Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) Read online

  “Michael? Would you like to talk about it?” She pled. Any other time, any other stage in their relationship, and that concern would mean something so much more, but here and now? It meant she pitied him, saw him for the pussy he was.

  What do you mean relationship? They didn’t have one, and thanks to his big mouth, they never would. Not beyond this night, anyway. Not beyond his past. What woman could get over that? Hell, what woman would want to? He couldn’t satisfy his own fucking fiancée or she wouldn’t have turned to his best friend. Oh yeah, there’s that, too. He couldn’t even secure the loyalty of another man he’d known since high school. If he could be sexually assaulted by a slip of a woman, after getting his first cockstand in months, what kind of fucking man is he?

  In that moment, Michael couldn’t decide who he was most pissed at. Betrayers, all of them. Fucking betrayers, even his own body betrayed him. That was the icing on this whole fucking shit cake, his own body allowed him to do something he didn’t want to do. His heart and mind said no, but his body said Hell yes. And why? Because of the woman attached to the sweet voice trying to coax a confession from him. His body had been Benedict Arnolding him for months in a different way, because of Tonya and Shane, but then, his body decided that wasn’t enough torture. Because of her.

  She did this. If she hadn’t awoken his heart and body, that sleazy bitch wouldn’t have been more than the waitress who brought him his cheeseburger and got a twenty percent tip for the effort. A voice inside him coaxed him to lash out, hurt her back, but she broke through again and that inner voice lost some influence.

  “I’m a good listener and I never judge. I’m bound to keep it to myself, no matter what.” Her hand moved from his bicep and he mourned the loss of her touch until he felt her body scoot closer and her hand land on his head and begin twirling and caressing his hair. How could he hate someone like her? Someone comforting him the way he liked. Other than his mother, no one else had put forth that much effort toward his emotional well-being.

  “You’re not a lesser man because of other peoples’ choices. They do not get to decide who you are, and you cannot let them determine how you see yourself. That power has always, and will always belong to you, you just have to find it.”

  God help me, who is this woman, and what in this life did I do to deserve to find her? She must have read his mind and knew what he was going through, because her wisdom just kept coming, and answered his protests before he could speak them. She was trying to heal him. Him?

  Touching local fame wasn’t motivating her—as it did so many women pretending to be interested in who he really was—nor was it sleeping with a trainer or a free gym perk—none of that. Sure, he could tell she appreciated his body. He wasn’t cocky, well, yes he was, but he was also honest. It was none of those outward things enticing her to play with his hair and tell him everything was all right. It was just him. This beguiling woman saw inside of him and didn’t run for the hills, instead, she scooted closer to offer him the contentment of her presence and played with his hair the way he’d told her his mom used to.

  Michael didn’t know what to do with all that. Trying to comprehend it was like trying to swallow bitter medicine. Knowing it was for the best didn’t stop him from fucking gagging each time he attempted to swallow it down.

  God, she was everything gorgeous and pure in life, the polar opposite of him in every way. Well, this him, anyway. He wasn’t always like this. He was just like any normal man, happy-go-lucky. Sure, everyone had baggage, but it wasn’t so much that it weighed them down, they dealt with their shit and got the fuck over it, but for some reason, he couldn’t seem to do that this time. It wasn’t just this time that was responsible, it was a culmination of his whole fucking life, and the latest shit was just the straw.

  “My brother tried to drown me when we were kids. Not drown me exactly, but refused to save me after he pushed me in. Just stood there laughing and watching. The lake was so clear, I could see that he spoke, but underwater I couldn’t make out the words. I have a pretty good idea, though. After dad pulled me out of the lake and I was alone with him again, he told me he wished I had died in the water or better yet, never been born. How fucked up is that? I’m someone his own mother or brother can’t even love.”

  Michael didn’t know why he’d just confessed that, but he had fucking diarrhea of the mouth and just kept going and going.

