Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) (2 page)

There was also a tiny piece of her that believed he was cheating—late night whispered calls, texts at all hours, last minute availability issues. Tori was positive she was overreacting, but in case she wasn’t, she chose abstinence. Plus, an even bigger part of her was simply more satisfied with her D-cell boyfriend than a real live man. Sex with Richard was never earth moving, but deeper relationships weren’t make-or-break over sex.
Yeah, girl, keep telling yourself that.

Now, her neglected libido would be held hostage in a plane with eyes that pinched her nipples, a voice that grabbed her ass, and a body that was basically porn. Add to that a scent that stroked her clit, and…
Fuck, if there was Photoshop for real life, this guy was its poster child. How could he be real?

She was in trouble.

M
ichael had felt
off since waking this morning, ending the best “almost” wet dream he’d had since he was sixteen, before the happy ending no less. Not off, edgy was a better description. His dream girl had been riding him like Seabiscuit at the Preakness—moaning his name and reciting a litany of praises about his skill and endowment. Just as he felt her body start to ripple around his cock, his phone had yanked him from his dream.

Fucking Tonya
…again, begging him to take her back for the hundredth time. Nope, not gonna happen, not in a million years. Once you walk in on the woman you were planning to marry being ridden hard from behind like a bitch in heat, by your best friend who also happens to be the lead guitarist in your band, it kind of puts a damper on the relationship. Talk about a cock-shrinker.

Did it make him a bad person that he had even thought about it for a second or two?
Maybe it was comfort and routine that made it a consideration. Maybe it was because the last time his soldier saluted was with her. There was a part of him that knew the reason there wasn’t starch in his collar was because of what she’d done, but there was another part, a small insecure part—one she created—that made him wonder if any woman—other than the unrealistic one that put in an appearance in his dreams—could cause him to ever rise to the occasion again.

This getaway without electronics and unplugged from civilization was exactly what he needed. Michael mused about his destination and company as he unloaded his gear and made his way toward the plane. He hadn’t been to the family cabins in twenty years. Nor had he seen his half-brother for any length of face time—other than the few appearances he’d put in at some of Michael’s gigs—in half that.

The last time he logged time at the family cabins was when he was eight—the summer his brother pushed him off the pier and didn’t jump in for him. His dad hadn’t gotten to him until the bubbles practically stopped. That was also the last time he so much as dipped a toe into any body of water that didn’t have a high level of chlorine and at least two lifeguards.

Was it his brother’s wedding when he’d last had a real conversation with the asshole? No. Actually, it was more recent than that. About five years ago Michael had been doing a show and ran in to him between sets. He was cuddled up to some plastic Barbie, who was most definitely not his wife, in the back of the bar. Michael went over to say hello, hoping to shame him, but he’d seemed proud of the barely-legal blow-up doll on his lap. Michael had recognized her from their shows; she was a regular. He had walked away more disgusted with his brother than he’d ever been, and that was saying something.

Then, just a few months ago at The Moldy Dog, his brother had strolled in with another barely-legal piece of ass on his arm asking for VIP seats using Michael’s name at the door. The bouncer knew who he was, so he hooked him up, but Michael went out the back after the encore and refused to make nice with yet another girlfriend while Sandra was at home pregnant and clueless.

His brother was a grade-A prick, so Michael wouldn’t even be spending time with him now if it wasn’t his dad’s dying wish.

Plus, both their names were on the property, his dad had wrote the ridiculous clause into his will that they needed to spend this three months at the cabins together, getting them ready to go on the market. If after the requisite time they still wanted to sell, and both agreed, then so be it. However, if one failed to show or didn’t stay, they forfeited all rights and the property would revert to the other. If both failed to stay, they were to go to his mother’s brother’s cousin’s best friend’s family or some such person for a charity.

Thank God the cabins were far enough apart he didn’t have to put in any time with his dickbag brother or he might not survive ninety days. His dad failed to understand why they didn’t get along because the man couldn’t find fault with any of his family. Even after the shit Richard put them through growing up, his dad was blinded by fatherly love. Michael didn’t have the heart to tell him
all
the other crap he
didn’t
know about.
If I don’t see Richard again until I’m seventy-five, it would still be too soon.

When he finally made his way to the plane and flung the door open, he was blown away by the sight that greeted him.

