Tattooed Hearts (3 page)

Claire leaned over the
table and tried to focus on the red solid ball. Problem was Forrest was
standing on the opposite side and her eyes kept landing on that b
ulge in his sweatpants. Crazy thoughts zipped through her
head.

Was he wearing boxers or
briefs?

What if she slipped her
hand beneath the waistband of his pants and touched?

An unfamiliar sensation
shot between her thighs. Groaning, she took her shot, and
missed.

“Your aim was wrong.”

Truer words had never been
spoken.
“Um…yeah.”

“Here, let me show you.”

He came to stand behind
her. “Follow my lead,” he said, way too close to her neck, so close the heat of
his breath tickled her skin. “You have to focus on
your
target. Which ball do you want to hit?”

“What?” Her voice came out
husky. She cleared her throat.

He chuckled. “Pick a ball
and I’ll show you how to aim. Let’s go for the red ball again. I think that’s
the one you tried for before, right?”

Oh, God, sh
e was hot. The last thing she needed was to start sweating.
Mouth dried
, she nodded. Finely sculpted muscles of
his chest pressed down on her back. She sucked in a breath, in an attempt to
control the tremors inside.

“There are physical and
mental aspects
of playing pool,” he said quietly.

Umm…right. Rife and
powerful desire spread through her. She nodded again.

“If you want to hit that
ball, you need to forget about the others and give all of your attention to the
one you’re aiming for. Turn your body a li
ttle to the
left.” His hand
s guided
her hip right against his hard male
heat. “Don’t move. Now pull your shoulder back and swing forward…gently. Move
with me.”

Mesmerized by everything
Forrest, from the way his mouth was so close to her ear, to the feel of
what made him male pressing on her back, she followed the
instructions and watched the red ball sink into the corner pocket.

“I did it.” Excited, she
tried to spin and face him, hug him, anything to have her hands on him. But he
tightened his
gr
ip
and hel
d her steady.

“Don’t move.”

She stood stock-still.
More like bent over. Her bottom pressed against the front of his sweatpants. A
rush of heat pooled in her stomach. For the record, he was going commando.

“Focus,” he said in a
thick voice. “Aim for the orange ball. Here
turn
your body this way."
He shifted her hip. His
iron-
hard body with that thing
poking at her, moved along with her
. "Remember what I told you, forget
about everything else and go with the
flow.”

The torture continued for
about ten minutes until Claire somehow managed to focus enough to clear all the
solid balls from the table. Her palms were damp. Her body was damp too,
yearning and aching for him. She turned, leaned on the table and looked
into his eyes, watching every slight flicker take a dark,
stormy shade. For a beat, she thought he was going to let her go but instead he
cupped her face. Warm breath caressed her lips as he leaned ever closer, his
nose brushing against hers.

“That day in
side the barn and that afternoon in the rain, I wanted to
kiss you.”

Her heart leaped, going a
mile a minute.
He was so close, so real, and she’d dreamed of this moment
for so long.

“I want to kiss you now.”

“Kiss me,” she mouthed.

He hesitated. Then slowl
y, so slowly it hurt, he brought his lips down to hers for
one too-short second. Claire's body trembled like a leaf. Her heart missed a
beat. And then he jerked away, stepping back.

Her fingers went to her
bottom lip, feeling the imprint of his mouth. She
wanted
more. “Forrest.”

“I promised I wouldn’t
touch you.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Will you regret kissing
me?”

 
“Maybe.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I
don’t know. I can’t think straight.” He took another step, furthering the
distance between them. "I know you kissed Tyler.”

Her
first kiss.
The weak attempt to mend her broken heart by kissing a boy
one grade ahead of
her. Part of her had done it
because she knew word would get back to Forrest, and she’d hoped to get a rise
out of him. There’d been rumors Jason, Blake, and Adam had threatened to tear
Tyler apart limb by limb if he mustered the courage to get close to he
r again. But Forrest had done absolutely nothing.

“To forget you,” she
whispered. “I was hurt.”

“Did it work?” His voice
was low and grainy.

While the kiss had been
nice, pleasant, it failed to ignite the flame in her bonfire heart. She moved
closer, homin
g in on his lips. “No. If anything I
want you more than ever.”

Forrest pressed his
forehead to hers and swore beneath his breath. “Claire…”

“Please, Forrest, I’m
beg
…”

And then he kissed her
again. It was magic, the way his lips connected with hers. Among
all the dizziness, heat, and clinging to him like a
lifeline, something inside her changed, never to be reversed. This new feeling
could be dwelled upon later, because, for now, she was exhilarated to feel his
breath come and go with hers.