  “I haven’t swam in an open body of water since. All the competitions I’ve done, and aced I might add, and I can’t fucking do a triathlon. I want to so badly, but I come up with an excuse every single time. But the truth is, I’m a fucking pussy who can’t go in the water.

  As the layers kept getting peeled back, more of Michael’s demons came flying out. Tori was physically ill, so much so, she had to excuse herself and barely made it to the bathroom in time to heave up…nothing. She hadn’t eaten since the protein bar before her run, and it was well in to evening now, at least. The windows were shuttered, so she couldn’t tell exactly. It probably wouldn’t make a difference with the storm directly overhead by now.

  Richard, God, if she didn’t know he was a dick before, she sure as shit did now. He’d done that, tried to drown his own brother, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind. And to think, this man was a father. Another round of nausea rolled over her as she remembered, she’d let him kiss her, touch her, have sex with her.

  She felt dirty and used in a way she never had before, not even when his marriage came to light. Breaking up with him now? Well, the last twinge of doubt and guilt were snuffed out with Michael’s last confession. When she thought of what Richard had robbed from him…granted, his life would have been the ultimate price, but fearing something that he obviously enjoyed was not exactly a cakewalk. To think of all the things he’d given up because of Richard…

  There was a special place in Hell for people like The Dick, she was sure of it. Her reflection in the mirror mocked her, taunted her. She wasn’t much better than Richard, just in a different way. By not telling Michael who she was, or rather, who her boyfriend was, she was committing her own act of betrayal. Michael told her things that he damn sure would have kept to himself if he’d known.

  When he found out, he was going to hate her, she needed to leave and soon. Only thing, if she left now, he would feel abandoned because his confession exposed a weakness as he saw it. Leaving would solidify his delusions of being unworthy. Straightening her spine, she nodded to herself in the mirror.

  She would return to Michael, stay long enough to ensure in his mind that his words in no way ushered in her departure, then she’d leave. That way, even when he found out, and he would—she wasn’t so stupid to believe that he wouldn’t—her help would have already been done, and she could try to act like she didn’t realize. Not that it would do much good, Michael was a smart man, but as long as she didn’t add to his hellish companions at this point, she’d put a check in the win column.

  As she left the bathroom, she got lost in his sleeping form. She’d only just met him, but she would miss him terribly. There was something between them, something that would never see the light of day, and that weighed heavy on her heart as she approached the softly-snoring form curled up like an angel.

  The hand she lowered to gingerly stroke his silky soft hair, just one last time, was snatched before it even made contact, and used to leverage her onto the bed with a bounce. Michael brought his lips to hers, dropping a surprisingly soft kiss there. “Stay with me, please?” He pled.

  Wanting to give in was almost a compulsion, if she ever wanted anything, anyone this desperately before, she couldn’t remember. If only she wasn’t who she was and where she was and…a million other things, she could give in to her desire, but she was all those things. Not to mention, she was still in a relationship.

  Ending or not, it was what it was. Sure, that’s rich coming from the other woman, she scolded herself. Before she gave her inner brat a non-verbal mind beam response, she was ripped out of her own he
ad by her body responding to outside stimuli, and liking it. Warm soft lips were tracking along her jaw to just below her ear and gave a slight lick to her lobe. The shiver that coursed through her was damn near orgasmic. Tilting her head ever so gently backward must have engaged some higher brain function.

  No, no, no, no. I cannot let this happen. While working out the logistics to disengage from the magnetic man, he made a move that had smoke rising from her panty region.

  Fuck, Michael thought. The way she responded to his touch was like she was custom made for his hands, mouth, and cock alone, no one else’s. How could she possibly react to another’s touch the way she did his? His hands alone were the perfect tools to play her body, like a vintage Les Paul, make it sing…and moan—pluck and strum the right chords until they made beautiful fucking music together. Encore after encore.

  Just when he thought her lips were the ambrosia of the gods, his kissed the unbelievably soft skin just beneath her ear. He nuzzled her there, letting his whole face enjoy the same sensation as his lips.

