Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1) (19 page)

“Damn.” My pulse jumps, firing from her promise. “And I’m supposed to get out after you said
that
? I’m about to take you in the backseat. Give ya a little . . . appetizer before the main meal.”

“Tuck it in your pants, big boy.” Gaze hooded, her voice drops a few octaves. “But in the meantime, instead of mulling over the ‘what ifs’, the things you can’t control regarding me meeting your family, think of how good it’ll feel being buried deep”—she licks my nose, those green eyes sparkling with mirth as she gives my cock a squeeze—“so, so deep inside my pussy later tonight.”

Sweet Jesus . . .

A groan rips from my throat and she hops from the vehicle, a triumphant, naughty laugh trailing through the wind behind her as she enters the lobby.

I adjust my now-throbbing dick and move inside the hotel, everything in me knowing what I said to Amber when we first met is correct: this girl is sure to be the ride of my life.

With Amber by their side, Mark and Cathy are in the midst of checking in. I head to the bar, deciding a drink will serve me right as I wait for Amber to join me.

Gaze scouring the low-lit hotel, I find a seat and place an order for a shot of scotch. A football game, consisting of the Ravens killing the Steelers, catches my attention on a corner screen, temporarily distracting me from the army of nerves attacking my blood.

Two shots in, and with a third on its way, warm hands sweep around my abs, cashmere-soft lips teasing my ear as Amber’s raspberry scent crashes through my senses. I shift and snake my arms around her waist, pulling her down onto my lap. A soft hum escapes her, the sweet sound igniting my desire for her. I’ve been with a lot of girls, too many to count, but with Amber it’s different. She somehow fills the crater inside my heart, giving me a reason to wake up every morning, a reason to push on.

“They’re getting cleaned up and changed for dinner,” Amber says, her eyes a caress as she loops her arms around my neck. “It shouldn’t be too long.”

I nod and lean in, sweeping my tongue across the seam of her
lips. I don’t wanna talk—I can’t. I need to feel a part of her inside me. Something to dull the numbness taking up residence in the center of my chest. Amber’s sugary-sweet tongue delves over mine, a light moan escaping her as she tightens her grip around my neck. I deepen the kiss, my hands slipping up the graceful slope of her back. My pulse accelerates, my need to fuck her senseless increasing as I glide my fingers across her delicate shoulders.

With palpable reluctance, Amber breaks the kiss, the concern in her eyes ripping through me as she brings her hands to my cheeks. “Talk to me, Brock. Tell me what you’re thinking.” It’s not a request, but a gentle demand.

I swallow the tightness creeping up my throat. “There’s a possibility my family won’t show.”

“Big deal,” she whispers. “We don’t need them to. We’ll still have fun.”

“And if they
do
,” I bite out, “it’ll turn into a shit show and fucking embarrass you. Embarrass all of us.”

She sighs, her gaze stroking the planes of my face. “Stop it. Even if it does turn into a shit show, it’ll be fine. You’re acting like I’m some kind of delicate petal that can’t take it. I’ve been there. Seen worse than anything your parents can dish out.”

“True, but you don’t know them,” I press.

“No, I don’t,” she answers, her stare resolute, breathtaking. “But I know you, and that’s
all
that matters.”

I’m about to respond when a peppy voice zips through the air, interrupting our conversation. “Someone
needs
to get a room.”

My attention darts from Amber’s to the source. A petite pixie blonde with glittering blue eyes and cherry-red lips. My sister, Brittany. I can’t help but smile. After Brandon was taken, and I became the target of my mother’s hourly hostility and my father’s daily put-downs, Brittany kept me hanging on, kept me from murdering someone until I got my own place.

“You gonna buy me a drink or what?” Brittany asks, sauntering in our direction.

My sister defines “spitfire.” She makes up for her small frame with a ton of personality and quick wit. A chuckle flips from my mouth as Amber moves off my lap, slipping into the seat next to mine. I watch as Amber studies Brittany, who happens to be dressed as if she owned the hotel. My sister’s what most girls would call a fashionista. She wears nothing but designer threads and rarely, if ever, leaves the house without being done up. The total opposite of my Amber, my angel. My vanity-unconcerned gift.

No doubt they’ll hit it off.

“Get over here and buy your own drink.” I shake my head, my smile widening as I motion her our way. “And while you’re at it, buy
me
a goddamn drink.”

Brit bumps my shoulder, playfulness glinting behind her eyes. “Still not a gentleman, I see.”

