Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Page 17
“Aren’t you jumping the gun?” Bella leaned back on her arms and swung her leg. “Don’t you have to explain it to Wayne, first?”
“No! He can never know.”
“I’m afraid that may be too late.”
“What?” she said in alarm, dropping her arms. Right now, she felt every bit as stupid as Wayne had said she was.
“I sent him a few text messages last night.”
“Oh no, Bella. How could you?”
“I was trying to talk sense into you, and it didn’t work. I was hoping he’d come and carry you out of there. Both you and Tom were drunk and, well, I was scared you’d regret your decision, but you’re very hard-headed when you’ve made up your mind.”
“You told him?”
“Not in so many words. I just said you needed him, but…”
“But?”
Bella gave her a sad little smile. “He never replied.”
“He never replied.” She sank down on the bed next to Bella. “I tattooed his name on my ass and he never replied.”
Bella put her arm around Sara’s shoulders. “You can always have it removed.”
“With what money?”
“I’ll pay for it, since I feel partly responsible. It was me who introduced you to Tom.”
Sara waved a hand in the air. “I won’t take your money. Doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not getting laid. Ever. Not with this tattoo on my ass. Nobody’s going to want to have sex with me while staring at another man’s name.”
“Don’t be so depressed. I’ll introduce you to a blind guy I know. He’s a really good lover.”
“You’re not helping.” Sara got to her feet again and started pacing.
“Here’s the ointment Tom gave you.” Bella pointed at a tub on the nightstand. “I was going to invite you for a swim, but you’ve got to avoid soaking the tattoos for three months.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Anything else I did that I should know about?”
“Oh, yeah. You were smoking, too.”
Sara’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve never gone overboard before. I can’t believe I did this.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Bella got up. “You need to let your hair down more often so you don’t explode like a suppressed volcano when you do.”
“Thanks for last night, Bella.” Her cheeks heated a little. “I apologize if I behaved badly in front of your friends.”
“No apology needed. I had fun. You act very funny when you’re drunk.”
“I’ll call you one day when I’ve scraped my dignity off the floor.”
“Go home and sleep it off. Unless you want to eat something, first. You sure I can’t fix you breakfast?”
The sound of the word alone made her sick. “No, thank you, but that’s kind.”
She caught a glimpse of the black ink on her wrists, as permanent as the mark the owner of that name had left on her heart.
* * * *
Wayne went home and didn’t switch on his phone. Clive could wait until morning. He simply couldn’t deal with his boss. Not tonight. He sank down in the rocking chair on the porch and looked up at the stars. The deed that would secure his land sat safely in his pocket, but no peace came with the knowledge. There was the one eye of the dead buck, the eyes of Mariana, and that look in Khwezi’s eyes. The scorn that had shot like falling stars from Zandi’s eyes and the acceptance in Dumile’s haunted him, but not as much as the hurt in Sara’s green eyes when he’d told her what they’d shared meant nothing. All water under the bridge, but if Dumile moved peacefully, maybe he had a shot at something with Sara. Maybe he could get over the past and convince himself he’d never lay a hand on her, he’d never do what he’d done that terrible night when he was pissed as hell, beside himself with hurt and anger. As long as he never touched a drop of alcohol again, maybe, just maybe, they had a tiny chance. There was still her job, though, that would always be a problem for Clive.
At midnight, he went to bed and spent the night tossing and turning. He didn’t get up before four, even if he was awake long before then. He showered, got dressed, and had breakfast, the actions mechanical. His mind was elsewhere, on how Sara was going to react when she found out about the deed, and how to convince Zandi and the rest of Dumile’s clan to move willingly. The last thing he wanted was for them to get thrown out of their homes, chased off like dogs.
At five he turned on his phone to call Clive. Clive was an early riser like him. If he’d left a call-me message to inform Wayne of another hunt this morning, it was best not to piss him off for too long. The screen lit with six missed calls and a text message from Bella. What the…? His gut tightened. He scrolled to the message.
I’m out with Sara. Call me.
Double shit. He jammed a finger on the dial for Bella’s number. Lucky for him, she answered.
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes. “I thought you’d be working.”
“I am,” Bella said. “I have a client. We’re in the middle of sex, but I had to take this call.”
The fact that she accepted his call while on the job made him jump to his feet. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Calm down. What did you say to Sara to make her so crazy?”
“Crazy?” He crunched his teeth together. “What did she do?”
“She met Tom.”
Tom. The funk-head punk. If she… If he screwed her… If she slept with the first guy who came along to spite him… “I’ll break his fucking arms if he touched her.”
“West, it’s not what you think. Look, it’s something Sara should tell you herself, but go easy on her. She’s not in a good shape. Just don’t be an asshole, again.”
“Again?”
“Got to go. My guy is close to coming.” She made a kissing sound and hung up.
His fingers trembled as he scrolled through the list to Sara’s name. Could she not stay out of trouble for a single day? The idea of her with Tom, with any other man, was something he couldn’t stomach. He was a possessive bastard, he knew that, but she didn’t even belong to him. Still, his whole being cried out ‘mine’. If she’d given her virginity to a scumbag like Tom—he had to stop thinking about it, or he’d go nuts. He dialed her number, but there was no answer.
