Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) (15 page)

I relax into the couch, relax under his touch, letting my mind float with a mixture of wine and music on the radio. Currents of pleasure radiate from where Anthony’s mouth is on me, exploring each curve, savoring it.

I shift beneath him, our legs tangled, and I feel his arousal through his gray slacks. He’s slow and sweet, earnest in his quest to pleasure each part of me and I feel my bra fall away as he teases my nipples with his teeth.

I moan before I realize it’s happening. He’s opened a floodgate—a dam I’ve built against this feeling. I wrap my arms tighter around his broad shoulders, urging him to come closer, settle more heavily on me.

“You’re not hurting me, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” I whisper. He probably outweighs me by a hundred pounds, but I want that weight, that realness of his body. His presence.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he says, confidence and clarity in his keen eyes. But he pulls back, and for a moment I feel exposed and vulnerable, my top half completely uncovered while he’s still fully clothed.

“Come with me,” he offers a hand and a smile and pulls me to standing from the couch. I clutch my dress with the other hand, still nervous about baring my breasts to a near stranger.

He leads me to the ladder—more of a vertical stair, with wide treads that lead up to the loft and his bed. It’s covered in royal blue sheets, neatly made, and a short clothes rack stands to the side, his shirts precisely hung and shoes in a row.

This guy is meticulous. He’s responsible. He’s solid.

I turn as he comes up the ladder in three efficient pulls, his biceps bulging beneath his shirt as he hauls himself up.

“Now then, where were we?” His voice is husky as he pulls me into his arms, his head bent beneath the low ceiling.

“You were busy seducing me,” I sass, breaking the serious moment and skipping to the bed, where I plop myself down and pat the duvet beside me. “But we have a problem,” I add, just to set him off balance. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

His fingers fly across the buttons on his shirt, and he tosses it over the clothes rack. I cross my legs, revealing a bit more to fuel his imagination, and spin my finger in his direction. “Now turn around. The T-shirt. And do it slowly.”

He flashes a grin, picking up on the balance of power that’s shifted in my favor. I’m a bossy little bitch when I want to be. He pulls the shirt over his head inch by inch, agonizingly slowly, as I enjoy the view.

Damn. You’d think this man invented sexy.

“More,” I say, and it comes out in a rasp, betraying the cool I’m trying to project with the impromptu strip tease I’ve ordered. Anthony’s lip curls in a wicked smile as he follows my direction—belt, shoes, socks, trousers.

Finally, my finger curls, beckoning him to me. His boxer-briefs leave no doubt of his intention.

“Now we’re even,” I say. “Or a little more than even.”

His hands run the length of my arms and I drop my hold on my sundress, revealing my breasts to him again. My bra is somewhere down on his couch, but my mind is here—on this bed, as he eases me back against the comforter, his hands still moving across my skin and lighting it on fire.

“If you want to get even, I can help you with that,” he growls, the rich promise vibrating in his chest as his hand traces my shin, knee, and thigh, finding its way to the lace boyshorts beneath my dress. “Like this dress. It’s beautiful, but it’s not exactly playing fair, is it?”

His voice is silky as I feel the scrape of his calloused fingers that tug my dress down my hips, piling it on the floor. Now all that’s left between us are a few scraps of cloth.

Anthony reaches across me, beneath my far shoulder, and in the instant I think he’s going to pin me beneath his massive weight, he shifts, pulling me across him. He’s on his back and I’m straddling him, his hands running up the back of my thighs, teasing where the lace meets my rear.

I rest my hands on the planes of his chest. He is tanned the way only a man who works outdoors shirtless can be. My breasts are heavy and taught under his gaze, which devours them, me, everything. I buck my hips forward slightly, feeling his response beneath me and seeing it in his face.

I can’t believe this is happening.

But I’m a big girl. I want this. It’s a rite of passage into my new life in this new city.

I take a shuddering breath, hearing familiar chords from the radio below. Anthony reaches his hand to my breast but the voice I hear is Gavin’s.

