Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(33)
“…and, you know, we’re the big-time weed growers, we can afford to—”
Lytton made his move. In two long strides he had closed the gap between us, reaching a hand out for me to take. Of course I took it straightaway, his big, manly hand enclosing mine. Now he was slightly smiling, the corners of his luscious mouth turning up.
“Come.”
He dragged me toward the back door, then paused as if remembering something. Leaving me there, he squeaked back into the kitchen. “Toby, I’m going to need you for a job. Let me explain it later.” He vanished for ten seconds, reappearing as he stuffed something in the back pocket of his 501s.
Still grinning, he held the back screen door open like a prom date. I finally had to take my eyes off his in order to watch the steps leading down from the back sunroom. The roly-poly cherub-faced guy they called Crybaby was heading toward the house from the greenhouses. He tipped an imaginary cap at Lytton.
“I’m going home now, boss.”
“Did you put the thermostat on auto?”
“Yeah. And I fixed that duct with duct tape, but left the roll out in case we need it again.”
“Wow,” I remarked, as we continued down the path. “A duct that was fixed with duct tape. I thought Crybaby lived here with you?”
“No. Lives with his brother down in Happy Jack.”
I frowned. “But you have four bedrooms. Toby and Helium Head live with you, right? Is one a guest room?”
“Ah, not really. Listen, here’s my grow room. It’s got a fresh, super-oxygenated atmosphere. Thought you might like to see it.”
The high-ceilinged greenhouse was about the size of half a football field. Indeed, the air was so oxygenated I went immediately lightheaded, and had to take deep, slow breaths to erase the tiny bubbles from in front of my eyes. Once I got used to it, wandering down the aisles between the towering, fluffy plants had the effect of hiking through the humid jungle. Fans and heaters kept everything circulating in such a predictable, soothing way. I was soon lulled into a sense of security.
But I really wanted to talk about “us” with Lytton. I didn’t want to just discuss water pump timers and duct fans. At the end of an aisle, the raised platform that held hundreds of labeled plants had an open area, waiting for more plants to be moved. Plastic sheeting covered the wooden stage here and I perched on the edge. Lytton, still smiling, sat next to me. He even took my hand.
I said, “Lytton, I don’t want you to think of Ford and Madison when you think about me. I truly barely know them. I grew up mostly with my friend Emma, living at her house. I don’t want you thinking I’m going to tell any of your secrets to them. They are my legal, or blood family, but that doesn’t mean I have to run blabbing every detail of your life to them. I’m separate, my own person. I want to have my own separate life too. Once I get a job and back on my own two feet, I’ll get my own place. I want you to know I felt a very strong connection with you, and I don’t want that ruined because Madison happens to be my sister.”
Lytton tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I’d left the cowboy hat in my rental car, but he could not have failed to notice my new rocker hair, dyed a brassier shade of blonde. And I was very glad I’d worn the tight, fringed bolero jacket into his house. The goal had been to make him look at me with fresh eyes that weren’t clouded with hatred of his brother, and it seemed to be working. His other hand grabbed a handful of my jacket lapel, yanking it wide to display my skin-tight mesh top.
“June.” His lovely deep, rich eyes sought out mine. “I made a f*cking mistake saying I didn’t want to see you. If you don’t know about anything I do, how can you tell Ford? We’re not here to talk business, anyway. That’s not what you came for, is it?”
“I did come for my mother’s pot,” I admitted, touching my knees to his and squeezing his hand in mine. “But I’ve been hoping you’d show up.”
“You look stunning.” He cupped my chin in his palm, turning my face this way and that as if he’d never seen me. “You’re becoming a modern American. Not so African anymore.”
“I need to be able to fit in, Lytton. I don’t want to look like that hippie bleeding heart former Peace Corps volunteer. That’s not me anymore. I have to take care of my dying mother. I can’t be so soft, such a do-gooder.”
His eyes were glittering, overwhelmed with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. “You’re gorgeous, little one,” he said, and he kissed me.
His lips were so soft as they moved over mine, seeking, questing, experimenting. Soon his lips slanted away and moved to my neck. When he made light butterfly kisses against my jugular, every tiny hair on my body stood up at attention. Just knowing his sculpted, bowed lips were sliding over my clavicle had my inner * shivering with delight. I held him by the shoulders, drinking in his red and black eagle tattoo. My mouth watered to taste it, so I dipped my head and took a big, fat lick from his shoulder.
That was good, so I did what he was doing. I slipped my finger under the strip of fabric that was his sleeve and pulled the wifebeater down. I wanted to run my tongue over that velvety, musky skin and I did, licking a trail up to his ear where I nibbled at the earlobe. Ah. Heaven. When I breathed hotly into his wet ear, I knew he was shivering, too. And now I could stab my fingers through that lush, thick mane of black hair. This was where I was meant to be.