The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(33)
“I respect you more for that than anything you’ve said to me before.” Pixie turned back to face him. “I mean it.”
Dred leaned in and brushed her lips. “Thank you.”
“I need to go to the washroom. Be right back.”
He watched her walk toward the exit, and pulled out his phone, needing to scribble down the lyrics in his head.
This is crazy. So, so crazy. And it’s painful. So, so, painful.
It was going to make a great chorus, if only Pixie could inspire him with the rest of the song.
*
Desmond said a man came to the condo looking for you today. You got two guys on the go, sweet cheeks? :-) P.S. Hope the rock star is treating you like a princess.
Pixie read Lia’s message over and over, then glanced up at Dred who was busily building a fire. From a fun afternoon, they’d had a serious evening, although the mood had lightened considerably once she’d returned from the bathroom. Instead of another drink at the bar, they’d decided to return to Dred’s home and watch a movie.
Yes to the princess. No to a second guy. Can you charm Desmond into giving me a headshot from the security cameras?
The head of security in their apartment building had a soft spot for Lia. The man Desmond referred to had to be Pixie’s stepdad. The idea of him turning up unannounced at her home made her skin itch.
“There. That should keep us going for a while.”
Pixie watched Dred stoke the fire. There was something very . . . manly . . . about it. Plus, she got to check out his ass. His mighty-fine ass. Which was tough, because she was in knots from his flirty kisses and the way he ran his fingers along her thigh all night.
And there was the crux of her issue.
While attending rehab, the counsellor had tried to help her unravel her mangled feelings about intimate relationships. Her synapses were crossed after years of conditioning. Her stepfather had been a voyeur. He used to make her watch pornography, and he’d get off on her response to it. Sometimes he’d make her read erotic stories to him or his friends who’d laugh at her as she stumbled through the pages. It confused her. Sometimes the material aroused her in spite of the insidious fear that crawled through her. It left her feeling dirty, something that had dogged all of her attempts at adult relationships.
The sweet sugary smell of popcorn filled the air, and a bottle of whiskey complete with two glasses sat on the table in front of her.
With a loud clang, Dred replaced the poker in the stand and moved the fireguard back in place. He stepped back, but seemed to watch the fire snap and crackle for a moment. Eventually, he joined her on the sofa that could well have been a bed given its size.
“Come here,” he growled, and effortlessly pulled her up against him. “Fuck, I’ve eaten burgers that weigh more than you do.”
Pixie couldn’t help but laugh. When she’d first seen Dred fill the doorway of Second Circle, his size had intimidated her, which was strange, because she was so used to being around Trent and Cujo. Now she felt secure in his embrace. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I don’t gain weight. I hated being scrawny when I was younger.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not scrawny now.” Dred rubbed his hand down her side, tracing the indent of her waist and sliding his hand under the hemline of her blouse. He reached for the remote and turned on the wall-mounted television “What do you feel like?” he asked, pulling up the movie menu.
It was hard to make a decision with him touching her. He dragged the tips of his nails, which she’d noticed were filed at funny angles, lazily across her skin. Painfully aware of the way his body surrounded hers, it was a wonder she could remember her own name.
“Action? Horror? . . . I’m drawing a line at chick flicks”
“Musical? You don’t want to watch Pitch Perfect? Or Les Miserables? Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?”
Dred put a hand over her mouth, cutting off one of her most favorite songs. “I’d rather eat my own arm,” he deadpanned.
She giggled and put him out of his misery. “Old-school horror. Well, old school for me. Nightmare on Elm Street, Poltergeist, Hellraiser. Something like that.”
“Aren’t you a constant surprise?” Dred scrolled through the list. “How about The Shining?”
“Perfect.”
Dred started the movie and settled back into the sofa, and Pixie got comfortable leaning against him. She could hear his heart beat. A slow-and-steady throb that beat in time to the haunting melodic notes of the opening scene. The camera panned across the lake, and caught up with a vehicle winding its way through a dense Colorado forest, but Pixie could barely pay attention.
What was it about this man’s fingers? Perhaps it was the heat from the fireplace that was warming her, or the way Dred’s teasing strokes had moved from her back to an inch beneath the waistband of her jeans.
Maybe if she focused more on Kubrick’s exceptional directing and the symbolism of room 237, the arousal she felt would diminish. Or maybe if she dissected Jack Nicolson’s performance as Jack Torrance, it would drive away the need to slide her hands across Dred’s chest to feel if those pecs were as hard as she imagined.
Pixie sat up and reached for her whiskey—maybe the sharp bite would quell the feelings. It felt strange to end their first date in his arms, or even his bed for that matter, but with Dred it felt different. She turned the stout crystal tumbler in her hand. Dred leaned forward and took the glass from her, placing it back on the table.