Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)(38)

Con released me, and I stumbled to my feet. My destroyed panties lay draped across one of my sandals. Lost cause.

My head pounded, and I realized the whiskey from last night must have been a lot more potent than I’d thought. I usually only drank wine, so my tolerance for hard liquor had been mostly unexplored. Note to self: take it a little slower next time. And then I remembered that if I wanted the next time to end with actual sex and not just oral, there would be no alcohol involved. Con’s decree was more than a little intimidating.

I snatched up my panties, balling them in my fist, as I slipped on my sandals. I did a quick pat down, straightening my skirt and camisole, and then I looked to Con. He was watching me intently through shuttered eyes. Considering I wasn’t very good at reading him, even when his expression was more transparent, I was at a loss for how to gauge his mood.

He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Do you mind giving me a ride, or would you prefer I call a cab?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Just kept watching me.

I waited.

And waited.

“Con?”

“You regret it?”

It dawned on me that he was wondering if this morning was going to be a repeat of that morning.

“Do you think I regret it?” I waited to hear his answer, hoping it would give me some insight into this complicated man.

He leaned back, one arm resting along the top of the couch. His expression morphed into a more familiar, arrogant smirk.

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I think the only thing you regret is that I didn’t f*ck you.”

My inner muscles clenched at his words. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

His smirk softened into a lopsided grin, and he reached up with his other hand and scratched the back of his head. I tried not to focus on the way his bicep bulged when he bent his arm. Or on how sexy his shaggy blond bedhead looked.

“Not sure enough, Van. Can’t say I’ve ever worked this hard for a woman.”

His words unleashed a rush of insecurity within me. He’d had dozens, maybe hundreds, of women. Was the mystery of not remembering that night the only real appeal I held for him? “What if it’s not worth it? What if I’m not worth it?”

“I think we both know that ain’t the case.”

I squeezed the balled up panties in my hand. They were an excellent reminder that I needed to get moving. “As much as I’d love to discuss this further, I really do need to go.”

Con dropped his arm from the back of the couch and checked his watch. “It’s five thirty. You gonna be able to sneak into Daddy’s house without raising the alarm?”

Shit. Given that it was still nearly pitch black outside, I’d hoped it was earlier. My father would already be up. Although, if I were lucky, he might already be gone.

“Let me worry about that.” I thought about pulling up in front of our house in the Garden District on the back of Con’s bike. Yeah. Nope. “Although, I guess I should probably take a cab…” I let my words trail off.

Con’s arrogant smirk snapped back into place as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry, princess. I get it. I can drop you off around the corner. Your walk of shame will be short, at least.”

The bitter tone that had crept into his voice sliced away a little of the pleasure of last night. It seemed like our differences loomed larger than ever. But did they really? I was standing in a multi-million dollar mansion on Lake Pontchartrain. The difference between Con and me wasn’t the money we had in the bank, because I had a sneaking suspicion that Con might have more than I did. The difference was wrapped up in how we felt about that money. Con seemed to hate it. Distrust it. Resent it. Whereas I accepted it. Appreciated it. Wanted to use it to change lives. Although Con was doing more than his part with respect to changing lives—his gym and his boys were proof of that. I wasn’t sure if we could get beyond this divide. It was ingrained, possibly unchangeable. But then again, maybe not.

I met Con’s dark blue eyes. “I’d love a ride. Thank you.”





Vanessa on the back of my Harley should have been all sorts of wrong. But it wasn’t. It felt too damn right. Just like it had felt too damn right falling asleep last night with my arms wrapped around her. But that wasn’t something I would let myself get used to. I’d trained myself early on not to get attached to things. Like the foster families of my early years who’d had no problem tossing me back into the system over some stupid kid prank I’d pulled. Or even something as simple as a stuffed animal. If it wasn’t mine to keep, I didn’t let myself get used to it.

So I ignored the feel of Vanessa’s arms wrapped around my stomach as I changed lanes and eventually glided into the parking lot of a bookstore a few blocks from her house. Taking my Harley any further into the quiet streets of the Garden District would alert the neighborhood to the presence of a guy who didn’t belong. Didn’t matter that I still owned a damn house on those streets. Just like the lake house, I hadn’t been able to let it go after Joy and Andre were gone. It seemed wrong to sell something they’d loved so much. But it was a house for a family, and I was pretty f*cking sure I’d never have one of my own. I couldn’t go through losing another one.

I cut the engine and climbed off the bike, once again helping Vanessa with her helmet. I hoped she never got the hang of it because it gave me an excuse to touch her.