Tastes Like Candy (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 2) (12 page)

Ten

Candy

He did succumb to sleep, eventually, the heavy, dreamless sleep of the truly tired. He woke when he felt something tickling down his nose. Disoriented, his eyes snapped open and were filled with a pretty female face.

              Michelle.

              Her dorm.

              The sex.

              His stomach unclenched. “Hi, baby.”

              She was tracing the ridge of his nose with a fingertip, and withdrew her hand now, tucking it beneath her cheek on the pillow. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her eyes were big and liquid-soft, glowing in the dim light.

              He gave her his patented cocky grin, the one he gave the ladies. “You shoulda done it sooner.”

              She rolled her eyes.

              He chuckled. “That shit isn’t gonna work on you, is it?”

              “Decidedly not.”

              “Chelle.”

              She went very still, gaze darting back to his face. That nickname was special to her, he knew. He had no idea if she liked or loathed him using it. “You said that before. During.” She swallowed with visible effort.

              “You don’t want me to use it?” he guessed.

              “No…I…you can use it.” Her voice grew faint. “I…I like it. I think.”             

              He was filled with sudden tenderness. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

              She gave him a small smile, eyes still intense. “Only in the best way.”

              “Really, though.”

              “You didn’t hurt me.” She pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart. “Not physically, anyway.”

              So the little hardass had a romantic side after all. He’d suspected as much. “I didn’t give you the regular girl treatment, I promise you.”

              “Should I be flattered?” But her eyes told him she was.

              “You should trust me when I say I’m not ever going to hurt you on purpose.” And he knew, in that moment, that he spoke the truth. His habits with women weren’t relevant here; Michelle wasn’t just “a woman.”

              She snuggled down into her pillow, watching him, silent and calculating as a cat.

              “I’m not lying to you.”

              “I know you’re not,” she said, softly. “It’s only…I didn’t think this would happen.”

              “Yeah.”

              “So what now?”

              “Well, this is my house, so I can do whatever I want. What I wanna do right now is go back to sleep, and wake you up in a little bit, and see if I can get you all hot and wet again.”

              She caught her lip between her teeth. She liked that idea. She liked it a lot. But she said, “We probably shouldn’t, though.”

              “Why not? Because you stuffy Brits don’t like to have fun?” he teased.

              She scrunched up her nose. “No. Because we’ll probably…” She trailed off, eyes widening, like she had just realized something.

              “Probably what?”

              “…probably be talked about,” she finished, gaze growing faraway. “It’s always been a kind of secret, you see.” She gestured between them. “Men and me. It was never…” She chewed at her lip, this time in faint distress.

              “Men?” There was a subtle, unfamiliar tightening in his gut.

              “Just the one, actually. But he was far too old for me and it was dreadfully inappropriate.”

              “Kind of like this?”

              “Yes.” Her gaze sharpened, zeroed in on his; she was back in the moment, aware of the knowledge that lay between them. “Exactly like this.”

              “So you have a type.”

              “I suppose so.”

              “This is different, though.”

              A questioning glance.

              “It is,” Candy insisted. “Because I’m the boss around here. And I don’t give a shit who talks. Nobody can shame me.”

              “They can shame me, though,” she said, quietly.

              Again, the clenching in his belly. A disquiet. An ugly mental image of one of his brothers cat-calling or making Michelle feel badly in some way about what they’d done tonight. “They wouldn’t fucking dare, or they’d be eating through a feeding tube the next six weeks.”

              She smiled, her face full of warmth, peaceful, sleepy. “I’m not looking for a champion.”

              “Well that’s just too damn bad.”

              She yawned. “I’m also not looking to be someone’s mistress.”

              He shrugged, sheets rustling. “Whatever. Call it what you want. Figure out what you want it to be.” He shut his eyes.

              “What are you doing?”

              “Sleeping. Like I said. And then the waking up part I mentioned.”

              “But–”

              “Get some sleep, Michelle. You’re gonna need it.”

~*~

Michelle

Hands reaching for her in the dark, through the soft cool cotton of the sheets. She woke to the feel of calluses chafing her hip, her waist, her shoulder. She lay on her side and had been dreaming of a gray London rain; she came to with the fading scent of wet pavement in her nose, aware of the dark room, her surroundings, the lingering tang of Scotch on her tongue, and the large man behind her. She smiled to herself as an arm like a steel band curled around her waist and drew her backward. His skin was warm when they made contact, his chest hair tickling at her spine.

              “Told you,” he whispered in her ear.

              A shiver of anticipation rippled beneath her skin, and she smiled to herself, sleepy and warm with gladness, as Candy’s hand slid down her belly, went between her legs. She shifted, gave him better access. His fingers danced against her, and he kissed the back of her neck. She felt the warmth of his lips, quick pressure of his teeth, hot stroke of his tongue.

              A finger found her entrance, slipped inside, bold and slow. Worked her, until the fog of sleep had left her, and she was wide-eyed and wanting in the dark.

              “Roll over and kiss me,” he urged.

              And she did.