I laugh and grasp Amber’s hand. “Brit, this is my girlfriend, Amber. Amber, this is my mouthy, pain-in-the-ass, always-has-to-be-right, can’t-take-no-for-an-answer sister, Brittany.”

Amber smiles, extending her free hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

Instead of taking Amber’s hand, Brit leans in and gives her a hug. “So you’re the girl who’s finally brought a smile to my broody brother’s face.”

“
Broody?
” Amber asks incredulously. “I haven’t heard that one yet.”

“Let’s not go there,” I mutter, knowing anything, shit included, could fly outta my sister’s mouth. I toss back the rest of my drink and order another, including a round for the two gems in my life. Dealing with some of the finest scum on earth has its advantages, getting a fake ID made up for Amber being one of them. “Are they here?” I ask pensively, praying something came up. “Or did we get lucky and they ditched?”

A sigh beats past Brit’s lips. “No such luck. Mom had to run to the bathroom, and Dad’s waiting in the lobby.”

Body stiffening, I inhale a deep breath, trying to quell the stabbing sensation tearing through my gut. It doesn’t work.

Brittany looks at me, pathetic sympathy hopping across her features. “Don’t stress, bro. Mom wasn’t
that
bad when I picked her up. Both seemed to be in a . . . decent mood.”

For a million reasons, that doesn’t lend me a shred of comfort. When it comes to Debby and John Cunningham, guarantees don’t exist. One minute things are cool and the next it’s fucking raining fire in the form of word bullets. Silence mantles the air as we all sip our drinks, prepping ourselves for a long night.

“Thanks for coming, Brittany,” Amber pipes up, breaking the tension.

“Yeah, of course.” She nudges my shoulder, a smirk painting her face. “I couldn’t leave this one on his own,
especially
with our parents. He’d shit his pants.”

I chuckle, thankful I have Brit. We don’t see each other often, but when we do it’s always easy. We share a connection, a true understanding. She gets the guilt I carry over our brother’s disappearance. She doesn’t agree with it, but she doesn’t fight me on it either. She knows it’s something I have to make peace with on my own. If ever.

“We should probably go,” Amber says, pointing to the time on the big screen. “They’ll all be waiting in the lobby by now.”

Defenses flaring, I stand and slam the rest of my drink back, hating my parents for actually showing up as I chuck a few Benjamins on the bar.

Amber throws her arm around my shoulder, her boner-inducing whisper filled with challenge as she leans into my ear. “Quit being a pussy. Let’s get this over with so you can fuck my brains out when we get back to your place. Sound good?”

Gotta love a bad girl.

I weave my fingers through her hair, shifting her face to mine. “Be careful, Ber, you’re testing my restraint.” I smirk and watch a swallow
work the slender column of her throat, her breath catching as I press my lips to her ear, making sure Brit can’t hear. “You keep that up, and I’ll be doing a lot more than fucking that sweet pussy. I’ll light up that pretty ass.”

Her eyes flare with arousal, a flush coloring her cheeks as she pushes me away. A laugh rolls from my chest as I slap the sexy ass I just threatened. The sexy ass I
will
teach a lesson to later.

Brit shakes her head, and we move into the lobby, my gaze connecting with Cathy and Mark, who are seated on a sofa, waiting. I tense in anticipation. I’m almost afraid to look for my parents, but after a quick scan of the area I find them standing on the opposite side of the room, their arms crossed in aggravated impatience.

Brit turns to us. “I’m gonna go grab the nutters.”

I nod and we make our way over to Amber’s foster parents. Cathy spots us and jolts up, a smile beaming on her face.

“You guys ready to go?” Amber asks, glancing across the room at my family.

“Yes, I’m starving,” Cathy chirps, grabbing her purse off the floor.

Blood rushing to my head, my muscles tighten. My mother’s attention is aimed in my direction. However, I can’t tell if she’s staring at me, at Amber, or off into fucking space. Black Jackie Kennedy–style sunglasses frame her face, obstructing me from being able to decipher who she’s looking at. My defenses surge, my heart rocking my limbs as my fists involuntarily clench at my sides. The sunglasses are a bad omen. End of story: she’s halfway to lit up, a few more sips of alcohol sending her into the beyond-tanked zone.

My father and mother make for us, my sister following a step behind as they approach. I square my shoulders, a strained smile slipping across my face. “Hey, Dad. Thanks for coming.”

My father grips my hand in a firm shake, his expression stoic as always. “Good to see you, son.”

