The Darkest Link (Second Circle Tattoos) (4 page)

“Want to shower with me?” he asked, more out of curiosity than intent. Okay, well maybe there was intent, because fuck, he wanted to know if she looked as hot naked as she imagined.

“Not today,” she replied with a wink.

Gently, he took hold of her wrist, wrapping his thumb and forefinger all the way around it. “Does that imply someday?”

“That kinda depends on how good you smell when you get out.”

* * *

The idea that Kenny was somewhere above her head, allowing soapy suds of water to run down his naked body was almost more than she could handle. But as the queen of bad choices when it came to men, and the possessor of an uncanny knack for falling in love, Lia tried to hold firm to her self-imposed moratorium on hooking up. Watching her friends and co-workers, Trent, Cujo, and Pixie, all fall in love over the last eighteen months had taught her a truly valuable lesson. Her idea of love was not the same as everyone else’s. She was starting to understand hers was born out of a desperation that was almost impossible to explain. Watching Pixie, and her boyfriend, Dred Zander, lead singer of Preload, grapple with a young baby and touring while growing as a couple had opened her eyes to the hard truth. She desperately wanted to be loved and needed by someone because she had been deprived of it for so long, and that had led her to accept any attention. Just the smallest hint of it set her world on fire, so certain that she was on the cusp of finding the person who was going to love her back, only to find she was alone in the strength of her feelings. There was a real difference between being wanted and being needed, and she craved the kind of love that left her breathless now that she understood what that was.

Sitting in the glass-walled garage waiting room, she pulled out her phone and faced the messages from her father. Apprehension settled as heavy as bad seafood in her stomach. Twelve months in therapy had taught her to stop micro-scrutinizing the thoughts she had. Thoughts her father had put there. She dialed voice mail first.

“Julianna. It’s your father. I was rather disappointed that you left before we had a chance to talk this morning. Please can you come to the house this evening?”

There was that word again.
Disappointed.
He used it often. Forever he had told her how disappointed he was with her grades, her attention span, her fashion sense, her choice of career, her choice in men. Well, screw him and his disappointment . . . she was disappointed, too. Disappointed that her father had had barely five minutes a day to spend with her when she’d been in school. Disappointed that when she’d struggled with math, he’d bought her a calculator, instead of helping her figure it out. Disappointed that he still blamed her for the death of her twin, a boy. A boy that should have followed her older brother into the military . . . perhaps to West Point, or some other place that would make her father proud. Disappointed when on her eleventh birthday he told her he wished she’d been the one to die in the womb instead.

“Julianna. I am getting tired of the radio silence. I am waiting for you to come to the house.”

Message two. As cold and impersonal as the first. Reluctant to call him and get drawn into a debate, she entered a text message.
Had to leave. Speaking at a conference in Orlando in the morning. Back Sunday.

Lia waited the obligatory ten seconds and watched with sickening anticipation as the little dots next to her father’s name bounced. Of course he’d reply now. She was relieved it was the dots instead of a call.

Not good enough. Need to speak to you in person tonight.

Well. He could fucking wait. She’d rather eat a hive full of bees than face him.

Contractual obligation,
she typed.
Unable to change.

Her phone rang, and she threw it into the bottom of her purse. She knew what he wanted to talk to her about. The first step in gaining control of her. Her father wanted to be governor, and that was about to cause her a world of hurt. She desperately hoped her father wouldn’t be chosen to run for office, but the conversation she’d overheard suggested he was at least going to try. Her mom didn’t have it in her to be the First Lady of Florida, let alone the country. And the thought of becoming the First Daughter, or whatever the hell the title was for a grown-ass woman, made her want to puke.

She stood up and wandered back into the main garage. It smelled like a mixture of oil and coolant, and she breathed deeply. Somewhere deep inside her mind, her synapses must be firing wrong, because the scent excited her. An old red-and-white gas pump stood up against a brick wall that had been painted white. A giant sign stated
MY GARAGE . . . MY RULES.