  Wanting wasn’t strong enough, neither was needing. Was there even a word in any language that could describe his desire for this woman? There was a layer to it that was inexplicable and unexpected. This need, this essential need, wasn’t just a physical thing. That gave him pause. Here he was in a cabin, at a lake he never thought to come back to, with a woman who didn’t belong to him—one who he still partially blamed, even though he knew he was wrong, for an incident that scarred him. But she was also the one who could heal it, and the other scars, too. He just felt it in his bones.

  That revelation stilled his oral exploration, and he just breathed her in, locked her essence deep inside his lungs like he could make it a part of him. Then, she shivered and his scars started to itch, kind of like a wound does when it begins to heal.

  Could he let her go? Back to her soon-to-be-ex, back to her life without him? He couldn’t answer that, but what he could answer was, not tonight. He couldn’t let her walk out that door tonight without knowing what it felt like to be buried inside her body. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew it would feel like coming home, like a safe place.

  Bringing his face back to look deep into the melted chocolate and brandy orbs, he slowly lowered his lips to hers, watching every reaction on her face as he did so. Michael wanted to commit to memory her response to him, to them. He needed to see what she felt, witness the emotions pass through her.

  When his lips met hers, he didn’t kiss like he wanted to. Instead, he was compelled to sing. It was a performance just for her. In all the years since he’d learned to sing and play, he never did the private, as in one on one, performance requests. Sure, he had belted out a line here or there while sitting at the bar next to his potential companion for the night, but never up close and personal. Never like this.

  Whitesnake’s “Don’t Turn Away” was what came out. Low and deeply intimate, he feasted on every nuance of her face. When he got to the chorus, he saw the shock and indecision cross it. God, she was fucking hot. That insecurity ripping at his heart was also to credit for some of the wonder, for lack of a better description, that was visible there. Michael could only assume it was because she was stunned that a man wanted her as bad as he did.

  That asshole, that fucking asshole of a boyfriend took this stunning woman and tried to break her, tame her. But a woman like her didn’t need to be tamed, she needed to be set free—free of societal restraints, free of the good southern girl handbook, and free to be the fucking wildcat he knew she was.

  When he got to the line about “asking her a question,” the wonder in her eyes turned to…terror? What the Hell? Tori leapt off the bed like her ass was on fire and started pacing like a fucking lion at the zoo before she finally spoke.

  “Oh, my God, Michael, we have to stop. I can’t stay with you.” The walls going back up around his heart were practically audible, at least to him. He couldn’t face her rejection, not now, Hell, maybe not ever, but damn sure not now. His eyes must’ve conveyed something because she stopped pacing and stammered.

  “God, Michael, it’s not that I don’t want to, because holy shit, I’ve never wanted anything as much in my life as to get back in that bed. To stay with you tonight would be amazing. I know it would be. I would never forget it, forget you, but the problem is, you would never forget me either, and…”

  “What the…” he interrupted her and sat up abruptly. A little too quickly for the condition he was in, the room went all carnival funhouse for a minute. Tori dropped down beside him and grabbed his cheeks.

  “Michael, what is it, are you okay?” Having regained his senses, at least in part, he removed her hands to her lap, but left his good one and not so good one on top of hers.

  “I’m fine, a little dizzy is all. I sat up too fast.” He had to grit the words out to keep the ship steady. “What the fuck do you mean, you’d remember and so would I. I gotta tell you, babe, you’re confusing the fuck out of me. Isn’t that what a woman wants, to be remembered? Do you feel anything between us, Tori? Anything at all besides a deep burning desire, or Hell, even that. I’d settle for that, you know.”

  Michael couldn’t explain why he needed to push her for answers, he just did. The attempted humor at the end bombed, but he was confused, he’d never been in this position before—one where pleasing a woman, more than just sexually, was a priority, a requirement for living, breathing. Even with Tonya, their relationship had always been emotionally cool. It was what they both wanted, well, in hindsight, maybe not.