She closed her e
yes to better enjoy the sensation as his tongue lightly
swept across and between her slightly parted lips. The hardness of his body
pressed into hers as the kiss went even deeper. His tongue, filled with the
spicy beer flavor, becoming a substitute for all
the
other parts of his body she’d like to absorb into her own. A rough groan
escaped the back of his throat as his lips became more fervent and rougher
until they broke for air.

“God, Claire.” He walked
over to the large couch, this time putting enough di
stance
that she couldn’t touch him. “We can’t do this.”

“Why
not?”

“You’re practically my
best friend’s sister.” He reached for his beer.

“But I’m not.” She took
slow, calculated steps to where he stood with beer in hand. She took the
bottle, gulped down a
mouthful and nearly spit it
out. The shit tasted disgusting.

“You shouldn’t be
drinking,” he warned, watching her.

“Technically, neither
should you.”

“How often do you drink
alcohol?” he asked, ignoring her countering.

There was that one time
she had a gl
ass of wine with one of her friends.
“Here and there.”

He looked at her for a
beat. Obviously not buying her bullshit, then the last thing she expected
happened. He grabbed another bottle. “First, let me say, I know you’ve never
had beer before.”

“I’ve had
beer.”

“Right.”

His tone confirmed she was
a terrible liar.
Whatever
.
She was on a mission and
took another swig. Yep.
Still
disgusting.

“Second, let’s make a
toast.”

She met his eyes.
“A toast?”

He
clinked
his bottle to hers.
“To you and me and all this
tension between us.”

“I’m not mad at you. I was
just embarrassed.”

“Not that kind of
tension.”

Her heart kicked up a
notch as realization sank in. “Oh.” Throat suddenly dry, she took another swig
of the beer, nearly choking with a hiccup. “And you like
this because?”

 
“It’s an acquired taste.” He quaffed down
the alcohol.
“Up for another game
of pool?”

“Can we talk about the
um…tension?” She took another mouthful of the alcoholic drink. Still tasted
awful but she needed strength and something to boost he
r confidence.

“I’m listening.”

“You…feel it too?”

“Yes.”

The admission did
something funny to her stomach. And lower. She took another swallow of the
beer.

“You’re drinking too
fast.”

She ignored the warning
and gulped down another mouthful. “I thought you
didn’t want me. Why are you telling me this now? Unless…”

“There’s no unless. I just
thought you should know the feeling is not one-sided.”

They stood in silence,
face to face, his beautiful slate gray eyes glinting with lust and desire. He
wanted her. He
was fighting it.

“I want you, Forrest.” Her
fingers skated across the bulge of his pants. “Looks like you want me just as
much.”

“Don’t go there.” His
voice was rough, his hands gentle as he caught hers and held them still.

“Why?”

“You’re not even legal.
You’re seventeen.”

“The legal age for
consensual sex is sixteen. I checked.”

“It’s more than that. You
should be dating.”

“I don’t want to date. I
want you. My heart belongs to you.”

“You’re too young to know
that.”

The room moved and Claire
squeezed her eyes shut for a second or two to regain her composure, “I know
what I feel.” They stood facing each other, gazes locked, neither daring to
break the silence.
Sexual
tension hung
thick
in the air.
Tilting the beer bott
le to her mouth, she swallowed the last drops. She inched
closer, tiptoed, and removed his glasses. “What will your excuse be next year
when I’m eighteen?”

He squinted, stared at
her,
then
scrubbed a hand over his
face. “I won’t have any. But your feelings
might
change.”

“They won’t.”

He looked at her long and
hard. “If you still feel the same way on your eighteenth birthday then I’m
yours, Claire. For as long as you want me.”

Something fluttered crazy
low in her stomach. Hope.
Excitement.
Happiness.
“Forev
er.
I’ll want you forever.”

He smiled. “Tell me that
next year.”

“You’ll wait for me?”

One hand went to her
ponytail, pulled it loose and tangled his fingers in her hair. “I'll wait for
you.”

His lips found hers again,
warm in contrast to the cold outside.
Everything
faded away, and all Claire heard was her breath and their heartbeats.

Chapter Three

“Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create
ecstasy.”

Anaïs Nin,
Delta of Venus

Herring Creek Farm,
Martha’s Vineyard ten years ago…

Finally, the moment Claire
had been wishing for was here. Giddy with excitement, she wanted to run, to
shout, and tell everyone what was going to happen. The day had been the longest
of her almost eighteen years. She boiled the kettle for the fifth time th
at morning. Filled to the brim with tea and wired with
caffeine, she busied herself with a book.