I glance at my mother, forcing my words. “Mom, you look . . . well.”

She tips her head in acknowledgment, not a single response directed at me.

Releasing a taut breath, I shift my attention to Amber and her family. “Cathy, Mark, and Amber, these are my parents, John and Debby.”

After formal bullshit’s exchanged, Amber’s eyes dance over mine, a small smile tumbling across her expression as she clasps my hand in hers. That tiny gesture alone is all the comfort I need to keep a calm façade. I pull her closer and press a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing her scent deep into my lungs. God, she centers me, brings me down a notch. This girl keeps my world in check and she doesn’t even know it.

“You need another drink, Mr. Tough Jock-head?” Amber asks, her voice pitched low.

Her sass has me grinning, but I quickly sober up, making sure she knows what she’s causing for herself. “Keep going,” I whisper, catching her lobe between my teeth. “You better be ready for later. Payback, baby doll. That’s all this jock’s sayin’.”

Giggling, she winks and turns to my sister. “You know you have to spill some of Brock’s dirty secrets. I need something to hold over his arrogant head.”

“That can be arranged.” Brit laughs, amusement spiking her brows. “I have loads of dirt on this pretty boy.”

I shake my head, a feeling I can’t describe pouncing in my chest as I watch my girl chatting with Brit. My world tilts, rights itself. God, Amber fucking Moretti is officially filtering herself into the chaotic strands of my life. I’ve never allowed a woman to get this close to me. Not because I haven’t had the opportunity, because I have. But more so because I’ve never found the
right
girl, the one who’ll accept me as I am. With Amber it’s been a burst of light from the moment I saw her.

I shift my gaze to my mother and release another nervous breath, taking a step toward her. My father’s chatting with Cathy and Mark,
and Amber with Brittany, so this is a good time to, hopefully, start the evening off right.

“How’ve ya been, Ma?” I ask, once at her side.

Face devoid of emotion, she glances at me, then back to her iPhone. “I’m good. You?”

“Doing great,” I murmur. “School’s going good; football too.”

Jesus, she reduces me to a babbling five-year-old. I loathe the need that saturates me to make her happy. Why I continue to try I’ll never know. It’s an illusion that’ll never fucking happen. I’ll never meet her expectations.

“That’s great, Brock. I’m glad your life is going so well.
Someone’s
in this family should.” Her voice is tinged with pain. The burning kind that never dissipates. The kind she douses in buckets of liquor to numb herself with.

“I’d love to see you more,” I say, discomfort knotting my throat. “Maybe I can take you out for breakfast this week?”

Fuck me. I’m losing it. I gun a shaky hand through my hair, chastising myself for being such a pussy. I’m a grown man who doesn’t need his mother’s approval. Reining in my features to appear carefree, I smile nonchalantly.

She looks at me, her mouth thinning in thought. Her bitter presence penetrates the air, yanking the oxygen from my lungs. Christ, I wish I could rip those sunglasses off her face and see what’s really hiding beneath her stare. Is it thick resentment, festering like a rancid sore? Or just pure hatred? This is what eats at me, the unknown of just how much she detests the man I’ve become. The man who, in her eyes, will always be the culprit behind Brandon’s kidnapping.

“I need to check my schedule,” she responds after a short pause.

“Right,” I murmur, knowing she’s blowing me off. Whatever. Fuck her and the blame she’ll forever tag me with, the blame I placed on myself long before she did.

“You booked the reservation for seven, correct, Brock?” My
father’s voice breaks me from my and my helpless mother’s unrepairable relationship.

I glance at my watch. “Yeah.”

“Let’s head out, then,” he says. “I reserved a limo for the adults. It should be outside by now.” He swings his attention to Amber’s foster parents. “Cathy and Mark, you can ride with us. Brock, you can drive with Brittany and Amber.”

Typical John Cunningham—take charge and direct, a man who doesn’t allow others to make their own decisions. A cheating prick who always has to have a say in everything, even if it’s a limo ride reserved for adults.

“I’m taking my own car,” Brit says, her voice strong, unmoving. “I have work to do after this.”

My father nods, his eyes flashing with disapproval. He doesn’t like that she’s overstepping his order, but he’d never argue in front of people. Unlike my mother, my father’s aware of society’s perceptions of what the perfect family should look like, how it should smell, talk, and sound. “All right. Brock and Amber can meet us there. Brittany, you follow behind. Let’s go. There’s nothing worse than being late.”