Watching her eat did things to me. Base, primal things. By the time we ate to the core, I was throbbing hard and ready to burst.
I took off my backpack, dragged her to the ground, and started kissing her.
"You taste like apples," I told her, smiling into her mouth.
She smiled back. "Well, gee, I wonder why."
"I'll never be able to taste one again without thinking of you. It's impossible. You do this on purpose, don't you? You leave your mark on everything. You love that I'm this obsessed with you."
She laughed and laughed. "Well, yes. Of course I do. If I was this obsessed on my own it would be pretty damned depressing."
I smiled and kissed her again, then forced myself to climb off her. "Not far to go," I told her. "If you can control yourself for a few more miles we just may make it."
She mock glared at me. "Look who's talking." Her eyes shot down to my crotch. "It can't be Mr. Walking Erection calling me out today, can it?"
I couldn't stop laughing for a solid five minutes, and she couldn't stop smiling.
On we walked.
I meant to make it good for her. To be tender, that first time more than any other. I meant to go soft and slow. I had my mind made up on the matter. Making it good for her was the priority, because I knew that regardless of the pace or the tone, it was sure as hell going to be great for me.
I had so many notions on how it was going to be, how it had to be. I'd done so much planning, even down to hard physical labor, thought out every detail to make it memorable for her, to make it perfect.
The first thing was the location. I'd found the perfect place, private and remote. I'd cleaned it out, brought fresh linens, every necessity I could think of.
I'd added a new lock and a thick bolt across the door, both of which fit the key around her neck.
I let her do the honors, my adoring eyes on her smiling face all the while.
The cabin was just right, I saw by her reaction when we walked in the door. She was delighted, moved, touched almost to tears.
It really wasn't anything fancy. It was instead something thoughtful, which I knew meant much more to her.
"It's ours," I told her softly. "Our first home together. Of course it won't be our last."
"It's perfect," she said, throwing herself at me.
Fuck. Triggered. The moment our bodies touched in that intimate place, it was like a bottle-rocket shooting off. I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to. And I didn't. Oh Lord, I didn't.
We started kissing, passionate, open-mouthed, tongues delving as we peeled each other's clothes off, piece by piece.
Everything was going right according to plan up until the moment my dick decided it'd had enough.
I knew I should've jerked off first.
I was on top of her, naked, condom on, a prayer away from being inside of her, still determined to do things right. I was just starting to breach her, my tip barely in, when it happened. It wasn't that I didn't want to take it nice and easy, but I could not stop myself after that. I just snapped, lost complete control of my body, thrusting, rutting, sucking on her tongue, and jackhammering in and out of her like I'd never have another chance at it.
And worse even than that, I didn't last thirty seconds.
Still, it was the best thirty seconds of my life. Spectacular. Magnificent. Perfection.
"Jesus," I panted into her face when I could finally speak. "I didn't mean to do that. I wanted to go slower the first time."
She pulled my face even closer to hers. Tears were running down her cheeks, but they weren't from pain. "We'll just have to practice more."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free."
~Emily Brontë
PAST
SCARLETT
"A pom-pom girl?" The words sounded as ridiculous coming out of my mouth as they had coming out of his.
Dante shrugged, opening the locker that his 'pom-pom girl' had decorated for him. "I don't know what to tell you. It's a tradition and that's what they're called. I sure as hell didn't come up with it."
Somehow that didn't make me feel better, especially when he pulled a plate of cookies out of his locker as he said it. He snagged the plastic wrap off, grabbed one, and took a big bite, closing his eyes as he chewed. He'd always had a sweet tooth.
He offered me one and I turned it down with a glare.
"Another surprise from your pom-pom girl?" I asked him with a curl of my lip.
"I assume. Sure you don't want one? They're really good."
"I'll pass," I said dryly.
I didn't understand the tradition. Personally I found it degrading. Cheerleaders assigned to football players for the sole purpose of serving them.
"Why do they do it?" I asked Dante, who had finished the first cookie and was on to the second.
"I have no clue," he said absently.
I studied him. I didn't believe him. Dante dissected everyone and everything. He was always looking for motives. "I don't believe you."
That made him pause and look at me. "Okay, fine. I think they do it for attention. I think they do it for popularity, social standing, a new boyfriend, a random hookup. You name it. They become pom-pom girls for the same reason they become cheerleaders. They want to get close to the football players."
"And you're okay with this random pom-pom girl getting close to you?" My tone was icy with disdain, enough so that it hid my anger, and my hurt.
"There's no chance of that, so I'm indifferent. I won't be rude to the girl, but c'mon, who cares what she does?"
"You ate her cookies."
He smirked. I'd amused him. "I like cookies, and I don't turn down food. I'm pretty sure you know that."
I was opening my mouth to speak, to say something scathing, in fact, when a petite little blonde came bouncing up in a cheerleader uniform.
She didn't even look at me. She hadn't come for me, obviously. She was after Dante. Her vacant, smiling eyes aimed up, up, up adoringly at him.
