Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) (8 page)

The voice of Maury Povich popped into his head as his own, berating him.
We have the result here Mr. Brande, are you ready? Our test has determined that, that is a lie. You do need this woman and you want her even more.
The fake audience oohed and aahed so loudly he was wondering if they were actually in his head and if Tori could hear them too.

Yep, he was monumentally screwed. There was something in his heart that was telling him she was his salvation and not his instrument of destruction, or maybe it was his soul, because his heart was still a little blackened toward her.

Even through his confusion, he could feel her becoming an integral piece of him, coursing through his body, while his blood drummed out her name. Tor - ee, tor - ee, tor - ee. The flow of his blood, his life, being forced through his arteries and veins called to her—the first syllable when exiting his heart, the second on its return.

Whether he liked it or not, she was now a part of him. He could only pray, with time, that part wouldn’t be as lethal as it felt now. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to pursue a relationship with her, but he was afraid, scared as fuck really. He was terrified he may never see her as the salvation he now wanted to believe she could be, and instead, be doomed to view her as the woman who destroyed the last decent part of him left after Tonya decimated the rest.

It’s not her fault. It’s that bitch waitress who tried to crush those last vestiges of you worth salvaging. Tori can save you.

Fuck, he was turning against himself. The desire to ram his head into a brick wall over and over to quiet that inner voice was damn near irresistible. In spite of all this bullshit, he had an overwhelming urge to know everything about her.

“So, Tori from the plane, tell me what makes you,
you
? You can tell me while we cuddle, I wasn’t lying when I said I was good at it. If it were an Olympic sport, I would’ve medaled in it. Gold each winter, guaranteed.” Waggled eyebrows and a well-timed wink usually brought a woman to her knees, so he had no reason to believe she would be immune.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You need your rest, and I need to return to my cabin. I’ll check on you in the morning.” Tori was pushing against his chest, trying to wiggle off the bed. Shit, all she had to do was let her eyes drift to his crotch and she would know her actions were having a side effect she didn’t count on.

Fuck if she didn’t look like a frightened little lamb, but even that was adorable. His heart picked up a beat, not just because it was cute as Hell, but because it offered him proof that she was not as unaffected by him as she tried to pretend. She was attracted to him on a base level and if he wasn’t over-reading the situation, a deeper one too, perhaps. That served to push some of his anger toward her even further away.

“Relax, sweetheart, I meant as friends. Platonic cuddling, that’s a thing right? I just really want to get to know you, what makes you tick. And if I have your oath of secrecy?” He waited for her to relax and nod in assent. “I genuinely don’t want to be alone right now.” A look of understanding dawned on her face and Michael felt he should open up a little, get the ball rolling so to speak.

“When I was little, and I got a boo-boo or was sick, my mom would lie beside me and stroke my hair. Play with it, really. I always had longer hair than was the style. Anyway, she would twirl my hair and sing something from whatever decade she was feeling, or power ballads, to me. That’s where my love of music started, I think. It became the only thing that would soothe me. Even as a grown ass man, I like to have my hair played with when I don’t feel good.” Chancing a glance toward her face, he expected to see her shock or disgust or…something—judgment, or pity, maybe—but that wasn’t even close to what he saw.

There was none of that. Instead, he witnessed understanding and warmth and, dare he dream, affection. It looked like genuine affection for him as a person. Not just the singer on stage or the trainer in the gym. He used to love those looks of lust and desire he got based just on his voice or physique, Hell, he’d lived for them. So much so he didn’t realize how much he desired a look of attraction based on his inside not his outside. It was beautiful, shit, she was beautiful, and not just outwardly either. How could he hate someone like her?

Reaching out, hesitantly and halting, she placed her hand on his head. The sense of rightness just crashed over him like a waterfall. Slowly, she began stroking, caressing, and twirling his hair. Michael closed his eyes and savored the feelings that her touch brought. The physical sensations were delicious, but the emotional ones were the icing on the cake. Her touch was like coming home.

Fuck, where in the holy Hell had that thought come from?

Before he had a chance to understand everything he was feeling, she spoke in a voice that was stilted and husky, like she was bordering on tears.

“Wow, you just took me back, way back. My mother used to do the same thing, still would if I needed her to. Sometimes, I find it hard to sleep if I’m going through stuff and…,” Something must have been too much for her, because she changed directions on a dime. “My mom didn’t do power ballads, she did country crooners. Real country, Patsy, Hank Sr., stuff like that. The words were about cheating and lost love, but the tune was soothing, especially with her voice. She would slow them down and change some words.”

Michael opened his eyes when she stopped speaking and got lost in her hypnotic ones, as she obviously got lost in her memory. The melted chocolate and warm brandy color captivated him. He almost kissed her and begged her to stay with him forever, and not just as friends. But, his actions were interrupted by her lilting voice.

“My mom had a few go-to standards, one was “Sweet Dreams,” by Patsy Cline.” Her eyes took on a haze of sadness and she mumbled, “How fucking prophetic that was.” Shaking her head, presumably in an attempt to dislodge whatever had brought her so low, she followed up with a whisper, almost to herself, “Well, not so much anymore, thank you.”

“Anyway, she would sing ‘Sweet Dreams’ with an amazing voice. She really missed her calling. She became a nurse instead of the next country sweetheart. Good for me and Walker anyway, because she was always there to rub our heads and sing us to sleep.” She finally made eye contact, real contact, not lost to a memory or sadness, and Michael felt it when the moment clicked, for her too. It was almost audible, the locking of their gazes, the softening of her face. Both their bodies relaxed in an honest moment.

“So, what was your mom’s go-to song, don’t tell me you’re so young it’s still in top forty?” There was humor and lightness in the air at her statement.

