Foreplay (The Ivy Chronicles #1)(58)

“Come here.” He tucked me against him, pulling my head down to his chest. I listened to the faint drum of his heart. His hand threaded through my hair, his fingers softening when he hit a snarl. “You have beautiful hair.”

I smiled against his chest and then turned my face slightly, self-conscious that he could feel my silly grin against him. That he would know how pleased I was at the compliment. “I can spot you a mile away with this hair. It’s like candlelight. A thousand different colors.”

“A poet bartender,” I murmured, settling my hand against his upper chest.

“Sweetheart, every bartender is a poet.”

“I guess you get to see quite a bit of the world from behind the bar.”

“I see enough. I saw you.”

Still smiling, I started to relax against him. The glide of his fingers through my hair began to lull me. “Tell me more,” I encouraged, my voice sleepy and soft.

His voice rumbled through his chest. “You just want to hear me say that you’re beautiful, is that it?”

I swatted his arm. “Noooo.”

“You know you are. You don’t need to hear me say it.”

My smile slipped. “Why would I know that?”

“Uh. Look in the mirror. Watch the eyes that follow you when you walk into a room.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. The idea oddly discomforted me. My fingers traced lazy circles on his chest.

“Hunter won’t be able to resist you. I don’t know how he has so far.”

I stilled against him, my fingers freezing.

Anger flashed through me. Why did he have to bring Hunter up right now? When we were like this? It just felt . . . I don’t know. Wrong.

“Thanks,” I murmured. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to sleep, to escape my annoyance, escape him. Of course, I was too wound up with irritation—and an aching awareness of him at my back—to have a hope of falling asleep. I was stuck, probably awake until we both got up in the morning.

That was my last thought before my eyes fell shut like lead weights.





Chapter 19

I wait in the bathtub for the noises on the other side of the wall to stop. The voices fade away eventually, and I count to ten, waiting for Mommy to come and get me. She doesn’t come. So I keep waiting and start counting again. This time to twenty.

I hug my knees to my chest and settle back against the blanket lining the tub, hoping I won’t have to spend the night in the bathroom again.

I squeeze Purple Bear, my fingers playing along his soft, well-worn little arms. They used to be plump, full of stuffing. Somehow the stuffing had vanished so that the arms were just flat little appendages of purple fabric now.

The door opens and I peek out from behind the curtain, eager for Mommy, hoping she’s come at last to invite me into the bed with her.

Only it’s not Mommy.

A man stands there, his hair long and wet-looking. His plaid shirt hangs off his narrow shoulders. It’s unbuttoned, open down the front. His soft-looking belly is as white as the bar of soap sitting to my right.

He approaches the toilet, his hand fumbling with his zipper, and I jerk back into the tub, hoping he’ll hurry up with his business and leave. Mommy’s guests never stay long. I must have made a sound though. The shower curtain screeches on the rail as he yanks it back.

He looms over me. “Well. Who do we have here?”

I shrink away, clutching Purple Bear in front of me.

His knees crack as he kneels down beside the tub. “You Shannon’s little girl?”

I nod once.

His dark eyes travel over me, studying my bare legs poking out from Mommy’s T-shirt. He leans forward and peers inside the tub like he doesn’t want to miss any part of me.

“Not so little, eh. You look like a big girl to me.”

His fingers curl around the edge of the tub and they remind me of a corpse, long and thin, white as bone. Several rings flash on them. My gaze fixates on one in the shape of a skull.

If possible I hug Purple Bear even tighter, my arms squeezing around his soft little body. Mommy said he would always protect me. That Purple Bear would keep me safe whenever she wasn’t with me.

“What’s your name?”

“Where’s Mommy?”

“Sleeping.” Two bony fingers stretch out and brush my knee. I whimper and jerk my leg back.

He grins brown, furry teeth at me.

I open my mouth, ready to cry for Mommy, but his hand slams over my mouth, cutting off my voice. My air.

There’s just the foul taste of his hand. And fear. . .

I woke with a choked sob, vaulting upright in bed. Strong hands were instantly there, seizing my arms, and I cried out. Turning, I hit at the body beside me.

“Pepper! What’s wrong?”

The voice didn’t penetrate. I was still trapped in that bathroom, a musty palm suffocating me. Mommy! Mom!

“Pepper!” The hands shook my shoulders. “Pepper. It’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

I blinked against the murky, predawn air. “Reece?”

“Yeah.” He swept the hair back from my face. “Some dream there.”

I nodded.

His thumb brushed my cheek. “You’re crying.”

I released a shaky laugh and dabbed at my cheeks with the back of my hand, feeling the moisture there. “Must have been something I ate.” How could I have been so dumb? The dreams always came without warning. I knew that. I should have known this could happen.