Innocent Ink (11 page)

 Jed, on the other hand, had lost the person he’d sworn to spend the rest of his life with.

He didn’t say so, but it had to hurt him to witness her sadness, to try to comfort her. Didn’t it?

* * * * *

Jed’s heart fractured as he stood across from Karen, watching water streak down her face and over the graceful lines of her collarbones, eventually dampening the towel she’d wrapped tight around her body. Maybe she thought he didn’t realize she’d been crying, but the redness and slight puffiness around the edges of her eyes had betrayed her to him as soon as she’d stepped out of the shower. Even now, he noticed a tear slipping from one corner of her eye; the beads of liquid dripping from her sopping hair didn’t hide it.

“Talk to me, Karen. I can handle it. I wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t.”

It was a lie. In that moment, he’d have done anything for her, even if it would’ve meant agony for him. But it wouldn’t; in fact, a part of him sensed that if he could help her make sense of her own grief, it might give his some kind of meaning. And that would be a comfort, however small.

She made the slightest movement, as if she meant to step off the bathmat and come to him. Her shoulders went rigid as she stopped herself, and a dent appeared in her lower lip.

He went to her instead, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. Her body was soft beneath the scant cover of the towel, and it conformed to his as he embraced her. He held her tight, even tighter than he’d meant to as the memory of her picking up the red teapot in his kitchen played inside his head, crystal-clear.

One of the reasons why the sight of her holding the teapot had unsettled him had been because the object – the physical token of his grief – had seemed so out of place in her hands. There was a certain kind of innocence about her; she projected an air of passion, the sort of fearless zeal for life that could only exist in someone whose world had never been turned upside down by life’s unfairness. It grated to see that innocence tainted, to think of her spending the night in the hospital, the only family member there to watch someone she loved die.

He’d only pulled on his jeans, no shirt. Something hot and wet dampened his shoulder – hotter than the lukewarm water that soaked her hair. At least he’d convinced her she could cry in front of him. It was a double-edged sword, sending relief and bitter sympathy slicing through him. “You two were close, weren’t you?” Mina had said so.

Karen nodded, raising her head and meeting his gaze for a second before looking down again. “I was closer to my grandmother than my own mother, honestly. Plus, my parents live in Scranton, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. We spent a lot of time together. She wasn’t your average grandmother.”

Her voice hitched, but she took a deep breath and continued. “We did all kinds of things together. And at least one night a week, we’d order in, crack open a bottle of wine and stream a movie, usually after one of my photo shoots.”

“Sorry,” Jed said, knowing the word fell flat despite the fact that he meant it.

“She was my grandmother. I knew this would happen eventually. I guess I just didn’t think it’d be so soon. She wasn’t even seventy.”

The fact that Karen’s grandmother had only been in her sixties reminded Jed of Karen’s youth, and his stomach clenched up into a hard ball when he thought of her sitting by a hospital deathbed. At least she’d had Mina, then. Now, she had him. And he’d been through it all; he understood. For the first time, he felt like he actually had something to offer her.

CHAPTER 7

“I almost forgot to tell you,” Karen said, pausing with her fork buried in a half-eaten slice of cheesecake. “In a week, I’m leaving for New York.”

Jed sat still too, turning dark eyes upon her from the other side of her small kitchen table. “New York?”

Was it just her imagination, or did he look grim as he gripped his fork, waiting for her to explain?

“Just for a few days,” she said as realization dawned on her. Had he thought she meant permanently? She explained about the contest she’d won, about the incredible opportunity she’d all but forgotten about in the wake of her grandmother’s death.

It had been a week since then – the memorial services had come and gone, and she’d spent the days since in an odd haze of grief and gladness. Jed was to thank for the gladness; they’d been spending a lot of time together. For some reason, he’d seemed to warm up to the idea of them being together after the first night he’d spent in her apartment, on the day he’d brought her coffee and offered her a shoulder to cry on.