"Hi, Dante. I'm Brandee." She drew out the e. "And I'm your pom-pom girl. I'm here for anything you need, from food to laundry, to after practice massages. I'm great with my hands." She giggled. "Anything you need, I'm your girl." She giggled again. "I'm here for you, day or night, so don't hesitate to ask."
She'd had the luck to be assigned as a pom-pom girl to the hottest guy in school, and she was sure as hell going to give it her best shot. You had to almost respect it.
Except that I didn't. I hated it. And her. And football. And cookies.
I was just about to get myself into a whole lot of trouble when Dante stepped in.
He threw a muscular arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, squeezing me hard enough to trap my arms.
I glared at him. I knew what was up. He was worried I was going to hit her.
Because he knew me.
"Hi, Brandee," he said. He didn't smile but his voice was light, casual. "I won't be needing anything, but thanks anyway."
She pouted, looking genuinely crushed. Her sulky lower lip seemed completely unfeigned. "Really? Not anything? Did you hear my list? I give a killer massage."
"No, thank you. I have a girlfriend, if you didn't notice."
She barely spared me a glance. "It's not like that. It doesn't have to be girlfriend stuff. This is just pom-pom girl stuff. You know, the stuff you need on game days."
Whore, I thought at her.
As though sensing my thoughts, Dante squeezed my shoulder firmly. "No, thank you," he said again, voice slightly less polite than the time before.
She flushed, biting her lip. It was degrading enough that she wanted to wait on him, but the fact that she had to ask him for it had to be a tough pill even for an empty-headed pom-pom girl to swallow. "You don't even need me to clean your uniform for you?"
"Nope. I don't. You're off the hook."
She didn't look happy about that. "What about food? What's your favorite? I'm a great cook."
"I'm all set on food too. I'll make it real easy on you—I don't need anything at all."
She was persistent, I'd give her that. "Not even sweets? You didn't like the cookies?"
That made him hesitate and look down at the plate of cookies he'd clearly been enjoying. "They were great, but you don't need to make me anymore."
"You really thought they were great?" she beamed, flirting right in fucking front of me.
Dante's arm squeezed me tighter. "Yeah, they were great, so thanks, but like I said, I don't need anything else."
She was smiling like she'd gotten what she wanted. "Wait until you try my cupcakes. And my muffins are to die for. Just you wait. I won't disappoint you."
She flounced off.
Dante held me back from going after her.
"What a little whore," I grumbled at her back.
"Stop. C'mon. She's not worth it. Calm down."
I shrugged his arm off and he let me. I glared at him, then at the plate of cookies he still held in his free hand. I knew that he was going to keep eating them. He'd basically been a human garbage disposal for food since we were twelve. He ate everything.
But he seemed particularly keen on these cookies.
I grabbed one, taking a bite. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
And it was good. Peanut butter, with just the right amount of crunch and chew. I wasn't even a big fan of cookies, but little miss pom-pom's were pretty awesome.
Dante grinned at the look on my face. "She can bake. You have to give her that."
I didn't want to, and I hated the way he said it, like he admired the skill.
I decided right then and there that I would learn how to bake, for the simple reason that I could not stand the thought that Dante might have a need I couldn't fulfill myself.
For a solid month I spent more time with Gram's housekeeper, Mrs. Stewart, than I did with Dante. It drove him crazy, which I saw as icing on the cake. Kind of literally.
Mrs. Stewart was nice and happy to teach. She'd been a trained pastry chef once, but rarely got to practice the skill as Gram liked sweets even less than I did. In fact, she called them evil. I figured it was damage from her Hollywood days, when keeping her figure on point was part of her job.
Mrs. Stewart patiently taught me how to make just about every kind of cookie I could think of, cake, pie, muffins, cream puffs, crème brûlée, chocolate mousse.
The list was large, and though it took me some time to get the hang of it, to understand how exact each instruction and ingredient needed to be perfect, over time I became very good.
A neglected Dante cornered me one afternoon in Gram's pantry when Mrs. Stewart was grocery shopping, and Gram was at a friend's house playing cards.
"I'm busy making macaroons," I told him, warding him off with my hands when he tried to move close.
"You made your point," he said, catching me when I tried to go past him and back into the kitchen. "I won't eat anyone else's cookies." There was a smile in his voice. He was teasing me.
"I'm busy," I said again. My voice came out almost singsong lyrical, like a taunt. I hadn't quite meant it that way, but I wasn't all that sorry.
Teasing him back when he was in this kind of mood rarely disappointed.
"You're not, but you're going to be."
I eyed him insolently. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He crowded me deeper into the walk-in pantry, one step and another, past the long shelves until my shoulders hit the wall at the very back of the room.
"Oh, I think you know. Macaroons are off the menu for today."
"You don't like macaroons?"
"Right now, I hate macaroons."
I bit back a laugh. "Now you hate macaroons?"
"I hate everything you bake if you ignore me to do it."
"Fine, then. You can't have any." I tried to move past him, to leave, but he got in my way, bumping his chest into mine. "Excuse me," I said.
"I don't excuse you," he said, and there was heat in it. Past teasing into outright foreplay.
