Lace & Lead (novella) (5 page)

She would have ogled him longer, but he turned away from her to his drawers, dragging a clean white tank top out. He didn’t grimace when he put it on, even though she could see him favouring his injured shoulder.

That newest bullet wound fit into the canvas well, despite the blood weeping from his overexertion. She frowned at the sight, noting the growing stain on the white fabric. “Do you have a towel you don’t mind getting bloody?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but motioned toward the bathroom. It was small, but all the basics were there. On the inset shelves near the sink were nearly all the trappings of a med-centre. Her gut pitched to see that many of the supplies were clearly used on a regular basis.

It’s all part of the job
, she told herself firmly.
He knows what he’s doing
.

She found a washcloth and got it wet. Taggart had joined her by now, leaning his uninjured shoulder against the doorframe as he watched.

“Turn around,” she told him.

He did, but cautiously. She ignored his clear mistrust and began dabbing at the wound.

“What are you doing?” He sounded confused.

“It was bleeding again.” She dug out a large square of gauze from the shelf supplies and taped it down over the gunshot. “There.”

She didn’t like the look on his face. It was far too calculating and she wasn’t willing to dissect her motives. It was far easier to rationalise the care as part of her desire to have an effective protector. Admitting that she’d really wanted to do it because she hated the thought of him being in pain was far more complicated.

The fact that she’d also been itching to get her hands on his bare skin didn’t even factor into it.

“Do you mind if I shower?”

He reached past her and turned it on. “The water starts out cold. Give it a minute to heat up.”

“I will.”

He shifted awkwardly, finally hooking a thumb over his shoulder and blurting out, “I’ll be in the garage.”

He closed the door behind him as he went and Emmaline slumped against it. She was going to be stuck here with him—only the gods knew for how long—and even worse, he was actually being nice.

“Too bad he can’t stay such a pompous ass,” she mumbled to herself.

She felt far more human after her nearly hour-long shower, even if she did have to put on the same dress. It wasn’t filthy but she missed the sensation of clean fabric against her skin. The corset went on with a fight. Until she had different undergarments she didn’t intend to put on a show, but she did compromise and didn’t tie it as tightly as her father or his high-class friends would have wanted. This small act of rebellion thrilled her.

She emerged from the bedroom carefully, trying to get a feel for the layout of the apartment. The kitchen was small but practical and the living space was empty. Apparently, Taggart hadn’t been lying when he said his money was best spent on toys. That made the garage intriguing.

The door leading out of the kitchen took her into a small room with a sink and laundry tub. Several bottles of cleaners sat in neat rows above the sink. A pile of carefully folded rags sat nearby. The mirror above the sink was the only chaotic area, almost completely covered with pictures, most of them taped up haphazardly.

The one that caught her attention featured a younger looking Taggart with a pretty, blonde woman. They had their arms around each other and it was clear that the picture was taken while the woman was laughing. Emmaline’s heart constricted. Taggart wore a carefree smile that left strange butterflies in her stomach. A smudge, clearly grown over time, obscured the bottom right corner of the picture. She leaned in to take a closer look but a strange sound from the room beyond distracted her.

The adjoining door opened easily and she was assaulted by the scent of oil, dirt and hot metal. There was a flash of bright light but when she turned to look, it was gone. All she saw was Taggart, arms cording as he pulled at a hunk of metal on some rust bucket. Another grunt and tug and the plate came off. He tossed it to the side, picked up the torch and spotted her.

Gods, what a man
.

The tank top she’d been trying to keep clean was already a mess, covered in rust, dirt and speckled with oil. He’d changed into thick canvas pants that were equally thrashed. The welding goggles were down, hiding his light blue eyes. A bemused grin was offset by a long smudge of something across his cheek.

He wiped his forehead with a forearm as he put down the torch and another smudge appeared.
So that’s how it happens.

“You may not want to wear that out here,” he called to her while gesturing at her dress.

“Why not?”

“I’d hate for it to get ruined.”

The thought had never crossed her mind that this was her only dress. She felt horrible for her accidental indifference. Taggart’s suddenly shuttered expression said he’d figured her out. She’d grown up with money and dresses often were only worn once, but it pointed out yet again how different their lives had been.

“I needed to talk to you,” she said. Nervousness was starting to creep in.

He shut off the torch, peeled off his gloves and the goggles and strode toward her, business-like. “What?”

“How long am I going to be here?”

“Not sure.”

“Can I go out?”

“Nope.”

That rankled, even if she’d been expecting it. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

She frowned. “That’s a horrible answer.”

He slapped his gloves against his pants, sending up a small cloud of filth. “And I’m a horrible person. Next question?”

“How am I supposed to pawn the jewellery I brought with me?”