~*~

Morning. It slammed into her. One moment she drifted pleasantly in a dreamscape of soft colors, one that felt safe, warm, and homey. The next, her eyes snapped open and cold awareness washed over her.

              Her head was pounding, her eyes ached from crying, and a dozen little sore spots made themselves known. The sun was just up, the dorm full of pale early light. She smelled the faint lingering notes of alcohol, sweat, and sex.

              Hello, reality.

              She wasn’t going to panic, throw a fit, or act shocked, she decided. So unlike her. Not to mention gauche.

              Slowly, she took stock. Candy lay on his back, taking up far too much of the bed, and she was cuddled up beside him, head pillowed on his shoulder, arm flung across his chest. This was going to be awkward, she knew, waking up together.

              But the sense of safety persisted. For the first time since the attack in the street back home, she didn’t wake clawing her way out of a nightmare. And for the first time in a long time, she woke with a little inner glow. The post-passion satisfaction that came with loving treatment from a man.

              That’s what it had been last night, she realized. There was no love between them, but Candy had been loving with her. Whatever happened now, she would be grateful for that.

              Though his face remained impassive, his hand tightened in the curve of her waist. “Regrets?”

              “No,” she said, and meant it. “Not yet.”

              He grinned tiredly, eyes still shut. “You gonna be able to walk today?”

              “You think very highly of yourself.”

              “Yep.”

              She rolled away and climbed out of bed, just to prove that her legs worked. They wobbled, though, and she bit back an impulsive smile as she searched for her clothes.

~*~

By the time she’d showered, dressed, and made a go at her hair – except for an undercover job in which she’d had it bobbed and slicked it daily with cream, she never did much with it – Candy was long gone, and she was surprised to find herself staring at the rumpled bed where they’d spent the night. She was nobody’s fool; she knew exactly what last night had been. Two frustrated people letting off steam.

              No regrets, no. But not exactly a happy situation, either.

              Whatever.

              She found breakfast in full swing in the common room. No sign of Candy yet, but she spotted her uncle tucking into a plate of eggs at the bar and her father’s betrayal, pushed to the back of her mind while she in Candy’s arms, came roaring back to the forefront. In her family, secrets were slippery and hard to keep; Fox had to have known, and yet had said nothing.

              Bastard.

              “Uncle Charlie,” she said as she joined him. “When was the last time you talked to Dad?”

              He was instantly suspicious. She saw the brief tightening of his cut across his shoulders. But he shoveled in eggs and said, “Dunno. A week or so ago, maybe. When he said you were coming.”

              “Right. And I’m guessing he told you about his plan for me?”

              “His plan for you to come here, yeah.” He gave her a sideways look that suggested she was stupid.

              “Nice try, Charlie. He told you about wanting me distanced from the club, didn’t he? That he wanted a nice cozy civilian life for me. Right?”

              “Now where would you get such an idea as that?”

              “Candy told me.”

              “Ah. Last night when you two were shagging?”

              The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “I…what…we didn’t…”

              But he turned a wicked foxy grin on her. “Everyone knows. No sense lying about it, pet.”

              “Everyone?” she whispered.

              “Everyone.”

              Horrified, trembling, she twisted on her stool and scanned the room. The boys – Jinx, Gringo, Cowboy, Blue, Cletus, Catcher, Duke, Pup, Colin, and even silent Talis – lifted their eyes from their plates and gave her flat but knowing glances. No one smiled, or teased, or breathed a word, but yes, they knew.

              Oh God, how? Had they been so loud? Had someone seen him go into her dorm? Had he – and this was awful to think – told them all?

              She turned back to Fox, met by a smirk. “Enjoyed yourself, did you?”

              “Fox.”

              “Yes?”

              She clouted him just behind the ear with her open hand. Hard.

              “Jesus!” He ducked away from the blow.

              “You are an ass,” she pronounced, shaking with embarrassment.

              “And you hit like a bloody man! Christ, girl.”

              “You deserve worse than that.”

              “For what?”

              “For not telling me,” she hissed. “And for being a ridiculous gossip.”

              She was angrier than she should have been, cheeks hot with shame. Her “no regrets” statement? She wanted to retract it.

              Jenny chose that opportune moment to appear, dressed in jeans, floaty white lace top, and bright red cowboy boots. She carried baby Jack on her hip and had a massive diaper bag slung over the other shoulder. She scanned the room, lips pressed together, and Michelle knew she understood the situation.

              “You ready to go?” she asked, looking at Michelle. “I thought we could grab breakfast out and get a jump start on shopping before the midday crowds get cranked up.”

              With an inward sigh of relief, Michelle slid to her feet. “That sounds brilliant.”

~*~

Jenny had a shiny little Jeep that was already hot and stuffy inside thanks to the morning sunshine. With Jack buckled into his seat in back, they headed downtown with the windows open and the desert-scented breeze snatching at their hair. Michelle knew only enough about country music to know that’s what was on the radio. Jenny looked tan, glamorous, and American behind the wheel, periodically sweeping her wild hair back.

              Michelle was too self-conscious, in the wake of what had happened, to feel any joy in the outing.

              They’d gone about a mile when Jenny said, “I’m not one of those sisters, you know.”