Scarred Beautiful (25 page)

She sucks in a sharp breath. “We both are.”

I study her face, the wonder of it, of her, and the emotion overwhelms me. “But it’s time to do more than that now. It’s time to live.” My knuckle slides down her cheek and she blinks. “Do you know who showed me that?” She shakes her head, unaware of the effect she has on me. “You did.”

She lifts her chin, offering her mouth up to me and I don’t need to be asked twice.

I watch her lashes spill across her cheeks before our lips come together, starting out as a soft brush but turning into so much more. She parts for me, her tongue seeking out mine, flicking it back and forth, the feel like velvet stirring a groan to rip through my chest and hunger to take over. I’m trying to go slow, but the smell of vanilla mixed with the warmth of her mouth and the feel of her pressed up against me spurs me on until my hands are in her hair, angling her head so I can penetrate her mouth, taking as much as she’s willing to give. She whimpers when I suck on her tongue and the sweet sound travels to my cock, now straining against my jeans.

Reluctantly, I break the kiss, the pounding of my chest and my hard-on a dead giveaway to my desire for her. “Fran….” I let out a jagged breath. “I should stop now or I won’t be able to stop at all.”

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” She looks up at me with those lustful green eyes and my resistance threatens to crack in half.

“Fran,” I whisper into her neck, “we’re both exhausted and I want you wide awake when I’m exploring you.” And that gets her attention.

She brings her head to my chest and exhales, making it apparent that stopping this is as hard for her as it is for me. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

I reach down and tilt her chin up, landing a chaste kiss on her lips. “That’s what you do to me…among other things.” I smirk, finally tearing myself away from her.

“To be continued,” she says with a seductive smile and a crimson flush on her cheeks.

“Oh, you can bank on that, sunshine. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

I have to summon every bit of willpower from the gods to keep walking and not sprint back to her, the only place I want to be. Instead, I’m going back to my room to get myself off again, while visions of Fran in her black bra and panties dance in my head, and I’m not talking about the one attached to my neck.

Peyton corners me by the buffet table during the lunch break. I ran late this morning and we haven’t had a chance to catch up from last night. “Are you okay? What happened last night?”

I let out a relaxed sigh, setting my briefcase down beside me and leaning a hand on the table. “Caleb said something that set me off. It wasn’t his fault. It’s just something my dad used to say to me and it forced a lot of bad memories to the surface.”

“I had a feeling it had something to do with your dad,” she says, her lips pulling down into a frown, “Caleb felt so awful last night, but I’m glad Matt went after you.”

“Yeah, me, too,” I tell her honestly, and I really am. “He was so supportive, especially after I showed him my scars.” I’m still letting everything that happened last night sink in and a part of me thinks it had to be a dream. I feel stronger today, like I can get through this. I can overcome.

“Ah, so I was right about him, was I?” she says with a cheeky grin and a lift of her brow.

“Yes, Peyton. You were right. He was…amazing.”

“Good. It’s nice to be right about something for a change. Lord knows I can’t please my mom in that department. Although, I talked to my dad this morning and he was so wonderful it’s hard to believe they’re married.” She cackles and her head falls back, her wavy locks tumbling down her shoulders. “What should we do later?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. My mom is in Santa Barbara and I’m actually headed there now to spend some time with her. Matt said I could take his car,” I add, a pleased smile appearing on my lips.

Her brown eyes widen in shock, and her mouth follows. “Holy shit!” she exclaims, “He’s letting you take his car?”

“Yes, he is,” a smooth voice says from behind her, both of us turning to find Matt looming just a few feet away.

My cheeks heat and an even bigger smile stretches my mouth. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. You ready?” He comes forward and holds out his hand to me, and I reach down and pick up my briefcase before taking it.

“I’ll see you later, Peyton.”

As we’re heading out, I glance back to see her grinning a cat-like smile, and I send a happy wink her way.

“I don’t mind telling you I’m scared to death to drive your car, Dixon. What if something happens to it?” I ask, my eyes going back and forth between Matt and his toy.

“Nothing’s gonna happen, Fran. You’ll be fine. It’s just a car,” he replies, but his Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a hard swallow and I know this is difficult for him.

“I want you to know I realize how hard this is for you and I really appreciate it.” I kiss his cheek before leaning back against the car.

He places a hand beside me and inches closer. “Just drive safely and text me when you get there.”

I clasp his arm, conveying a smile of reassurance. “I promise your car will be fine.”

