Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1) (28 page)

“Didn’t your momma tell you beauty is only skin deep?” he chuckles, flipping us over so he’s above me.

I bristle at his words and my body immediately stiffens.

He shuts his eyes and releases deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” Regret drips from his voice.

I search his face and wonder if he realizes that my mother actually only taught me one thing. Sex equals money.

“It’s okay,” I relax because in his arms, I feel safe.

He brushes the hair away from my forehead and kisses my bruised cheek then my swollen lip. His blue eyes search my green. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“About what?”

“I want you to stay here with me. Stay as long as you like. Hell, stay forever.” His laughter is replaced by seriousness. “I want you safe. I can keep you safe.” Those words reveal a deep truth.

“I’ll stay tonight.”

He pouts playfully.

“And maybe tomorrow.”

I run my fingers through his hair, pushing it to the side, leaving it wildly messy as a way to divert the conversation. “Your hair grows fast.”

“It does. I used to shave it off in the summer.”

“Bald?” I quip, imagining his head shiny like a baby’s bottom.

“No,” he laughs. “Crew cut.”

“Military style?”

“Exactly,” he answers with a crooked grin.

My eyes fall to the tribal band around his biceps and my fingers follow, outlining the intricate ink. “Are those…” I squint my eyes, inspecting his tattoo.

“Names.” His voice drops to a somber whisper.

The black lines flow together in a beautiful script, revealing names and dates.

I don’t want to pry into his personal life, but then I consider that what we just did was pretty personal.

“Who are they? The names in your tattoo?”

“They were my brothers.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate; they’re people he served with in the military.

“Brave men who I let down. Brave men who sacrificed so much. Some more than others.”

I angle my head to kiss his neck and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

In this moment, I realize I don’t know much about his past as far as being in the military goes. He’s never really mentioned any specifics about the time he served in the army other than he was deployed twice. I want desperately to ask for more details, but I decide to hold my inquiries for another day.

“It’s okay.” His lips graze mine, slowly kissing me before his tongue delves into my mouth wildly searching for its mate.

“Uh…” I break away from his delicious mouth. “Can we just enjoy this for the time being?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Remy, just because I’m kissing you doesn’t mean that we have to fuck again.”

My heart nearly stops as the pit in my stomach grows hard and heavy. Those vile, dirty men
fucked
my mother. For as long as I can remember she’s always been
fucked
.

“Shane,” I struggle to disentangle myself from where I’m pinned beneath him.

He shifts his weight to the side, allowing me the opportunity to stand. “Babe, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

I glance at the wooden nightstand, half expecting to see dollar bills tossed there haphazardly. I hang my head in shame, humiliated that I was deceived by sweet words he spoke before he
fucked
me. “I have to go.”

Faster than a speeding bullet, Shane jumps off the bed and stands before me, taking my hands in his. “Why are you running away?” He lowers to get in my line of sight. “Talk to me.”

Naked and exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, I plop myself down on the bed. He kneels before me and looks up; the concern is clearly etched across his face.

“Talk to me.”

A heavy tear slips down my cheek despite my efforts to keep it at bay. I refuse to cry even as my eyes fill and blur my vision of the gorgeous man in front of me. I sniff and clear my throat. “Is that what this is?”

The lines in his forehead deepen with confusion.

“Is that what this is about? Fucking me? Because I don’t want to be
fucked
.”

“What are you talking about?” he touches my face gently, smoothing his thumbs over my cheeks.

“All my life I’ve watched men use my mother. She fucked them for money. She fucked them for drugs. I don’t want to be like her.”

“You are
not
your mother. I don’t even know her and I know you’re nothing like her.” I notice he emphasizes “nothing” with a sense of disdain. If only I could tell him how wrong his words are.

I grab my T-shirt from the bed. With a loud sigh, I exhale and bury my face as annoyance washes over me. I hate that I’m crying again.

“Look at me,” Shane tugs at the soft material. “Remy,” he waits until he has my full attention. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I know.”

“Some days I’m going to undress you slowly and make sweet love to you. Some days I’m going to rip your clothes off and fuck you so damn hard you’ll see stars.”

My eyes widen at his word choice. “But know this. Any time I slide into that sweet pussy of yours, it will always be because I lo— care about you. You’re not just some random girl to me. You mean a lot to me. I want you. Only you.”

My cheeks flame red with surprise and embarrassment at his word choice, but a thrill shoots through me, leaving me dazed and confused. Sex mingled with vulgar words has never been a turn on for me until now. I blink while comprehension washes over me.

I kiss his lips, silently thanking him for wanting me for more than just my body. “Maybe Jenna is right…you are a good guy.” I smile at him.

His thumb grazes my bruise once again. “Do you want to put some ice on this? It might help with the swelling.”

“No, it’s fine. Believe me, I’ve had much worse.” My smile disappears when I see his lips tighten in a hard line and his nostrils flare slightly. “I’m fine. I promise. You’ll keep me safe, won’t you?” I ask, hoping to ease the tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there moments ago.

“Always. I will always keep you safe.” He kisses my forehead as the distinct chirp of his cell phone signals an incoming message. Another chirp…and another. Whoever it is sure must have a lot to say. I don’t understand why they don’t just pick up the phone and call.

“I need to use the bathroom.” I scoot around and head into the hallway. I glance back and see him reach into the front pocket of his shorts to pull out his phone.

His eyes widen with either surprise or shock as he mumbles the name “Mia”.

Quietly, I retreat in the bathroom where stark white walls greet me. It’s cold and clinical, matching the ice running through my veins at just hearing my lover utter another woman’s name.