F
uck
, it’s her,
am I dreaming?
No, because there was no way in Hell John would be there if his dream woman was about to ride him to O-Town.

As soon as the word
airborne
left him, so did the oxygen, as well as coherent thoughts—thoughts that didn’t revolve around hot, sweaty, enthusiastic sex, that is. He stared at the woman in the back of the plane with an intensity, which probably made both her and John wonder at his sanity. The longer he gawked like an idiot, he noticed subtle differences between her and his fantasy girl, but there weren’t many. She was everything he needed and wanted in a potential jockey—tight body that could make a man beg, creamy complexion interrupted by expressive chocolate eyes, and I-can-suck-a-trailer-hitch-through-a-garden-hose, ruby lips.

Too bad his dick quit working in the waking hours when he saw his guitarist working overtime, balls deep in his fiancée. If only he could respond to the visual…

“Holy Hell! It chooses now of all times to finally come out to play?
Michael shoved his bag roughly into the plane and hopped up in the seat, both disturbed and thrilled—thrilled that his long-unconscious cock decided to come out of it’s coma, but disturbed by why.

When had a woman gotten a rise out of him with just a friendly smile since puberty? And now that she did, what the fuck could he do about it? Nothing, that’s what. He was heading into a geographical-induced celibacy. A thought that didn’t disturb him one lick sixty fucking seconds ago. Hell, it had been over six months already, what was another three? But that was before his body actually fucking worked like a normal twenty-eight-year-old red-blooded man.

What the holy Hell am I supposed to do now?
He was sitting there sporting his first hard-on in months and nothing to do with it. This flight would be hours of Hell and wasted wood. Well, maybe not a complete waste. He had a handful of hours to chat up Miss Jockey in the back, try to convince her to spend some time with him in a compromising position before heading into what would now be a three month sentence instead of a pardon.

Not to say that taking three months away from his life was easy, because it wasn’t. To put his life on hold like that was crazy, but he understood why his dad went this route. He had really wanted his sons to get along.

John had mentioned the passenger going to the Black Oak airstrip, which is why he was tagging along and getting some currency.
So, she was getting off at the same place he was, if he was lucky, that would have a double meaning.

Michael was so lost in contemplating his plans for seduction he missed what John was saying. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, this is Miss Reid. Miss Reid, this wool-gathering numskull is Michael. He’ll be sitting up here doing next to nothing the whole time, so if you need anything, just ask me, and I’ll make it happen for you.” John winked at Miss Reid before turning back around to face the front of the plane.

“
P
lease
, call me Tori,” she said to the scowling beefcake in the front, before turning back to John. “You are going to give me a complex if you keep on with the Misses.”

Wait, scowling? Why was he pissed, and he definitely looked pissed. Whatever, she didn’t need to be tempted anymore by him anyway. The more of a dick he was, the easier it would be to ignore him for the rest of the flight.

She was working herself up in to a fine ire just thinking about it. The fact that he was sexy as Hell in his anger didn’t help, but she would focus on John, and soon, she’d be with Richard and maybe she’d call an end to her moratorium on sex. Richard had been begging and really, what was she gaining by abstaining other than a more intimate relationship with her vibrator and Richard being sour all the time?

He didn’t understand why she decided to put their physical relationship on hold months ago. No matter how she explained it, he just didn’t get it. She felt like the other woman, a cheater. Not to mention he refused to wear a condom anymore and she refused to be forced into taking the pill. He said it was her responsibility, not his, to make sure there wasn’t an unwanted pregnancy. So sex was off the table for now, but that didn’t mean a girl couldn’t change her mind.

Folding her arms across her chest, she harrumphed and glared in Michael’s direction, unexpectedly catching his intensely angry eyes boring into her. Not one to be intimidated, she tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow in challenge. Neither was backing down until John interrupted.

“Here, Tori, put these on. If you need to communicate, just speak normally and we’ll hear you.” He handed her a headset while he explained, “Don’t worry about all the voices and whatnot you hear, it’s just other planes, towers and weather. They can’t hear you, okay?”

“
T
hank you
.” Tori responded as she donned the headset. Michael broke eye contact and followed John’s actions closely. John double clicked for the weather recording but didn’t put his headset over his ears, instead keeping them around his neck. That could only mean one thing, he had something to say and he didn’t want the jockey in the back to hear.
Clever old man, making sure the weather report drowns out any chance of her overhearing you.