come back to her, that she’d somehow be enough for him to cling to and come back for. But the more time that passed, the more he hadn’t even tried to hide his addiction from her. When he’d been arrested, Harper had directed the police to the small metal tin Nathan kept his eight balls in. For all the good it had done her. At trial, under oath, the police officer stated she’d told him they were hers.

Everyone was using it, he’d told her, swearing it was just a pick-me-up … like alcohol. How naïve could one person be? During the trial she’d learned that a mouse, when given the choice of food, water, or cocaine, would always choose cocaine—until it starved or overdosed.

In the beginning, under her brother’s watchful eye, Nathan had been great to her. But over time he’d become someone unrecognizable. She’d always been more of a homebody, and as he spent increasingly more time with his partying friends, he’d ignored her more and more. As far as he’d been concerned, she was no longer fun, or even interesting. He’d stopped talking to her. Touching her.

Memories flooded in, her breakfast rising. She’d cooked his favorite pot roast for their two-year anniversary and it sat on the table for an hour before he finally texted that she should freeze it because he was staying out with friends. She’d left a love note made of Scrabble letters on the counter for him one evening, but found the pieces strewn around the kitchen the next morning. She’d built up the nerve to buy a sex book to try to fix that part of their relationship, and he’d laughed and said he wasn’t the one who needed it.

Finding out about his extracurricular love life had been the deal breaker. Until that point, she hadn’t realized that she would never be able to fix what was broken.

The humiliation swept through her. She ran to the bathroom just in time before her breakfast came up. Being found by her best friend, still tied to the bed. The horror in the paramedics’ eyes overshadowing their attempts at professionalism. Hearing her mother’s soothing words to her in the hospital without being able to see her because of the swelling to her face.

And Reid. Her relationship with her brother hadn’t been able to withstand the trial. Torn between his best friend and his sister, he had chosen neither. His lack of support had crushed her.

Yes, the impact statement was brutal, but it served as a stark reminder. She was doing fine on her own. Better than fine. She didn’t need to put that kind of trust in another guy, only to have her heart ripped out again. Or worse.

*   *   *

Trent put the phone down and leaned back in his office chair, his mind reeling with the possibilities. One phone call could change your life. Michael had walked him through the TV show idea step by step, and man, it was a great one.

The show had already been approved by the network for production and would record for eight weeks a year with the panel of judges scouting out the most talented artists in the country and giving them a shot to compete for a studio of their own. Dred Zander, singer/songwriter and all-around head case from the metal band Preload, was already signed on as a judge. The guy was a fucking legend at twenty-eight, his voice and his ink equally impressive. Meeting Dred was motivation enough to want to do the show.

Trent opened up the nondisclosure agreement Michael had e-mailed him. Junior would have loved the idea. He’d always said talent was natural. Good tattoos could be taught, but great tattoos were natural talent. Trent had always wondered how Junior could tell he was a natural back when Trent himself still hadn’t realized his talent. All Junior had known was that Trent was good with a spray can.

The show certainly would have an impact on the studio, of course. He’d need to weigh the pros and cons and discuss it with Cujo, who would end up having to pick up the slack in the studio while he was gone. Which would have been easier if one of his artists, Eric, hadn’t been fucking up lately.

The publicity it would bring for his studio would be huge. Ami James and the guys at Miami Ink had seen overwhelming success on the back of their reality show. He and Cujo could possibly expand the studio or even open another somewhere else, though leaving Miami permanently was not in his plans.

He’d ended up agreeing to fly out to Los Angeles to meet Michael, Dred, and other members of the team to check for “on-screen chemistry” —words he never thought he’d hear in a sentence with his own name. All expenses would be paid, he’d be able to visit some buddies, and he’d maybe take a bike ride up the coast and check out some West Coast studios along the way.

He sent the nondisclosure document to the printer. The rattle of the paper as it loaded into the machine was loud in the quiet of the room.

Life was certainly taking an interesting turn. Well, two. He hadn’t planned on kissing Harper last night. Hell, he hadn’t even intended to see her.

Anyone else would have already been in his bed for her one and only visit, but the thought of doing that with Harper didn’t sit right. She deserved better. And just one night wasn’t—for the first time in so long—what he wanted either. He’d been as excited as a teenager when she’d returned his kiss last night with more passion than he could imagine.

The way her lips had moved over his, how they’d opened for him. And that tentative tongue—it made him groan all over again thinking of it. Like he was a teenage girl or something, he’d gone to bed without brushing his teeth so he could continue to appreciate her sweet flavor, wondering how the rest of her would taste.

Rearranging his jeans to bring himself some relief, he grabbed his phone, deciding to call her before he went over to Cujo’s to talk to him about the show, nondisclosure be damned. He wasn’t making a decision this big without talking to his best friend. As for Harper, there was no point getting her hopes up until the ink was dry. He’d wait until the deal was done and surprise her. Maybe it was wishful thinking that they’d be a couple by then, but he wanted to make sure he had more to offer her before he put his heart on the line again.

*   *   *

For the second night in a row, Harper found herself standing in her shoe box of a bedroom, getting ready to do something she wasn’t quite sure how she’d been talked into. Trent had called her, and despite her attempts to say no, she’d found herself agreeing. She cursed herself as she stood helplessly looking into her narrow closet for inspiration.

One drink wouldn’t be so bad. She’d politely tell him that she just needed him to finish the tattoo. And that they could be friends, but
just
friends. Anything more was more than she wanted. Or needed.

With a loud huff she threw herself onto her white herringbone comforter and punched her pillow. Who was she trying to kid? No matter how many times she’d said that to herself, she eventually went back to thinking about how his lips had felt on hers. Grabbing the pillow, she pulled it over her head, using it to deaden a frustrated scream.

The phone rang, making her jump.

“Hey, Harper, what’s happenin’?” Drea could be so damn cheery.

“I’m throwing a pity party and no one is invited.”

“Is it going to be an all-nighter? Are ice cream, pajamas, and a made-for-TV movie involved?”

“Funny, Drea. I’m serious.”

“I thought you’d be in your happy place, given the lip lock you and the tattoo dude got into last night.”

“Can you stop calling him the tattoo dude? His name is Trent. And this is me not in my happy place.”

“Okay. So you’re ignoring the lip lock part. Wanna come over and have dinner with me? We can hang out. I’ll share my ice cream and cable; you can bring your own PJs.”

Harper sighed. She didn’t even know who she was frustrated with anymore.

“Thanks for the offer, but it appears I have a date whether I want it or not.” The screech that came through the line nearly blew Harper’s eardrum.

“How in heck are you in a pissy mood when you have a date with a hot guy? This is a good thing, right?”

“I’m hot and cold on the idea.”

“Yeah. I’m getting that, but why?”

“I’m confused. Last night I made out with a cute guy outside a pool hall, and then today I spent my day off editing my victim impact statement before talking to my lawyer who said my not showing up in person would work in Nathan’s favor. I feel seasick thinking about it.”

“Ah honey. I can’t say I know what natural is for someone who’s gone through what you have, but I’ve got to believe this is it. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have asked for the day off and just hung out with you.”

Harper sighed. Drea always managed to settle her.

“I think you need to really start living again, Harper. Take a leap. It’s only a date. And he seems like a nice guy.”

“That’s where I get stuck. Nathan was a nice guy when I met him.” For their first date, he’d taken her to Jackson Park on a balmy Sunday afternoon. They’d strolled around the gardens holding hands and found a spot on the wooded island to set up the picnic he’d prepared.