He brushes his fingers across my temple, a batch of goose bumps flaring up on my skin. “It’s not my car I’m worried about.” He presses his lips to mine, lingering just enough for me to smell cinnamon on his breath.

“You smell like cinnamon or something. What have you been eating?”

“One of those sticky buns from the buffet,” he confesses with a childlike grin, lacing his fingers with mine.

“Yum. I’d love one of those for the road, but I don’t think it would be good for your upholstery.”

“Nah. I’d tend to agree with you on that one,” he says, his lips twitching in response. “So…maybe I’ll see you tonight if you don’t get back too late.”

“I think that can be arranged.” I’m positive that I want to see him. In fact, I want to do a lot more than just see him.

He walks me around to the driver’s side and holds the door open. Once I’m tucked inside, he bends forward and props his elbows on the window frame. “Have fun.” He gives me one more quick peck before backing away reluctantly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets looking for something to do.

I wave one last time before I watch his figure disappear in the rearview mirror, my stomach twisting in knots, and I know with absolute certainty that whatever this is we’re doing means something. I just don’t know what the hell that is yet.

The drive to Santa Barbara is picturesque; an eclectic mix of long stretches of beach, cottage-style shops, and quaint art galleries. This is so far removed from the rush of LA and I love it. There aren’t throngs of people everywhere, nor are there congested highways filled with cars. People are out for casual strolls or sitting outside cafes enjoying the sunshine and a good meal. The creative side of me wants to go explore the shops, check out all the local artists, and be a tourist for a change.

I feel surprisingly at peace today, especially after last night. My heart beats a little bit faster at Matt’s unique ability to, in many ways, set me free. I hope to do that for Mom today, to finally rid her of the tremendous burden that has plagued her, the anchor of guilt weighting her down, not allowing her to truly move on with her life. As a child it was hard to understand, but I can clearly see now that there was no way she could have known what my father was doing to me. She was paralyzed by her own fear, not to mention the amount of time she spent outside the house working to support us. Even when she was around, my father insisted on being the one to supervise my bath-times, always counting on my absolute fear of him preventing me from ever telling her or anyone else the truth—until the day he made the mistake of passing out drunk and she made the discovery on her own, one that changed our lives forever.

Tears prick my eyes and I blink, shutting off my past. I dig in my purse for my cell phone when I notice something crinkly blocking my path. My hand reaches in to find a jumbo package of Red Vines licorice with a handwritten note card:
Twizzlers suck
.

“HA!” I laugh and realize once again Matt’s uncanny ability to make me smile just when I need it most. Veering the car over to the side of the road, I rip open the package and bite off a small chunk that is noticeably firmer in texture and not as sweet as my favorite addiction, immediately bringing me to the conclusion that Twizzlers are still the best. I reach for my cell phone and send a quick text to Matt.

Thanks for the Red Vines. They still suck in comparison
.

I get an immediate response.

Your taste buds are obviously off, and I hope you’re not driving and texting
.

I type back.

No, pulled over to sample the sucky licorice
.

His reply.

Ha, ha. Good
.
Have fun with your mom
.

I don’t really have a smart comeback for that one so instead I text Mom and let her know I’m on my way.

I steer my luxurious ride into the parking lot of the Santa Barbara Shellfish Company, a weathered little restaurant nestled across from the sprawling blue ocean. The atmosphere is laid back and unpretentious just like Mom, with old oak tables, worn leather chairs, and pictures of fishermen catching lobsters scattered along the walls. A young girl with a t-shirt bearing the restaurant name greets me when I walk in.

“Hi, welcome to Santa Barbara Shellfish.”

Mom sees me instantly and springs up from her chair. Warmth spreads through me at the sight of her, mixed with a twist of sadness at her haggard appearance. She wastes no time, embracing me in her arms lovingly, holding me as only a mother can hold her child.

“Mom,” I whisper, my head nuzzled in her neck, breathing in that inexpensive fruity perfume she’s worn since I was a little girl. Some things never change.

“Baby,” she chokes out, and she’s already crying. “I’m so happy to see you. Let me look at you.”

She grasps my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, and as she’s perusing my appearance, I’m doing the same. With her dark tresses, sculptured cheekbones, and light green eyes, we are the mirror image of one another. As I take in her presence though, I notice the creases surrounding her eyes, the sag of her clothes, and the gray in her hair. She looks much older than the last time I saw her and it causes a dull ache in my chest.