"Let me out," I ordered.
"No," he taunted back.
"You can't keep me in the pantry forever. What's your plan here?" I renewed my efforts to squeeze past him, rubbing against him in the attempt.
With a groan, he backed me up to the wall again, this time advancing until our bodies were flush, and I could feel beyond a doubt what he wanted to do.
He gripped my ass with both hands, hoisted me up against the wall, and said, sounding nearly out of breath, "I think you can guess."
He slanted his mouth over mine and I was lost.
It was some time later and we were straightening our clothes when I said smugly, "So you know that you basically promised me you wouldn't eat anyone else's cookies."
His smile was warm as he crowded me back against the wall, rubbing his big, hard chest against mine. "Angel, I promised you that a long time ago."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"
~William Shakespeare
PRESENT
SCARLETT
I was drunk. Good and stinking drunk.
We were at the crew hotel in Seattle (not my favorite town) on a layover and we were trolling the lobby bar.
Okay, I was trolling the lobby hotel. My girls were just there for moral support.
I was planning to make up for the fact that I'd just spent a solid month being a pathetic, lovesick fool moping in my room, crying in my bed.
Staying at home. Hating myself. Wanting to disappear.
But I'd decided tonight that I was done with that.
I was on the hunt for a stand-in punching bag. I had decided about three drinks ago that I'd feel much better about myself if I put at least one man between me and my last memory of Dante.
I was looking around, a pout on my face. "No cute boys," I told the girls.
Demi agreed.
"I'm not sad," Leona said, studying me. "I don't think I want you to find a cute boy when you're in this shape."
They were sitting in a booth and I was standing next to it. I was not in a sitting mood. I was in a get some male attention mood. I just wished there were some males around worth being noticed by.
I'd already shot down two that just weren't cute enough. More specifically: reject number one wasn't tall enough and reject number two looked too wholesome.
I didn't like wholesome, never had. I craved sinister categorically.
"Don't speak too soon," Farrah said, eyes aimed at the door. "I'll let you have him if you want him, but damn, I sure don't want to."
I turned to see. And smiled.
It was my lucky day.
Either he was actually looking for me or it was a hell of a coincidence but, Dante's half-brother, Bastian, had just walked in the door.
He was standing there, scanning the room, and it didn't take him long to zero in on me.
He grinned.
I tilted my head and grinned back, then pointed my chin at the bar, heading there with a bouncing little strut.
He beat me to it, and watched me approach, his eyes all over me.
I was glad I'd turned myself out well.
My minuscule nude dress was basically man catnip. It hit all the right buttons: deep cleavage that left very little of my abundant breasts to the imagination, short skirt that showed off my sky-high legs. The whole thing was fitted to show off my flat tummy and hourglass figure.
Pink platform stilettos and sexy bedroom hair didn't hurt my situation, and my makeup had been on point before I'd gotten sloppy drunk. Who could say now? Who could care?
Not me. I felt sexy as hell either way.
"Hello, stranger," I said when I got within earshot of Bastian. "You look good enough to eat."
And he did. Three-piece suit, dark, messy hair, five o'clock shadow, a handsome as hell Durant face, and a devilish smile.
 
; Yeah, he'd do.
"Look who's talking," he retorted, eyes on my catnip dress. "My God, woman, you are trouble, aren't you?"
I went to hug him, because drunk, and breathed into his ear. "You have no idea."
"Unfortunately, I don't." He sounded truly regretful about that as he put his hands on my hips and set me back just the slightest bit. "I'm sure you've guessed, but I came here to talk to you."
"How did you know I'd be here?" I asked him, cocking my head to the side.
His mouth twisted ruefully, and when he did that he reminded me so much of Dante that I wanted to smash something over his head. And cry. And run away. And kiss him.
"Facebook. You and your friends love to share your locations, and, you know, I live here."
I scrunched my nose up. "Facebook stalking me, are you?"
He was unapologetic. "Yes. It's a helpful tool. Actually, I was going to fly down to see you soon, but this worked out much better. Well, it did if you're up for a serious talk that I'd like you to remember in the morning."
"I'm not up for a serious anything," I told him and, because drunk, I pressed my mouth to his.
He made a little noise in this throat, a hungry one, and I licked his lips, brushing my breasts against him.
He set me away, but he was breathing hard.
"You taste good," I told him.
He smiled but not like he was happy. "Do I taste like revenge?"
"Exactly like that. Yum."
"Trust me, you beautiful, edible, dangerous creature, I would love to take you up on that, but it's a line we can't cross."
"There's no line I won't cross," I said, meaning it. I was feeling self-destructive to a dangerous, limitless degree. "God, do you know what he did to me the last time I saw him?"
"I heard a bit about it," Bastian said solemnly.
That surprised me. "What did you hear? And from whom?"
He sighed. "From Dante. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that he's in rough shape."
That bit of unfair bullshit only made me more determined. I moved closer and he let me. I rubbed up against him, my lips in kissing distance of his again, teasing him. "Let's make it rougher for him, huh?"