“Let me take a look at it later. I know a few different people, but it depends on what you grabbed.”

“Okay.”

His head tilted. “Anything else, or can I get back to my baby?”

She looked past him at the hulking pile of metal. “What
is
that?”

“She asks with disgust.” He sounded amused. “
That
is an Antonian cruiser. I bought it after the wars, but haven’t had a chance to work on it till now.”

Her father had never allowed her to wander to the garage; he claimed that it was no place for a woman. Still, Emmaline stepped closer, intrigued by the project.
Not by Taggart
, she reminded herself. But when she looked, all she saw was scrap metal. “So…is this supposed to look nice?”

He snorted. “You’ve never seen a cruiser before?”

“No.”

“What the fuck do they teach you blue-bloods in school?”

He moved toward the workbench, motioning for her to follow. A few quick flicks of his hand and the holoscreen lit up with some kind of beautiful.

Peirce couldn’t help but grin at the rapturous expression on Emmaline’s face. She may not know what a cruiser was, but at least she had good taste.

“It’s a beaut, isn’t it?” Pride coloured his words but he didn’t care if she understood or not.

“You’re going to make
that
,” A gesture at the piece of junk, “into
that
?”

“That’s kind of the point of a restoration.”

“Can I help?”

No one could have said no to a face that eager. He could probably just hand her a spanner and she’d be over Krait’s moon. “I guess so. But not wearing that.”

“I don’t care if it gets dirty,” she said as she reached for the plasma torch.

He bit down a smile and moved the torch out of her grasp. “It isn’t safe,” he explained. “I’d hate to set you on fire.”

“At least not until after I’ve paid you, right?”

The light clicked on a second later when he saw the corners of her mouth turning up shyly. “Was that a joke, Miss Gregson?”

“A feeble attempt at one,” she admitted.

Silence descended. To his surprise, it was comfortable. It was as if an invisible line had been crossed, but not in a bad way.

He made the decision. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“If you actually want to help, you’ll need different clothes.”

Her nose wrinkled. “We’re going shopping?”

“I’d sooner be castrated by a cleaning bot.”

“Good.”

He turned at that comment, surprised.

She shrugged. “I hate shopping. I always have.”

“I have some clothes for you to use.” He didn’t think Callie would mind. Besides, wasn’t there some saying about acting in haste and repenting at leisure?

Somehow Emmaline’s presence in his bedroom was less innocent this time. It had obviously been way too long since he’d gotten laid, because the thought of her spread out on his simple cotton sheets was ricocheting around his skull.

Lucky for him, she didn’t seem to pick up on his
I’m horny-as-fuck
vibe. In fact, she was still rattling on with questions about what he wanted to do to the cruiser, which he was only halfway tuning into.

At least, until she said, “I could run to the market.”

That broke through his sexual haze pretty damn fast. “Hell, no. The one advantage we’ve got is that your father wouldn’t dream of looking for you here.” He looked at her, eyes quickly assessing her figure.

He had to hand it to her: she was stubborn. “I need something new to wear outside the garage too. I mean, yes, this dress is nice, but it wasn’t exactly designed for cross-country travel.”

She looked too perfect standing there. Too beautiful. Too delicate.

Could he do this? Would it hurt too much? Mind racing, he looked over Emmaline once more. She was gentler than any of the other high class women he’d met. Maybe it would be okay.

“Hold on.”

He rummaged around in the bottom drawer and threw a pair of pants at her. “Try these.”

She looked down at the pants Taggart had tossed to her. They were small.
Feminine
. “Um, girlfriend’s?”

“Sister.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you—”

“Yeah, not many people do.”

Her mind flashed to the photo above the sink. They’d looked a little similar; maybe that was her…

“Will she mind?”

“No.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to—”

“She’s dead.”

Suddenly, the smudge made sense. Marks left from placing fingertips against the photo. Like a girl reverently paying homage to her mother’s frozen smile each morning.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t painful.”

“How old was she?”

“Two years younger than me.”

She fiddled with a button on the pants. She couldn’t imagine the swift loss of someone she loved. She’d been forced to watch her mother waste away from gamma poisoning. Three long years of hell. “How did she die?”

“Got caught in an explosion.” His voice was clipped, factual. “She enlisted as a mechanic the same year I did. There was a bombing on our base in Cordova. The garage was hit. I was already out working on a busted convoy. They told me when I got back.”

Emmaline recognised the hollowness of his words. He spoke with the same flippant familiarity with guilt and helplessness that she knew so well. That tiny realisation was the catalyst, sparking and setting ablaze all the thoughts she’d harboured about the man. Everything—her irritation, appreciation, awe, longing—coalesced, leaving her shaken to the core. Because under all the bluster, the swagger, the crude behaviour, the cruder speech, his existence was as empty as hers.