Easy Nights (Boudreaux #6)

“Okay, let’s get to work then.”

She lies back down and I sit so she’s facing me. Buck is sitting behind her. I take her hand and kiss her knuckles.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yes.” She bites her lip when Buck starts the tattoo machine.

“It’s just noise.”

She nods and grips my hand tighter as Buck begins. I kiss her forehead and then her cheek and I can’t resist whispering in her ear.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” The words are barely audible, but she bites her lip again at my words, and I know she can hear me.

I don’t want Buck to hear me.

“You amaze me every day. This tattoo is beautiful.”

“It’s important,” she whispers back, and I feel my heart catch. This tattoo is a reminder to herself of what she’s been through, and she rose above it.

“So important,” I agree.

“Jesus, they weren’t lying when they said rib tattoos hurt.” She holds her breath. “My neck wasn’t nearly this bad.”

“We’re half done already,” Buck replies. “And you’re doing great.”

“See? I told you.” I kiss her lips softly. “Breathe, Angel”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Keep talking. It distracts me.”

I lower my lips to her ear again and keep whispering. Jesus, I had no idea that watching her get ink could turn me on like this. I feel like this is just as intimate as anything else we’ve shared.

“I want you,” I whisper. “I want you every day. And I’m not talking about sex, sweetheart. I want you.”

She smiles softly.

“I want you, too.”

“You have the cutest little freckle under your arm,” I continue. “I want to kiss you there.”

“The freckle would like that.”

“There are a thousand other things I want to do to you.”

“We have plenty of time for you to do those things,” she says around a wince when Buck glides the needle over a particularly tender spot. “Is he almost done?”

“I’m done,” Buck says and soaks a piece of gauze and washes the excess ink off. “You can go look in the mirror before I cover it.”

She jumps up and hurries to the mirror, then grins happily at Buck’s handiwork.

“It’s perfect. I love it.”

“Good.” Buck covers the wound and gives her instructions on after care. “You have this guy for questions. He’s an expert at tattoo care.”

“I’ve done my research,” she says and passes him her credit card. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.”

“Are you sore?” I ask as we settle into my car and drive away.

“A little,” she says. “But it’s not bad. It’s not a huge tattoo.”

“It’ll heal fast. What are your plans for the weekend?”

“Household chores, mostly. Laundry and grocery shopping. I thought I might read a bit.”

“Spend it with me.”

She smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“I’m taking the weekend off of the gym,” I reply. “I need to stop by there to wrap up a couple of things for the week and then I’m all yours.”

“While you do that, why don’t I run home and gather some things for the weekend? It’ll be easier than bouncing back and forth for clothes and stuff.”

“I love a woman who knows how to multi-task.”

“Women are experts at multi-tasking,” she reminds me. “But I’ll need to borrow your Jeep.”

“No problem.” I pull up in front of my building and leave the keys in it as we both get out and meet on the sidewalk for a long kiss. “Drive safely.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her lips twitch in humor.

“I’ll be done here in about thirty minutes.”

“That’s perfect timing.” She kisses me once more and then walks around the car to the driver’s side, tossing me a sassy smile as she opens the door. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

I wave as she pulls away and then walk inside where it’s cool. There is one class in session, and another private lesson going on in the smaller dojo. Ethan is at the desk scowling at the computer.

“This credit card system is fucking annoying,” he says.

“Hello to you too,” I reply. “Get Bethany to do that stuff. That’s what I pay her for.” Bethany is our office girl, and she’s been with us for over a year. She’s good at her job.

“I gave her the night off. She and her husband have a wedding to go to tonight.”

“What about—” My phone rings, and I glance at the screen. It’s Van. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Ben?” She’s crying, and I’m instantly on high alert.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… I…”

“Slow down. What happened?”

“I’m so sorry, Ben.”

“Where are you?”

“About a mile from my house.”

“I’m coming to find you. Don’t hang up, Angel. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

Ethan throws me his car keys and I run out to his car. My heart is beating so fast that I can barely hear her through the rushing in my ears.

“Did you get into an accident?”

“I guess so.”

“Van? Talk to me, baby.”

“The brakes wouldn’t work,” she says and my blood runs cold. “I had to stop, but they wouldn’t work.”

I can see my Jeep up ahead, plowed into a traffic signal pole.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”





Chapter Thirteen


Savannah

Ben waves me off in the rear view mirror as I pull away from the curb, headed to my house. How long can we continue to maintain two houses? I mean, I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, and I know it seems fast, but I don’t want to sleep without him. We spend almost every night together anyway.

But the thought of selling my beautiful house, especially now that it’s finished being remodeled, doesn’t excite me. And I know that Ben has put a lot of work into his house too. It’s perfect for him. I doubt he would want to sell it.

And if this is the biggest issue in our relationship, I’d say we’re doing very well.

I smirk as the light ahead turns yellow and then red. I press my foot on the brake, but nothing happens.

Nothing fucking happens.

I grip the wheel tightly and try again, but his car won’t stop. It’s not even slowing down, certainly not enough to stop at the light.

“Oh my God.”

I can’t go through the intersection; I’ll cause a huge accident. There’s no one on the sidewalk, thank God, so I jerk the wheel and aim for a signal post, hitting it squarely.

The airbag deploys, smacking me in the face. I see stars and shake my head. Jesus, that hurt.

But all I can do is worry that I could have hurt someone.

“Are you okay?” Someone yells through the window. I try to open the door, but my fingers are shaking so violently, I can’t grip the door handle. Is that me breathing like I just ran a marathon?

“Open it!” I yell, and the stranger complies. The door opens, letting in fresh air and the smell of a crushed front end. “Damn it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” The stranger asks again, his voice full of concern. He lays his hand on my shoulder, not hard but with authority, making me stay in my seat when I would jump out of the car to survey the damage. “Is anything broken?”

“I don’t think so,” I immediately reply and feel tears spring to my eyes. “Oh my God.”