The Sweet Under His Skin
Read The Sweet Under His Skin Online
Authors: Portia Gray
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #New Adult & College, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense
The Sweet Under His Skin
by Portia Gray
Copyright© Portia Gray 2014
The right of Portia Gray to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Quentin scowled at the bright display in front of him. "Go get me gum," Mandy had ordered.
"What kind?"
"Just…gum. Doesn't matter."
He shook his head. There's a wall of gum. What the fuck did he know from gum? But she was the President’s old lady and pretty much the Queen of the club and his life would be easier just to do as she asked.
He was going to ask the broad standing next to him, leading her kid down the aisle looking at the opposite side of shelves. But she looked like regular people. In the club’s neighborhood, especially, he tried not to hassle the regular people.
He reached for a peppermint flavor and a fruity bullshit one too, just to cover the bases. As he did, he felt a tug on his wallet chain. He looked down under his outstretched arm. The kid wasn't paying attention to his mom; he was reading a book and absently reaching out, looking for her arm or pocket or purse or something.
"You trying to jack my wallet there, Charlie?" he said, loud enough to make the kid jump.
Which he did. The kid's glasses nearly fell off as he jerked his hand back, leapt about two feet vertical, then just stared up at Quentin as he pushed his goggles back up his nose. His mouth hung open like a goldfish, and Quentin spared a moment to feel bad for scaring him.
"It's okay, kid," he assured him, stepping back and bringing his arm down again. "I'm just messing with 'ya."
"Calvin, what are you doing?" the broad pushed past behind Quentin to take the kid by the arm. "Try and keep up with me, Peanut. I'm so sorry—" she began, casting a look Quentin's way with a smile before her words and face froze.
Quentin was used to this reaction. Most regular people were scared of him, the broads in particular. Especially the ones with glossy, walnut-brown hair, sharp chin and giant blue-green eyes, who looked like they showered every day and never woke up a place they hadn't intended.
Not that he was noticing.
"S'okay," he assured her. "He tried to take my wallet, that's all."
"Calvin!" she admonished, disproportionately shocked.
"No I didn't," the kid was whining.
Quentin cracked up, bringing her head around his way again. "I'm kidding. He didn't try to do anything. He thought he was grabbing your purse, I'm sure." Now that he was looking, it was a black one with a chain strap. Honest mistake.
She set her jaw, and something in the way her eyes flashed made his cock twitch, just a bit. "Is that what we do for fun? Scare little kids?"
A regular broad with a bitchy mouth. He felt himself smile. "I was playing around, baby. That's it."
She pulled the kid past him. "Play with someone your own size next time," she muttered, heading for the cash register, the kid staring up at Quentin as he was dragged past.
"Later, 'ya little klepto," Quentin called out, chuckling as the kid pulled his eyes away and double-timed it to get ahead of his mom.
He lined up behind them, not even trying to ignore her legs under those shorts, and the curve of her ass and hips. Nice tan. Nice legs. Great ass. Her waist sunk in above it, the lines of her back showing under the tightness of her girly top. His hand was itching to grab that hair too but he held back, noticing that the kid was peering around her hip to stare up at him again.
Quentin smiled at the kid, who darted back into the comfort of mommy's stomach. Quentin hoped she was putting him in karate or some shit, otherwise that kid was going to get his clock cleaned every day at school.
When she'd paid for her stuff and hustled the rugrat to the door Quentin was blatant about watching her the whole way. Those hips swayed like she knew how to use them, and he was pretty damn sure she didn't know how much she was telling with that walk.
He felt the clerk staring at him, but he just tossed the gum on the counter, an eye on the door. He could still see her walking with the kid through the parking lot. Quentin sniffed, cracking his neck when a tingle flared up along his jaw and back to his spine. It was the tingle he always got when he had a whiff of sweet, and he always fought against it. Always. He didn't need that kind of…
"Bullshit," Arielle Taylor muttered, looking over her final pay check from the Portus Felix Town Office. It wasn't quite what she'd hoped for. It was a good thing she'd sold her house and moved into this cheap rental. But that final check being so small was really going to impair how she and Calvin could live these next few months. Hopefully it was only a few months. Then she'd have to start looking for a job again.
She chewed her nail, running her totals for the umpteenth time. She was going to cancel cable, make Calvin start getting all his books at the library, and there was to be absolutely no eating out.