“Sounds like it’ll be great for your career.” He carved a bite from the slice of homemade cheesecake Karen had baked for them to share. She’d done it as a small way to thank him for all the selfless support he’d shown her over the past week, and because the dessert had provided the perfect excuse to invite him over.

“It will be. Or at least, I hope so. Marc St. Pierre is a really respected designer in the bridal fashion industry. And the catalogs…” She didn’t quite manage to suppress a sigh. “They’re gorgeous. I can’t believe my photographs are going to be in one.”

“I can believe it.” Jed stared at her over his coffee mug. “Your photos are amazing, Karen. I know you’re shooting full-time now, but you still don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ve been telling you for a while now that you’re not charging me enough for the tattoo portraits. Every time you hand me an envelope full of prints, I feel like I’m stealing from you.” He motioned at the wall, where half a dozen colorless prints hung in black frames. “You’re an artist.”

She hid a goofy grin with an especially large bite of cheesecake. When Jed complimented her, it always left her feeling as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. They’d made love nearly a dozen times now – the three nights he’d spent in her apartment had been especially intense – but she still found herself breaking out in embarrassing blushes and grins sometimes. “Thanks.”

For some reason, when they embraced after finishing their dessert, he held her especially tight.

* * * * *

Jed carried the box down the stairs, through Hot Ink and out to his car, ignoring the way its corners dug into the insides of his arms, leaving red impressions on the little bits and pieces of uninked skin that showed through. It was the last one – for today. When he got it to the big house, where he had storage – an actual attic – he’d place it carefully there.

He’d still own Alice’s teapot, dish towels and assorted other favorite household items, but he wouldn’t display them, wouldn’t section off special places in kitchen cupboards and drawers for them, allowing the air in those places to grow stale. He didn’t use them, so there was no point – he didn’t need Alice’s things to remember Alice. She was in his heart and in his skin – those things would be enough.

After hefting the box into the back seat of his Charger, he felt oddly light, and not because he’d just put down a physical burden. Maybe he should’ve done this a long time ago.

Before slipping behind the wheel, he sent Karen a quick text, letting her know he was on his way over. Fifteen minutes later, he was idling at the curb in front of her apartment building. He went to the door and helped her carry her bags down the stairs and load them into the trunk. “Excited?” he teased as he pulled back out onto the street.

She smiled, her eyes bright as she shot him a sideways glance. “Maybe a little.”

This had been his idea – for them to spend the night in the house he owned in North Side, in the Allegheny West neighborhood. In the morning, he’d drop her off at the airport.

“Wow, this place is gorgeous. I had no idea you owned a house like this, Jed.” She stepped out of the car and stood looking up at the Victorian brick structure, her lips slightly cracked.

“It’s only been mine for a few years. Inherited it from a great aunt.”

He hadn’t known what to do with it at first. The house was old – nineteenth century – but his great aunt had kept it in excellent repair. After her death, he’d carefully maintained the place, sometimes coming over on his days off to take care of routine maintenance and make any needed small repairs. He’d paid the taxes on it, too. But that was it. He’d inherited the place a year after Alice’s death, and the idea of moving in, of taking up residence alone in a big house she would’ve loved, had been incomprehensible then, with the loss so fresh.

He unlocked the front door and helped Karen carry her bags inside. “I thought you’d like it, after what you said about historical buildings that day in the studio when I caught you watching that ghost hunting show.”

She grinned. “You weren’t teasing me about this place being haunted, were you?”

His great aunt – who’d never balked at the notion of lingering spirits like he did – had said a few times that she thought there might be a spirit in the house. Harmless and only occasionally sensed, but there. He’d mentioned his aunt’s claim to Karen on a whim, teasing her, and had immediately feared that he’d hurt her. Mentioning ghost stories so soon after her grandmother’s death … he’d cringed as he’d waited for her reaction. He didn’t believe in that stuff, but for someone who did…

But she’d seemed interested, even delighted.

“My great aunt said she thought it might be. I’ve never seen anything. Don’t know if she ever did either, for that matter.”

