No one else in the upscale lounge would have dreamed of doing something like that. Yet with her sexy-as-fuck tattoos and a colorful umbrella behind her ear, she was more beautiful than any of them. He slid his fingers further along her thigh and watched her eyes flare in response.
“Yeah. We all had . . . adjustment issues. You pretty much get kicked out of the system at eighteen. Maisey, our social worker, encouraged us to look out for each other, but it was hard adapting to being on our own. So we agreed to live together to help get through it. But those issues have never been resolved.”
“Do you think they ever will?”
“I have hope. They’re my brothers. Leave no man behind and all that.”
Pixie gazed at the fire, and Dred finished his drink. He continued to stroke her leg, and in spite of the conversation, it turned him on as he brushed higher and higher. If only he could feel her skin rather than the tight black denim she wore.
“I respect you more for that than anything you’ve said to me before.” Pixie turned back to face him. “I mean it.”
Dred leaned in and brushed her lips. “Thank you.”
“I need to go to the washroom. Be right back.”
He watched her walk toward the exit, and pulled out his phone, needing to scribble down the lyrics in his head.
This is crazy. So, so crazy. And it’s painful. So, so, painful.
It was going to make a great chorus, if only Pixie could inspire him with the rest of the song.
*
Desmond said a man came to the condo looking for you today. You got two guys on the go, sweet cheeks? :-) P.S. Hope the rock star is treating you like a princess.
Pixie read Lia’s message over and over, then glanced up at Dred who was busily building a fire. From a fun afternoon, they’d had a serious evening, although the mood had lightened considerably once she’d returned from the bathroom. Instead of another drink at the bar, they’d decided to return to Dred’s home and watch a movie.
Yes to the princess. No to a second guy. Can you charm Desmond into giving me a headshot from the security cameras?
The head of security in their apartment building had a soft spot for Lia. The man Desmond referred to had to be Pixie’s stepdad. The idea of him turning up unannounced at her home made her skin itch.
“There. That should keep us going for a while.”
Pixie watched Dred stoke the fire. There was something very . . . manly . . . about it. Plus, she got to check out his ass. His mighty-fine ass. Which was tough, because she was in knots from his flirty kisses and the way he ran his fingers along her thigh all night.
And there was the crux of her issue.
While attending rehab, the counsellor had tried to help her unravel her mangled feelings about intimate relationships. Her synapses were crossed after years of conditioning. Her stepfather had been a voyeur. He used to make her watch pornography, and he’d get off on her response to it. Sometimes he’d make her read erotic stories to him or his friends who’d laugh at her as she stumbled through the pages. It confused her. Sometimes the material aroused her in spite of the insidious fear that crawled through her. It left her feeling dirty, something that had dogged all of her attempts at adult relationships.
The sweet sugary smell of popcorn filled the air, and a bottle of whiskey complete with two glasses sat on the table in front of her.
With a loud clang, Dred replaced the poker in the stand and moved the fireguard back in place. He stepped back, but seemed to watch the fire snap and crackle for a moment. Eventually, he joined her on the sofa that could well have been a bed given its size.
“Come here,” he growled, and effortlessly pulled her up against him. “Fuck, I’ve eaten burgers that weigh more than you do.”
Pixie couldn’t help but laugh. When she’d first seen Dred fill the doorway of Second Circle, his size had intimidated her, which was strange, because she was so used to being around Trent and Cujo. Now she felt secure in his embrace. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I don’t gain weight. I hated being scrawny when I was younger.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not scrawny now.” Dred rubbed his hand down her side, tracing the indent of her waist and sliding his hand under the hemline of her blouse. He reached for the remote and turned on the wall-mounted television “What do you feel like?” he asked, pulling up the movie menu.
It was hard to make a decision with him touching her. He dragged the tips of his nails, which she’d noticed were filed at funny angles, lazily across her skin. Painfully aware of the way his body surrounded hers, it was a wonder she could remember her own name.
“Action? Horror? . . . I’m drawing a line at chick flicks”
“Musical? You don’t want to watch Pitch Perfect? Or Les Miserables? Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?”
Dred put a hand over her mouth, cutting off one of her most favorite songs. “I’d rather eat my own arm,” he deadpanned.
She giggled and put him out of his misery. “Old-school horror. Well, old school for me. Nightmare on Elm Street, Poltergeist, Hellraiser. Something like that.”
“Aren’t you a constant surprise?” Dred scrolled through the list. “How about The Shining?”