He locked up and drove to her place. On the way, he tried Clive’s number again, but the phone went onto voicemail. Just as well. He switched off his phone. For this confrontation, he didn’t want an interruption.
The sun was up by the time he got to Wilderness. He rapped hard on Sara’s door. She opened it a moment later, looking like death warmed up. Her hair was wild around her face, like she’d fallen asleep with it wet, and her tanned skin was pale. There were dark circles under her eyes. Despite the glorious, warm morning, she wore a long-sleeved shirt and thick, cotton sweatpants.
“What have you done?” he said, moving around her into the house.
“Nothing,” she huffed, hiding her hands behind her back.
“Nothing? I had six missed calls from Bella over nothing?”
She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I had a good time.”
He gripped her chin and turned her face to him. “What are you hiding behind your back?”
“Nothing,” she said again.
Guilt was written all over her face. “Show me what you’re hiding.” He reached behind her for her wrist and pulled her hands apart.
“Ow!” she shrieked, bending under his hold.
He let go, startled by her cry. What was she hiding under those sleeves? Had someone hurt her? “Give me your hands.”
“No.” She took a step away from him, her face an open book of shame and embarrassment.
“Sara, come here and give me your hands. Now. I want to know who hurt you.”
“Nobody hurt me,” she bit out, walking around the coffee table.
“Then show me. If you make me chase you, I swear to God, you’ll regret it.” He was beyond being reasonable, dread filling his veins for whatever sight awaited.
This made her stop. Her cheeks flushed. Her behavior confused him. Slowly, she extended her hands to him, palms down.
He took her hands and turned them up. He undid the button of her cuff and pushed it back. Astonishment froze him to the spot. A tattoo? W? His initial? If that wasn’t the fucking sweetest thing ever… She was one crazy, impulsive woman. She’d probably regret this, and he should reprimand her, but a twisted sense of satisfaction filled him at the knowledge that she was marked with his signature.
A slow smile spread over his face. He exposed the other wrist. Bringing her arms together, he saw his initials interlocked by a pair of handcuffs. Exactly what he would have chosen, if he had a choice.
Relief washed through him, followed by tenderness and possessiveness.
“Very artistic,” he said, unable to resist teasing her.
“Don’t say anything funny,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Oh, I wasn’t going to say something humorous.”
He put his arm around her waist, pulling her close, but she cried out again and ducked under his arm.
“What’s wrong, angel?” He glanced at her midriff.
Her face went bright red, this time. “Nothing.”
Like hell. “What else are you hiding?”
“It’s a tribal kind of sign,” she said.
Another tattoo? Would she never stop punching him in the gut? Then again, it was so typical of Sara not to do anything halfway.
He twirled his finger in the air. “Turn around.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Don’t make me do it for you, because I won’t think twice about bending you over my lap and giving you a good hiding for acting irresponsible last night.”
Still, she didn’t move.
“Are we going to do it the hard or the easy way, Sara?”
She turned reluctantly.
He stepped up to her until their bodies were almost flush. Gripping the hem of her shirt, he lifted it slowly, simultaneously pulling down the elastic of her sweatpants. She strained her neck to look at him from over her shoulder, the expression on her face nervous. His name stared back at him, tattooed over the upper curve of her ass, just above the crack. The sight of it did wicked things to him. It made him hard. It made him imagine taking her from behind. It made him believe he could own her, this feisty little aggravating, beautiful, caring, accident-prone woman. She cared. Enough to engrave his name all over her body. It was like saying his name when she came. That drove him wild.
Right there and then, he knew he wanted her for more than a night and a day. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d laid his eyes on her. With the deed safely in his pocket, there were no more land issues between them, and this impulsive, beautiful act tripped a switch in him, the part that wanted to claim her and keep her, the part that couldn’t deny her.
She was working her lip between her teeth, staring at him with all that pretty consternation on her face he was fast getting used to. His smile grew into a grin as he battled to swallow his laughter. He traced the outline with a finger, dragging the tip around the edge of her inflamed skin.
“Say something,” she said when only silence stretched, her body tight with tension.
“Don’t expect me to put SG on my wrists,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “and as pretty as your name is, I don’t think I want it engraved on my back.”
“It was a moment of weakness,” she said defensively.
“Was it, now?” He turned her to face him, taking her into his arms, avoiding her tattoo this time. “You’ve had many moments of weakness since we’ve met, but so have I.” He bent down, stealing a chaste kiss. “Why would you tattoo me all over your perfect body?”
He had an idea, but he wanted her to say it.
Her lashes dipped and lifted. “Why do you think?”
“I have no clue,” he lied.
She tensed again, her body going rigid in his arms. He smoothed his palms around her back to the front to cup her breasts, catching the peaking tips between his fingers. She responded to him instantaneously. Damn, he loved that about her, that she was so tuned to his touch.