“Hopefully I smell as good as I feel,” Kenny said, walking back into the garage. Gone were the biker boots, black denim, and standard-issue polo shirt. Instead, he wore faded jeans that hung low on his hips, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and navy-blue Converse. His hair was messy and pointed straight up at the front, and a silver chunky watch adorned his wrist. He carried himself with the casual sophistication of an old-school Hollywood actor.

For once, Lia felt travel-weary. Perhaps she should have been the one who’d showered. Or at least changed into that pretty polka-dotted dress in red and white that she had packed away in her luggage.

“If you smell as good as you look, I am more than happy,” she said, ignoring the ping of her phone that indicated that her father had left another voice mail.

Kenny walked toward her, coming to a stop at her feet and offering her his hand. She took it, savoring the way his large hand made hers feel small and safe. He didn’t back up, but held his ground right in front of her, leaving very little space between their bodies. And damn . . . he smelled divine.

“Better?” he asked, running a finger along the curve of her chin.

“Much,” she breathed.

Kenny stood for a moment longer and smiled at her before taking her hand and leading her through the garage. “We should get your things, and I need to give you the rest of your keys back,” he said, taking the keys off the key ring and handing them to her. He unlocked her car and pulled out her suitcase and smaller vanity case. Somewhere along the way, women had stopped using them to travel, but Lia loved the ritual of opening up the vanity case to find all her favorite skin care products and beautiful makeup. It was as much a part of who she was as her tattoos.

Lia smiled as she watched Kenny tuck it under his arm so he could turn off the lights. They wandered back through the customer waiting area, where Kenny set the alarm, and left the garage. Outside, he led them over to a small building with a roller shutter door.

“Will my car be safe here?” she asked, looking around the neighborhood. It was run-down . . . no, neglected. Large potholes in the road, uneven pavement, tired homes. A group of teens stood on the street corner.

Kenny waved over to them, and a couple of them raised their hands in return. “I know those kids. They’ll look out for the garage. I employ two of their fathers,” he said confidently. “Want to see
my
baby?” he asked, raising the door.

Lia gasped when she saw exactly what his baby was. Because first . . . it was black, polished to within an inch of its life. Second . . . it was a convertible. And third . . . it was hot as all hell. “What is this?” she asked, running her hand over the elongated hood.

“A 1958 Ford Thunderbird. It was a shell when I bought it. Was found in an unused barn with a bunch of other old classics.”

The wheels were black with white faces, and the soft top was a creamy white. Reflections from the chrome cast light onto the white walls.

“I love it,” she said, excited to sit inside.

“Hood up or down?” Kenny asked, slipping her cases into the trunk.

“Oh, most definitely down,” Lia said. Screw the victory rolls, she could always put her hair into a high ponytail and add the red ribbon she had in her purse if her scarf failed. She reached into her bag to find it and tied it around her head.

“I like this,” Kenny said, fingering the knot under her chin gently. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners made her feel all kinds of gooey inside. Perhaps it was a good thing they lived a long drive away from each other. His very presence made it difficult to remember why she was taking some time off from men. But a little harmless flirtation was adding to the adventure of a few days off work. There couldn’t be any harm in that.

Once inside the car, Kenny took her hotel details and plugged them into his phone. “There are few downsides to the classics, but lack of sat-nav has to be one,” he said, turning the radio on. “Ready?”

“I feel like Thelma and Louise about to drive over the edge of the cliff,” she said with a laugh.

“Close. That was a 1966 Ford Thunderbird, eight years younger than this baby. Does that make me J.D.?”

“That depends. Are you planning on driving me to a motel, having your wicked way with me on the dresser, then stealing my life savings?”

“I know a motel, don’t know if they have a dresser, but more than willing to do a drive-by to find out.”

Lia laughed. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t. Say the word, Red.”

He revved the engine several times, the low growl sexy as all hell, and grinned as he roared out onto the street. Lia watched his hand as he shifted the stick. He caressed the gear stick. The more she stared, the more turned on she became until she had to cross her legs and look out of the window.