  Not true, it was Tonya who trained him that way. “You’re too touchy feely,” she’d say, and then she cheated on him because he was distant, or so she said after she was busted. Looking back, he was starting to see them for the lies they were. She and Shane had been carrying on forever.

  Did it make him a bad person to know that while she was cheating with his best friend, his best friend was also banging every music bunny who looked at him twice? Nope, it didn’t, and he was through letting women like Wendy and Tonya or assholes like Shane and Richard determine his self-worth. As Tori said, that value was for him to set, not them.

  Tori though, she was different, how she valued him mattered. More than he’d like to admit, and right here, right now, she was missing his worth, or maybe she just…no, that’s not it. The look in her eyes was unmistakable, so why was she tossing him aside?

  “You have no idea.” He heard her, though it was barely above a whisper. When she brought a hand back to his cheek, he closed his eyes, turned slightly to kiss her palm, then burrowed in to the comfort of her touch. Her next words were clearer, louder; he hoped it was because touching him bolstered her strength.

  “No one has ever sung to me before. It held so much meaning and sadness, a moment that will never leave me. In the part of the song about loving in vain, hiding away, painting a lonely picture? That really got to me, because that’s exactly what has happened. It’s what I did, I mean, what I do. Even within a relationship, I pick emotionally unavailable men. I didn’t even realize it until those words left your mouth.”

  Leaning his head forward to rest his forehead on hers, he let the contact wash over him. Something significant was happening between them, and he felt like a hot air balloon that just had the sandbags tossed overboard. He needed the contact to stay tethered to Earth, to her.

  “Dang it,” she said, more with defeat than fire, “why couldn’t I have met you three years ago? I know we’ve just met, but I do feel it, Michael, but it can never be anything more than a friendship. Trust me. If there was a way in Hell for it to be different, for us to have a chance to see where this could go, I would jump at it.” His heart took a nosedive and he wanted to jump up and run away, but she wasn’t done speaking.

  “You’re a good man, Michael, and any woman would be fucking lucky to have you, even for a night, but that woman can’t be me. I hope you understand it has nothing to do with you personally, or Hell, even me for that matter. It’s all about
history, history that was in the making years ago.”

  Enough, Michael was done with this whole it’s me not you bullshit. Hell, it wasn’t even that, it was something else entirely. An it’s not you approach he could fight. With this, he was in uncharted territory and he fucking hated it.

  “What the fuck does that even mean, sweetheart? History? How the fuck do I fight that?” God, he knew he sounded pathetic but he was a little desperate as he felt her slipping away…forever.

  “You don’t. You let me walk out that door, and you go on and live the best life you can. And if, when, we meet in the future, or you hear my name, remember the look in my eyes when you sang to me, and the honesty we shared. That’s real, Michael, and please let it mean more to you than anything else that may be assigned to me in the future.”

  He did jump up then, severed all contact with his anchor, wanting to drift up and away, not stay down here where his fantasy girl was rejecting him over something that made zero fucking sense. “What is that cryptic bullshit? Fuck, woman, I’m a big boy. I can take rejection, but don’t blow smoke up my ass and tell me it’s sunshine. I may be younger but I’ve got more experience than you can imagine sending people on their way, so speak plain and simple. I can take it.”

  Yep, the asshole of the year award goes to Michael Brande. He didn’t know why he went for the cheap dig, he just lashed out. When he saw her spine stiffen so rigid that she grew three inches, he throttled back. Now he was glad he did, he almost threw out that he’d dumped prettier than her, just for a reaction.

  “It’s not like that, Michael, and I think, deep down, you know it. You’re in reactionary mode and I will not be baited into losing my temper and joining you in an unhealthy place. It’s best for both of us if I just leave. I would like to check on you tomorrow, if that’s okay?” Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose in attempt to regain his temper and to ease the fuzzy feeling and raging headache the medicine had left behind. When he looked up, she was headed toward the door.