A
romance novel, her
fave
.

It failed to divert her
attention from thoughts of Forrest. Instead her mind k
ept running wild with
scenarios—
Forrest’s lips on her breasts, his fingers between her
thighs.
Romance novel.
Bad choice.

Unable to sit down, let
alone read, she walked back to the kitchen and stopped. Another quick glance at
the luminous digital clock of the oven made her wonder if tim
e
had
slowed down, her stomach
knotted. Every distraction she chose for herself–much like a butterfly would
flutter toward the possibilities of tonight. Then she’d get that tingly feeling
all over again.

But try as hard as it
might, the day couldn’t last f
orever. The afternoon
heat reluctantly faded and Claire found herself behind the wheel of her
Volkswagen Cabriolet.
Wait for me,
the words replayed in her
head. She shifted the gear of the convertible to park and looked at her watch.
Eleven fifty-eight p.m
. Two more minutes and she’d
officially be eighteen.

Humming to the tune of
Feel Good
by The Gorillaz and De La Soul, she sat
back and stared at the dappled moonlight surrounded by little stars. There was
something beautiful about nighttime, magical, when
the
world’s asleep. The minute hand moved forward, nearing midnight.

Eleven fifty-nine p.m. As
Claire stepped onto the grounds of Herring Creek Farm, the light breeze brushed
the skirt of her dress. A nervous kind of energy crept through her like
electrica
l sparks, gathering in her toes. She tugged
at the new dress the store assistant swore accentuated her curves in the most
flattering way. But she knew better
.
W
illowy
and without a large bust,
she barely had any curves. Now she wondered if Forrest would th
ink she looked beautiful or find the mini wrap dress too
short. With each tug, the front went lower and lower, so she stopped and
glanced up at the corner window of the Victorian estate.

Forrest
.

Her heart pounded like the
thundering hooves of a thousand w
ild stallions.

Three hundred and
sixty-five days unable to think of anything except this moment. She’d written
and circled the date on every notebook. It felt like an eternity, waiting and
wanting to transcend the stolen kisses whenever he’d visited the is
land. But Forrest had insisted they wait, and now...

Midnight
and officially eighteen.
Every fiber of her body vibrated.

She looked up at his
bedroom window again. Pitch black. Probably sleeping, he had no idea she’d be
coming tonight. His last words to he
r were,
See you at your party
. But she’d been desperate
with longing. Grateful Charles had suggested they stay in town for the weekend,
so all of her friends could easily attend her birthday party, Claire had gone
to bed fully dressed and watched the clock
until all
the lights were out, before grabbing her car keys and making her way to the
farm.

Her fingers twitched, she
paced back and forth on the grass yard, found a small rock and picked it up.
She aimed at Forrest’s bedroom window, held her breath at th
e little
tlock
sound against the window
pane.

Swallowing a hard lump in
her throat, she waited.
It felt like forever.
Her palms were sweaty and
her knees were shaking.
Then
the window slid open and
Forrest stuck his head out. She watched as he donned his glasses and brought
her into focus.

“Claire.” His voice was
low, filled with questions.

“I’m eighteen,” she said
in a whispery voice.

Absolute
stillness.
No air stirred the
grass or
leaves. No clouds drifted in the sky. No water dripped or flowed. Not a sound
could be heard either close at hand or in the distance. Even her own breath
died as soon as it left her mouth. It was an eerie sort of tranquility, so
instead of being s
oothed, her senses heightened.

She glanced at her watch
again, now a few minutes past midnight. Shit, did he change his mind? “In the
tree house, you said…” she started, her heart thudding like a rock rattling in
a box.

“Don’t move. I’m coming
down.”

And t
hen he disappeared.
Nerves now on edge, Claire sunk her
teeth into her bottom lip in order to keep her knees from buckling under the
weight of her wobbly body.
Within minutes the front door opened and
Forrest came into view, wearing a pair of low-slung bla
ck pajama pants and nothing else.
Sheer male perfection.

“I’m eighteen and I
thought...” She squeezed her hands together. “I mean, I want, we said–”

He peeled his body from
the doorway and started toward her. “You’re rambling.”

As he closed the distance
be
tween them, she let her gaze go south to
well-defined abs, to the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath those
deliciously indecent low pajamas. He was beautiful and she was in love with
every inch of him.

“It’s my birthday.”