Which stunk. Calvin was eight. He was living without any perks, and that sucked so much for a kid who was already incredibly socially awkward. Every time she told him they'd have to cut back on something he'd just adjust his glasses and shrug.
And this wasn't his fault, it was totally hers.
Arielle had expected being laid off when she told them about her impending medical treatments. She'd have to keep paying off her medical insurance for this reason, which was a lot of money. And if they didn't cover her she was so beyond screwed.
She looked through the dining room window, smiling at the sight of her nephew on a patio lounger, nose buried in a book. He was reading the Hobbit. Again. He was beyond the rest of his grade in reading, comprehension, and mathematics. So smart, in spite of his genes.
Arielle's sister Jolene had been smart in school, but none of it transferred into life skills. She'd traveled after high school, which was common. Then she wanted to model. Then she was going to act. But first, and foremost, she had to be high 24-7. Jolene also had no idea who Calvin's father was. She'd been on a week-long bender, was pretty sure there were about three guys for sure she'd been with, but she wasn't…certain. So whatever disgusting milkshake she'd created managed to produce a healthy, adorable son. She'd gone straight for about a year-and-a-half after he was born. The she was off and wild again.
Arielle's parents worried about Calvin as much as she did. They had started a trust fund for him he would inherit at eighteen, and it would pay for college, maybe even a down payment on a house when he was ready for that. It was a relief to know it was there.
When her parents died in a car accident three years ago, Arielle hadn't waited. She adopted Calvin immediately, despite only being in her early twenties. With Jolene's drug habit racking up five-digit numbers she didn't want to risk his mother taking away his college fund. And as long as Arielle was Calvin's legal guardian she couldn't.
That had sucked up all her savings and a lot of her inheritance. Jolene tried to fight for custody in court, and Arielle knew she had her eye on that cash. It's what made her fight back. She won custody, and life would have all be fine.
If she hadn’t gotten sick.
Arielle covered her mouth, feeling a sob working its way up her throat. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want Calvin to know how scared she was. He knew she was ill. He knew he'd be staying with Crazy Great-Aunt Thelma while Arielle had to go to the hospital for an operation. And he knew after a while Aunt Arielle was going to get sick…very, very sick.
Stage two breast cancer. Yeah, scary fucking word. Cancer. Small masses that had come back from the biopsy as cancer. So a lumpectomy was booked for the week after school was done so Calvin could go stay with Arielle's aunt, Thelma. Aunt Thelma was the cool aunt when Arielle and Jolene were growing up. She never got married, never had kids, lived in the country with an ever-changing menagerie of dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, she'd even had goats at one point. She made folk art, grew organic vegetables, made money at the farmer's market with homemade preservatives and played the guitar. Aunt Thelma was awesome, yet Arielle had the suspicion Calvin might be scared of her. But he'd never argue if this was Arielle's decision, and there were no other options.
She pushed the papers to the side, her mind now distracted with hoping again that she recovered from the surgery fast and could get through chemo before the bank account ran dry. She just had to stay relaxed, calm, and let Aunt Thelma take care of the both of them.
Arielle started as she realized Calvin wasn't on the lounger anymore. She crossed to the sliding glass patio door, scanning the yard. She still couldn't see him, but something was making a lot of noise in front of the house. A low but loud rumbling that shook the glasses in the kitchen cabinets. She crossed the crowded living room, still piled high with boxes from the move, and pushed the screen door open.
Calvin was next to the driveway, leaning on the short fence that separated her driveway from the neighbor's. He was trying to sneak a peek at the source of the noise; motorcycles. Two of them, in the neighbor's driveway. A man was sitting on the one that was running, smiling at Calvin, shouting, "How you doing, little man?"
The other bike was just parked on the driveway, waiting for its rider. She winced. When she'd toured this property, and in the past five days they'd lived there, she'd never seen the neighbor. She didn't want to live next to someone with a loud bike. And this man in front of them right now wasn't a weekend biker who worked at the bank during the day, either. He had the leather vest on with patches on the front that didn't read anything as generic as Harley Davidson.
Shit. This was bad. No wonder the rent was so agreeable.
"Calvin," she called, her voice sounding strained to her own ears. He turned to look at her, then looked back to the bike.
Arielle didn't want to grab him and pull him away, show fear and over react. So she tried again. "Calvin, could you come inside please?"
