Beautifully Forgotten (9 page)

“His dates don’t scream rape.” The condemnation in the judge’s voice made Dane grind his teeth.

“Funny coming from the man who has always told me that women are only good for one thing.”

The judge leaned up as his hard eyes speared Dane from across the expanse of his walnut desk. “Willing women. There’s a difference.”

“And I’m supposed to know the difference when you claim my own mother was a whore.”

The judge didn’t miss a beat. “She was a whore. Pimped herself out and got pregnant so that she had a legal claim to the Carmichael name and fortune.” Dane turned from his grandfather to see his dad, whose attention was on the floor, his jaw clenched—but whether that was for his dad’s father or wife, Dane didn’t know. What enraged Dane was that his father had never defended her, not once.

“You’re going to let him defile my mother’s name?”

His father remained silent, his face completely unreadable.

“Am I supposed to follow in his footsteps”—Dane gestured to his uncle—“and not date at all?”

“Horace works hard and maintains the good name of this family. He may lack social skills, but he doesn’t bring shame.”

Dane’s eyes met his uncle’s to see something close to hate sweep his face. He moved from his spot near the fireplace to loom over Dane. His uncle cut an imposing figure, but it was the violence behind his eyes that always stirred fear in Dane. “Your latest stunt came back on me. You want to screw up your life, that’s your business, but I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to have it taken away because of a little worthless shit like you. These two are more forgiving than I. You fuck with me again, boy, and they won’t find you, ever.”

Dane stifled his gulp—his uncle meant every word. The encounter they were referring to was not something he liked to think about. Ember Walsh, a year ago. He didn’t know how it had gotten so out of control. His friend Todd had promised him a good time. Dane had spent the evening just thinking about her wrapped around him, and when he was denied, yeah, he was pissed, but he’d been so high he didn’t really even remember the night he attacked her. He didn’t expect to get his face rearranged by her Neanderthal boyfriend, or their gangster friend to get all up into his family’s business. Replaying the scene sober, it wasn’t his proudest moment. His head started to pound.

“Enough, Horace. No point in having the boy shit his pants. Lydia has enough work to do around here.” His grandfather stood and moved from behind his desk.

“Boys will be boys, but be more discreet.”

And then he was dismissed and the three of them filed out of the room. Did they not see how contradictory they were? One minute he’s a complete degenerate and the next it’s “boys will be boys.” It was no wonder that he was so fucked up—raised by that group of narcissistic sociopaths. It took a few minutes for his legs to steady before he moved across the room to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. The alcohol calmed his wildly beating heart, but he needed to get high and then laid. He walked with determined strides from the study to do just that.

Trace moved quietly through the apartment, stopping when he reached their bedroom. Ember lay curled up into a ball, sleeping. She was working too hard—juggling writing her second book, which kept her up late most nights, and working for
In Step
, the online periodical she wrote a column for. The long hours were definitely taking a toll on her. Telling her to slow down was pointless since she acted much like a dog with a bone when she wanted something. Obstacles be damned. She had proven her tenacity with him, fighting for him, for them, even when he was doing everything he could to push her away.

He walked over to her and settled on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers lightly up and down her bare arm.

“Ember, sweetheart.”

She turned and those guileless brown eyes opened; when she saw him, a smile spread over her face. It was like a sucker punch every time and he fucking craved it.

“Trace, hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy.”

“I have one more class tonight, but I can have Carlos take it if you want me to stay home.”

“No, you should go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She looked so soft and sweet that he was seriously tempted to ditch class, strip her out of those pajamas, wrap her legs around his waist, and sink himself deep into her. Yeah, the more he thought about it, the better and better it sounded, but when he really looked at her, she looked more than tired.

Knowing him as well as she did, she reached for his hand to entwine his fingers with her own. “Really, I just need sleep. Don’t worry about me. Maybe later when you get home again you’ll tell me, or better yet show me, whatever it was you were just thinking about.”

A grin cracked over his face as he brushed his finger along her jaw. It was stupid, but the thought of something happening to her, of losing her, was his greatest fear. “You know me so well.”

“Um.” She settled more deeply into the blankets. “Wake me up when you get home.”

He brushed his lips over hers and watched as her heavy lids closed over her eyes. “Sweet dreams, beautiful.”

Later in the evening, Ember stirred awake as soon as he climbed into bed. She turned into him and pressed her lips to the skeleton key tattoo over his heart that had her name written along the blade. A shudder went through him as she touched him. “How was class?”

“Packed.”

Ember lifted her head onto her hand as her fingers ran over the muscles of his chest and abs.

“What class was it tonight?”

He answered without conscious thought. “Sauces.”