He flicked his thumbs over her nipples. “Tell me, angel.”
A battle raged in her green eyes. She was trying hard not to react to him, but already her knees buckled a bit, her weight turning heavier in his hands. He caught her with a hand between her legs, cupping her sex a little harder than necessary.
“Wayne.” Her breath caught. “I have your name on my body, for fuck’s sake. I think it’s obvious that I’m in love with you.”
Sara Graham was in love with him. Too good to be true. First, she trusted him, even risked being out alone with him, knowing he was a convicted murderer. Now, she was falling in love with him. God, he wanted this. He hadn’t realized it until this moment. The problem was, he didn’t trust himself. What if he hurt her? The gravity of the whole fucked-up situation dawned on him. Ever since Mariana’s death he hadn’t been with a woman because he didn’t trust himself with them, not after what had happened. She shouldn’t either. It was sweet, and more than a man like him could ever ask for, but it wasn’t clever. Then there was Clive.
“Sara,” he put an inch of distance between them, “you don’t know me.”
She reached out, cupping his cheek. “I know enough.”
“No.” He moved her hand away, hardening his heart. “I was damn mad at Mariana for having another man’s baby when I didn’t even have the decency to marry her in a court of law. When she did fall pregnant with my child, I killed her. I’m a murderer. Is that who you want?”
“Yes. I want you, with your past, exactly who you are, because I’m in love with the man I got to know, the man standing in front of me, and he’s a good man.”
“Sara…” His chest heaved. How had he gone from worry, amusement, and awe to anguish all in a matter of five minutes? Only this woman could do that to him.
“Wayne, I’m in love with you. No matter how hard you push me away, every time you look at these,” she lifted her wrists, “you’ll know the truth.”
So would everyone else. To fall in love with a murderer would only be to her detriment. She’d be judged by society as much as they judged him. “Now you’re an open book. Everyone will know who you want. You’re branded with my name.”
“Well,” she adopted her air of defiance, “I’ve never worried about what other people think. The only person’s opinion that matters right now is yours.”
He crushed her body against his. “I’m crazy about you, woman. You know that, don’t you?”
She moved her hand between their bodies to trace his erection. “Show me. Now. Take me, right here.”
Her words were an aphrodisiac. So was her erratic breathing. His hard-on was like steel, straining in the constraint of his pants, growing harder under her touch. The buttons of her shirt were a sudden annoyance. His fingers trembled as he undid them as fast as he could. The urge to tear the shirt from her body was huge, but he didn’t want to spoil her clothes. She let him fumble with the buttons while she unfastened his belt and his pants. She was careful with the zipper, pulling it down slowly. Her hand dipped under the elastic of his briefs, her fingers warm and soft as they curled around his cock. He sucked air through his teeth, fighting the urge to push into her palm.
At last the edges of the shirt fell apart, revealing her naked breasts underneath. He liked when she didn’t wear a bra, when the dark tips of her nipples peaked through the white fabric of her shirt, but he liked it even more when they were bared to him. He needed to taste them. He clamped his mouth around a nipple, laving the tip with his tongue. She mewled and stroked his cock. A drop of pre-cum slicking her palm. The intensity of the touch made him clench his teeth, biting down gently. A beautiful sound left her lips. He wanted to know what she’d sound like when he took her. He bit again, softer this time.
“Ah, God.” She pulled in a ragged breath. “When you do that, I feel it here.”
“Fuck, Sara, you’re not wearing underwear.” The thought alone drove him wild. The touch was doing crazy things to him.
“The elastic irritated the tattoo,” she said.
His fingers delved lower, finding her clit. “Here? Is this where you feel it?”
“Yes, oh, God, Wayne.”
Lower still, he found her wet. With her hand around his cock and his mouth on her breast, he was just about going out of his mind. That wetness between her legs was his undoing, even more than the tattoo on her ass. It told him everything he wanted to know. It showed him exactly how much she wanted him. He wanted her more.
“Please.” She arched her hips into his touch.
He pressed his palm down on her mound, grinding on her clit with the heel of his hand while his middle finger parted her folds. So hot, so sleek. Her fingers were motionless on him, all of her attention focused on where he petted her with his hand. He lifted his head to watch her face. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes fluttering with every stroke of his finger. Up, down. Up, down. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted. So beautiful. Her face pulled into a mask of ecstasy. They were both past the point of return. He wanted her so badly he was ready to take her right here on the coffee table. He wouldn’t make it to the bedroom.
He ran the tip of his finger along the inside of her labia, all around, using her arousal to lubricate her. She was so tight. He had to prepare her with his hand. He didn’t want to hurt her. When his finger started pushing inside, her eyes flew open, hazy with desire and wide with fear.
“Trust me, angel.”
Careful of the tattoo, he gripped her waist to hold her up while his finger eased deeper. The show of emotions etched on her face was more than beautiful. It was fucking gripping. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp, and her eyes flared, but they were filled with the most precious gift she could ever give—her trust. When he hit her barrier, she clenched her inner muscles, her channel tightening around his finger.