A smile crept across Forr
est’s face. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. The air
grew thick, forcing her to breathe slower, deeper.

“Happy
birthday.”
His lips brushed over hers,
then
his mouth moved to the tender area at
the base of her neck. Claire’s eyes fluttered shut and light
exploded behind her closed lids. When he drew back, she
quickly searched his face, panic ready to take over.

 
“Claire, we don’t have to–”

“I want to,” she cut him
off. “You said when I turn eighteen…”

“I know what I said.” He
ran the pad of his thumb over
her lips. His eyes
hooded behind his glasses. “I want you to be sure.”

“I’m on the pill.” She was
prepared. “I couldn’t be surer.”

“Let’s go inside,” he said
after a beat.

“I brought a blanket.” She
had a picnic basket in the trunk of the Cabriolet with a
blanket and everything. “I figure we can go by the lake.”

“My
bedroom.”

“What about your parents?”

“They are in Nantucket
’til tomorrow.” He smiled. “You could have knocked.”

“You didn’t tell me they
were gone.” He scratched the back of his head. And
Claire’s
eyes narrowed. “You knew I’d come over if you told me.”

He gave her a sheepish
smile. “It crossed my mind.”

Was he having doubts? The
idea chilled her. She ran a nervous hand over her dress and let her face fall
with gravity, focusing her attentio
n on nothing in
particular. “Did you change your mind?” she
asked,
heart in her throat.

“No.” He exhaled. “God,
Claire, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He clutched her hand. “Let’s go
inside. I have a gift for you.”

A sigh of relief streamed
through her
lungs. Her gaze went back to his face.
So handsome.
“I’ve been waiting.”

He chuckled and shook his
head. “Not my penis. I bought you something.”

Forrest wrapped one arm
over her shoulder and pulled her closer. She inched her nose toward his neck.
His scent
was intoxicating, not of cologne but of
freshly cut timber, like the damp forest on a rainy day. With her body pressed
against his side, they walked inside the house. He didn’t let go until they
made their way upstairs. In comfortable silence, they headed
down the hall to his bedroom,
her pinky hooked
into his
. He
didn’t let go until they
entered his room to turn on the lamp.

She glanced around the
place she’d visited many times in the past and could never get enough of. In
here she was surrounded by every
thing that
represented Forrest. Deep azure walls with white slat board added a classic
balance to the otherwise sports fanatic decorated room. A wall decal of his
all-time favorite quarterback, Joe Montana, one of his skateboards casually
thrown against th
e red dorm trunk next to a football.
His favorite Ronix surfboard leaned on the wall next to his headboard. She
peered at the bed. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, her head buzzing with
possibilities.

“Sorry, room’s a bit
messy.” He grabbed a balled-u
p royal blue tee and a
black rash guard from the floor, then walked over to the closet and tossed the
shirts inside. Their eyes met for a split second and she gave him a quick
smile. “Right now,” he said in a grainy voice, “my heart is beating really fast.
”

Good to know she wasn’t
the only one with nervous knots in her stomach. “I’m worried that…” Her voice
dropped until it was practically inaudible. “I’m not going to live up to your
past experience.”

“I don’t have any other
experience to compare you to.”

C
ertain
she misheard, Claire blinked, lips parting on a gasp of disbelief. He grinned,
an almost shy grin. Forrest removed his glasses, walked past her and placed
them on the desk. He rubbed his eyes,
then
looked at her.
Absolute stillness in the room.

“You
asked me to wait for you.” He scraped a hand through his
hair. “And so I did.”

His words caressed her
soul, smoothing it out and removing the jagged edges.
The magnitude of the moment
seeped through. That afternoon, doused with rain she had declared her l
ove and begged him to wait for her. He had walked away with
barely a glimpse back, but not only had he heard her, he’d listened.

He’d waited.

She’d be his first just as
he’d be hers. Her hands shook. Her pulse thumped erratically. The edges of her
eyelashes blurred with tears. He was quick by her side,
cupped her face in his hand and wiped the tears away. “Some people are worth
the wait, and you’re one of them.”

“You love me.” It wasn’t a
question, but a realization.

He stared into her eyes,
his own
as hot as liquid steel. “I love you.”

Her heart flipped, desire
spiked. Just as the longing became unbearable, Forrest tilted his head and
kissed her until all insecurities and fear stopped in their tracks, replaced by
this moment. His hands roamed over h
er dress, fiddled
with the small knot around her waist and unsnapped the buttons. With a slight
brush of his hands the cotton material fell to the floor.