Crashing, clawing world

Breakneck broken girl

I find you undone…

I flinch. Anthony feels it, and I see it in his face. His hand recoils from my breast as if he’s been bitten.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He searches my face for the meaning in my lie as I try to rock my hips against him to make him forget. His hands grab my hips to still me.

Tonight

Can I give you peace?

Not a chemical release

It’s madness, sadness, spinning out with you

“Beryl, I’m a smart guy. That ‘nothing’ was something. What happened?” he asks, oblivious to the rock ballad on the radio.

“This is moving pretty fast,” I say, my eyes downcast. I’m unsettled, my chest constricting, my body too cold. “I like you—a lot—I just need to go slower. I need to go.”

I can’t keep you

Can’t tame you

Can’t fix you

Can’t blame you

Anthony is a perfect gentleman, handing me my dress and throwing on sweats as I descend the ladder. He crouches next to me on the couch, tapping the screen on his phone as I tie on my sandals and tuck my bra in my purse.

“I called a cab for you,” he says. “I hope it wasn’t something I said or did.”

“No, I promise,” my eyes stray to the radio that I desperately want to shut off or turn up to drown out the noise in my head. “You were perfect. Tonight was perfect. I’m just a little shell-shocked with everything that’s changing so fast in my life.”

Can’t rescue

Can’t bring you

Back to me

“I can understand that,” Anthony smiles and his eyes are kind. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, and I am more than happy to take it slow. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.” I force a smile, wrap him in a hug that’s more friendly than lusty and give him one sweet kiss on the lips.

Reality

It hits me so hard, so come down

I’ll catch you, wherever you’re falling from

He sees me out, watches as I climb into the cab, watches it drive me away. I drag my face away from that scene, his gorgeous shirtless body in silhouette against the doorway to his apartment building.

A sob bubbles up in my chest and I let the tears flow.

I’m still dragging from a night of fitful sleep after leaving Anthony’s when I hear a chime that disorients me. It’s not my phone. It’s not the radio playing low in the kitchen where I’m making my breakfast and giving Jasper his.

Is it Gavin’s doorbell? I’ve never heard it before. Normally the doorman just alerts me through the intercom when Gavin has a delivery.

I take stock of my pitted-out gray T-shirt and running shorts, my messy morning hair in a hasty ponytail. It would be just my luck for the delivery guy to be cute.

I open the door and a cloud of fragrance and swirling blond hair swoops in before I have a chance to say hello.

“Where’s Gavin?” The woman’s stilettos clack on the marble tile in the entry as she advances into the apartment like she owns the place. “And who are you?”

My mouth hangs open and I’m struggling to form a complete sentence. How did she get in? The only people who can come directly to Gavin’s door are on a list. Is
she
on the list?

She towers over me, wearing an emerald green halter dress cut so low that it shows sideboob from every angle.

Yikes.

“Gavin’s not here at the moment, Miss—?” I wait for her to introduce herself and she purses her lips impatiently.

“You don’t know who I am?”

I shake my head, but she does look familiar. Too familiar. I realize where I’ve seen her before: in pictures with Gavin. I think she’s the model
Spin
noted was one of his regular dates. “S-s-sorry,” I stutter. “We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Beryl. Gavin’s house sitter.”

Her brow arches as she inspects me like gum she’s just discovered on the bottom of her shoe. “Maya Shaw.” She says this like I should know it already and she doesn’t extend a hand to shake, as if I have a disease:
ordinariness.
“So where’s Gavin? Did Tattoo Thief go to Europe or something?”

“No, ah, Gavin’s taking a break for a while.” I follow Maya toward the living room and she paces like a detective at a crime scene. “He’s in Africa.”

Maya hoots, an unsophisticated sound from such a polished creature. “Africa. That’s rich. What’s he doing, feeding starving children?” I can tell from her sneer that humanitarian aid is beneath her.

I shake my head and don’t want to admit more. Even though Gavin’s gone dark, even though he probably doesn’t want to talk to me again after our last chat, I feel a deep allegiance to protect him. He needs me. “Were you expecting to see him?”

“Just dropping by for a little fun.” She winks at me and I realize she means sex. “I’ve been shooting in Fiji and Thailand and just got back.”

