Reborn (3 page)

“This place needed livening up like Carl needs another pair of sunglasses.” Carl was his stepbrother. Mary’s mother, Mandy, had been like a mother to him as well.

“Max”—she shook her head at him—“you’re not afraid she’ll cause trouble. You’re afraid she’s too much even for you.”

Too pissed to reply to that bullshit, Max just shoved the bag under his arm and stalked up the leaf-strewn path into the house. He wasn’t about to let a pair of tits get the best of him, no matter how perky and gorgeous they happened to be.

The
blonde
was sitting at the table when
he finally made his way into the kitchen. She sat straight-backed and ladylike, looking as lovely as a 1950s movie star. She had a heart-shaped face with a pointed little chin and thick, soft-looking blond hair that probably curled when it was wet. He lost his breath again, just for a moment, and that pissed him off to no end.

He set her bag down on the table in front of her with a thunk. The thing weighed a ton.

“Thank you.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Where’s your dog?”

“My—” He turned around; he’d left Bambi outside.

He heard the front door open and after a moment, her happy shepherd face came around the corner of the living room, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

Mary followed, looking relaxed and comfortable in a tank top and pajama bottoms, her feet encased in a pair of Ugg loafers that John, her lover and manager at the Box, had purchased for her.

She handed him a plastic-wrapped newspaper from the yard as she walked by, smacking it against his chest. He took it with a grunt and sat down. Bambi made her way under the table and lay down on top of his feet.

Weak sunlight streamed into the room from a kitchen window as the scent of coffee filled the room. Mary crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around John. He was making coffee, undoubtedly for the blond queen of the universe. Atticus, John’s one-eyed Maltese, sat at John’s feet with his tail curled up over his back.

“Mmm, coffee,” Mary murmured, and kissed John’s shoulder. Atticus jumped up on her legs and she bent and picked him up.

“Hello, white dog,” she murmured to him, and nuzzled his neck while he licked her face.

Watching Lille from the corner of his eye, Max saw her smile at the scene. It was a soft, sad smile that made her seem human . . . almost.

Suddenly, as if she sensed his regard, she turned those green eyes on him and the softness disappeared from her expression. She studied him as if he were a damn cut of beef at Whole Foods. Strike that. The shoppers at Whole Foods had more warmth. He didn’t know whether she wanted to fuck him or collar him like a stray dog and have him begging at her heels.

He rubbed his arms unconsciously, surprised as always that he couldn’t feel his tattoos as well as see them. He felt the need to get another, maybe a banshee intertwined with his dragon—
just a bit of a warning like,
he told himself, because while he knew Lille was spoiled and no doubt expected to be catered to at all times, she was also the prettiest damn thing he’d ever seen. He hated that he wanted her almost as much as he hated the disruption he knew she was about to cause in his life.

“Anyone want
a croissant?” Mary set a plate
of the buttery goods down on the table and swung herself around the edge to take a seat next to her friend. Atticus followed Mary and joined Bambi under the table.

Lille took a pastry and turned her body away from Max, just a little, and he was able to relax enough to grab a croissant and pull off a chunk, scattering flakes that resembled fish food flakes. He ignored them for the moment, enjoying his breakfast while the women chatted about Lille’s trip and what was going on at the Box.

After a moment, John, who’d been Max’s best friend long before he’d been Mary’s lover, brought over the mugs of coffee on one of the brown serving trays from the pub. He set it down gently in the center of the table.

“Thanks, honey.” Mary winked at John before taking the mug with Garfield on it. John had been managing the Fetish Box for Mandy before she died, and he stayed on as a manager when Mary took over. Max wondered what was going to happen now that the queen of the universe had arrived.

“Yes, thank you,” Lille added, and took the mug with the wicked stepmother from
Cinderella
.
Appropriate,
Max thought snidely.

John pulled out a chair and joined them, settling his lean, rangy frame with ease at the small table. He eyed Max knowingly and wiggled his brows in Lille’s direction as he picked up his own mug from the tray: Slimer from
Ghostbusters
grinned at Max from the surface.

Max kept his arms crossed over his chest for a moment, but not even he could resist coffee for very long. John had placed a small metal pitcher of milk on the tray as well, but so far only Mary had used it. He guessed the queen preferred her coffee black. His mug was green and covered in rainbows and a pot of gold. John had been entirely too cheerful since he’d been getting laid on a regular basis. Max grimaced, but he wasn’t sure whether he was irritated with John or himself. Hell, he didn’t know what his problem was, but he thought a cigarette would help enormously.

He started to get up, but the mention of the Box drew his attention back to the women and their conversation.

“Everyone just calls it the Box,” Mary was explaining to Lille, which seemed to amuse the blonde.

“Just the Box, huh?” She had a dimple on one side of her mouth, for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah.” Mary was smiling her gentle smile, the one that made you think she was all innocent and nice, which she was . . . mostly, though she had a wild streak. The other one, Lille, didn’t seem nice at all . . . and her streak of bitch couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d tattooed it all over her body.

“I have some ideas for it,” Lille was telling Mary now. “You’re going to love them. I promise.”

Ideas.
Max scowled. He didn’t like that she was coming in and acting as if she had the right to make changes. Mary hadn’t done that and she owned the place. Of course, he’d done his best to freak Mary out when she’d arrived and that hadn’t worked . . . so maybe he understood women even less than he’d thought.

He kept the scowl on his face as she turned to look at him.

“Problem, darling?” Lille asked him.

Max cracked his knuckles and shrugged. Mary was giving him her disapproving look, but she didn’t seem that serious about it.

“Just not sure why you’re bothering, luv. Surely it won’t take you long to find some rich man to put a ring on your finger. Why pretend you’re even interested?”