“Like gravy?”

Was she serious? “Ember, you don’t really want to talk about sauces.” He moved to pin her under him as he held himself up on his elbows. “Because there are so many other things that I’d rather do with you than talk about sauces.”

She gave him a coy little smile. “Really, like what?”

His hand moved down her body to her stomach, his fingers toying with her tank top, before he lowered his head to press a kiss on her bare belly. His eyes stayed on her as his tongue dipped into her navel before his hands moved her tank up her body, his mouth following the path. He loved it when she touched him, her hands so eager to feel him under her fingertips as she moved them along his body, claiming every inch she touched. He needed to taste her. His tongue flicked her nipple before he lightly bit it and then he lapped at the sensitive bud with his tongue. She moaned in pleasure, and he pulled her breast into his mouth and sucked on it hard. She actually cried out and—fuck if that wasn’t hot. He was surprised and seriously turned on when her hands grabbed at his head and she arched her back.

“Oh God, Trace, I’m going to come.”

Fuck yeah. He slipped his hand into her pants until he found the part of her that he so wanted to claim. She was so ready and as soon as he slipped two fingers inside her, her body spasmed around him as she climaxed. Her reaction fueled him as he yanked off her drawstring pants, lifted her hips and settled himself between her legs. Their eyes locked when he sank deep into her. He wrapped her legs around his waist, lifted her hips higher, and then started to move. He was never going to get enough of her. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feel of her body, but when she started to tighten around him, he lost control and moved harder and faster; when she came again, he did too.

“Holy hell,” she whispered.

She looked sated as her lids closed over her eyes again.

He settled down next to her and wrapped her into his arms. He wasn’t long to follow her into sleep.

In the morning, Trace climbed from bed and pulled on a pair of jeans before heading down the hall to the kitchen. He started the coffee and, as soon as the aroma filled the air, he heard Ember starting to stir. She was a complete caffeine junkie.

He turned toward the door just as she appeared looking all soft and sleepy.

“Morning,” he said, but he knew she wasn’t awake and wouldn’t be until her first cup of coffee. Instead, as was her habit, she moved to him and settled herself right at his side.

There was another far more enjoyable way to wake her; he touched his mouth to the spot just behind her ear that made her weak. His hand moved under her shirt to cup her breast. Her reaction was a sharp inhale as her nipple turned hard. So did he.

He moved his lips along her jaw until they rested over hers. “Just my mouth—that was a first last night.”

Embarrassment tinged her cheeks pink. “I know.”

He knew she wanted to reprimand him for embarrassing her, but he distracted her when he moved the tee of his that she was wearing up her body before lifting her onto the counter. He bent forward and closed his mouth over her nipple.

“Oh God.”

He chuckled and then got down to business. He brushed his finger between her legs and watched as she bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He felt her fingers on his fly and his dick twitched eagerly. When she wrapped her hand around him and pulled him free, it was his turn to moan.

“Impatient?” he teased in a gruff voice.

“To feel you inside me, hell yes.”

He grabbed her ass and brought her hard against him, burying himself to the hilt, but instead of moving, he stayed completely immobile, just loving the way it felt to be sheathed in her beautiful body.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“You’re never going to look at this counter the same way again.”

“Teasing me now—oh my God, just move!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And as he complied, he knew neither of them was going to look at the counter the same way.

Darcy stepped into the small garden center located in the middle of concrete and steel and smiled. Color and scents surrounded her. This was one of her most favorite places in the city. Her fire escape was in need of some color, so she grabbed a cart and started down the aisle.

“You’re back. We just got in some climbing geraniums that are exquisite,” the sales associate called to her.

“Thanks, I’ll have to take a look at them.”

“The pots are all forty percent off too.”

“More pots, just what my fire escape needs.” The sales associate laughed in reply before she turned to help another customer.

Darcy wasn’t sure when she developed a love of gardening, but her world had been gray for so long that she craved the brilliance of color around her. Her fingers trailed over the soft petals of a petunia in the palest of pinks. It was a bit sad that her longest relationship was with the flower lady, but living with the revolving door that was her mother’s house, Darcy had come to crave the solitude. She had made a few friends in college, but Darcy kept them at a distance because of the embarrassment and shame of where she came from. Lucien was the only person whose company she had ever wanted.

Sister Anne had shared her love of gardening. Every week, Darcy had brought an arrangement to her sick room to bring a little of the outdoors inside. And even now, Darcy still brought flowers to brighten her grave. It was something small she could do, but it comforted her, even though the walk down memory lane was always bittersweet. Memories were likely all she was ever going to have when it came to Lucien Black—and where better to reminiscence than with the one person who loved him as much as she did?