WHILE MY INTENTION
is to wash up quickly, I end up taking a shower before finding my way back to his bedroom. Shane lies on top of the rumpled covers with nothing but a smile on his face.

“Hi. Did you find everything okay?”

I freeze mid-step, hoping he didn’t catch me snooping through the medicine cabinet looking for any tell-tale signs that this
Mia
has been here. There was no scented shampoo or body wash that many women use. No pink razors. No extra toothbrush. No hairspray. All Shane’s products lined the shelves in the mirrored cabinet. Even the small orange prescription bottles I spied had only his name written in black letters.

“I did. I took a quick shower. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He pats the bed and encourages me to lie next to him.

Modesty should have no place right now after what we just did, but it does. I pull the grey blanket over and cover the lower half of my body. I don’t know why I feel the need to shield myself; it’s not the first time I exposed my body before men.

“What are you thinking about?” Shane asks with whispered words.

The words that escape weren’t supposed to be spoken aloud; they were quiet, curious thoughts in my head.

“Who’s Mia? Is she your girlfriend?”

Abruptly, Shane turns to face me with an expression of hostility. “What? No, she’s not my girlfriend! Did you hear what I said before?”

I look up at his seriously intense eyes. “I heard.”

“I only want you.” He cups my face and kisses my lips softly. “Only you.”

I nod, accepting his statement, but then I ask, “Who is she then?”

He exhales loudly. “My ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend?” I gasp, wondering if she wants to be more than his ex. Jealousy spikes in me. “How long ago did you break up?”

“Over a year ago.”

“And you still talk to her?” The suspicion is clear in my voice.

“Yeah, every now and then.”

Silently, I ponder all the reasons he might have for still being in contact with his ex. I don’t have much experience with ex-lovers, but I assume that people go their separate ways after a breakup. At least, that’s how it is for Jenna. The only logical conclusion I come up with is that he might still have feelings for her.

“Were you guys serious? I mean, you know…did you love her?”

It’s Shane turn to look sullen as he answers hesitantly with a simple, “I did.”

A dagger of jealousy pricks my heart. “Why’d you break up then?”

He rolls onto his back with a loud sigh. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

No.
“Yes.”

“I…I did something and screwed it up pretty badly.”

Something in his expression, a sense of remorse or regret, makes me want to smooth away the lines of stress from his face. “How so?”

“Did you ever do something that you didn’t want to do or you don’t remember doing?”

“Not really.” Everything I do, whether I want to or not, is a choice.

“Are you sure you want to hear this story?” His eyes beg me to say no, but I nod instead.

“Mia is…she’s from my hometown. Growing up, our paths always crossed, but she was still in school when I left for the Army. When I came back, she was a teacher and we became friendly and one thing lead to another.”

“Go on,” I encourage.

“She had a rough few years while I was gone; she was broken and hardened by the hand she’d been dealt. She lost a lot of people she loved. But for some reason, she let me in. I did everything I could to… get her to love me, but she never did.”

“So she left you?”

“Not exactly.” Shane exhales deeply and rubs his face with the palms of his hands before continuing. “The next part is really bad.”

I wait and listen with anticipation.

“We had been out drinking for St. Patrick’s Day and I had too much to drink. The last thing I remember was telling her that I didn’t feel well and was going to the bathroom.”

“Okay…”

“She came looking for me and found me in the bathroom… having sex with someone else.” Regret oozes from his words as his voice drops to a deep, raspy whisper. I wonder if the look of dismay is from having been caught or hurting her. “It was pretty bad.”

In that moment, my heart aches not only for him, but for Mia, too.

“Shane,” I utter quietly as I move to wrap my arm around his naked chest.

“I don’t remember what happened.”

I pull back and question him with a tone of derision. “How do you have sex and not remember it?” I ask with a roll of my eyes; my disbelief is clear as day.

He lets out a deep huff. “I don’t know. That’s the thing I don’t understand.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, yanking as if trying to dredge up some elusive explanation.

“So let me get this straight. You got drunk and went to the bathroom to have sex with someone who wasn’t your girlfriend?”

“I didn’t go to the bathroom to have sex with her.” Slow, enunciated words seep through gritted teeth.

I’m struggling to believe him, but his words and pained expression lead me to believe he really isn’t in a place of understanding. I’ve seen people make really stupid decisions when alcohol is involved.

“Who was she? The woman you had sex with?” I cringe at the thought of Shane being intimate with anyone else.

With a cynical snicker, he reveals her name. “Gina DeGennaro. She’s a crazy bitch whose family has mob ties and she is as vindictive as they come. She used to be best friends with Mia when they were kids.”

Sympathy tugs at my heart for Shane’s ex-girlfriend. “What did Mia do?”

“I don’t know exactly. I would imagine she bolted out of there. She wouldn’t talk to me for weeks. She wouldn’t hear me out or let me try to explain myself.”

In this moment I feel badly for Mia. I don’t know what I would do in that situation.I offer the only words that come to mind, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry? I fucked another woman and my girlfriend saw it first- hand! I’m the one who will always be sorry.”

I bristle and am taken a back at his harsh tone. I wrestle with the idea that his words could be evidence of his deep regret over losing her.

“Do you still love her?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure?”

His chiseled chest rises and falls evenly. “Yes, Remy, I’m sure.”

“Why are you getting so angry then?”

“I’m not angry.” He cups my face and forces me to look directly at him. “I hurt her. I don’t like hurting people. It’s not who I am.”

That might explain why he feels this way, but I wonder about her.