Mary’s eyes widened, but the blonde just looked at him for a moment. She seemed both amused and resigned at the same time. She leaned in, her bright green eyes holding him very, very still. Up close, her skin was peaches and cream, her lips maraschino-cherry red. She was like the 1950s pinups that his tattoo artist had on display in her parlor.

“Sweetie”—she reached out and ran one long nail down his cheek—“I’m sure you’re a great fuck and I have no doubt that we’ll get along splendidly in bed, but you don’t know the first thing about me.”

His cheek was tingling as if he’d just splashed on aftershave, which he rarely bothered to do.

“I’ve known women like ye.” He shrugged, shifting backward casually, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Now he really itched for a cigarette, but he’d left them on the coffee table over at his house. “Rarely worth the trouble.”

She leaned back as well, mimicking him, her eyes cold and considering as she opened her blouse, just a little, and parted her lips on a sigh.

“That’s too bad,” she breathed, green eyes piercing him. “I’ve always liked a man with tattoos.”

“Is that right?” Max swallowed. He knew she was fucking with him, but damned if he wasn’t falling for it.

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile of triumph made her eyes gleam. She leaned forward again, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage. “I like to trace them with my tongue. Has a woman ever done that? Traced them with her tongue while you lay there, helpless?”

Max flicked a glance at John and Mary, who were staring, unabashed, but Lille didn’t move, her gaze holding him fixed and fascinated.

“I have,” he snapped, though he hadn’t. He wasn’t a big fan of being tied up and helpless.

She relaxed and leaned back, lifting her coffee, dismissing him. “Well, that’s a shame. I do like to be the first.”

Max didn’t know what do with the volatile mix of lust and faint horror that was rolling around in his stomach. She was . . . she was . . . like no woman he’d ever met in his life, which made her unpredictable, dangerous.

“I’m off to the pub,” he snapped, standing abruptly and dislodging Bambi from her position on his feet. He heard the scramble of her nails on the tile floor as she hurried to follow him into the living room.

He yanked open the back door with more force than necessary and waited just long enough for Bambi to clear the opening before he slammed it shut.

The dog was the only bitch that he’d ever been able to stand for any length of time, and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

CHAPTER
Two

Lille watched him go with a satisfied smirk and took another sip of what was truly excellent coffee. She must’ve been a little too obvious, though, because when she glanced at John and Mary, she saw that they both had now-isn’t-that-interesting looks on their faces.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Lille shrugged prettily. “He started it.”

John ran a hand down Mary’s long brown hair. “Whad’ye think, California?”

Mary smiled and leaned in to kiss his scarred cheek. “I think our friends like each other.”

Holding her coffee cup in one sun-kissed hand, Lille hummed in agreement. “Oh, we liked each other fine, darling.” She paused. “Other than the fact that he’s a walking hard-on with a ridiculous accent and he can’t stand me, we’re going to get along just great.”

John rolled his eyes and curled his fist in Mary’s hair, turning her to look at him fully. He smiled into her eyes. “I need to get over to the Box.” He lifted one finger and slowly stroked Mary’s cheek. “You ladies be okay here with Atticus?”

Mary nodded, her eyes dreamy and warm. “We’ll be over in a little bit.”

“Good.” John kissed her lushly on the lips, not pulling away till he’d had a good, long taste.

Lille watched with interest, wondering whether they were going to excuse themselves for a little tête-à-tête, but no, after a moment John lifted his head. His breathing was a little choppy and his color was high, but he met Lille’s gaze squarely. He had gorgeous blue eyes; they blazed with keen intelligence from his scarred face. Mary had told her that he’d been a marine, and that the burn scars on his right eye were from an IED.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he told her, and nodded, releasing Mary’s hair.

“Nice to meet you, too, soldier,” she replied, and gave him her best Marilyn smolder for being so damn nice . . . and calling her ma’am.

He laughed and scratched lightly at the side of his face, where the scars looked like reddened rivers with white banks. “Not a soldier anymore.”

Some of Lille’s blond hair slipped into her face; she tucked it away impatiently. “I always thought that once a soldier, always a soldier.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, seemingly amused by her. He looked down at Mary, who’d resumed drinking her coffee with a blissful look of contentment on her face, and back to Lille. “Look after Mary while you two are out and about, all right?”

Lille froze, surprised. “Are you worried something will happen?” she demanded, her eyes fierce. “I thought the guy who attacked Mary was caught.” She’d come out to help manage the Box, get it on its feet because Mary wasn’t much of a manager, but Lille had also wanted to keep an eye on Mary. Still, she’d understood that there wasn’t any immediate danger.

“He was.” John nodded. “But you never know.”

Lille studied him for a moment, but eventually relaxed and gave him a small smile. She felt exposed, as if he knew her secret.

“I’ll do my best,” she murmured.

“Good.” John nodded. “See you in a bit, Mary. Atticus—stay,” he ordered, and disappeared into the living room. After a few moments, the two women heard the door close on the opposite side of the house.

Lille looked at her best friend. “Those two are a handful.”

“Aren’t they fun?” Mary agreed, and sat back, looking very pleased with herself.

“
Fun
isn’t the word I would use.”

An hour
later Lille managed, with Mary’s help,
to unpack two of her suitcases full of clothing. There were four bedrooms in the one-story beach house that Mary had inherited from her mother. The Fetish Box and Jobman’s were about a mile inland, in a strip mall near a Publix super market. Despite the fact that Mary lived in the house by herself, most of the rooms were occupied in one fashion or another; one was a fetish room, covered in explicit artwork and filled with furniture that bore only a passing resemblance to gym equipment; one held Mary’s art and painting supplies; and one was Mary’s bedroom. The fourth had been a guest room but was to be Lille’s for as long as she wished.