“Well, you never know,” she said, walking a circuit of the foyer and drifting toward the living area. “Have you ever spent the night here?”

“Not since I was a kid.” He’d always returned to his apartment after spending time taking care of the house. He’d never had any desire to stay overnight before, but this – with Karen – seemed right. She was obviously getting a kick out of the historical house. It made him happy to see her so excited, running a hand reverently over a hand-carved bannister at the foot of the staircase, then inspecting an empty curio cabinet that stood in one corner of the living room.

“Are you ever going to move in?” she asked. “Or do you plan to sell it?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel right selling this place. My great aunt loved the house so much – I know she wanted it to stay in the family.” He didn’t believe in ghosts, but he believed in honoring the memories of the dead when possible. “At first I couldn’t imagine myself living here. But lately, I’ve been thinking the time may be right for a change.”

“This place is so much bigger than your apartment.” She tipped back her head, toward a high ceiling skirted by original crown molding.

He nodded, though it wasn’t like he needed the space. The move he was contemplating was more about moving on. No more stagnating in his apartment just because he’d once shared it with Alice. No more leaving her things on display, untouched. Those old habits couldn’t bring her back, so what was the point?

The apartment, the detritus of their long-vanished domestic life together … those things had rekindled his grief a dozen times a day, and in a way, keeping the fire alive had felt like loyalty. But deep down, he knew that was a lie, that it was exactly the opposite of what Alice would have wanted for him.

He gave Karen a tour, pointing out the house’s original features and supplementing the architectural facts with what scraps of the place’s history he could remember from his great aunt. Karen smiled and nodded and touched things carefully, like she was afraid she’d break something. Eventually he led her upstairs, to a hall lined with bedroom doors.

“I thought we could spend the night in this one,” he said, opening the door to the master bedroom. “It still has a bed, and I brought some clean sheets.”

Only some of his great aunt’s furniture was still present in the house. She’d given him her home, but had left some of the furniture to other relatives. What was left would do, for now – for the night.

They made the bed together, layering linens and a comforter he’d picked up the day before. When that was done he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down onto it, slipping a hand beneath her shirt and pushing it up, eventually pulling it over her head. After tossing her bra onto the hardwood floor, he cradled her breasts in his hands, squeezing as her nipples pricked against his palms, warm and hard.

He lowered his head, brushed the swell of one breast with his lips and closed his them around her nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth as he pressed a hand to the small of her back, liking the feel of her arching into him, her spine bowing beneath his fingers. He teased the stiff tip of her breast with tongue and teeth until she was writhing against him, breathing hard.

Unzipping the fly of her jeans, he dipped his fingers into her panties and found her clit. He rubbed it, letting friction warm his fingertips, until she came, her ragged breaths rushing through his hair and sending a frisson down his spine. Straightening, he raised his head and allowed his gaze to linger on her face, memorizing the auburn spread of her lashes fanned against the soft skin beneath her eyes.

Moments later she was fumbling with his belt buckle, loosening his jeans and raking her fingertips over his chest, beneath his shirt. He let her struggle with his clothing for a few moments, her nails scraping over the surface of his skin and making it pebble. Then he helped her, stripping off his things before divesting her of her jeans and panties.

He was guiding his hard cock into her before he knew it, pressing the head against her wet skin and pushing past her folds, into heat and pressure. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him in and sighing when he sank all the way to the root of his dick, his hips flat against her body.

The bed was old but solid. It didn’t make a sound as he fucked her with deliberate force, liking the way she clung tighter to him with each stroke. There was only the sound of rustling sheets and her breath, rushing through her parted lips.

By the time she arched against the bed with an internal tremor, the sheets were as hot as their bodies, impervious to the room’s cool temperature. He drove her hard down into them, pushing her climax as far as he could. She was stronger than he’d realized – his ribs ached a little in the grip of her thighs, and the pressure there matched the ache in his balls, urging him to come inside her.