The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(36)

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Dred. I just . . .”

“It’s fine, Pix. I’m not pushing. I’m chasing away any doubts lingering in that brain of yours that Lennon had a point.”

Stepping up on her toes, she kissed him and he sucked on her lower lip.

“What was that for?”

Pixie smiled. “I’m chasing away any lingering doubts in that brain of yours that I might think he did.”

While Dred went down to the recording room to have a quick discussion with the band, Pixie took a long shower in his luxurious bathroom. But beyond the high-end shower with more dials than could possibly be useful, and towels that were softer than anything she had ever felt, it was sparse and bare, nothing a plant and some accessories wouldn’t solve. Wrapped up in her towel, she blow-dried her hair straight, and deciding on a light makeup day, applied some mascara and lip balm.

Putting everything away neatly in her suitcase, Pixie heard her phone ping.

So glad dude is not lover #2 . . . we’d be having words about your taste!

Lia had attached a photograph. Her stepdad had attempted to see her at the condo. Pixie put her phone down. His presence confused her. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. Like what had happened after she had fled the trailer. There was no way Arnie would have called the police with all the drugs he had stockpiled around the place. So whatever happened next would have required someone to move the body. Her stomach roiled at the thought.

The smells of breakfast frying wafted into the room, making her feel even more nauseated.

There was something symbolic, or maybe simply ironic, about the timing. In the past, she’d been out on dates because it felt like that was what she was expected to do. Or because Lia had set her up on one. Occasionally, she’d started talking to a visitor to the shop and hit it off, accepting their offer of coffee. But Dred was the first man she could see potential in. That what they were building might have enough momentum to see them over the starting hurdles, even if they didn’t finish the race. So wasn’t it strange that as soon as she found him, her stepdad reappeared in her life, the complete opposite of her guardian angel?

Pixie sat down on the bed and took a deep breath. Not knowing what Arnie intended to do was torture.

Now, she was going to put it all aside. She was in Canada. With Dred. She wanted to enjoy spending time with him, not worrying about what her stepfather wanted. There was a sexy-as-all-heck man downstairs waiting for her. One who had put her comfort first, and hadn’t pushed her, although his whispered words lured her to let go of her inhibitions. To let him take the one thing her stepfather and his cronies had never been able to.

She wandered back down to the kitchen, praying her tummy would settle.

“Perfect timing.” Dred served up two large platefuls of eggs and bacon. It was midmorning and they ate breakfast ravenously. Pixie drank her body weight in coffee, and the low-grade hangover she had from all the alcohol they’d consumed the night before dissipated.

“Okay, here’s what I thought we could do today.” Dred ran through the list, but she wasn’t really paying attention.

Sure, she was watching his mouth, the full bottom lip, wondering if she had the courage to lean over and suck it into her mouth.

Maybe if she simply talked to him, tripped her way through her hang-ups, he’d understand. Trent had all kinds of issues with Harper when they first got together. But this was different. Would he even believe her? There were times, given everything that had happened to her, that even she couldn’t believe it was true. She’d killed the man who’d tried to take the only thing that was truly hers.

“So which of those do you want to do?” he asked her.

“What?”

“Where were you, Pix?”

“I’m sorry, I just . . .”

Dred took hold of her hand. “Say it, Snowflake.”

“No, honestly, please. What were the options again?”

Dred kissed the back of her hand, then turned it over, and kissed her palm. “The options were tell me the truth or we can sit here all day.” He sighed as he let go of her hand and placed it back on her lap. “I want you to share things with me, Snowflake. Big things, funny things, inconsequential things, sad things. Everything.”

Her stomach tightened and she took a deep breath. Was he ready?

His hands gripped her knees and squeezed them. “Trust me.”

“I haven’t . . . before . . . you know . . . with a man . . .”

*

Pure like a snowflake.

He knew it was primal and not at all modern or sensitive, but f*ck. She’d handed him the greatest gift in the universe. No one had touched her in the way he wanted to. He’d get to be her first. And yet embarrassment tinted her cheeks like it was a bad thing. Trent’s warning about going slow suddenly made sense. Had she told him? “Does anyone else know?” he asked.

“No,” she pulled away from him. “Of course not. You think it’s something I advertise?” She stood and took her plate to the sink.

Shit. He was handling this all wrong. Finally he had something that was his alone. Something he’d never be forced to share with others. Something nobody could take away from him. Something the beautiful woman in front of him was willing to share with him.

She came to grab his plate, and he reached for her hand. “For a lyricist, I have a unique knack for being completely crap at saying the right thing.”