“So, what if it is? I’m not too young to know what I want in life and reach out and take it. I’m also not too young to rock your world, that is, if you begged.” A wink from him, a laugh from her, and everything shifted.

Michael was blown away by her laughter, her lightheartedness, and the organic nature of who she was when she let her guard down. The whole, launch a thousand ships thing, or whatever, that shit’s real. He wondered if he’d look back on this moment when he was old and gray and pissing in his pants, only to realize that this was the very second she became the axis on which his world rotated.

Unsure if the high he was feeling was solely her or partially the meds and brandy, but he didn’t care. What he cared about, he was looking at, even if she was blurring and doubling. He closed his eyes to let the drugging effect, whatever the cause, run its course.

“Take My Breath Away,” he said on an exhale.

“Are you okay?” A slight smile graced his face or, at least, he hoped it did, because of the concern threading her voice. “Michael, what was that? Are you having trouble breathing?”

A fuzzy feeling was starting to overtake him—probably the damned pills, they always did that and he hated it. Which was why he still had leftovers. He didn’t take them unless he absolutely had to.

“I’ll always have trouble breathing around you, but no, “Take My Breath Away,” was my mom’s go-to song, until “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” anyway. She’d change them to a mother/son song and I’ve loved ‘em ever since.”

Rambling in 3, 2, 1…
Yep, he knew the medicine alcohol combo would loosen his tongue, but it was more her than any drugs. He wanted her to know him, as he wanted to know her.

“My mom, the only woman I call that, wasn’t my birth mother, she was my heart mother. Apparently my father had an indiscretion as the family called it, and she took me into her home and raised me as her blood when my egg donor didn’t want me. Not once did she ever treat me as less than her son by birth, neither did my father. Of course,
my bother
never let me forget it.”

Was it his imagination or did she just stiffen?
With leaden eyelids, he couldn’t open them to see, so he preferred to blame it on his imagination.

T
ori went
rigid as a pole at the mention of his brother. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the brother who
never let him forget it
was
The Dick
. When Richard finally mentioned a half-brother, he shared very little—not even his name—but he had emphasized the half part.

Her heart went out to the groggy man lying beside her, almost asleep.
Tori meet demon number one; demon number one, this is Tori.

It was one, but not the only. This particular demon was old and weak, almost defeated. It possessed just enough strength, it seemed, to rear it’s horned head, probably brought on by contact or, in this case, impending contact with its creator.

Having at least one in such a weakened state was a good thing in her book, especially when she sensed the strongest ones, the upper level sons-of-bitches, were fresh and new, which meant, young and vicious. He would need his strength to battle those.

“Yep, my own mother didn’t want me, but my father did and my heart mom did, so I’m not complaining,” he slurred. “I was unwanted by the woman who should’ve moved Heaven and Earth for me. I was bitter for a long time, but I got over it. I swear when I have kids, they’ll never feel unwanted, I’ll see to it.”

The vehemence in that vow, and that’s exactly what it was, a vow, cracked the shell around Tori’s heart. Here was a man who had healed from ultimate rejection, and she was whining about a no-good man. Jesus, were her priorities skewed.

“Will you please stay, Tori? Just until I fall asleep?”

How could she say no? She was fooling herself if she thought for one measly second that she even wanted to leave.

“Of course, I will. I have to make sure you don’t roll over and choke on your own tongue, don’t I?” she joked. “But I absolutely will not sing to you. I have been banned by the state police, the humane society, and wearers of hearing aids everywhere from singing aloud.”

The deep rumble in his chest knocked Tori back, it vibrated through her entire being. He was laughing. And she’d made him laugh. That sound was music to her ears. God, he was someone she could fall hard for, if only she hadn’t dated the man who commanded one of his demons first.

“Come on, babe, no one is that bad, but I concede. Just keep stroking my hair and tell me about yourself and I will be forever in your debt.”

Babe?
That word ran chills up her spine. He was using the term generically, but she pretended otherwise.

“Well, let’s see. I was born a poor black child…” Michael popped one eye open and interjected with a sharp laugh.

“Oh, my God, lady, did you just pull ‘
The Jerk’
on me? I have to admit, that’s kind of hot, but seriously. I want to know about you,
know
you.” Michael had interrupted her, but the fact he knew what movie she’d just plagiarized? She might have just lost her heart a little.

Tori lived, breathed, and functioned in movie quotes. The more obscure, the better. Steve Martin was a bit of a gimme, but considering Michael’s age, not so much.
Deeper and more complex than his years imply, it seems.

“Okay, Mr. Movie Buff, I’ll reciprocate, deets for deets. You tell me something shallow, I respond in kind, something embarrassing, the same, something personal,
et cetera
. You see where I’m going with this? But you start, and when you get too tired, just let yourself drift off. I’ll stay until you’re in no danger and sneak out. Deal?

Tucking her hair behind her ear once more, his eyes fluttered, “Deal.”

A long silence overtook the space until a snarky smile appeared on his too-perfect face. “Okay, miss smarty pants, my cock is double digits when erect and quite impressive, or so I’ve been told, repeatedly. Now you?” The wicked smile he wore wasn’t lost on Tori, and he cracked one eye, presumably to gauge her reaction. Fuck that, she’d heard a lot worse from troubled people trying to shock her into giving up on them. She wouldn’t let one super sexy whatever he was best her.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, but oookaaay. Shallow it is, let’s see…oh, I can tie a cherry steam into a double knot with my tongue in fifteen seconds flat.” Now, it was her turn to raise an eyebrow and gauge
his
reaction. She was pleased as punch with his pained expression.