Jasper trots into the room to give Maya a sniff. She shoves him away with her pointy shoe so hard that he squeaks in pain or surprise. “What the fuck is Lulu’s dog still doing here? I thought that trash moved in with her dealer. Gavin’s not seeing her again, is he?”

I gather poor Jasper in my arms to pet him. My expression is cold—I
so
want to grab this bitch by her hair and throw her out of the apartment. But it’s clear she and Gavin have history, so I bite my tongue and stand as tall as my five-foot-six inch frame reaches.

“Lulu died. I’m taking care of Jasper until Gavin gets back. And I think you’d better go now. He wouldn’t want you here.”

Maya scowls, narrowing her eyes. “What the fuck do you know about what Gavin wants? If he were here, he’d want me. He always has.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” I hiss. Am I really going to get into it with this girl? Sure, I outweigh her bony frame, but she’s got plenty of height on me. Jasper squirms and I put him down. I wish he’d act like a mighty lion hunter or at least bark at Maya instead of his goofy yodels, but he runs from the room.

Scaredy-dog.

I decide to call for backup. I sidestep Maya and march to the door, jabbing my thumb on the intercom button.

“Yes, Miss Sutton?” I hear Raúl’s voice crackle through the speaker.

“Raúl, could you please escort Gavin’s visitor out of the building? She shouldn’t be on his approved list any longer.”

“On my way, Miss Sutton.”

Maya gapes, her green eyes on fire. “You can’t do that to me.”

“I can and I have. Get over it. Pull out your black book and dial up another booty call. I’m sure there are loads of guys who’d be happy to screw a skeleton.”

“Bitch.”

“Slut.” I smile cheerfully as she retreats to the door.

“I’ll tell Gavin about this.”

“Go for it, sister. And don’t forget to mention how you kicked his dog and insulted Lulu’s memory.”

Maya scowls and slams out of the apartment just as I hear the elevator ding to signal Raúl’s arrival. I close Gavin’s front door and lock it, heaving a sigh.

And then I smile. I’m growing a backbone. I can handle this—rich bitches, gorgeous models, whatever comes my way. I might be a New York newbie, but I’m learning fast.

If only Gavin were here to see it.

I have to go to my next house-sitting gig, but before I take a shower and leave, I sit down and compose an email to Gavin. I don’t bother to mention Maya’s visit, but it gives me sense of who he was before Lulu died.

And I think I know now who he needs me to be.

Dear Gavin,

I want to tell you how sorry I am for the way our last chat ended. I’m sorry it ended, but I’m not sorry for what I said.

You said you want me to tell you the truth, then you get angry when I tell you the truth as I see it. Gavin, you can’t have it both ways. I want to be your friend and I want to help bring you back. But I’m not going to lie to you to do it.

Coming home won’t do you any good if you’re not ready to face the truth—even the hard parts. You can’t keep running every time things get difficult.

I want you to come back. I miss you and I miss our chats. I care about you, Gav, and I know you have the strength to find a way home.

Truly.

I’ll be here when you’re ready.

B.

I know something’s wrong even before I open the door.

I’m at a new house-sitting gig only ten blocks north of Gavin’s place, in a building that’s roughly the same age but less glitzy. The mess outside the door is my first clue—a T-shirt, several empty pizza boxes and a few beer bottles are shoved in a corner.

This wouldn’t surprise me in an apartment building like the one Stella lived in with Blayde, but I don’t expect to see it in an Upper West Side hallway. On a Wednesday morning.

I key in and the destruction inside tells me this was some party—not an epic mess of Gavin Slater proportions, but also not typical of a couple that’s away on their twentieth anniversary cruise.

I’m pretty sure the Ellisons didn’t trash their own place before leaving.

I pick my way across an Oriental rug strewn with Cheetos. A water bong sits in the center of the coffee table, and a china bowl has become a makeshift ashtray. A crystal vase is shattered in the corner of the living room, knocked from its pedestal.

I don’t even want to think about how much that cost.

I know I didn’t make this mess, but the Ellisons aren’t going to feel very good about Keystone Property Management keeping watch over their apartment if they come back to
this.