Damn him for getting her so hot and bothered. She spared a glance back toward him, just as he turned to face her. And he winked. Because he knew.

And that just turned her on even more.

* * *

Reid waited for Lia in the opulent lobby of her hotel. Giant chandeliers reflected warm light off gold accents but did little to distract him from the fact that Lia was in her room freshening up. Not that she’d asked him to go up with her, but it was better for both of them that he was down here while she was up there changing into some other outfit that he couldn’t wait to see. Because the very idea that she was currently naked wasn’t helping the semi hard-on he’d had since she’d crossed her legs in the car. Watching her fidget, he wondered what it would be like to still her. To fuck her so completely that she couldn’t focus on anything but him and the way he made her feel.

They’d made small talk as he tried to convince himself that sliding his hand up her knee was a really bad idea, and got to know one another a
little
better while he tried to bury thoughts of fucking her on random pieces of furniture. Plus, his dick was acting like a teenager faced with his first skin mag. As the questions touched on something personal, both of them had pulled back. In his mind, the less she knew about him as a person, the less personal this encounter would be, which would make it easier when she pulled her car off his lot for good. Or so he told himself. Repeatedly.

He looked at his phone. Eight thirty. The elevator pinged and the gold doors slid open. Tourists, who were the number one reason he avoided Orlando, poured out into the lobby in varying shades of beige, white, and sunburned. And then there was Lia. Red-and-white polka-dots danced on the full skirt, and the revealing low-cut V left him itching to adjust the front of his pants one more time. She’d changed shoes: peep-toed heels with polka-dots to match the dress. A wide patent belt emphasized her narrow waist and the flare of her hips. He’d take a woman with curves any day of the week. It was ungallant for sure, but he let her walk toward him so he could watch her hips sway from side to side as she crossed the checkerboard-tiled floor.

“Enjoy that?” she asked as she approached him.

“So much that I might just let you walk a couple of feet ahead of me so I can check out if the back looks as good as the front,” he answered honestly.

Lia smiled. She’d touched up her makeup, those full lips lush and red again. What would they look like wrapped around his . . .
STOP.
He needed to pull his shit together. “Can you walk in those heels if we wander for a while until we see something we like? Or do you want me to talk to the concierge, find out what’s good, and get a cab?”

With her hand over her heart, Lia looked offended. “Can I
walk
?” she asked. “I’ll have you know I could chase a bank robber down the street and catch him while wearing heels much higher than this. If God hadn’t intended women to walk in heels, he wouldn’t have given us arches.”

He took her hand and pulled her close. “You might be in the minority there, Red. Although I think you and my sister might get along.” Taylor had the most ridiculous shoe collection. The woman was a teacher and stood in front of class in heels every day. Or at least she had, before Reid had started the spiral that led to his sister’s assault at the hands of his former best friend. He shook his head. Thinking about her and what happened never led to anything good. “Let’s walk and see what we find.”

They walked along tree-lined New Broad Street for a little while and settled on sushi.

Once seated at their table, they ordered drinks and studied the menu.

“Excuse me, are you Julianna Carlisle?” A young blonde in a navy-blue pantsuit stood next to Lia. He watched the edge of Lia’s polished veneer fade with just the slightest rounding of her posture, before she sat up even straighter and looked at the woman.

“Who is asking?” Lia asked confidently.
Julianna. Lia.
He liked the shortened form.

“My name is Lauren Stacey and I anchor
Rise and Shine, Orlando.
Our researcher has been trying to get in touch with you. We have another great interview with your father lined up for the end of the week, and were looking to get some sound bites from you to make it more family oriented, you know, make it less about Franklin Carlisle, the potential gubernatorial candidate.”

Franklin Carlisle.
That used-car salesman of a lawyer was Lia’s father? Anyone would think he wanted to be CNN’s latest senior legal analyst the way he was always on the news commenting on some story or another.