Blood in the Water (Kairos) (16 page)

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to Paul’s palm before he slid his fingers out of her hair.  The expression on his face at that gesture was completely unguarded, and Ashleigh thought that maybe she wasn’t the only one who was going to end up getting swept away by a hidden current.  Paul wadded up their used napkins and, after a swift glance around the room to locate the waste bin, disposed of them. 

His hand returned to occupy the claim it had staked on her lower back as they made their way back to the happy chaos.  This time the heat of his touch spread to a whole host of new places.  Trying to maintain at least a modicum of dignity, Ashleigh fought not just go ahead and cuddle into Paul’s side and let him wrap that massive arm firmly around her.  She needed to do whatever little she could to protect her heart.  If they were going to dance, the least she could do was try not to trip during the first reel.

Chapter
Eight

The sight of Ashleigh wrapped in his hoodie was causing some very particular sensations in the pit of Paul’s stomach.  He was already well stirred up by the moment they’d just shared.  They’d barely touched more than their lips, and yet he felt as though his body were on fire.  He was building some very clear mental images of what the blonde beauty might look like with her curves hidden by one of his t-shirts, and that thin material being the only barrier between him and her perfectly pale skin.  When he started to imagine the way her hair would be tousled, her lips flushed and swollen, her eyes bright under heavy lids, and what would have happened to bring her to that state, his cock swelled almost instantly to the point of being uncomfortable and, if his jeans had been too much tighter, very obvious.

He got Ashleigh back to the clinic stall having maintained just enough composure to keep from pushing her into the janitor’s closet as they passed it.  They must have both managed to arrange their expressions into a semblance of decorum, because they only received a raised eyebrow from Michelle.  Ashleigh busied herself straightaway with checking over the supplies, seemingly at a loss for what to do or say.  Paul needed to go and rescue Sinatra from Chiz, but he was reluctant to leave.  He flexed his hand, which still rested low on her back, just above the swell of her ass, by way of emphasizing his promise and when she turned to him her eyes were sparkling.  He got it; there was no regret, just a little shyness.  She wasn’t sorry and she wasn’t about to stab him with one of the needles.  Paul guessed he couldn’t blame her for not wanting to light a neon sign informing the world that there was something going on between them.  He wasn’t one for overt public displays of affection much anyway.  Blow jobs on the clubhouse sofa didn’t count.  But even then, in Louisiana he’d found himself more inclined to privacy than he’d ever been.  He hadn’t spent the time evaluating why that might be, whether it was the different atmosphere of the club or whether he’d been subconsciously trying to keep the respect of Ashleigh’s family right from the get go.  He doubted it was anything to do with the atmosphere; Kong certainly didn’t seem to give a shit who saw him do what and Chiz was a borderline exhibitionist, even with the long cast on his leg.

He left her with a smile that conveyed everything he knew he couldn’t say aloud without making her uncomfortable in front of her work colleague.  He got back to the grill just in time to stop Sinatra ramming one of Chiz’s own crutches up his ass.  It took a few threats to Chiz and some assurances to Sinatra to get the two men back on speaking terms.  Paul was looking forward to seeing Sinatra get his patch.  He had a feeling that Sinatra’s first action as a full club member would be to call Chiz into the ring.  He might have to offer a few sparring sessions before that happened.  Chiz was a scrapper and not above fighting dirty, and Paul had a devilish desire to see Sinatra do well against his old friend.

The crowds thinned out a little in the afternoon; just enough for him to keep an eye on Ashleigh while he worked the grill without being obvious.  When the event had been advertised, it had included the offer for tours of the shelter, which would take place throughout the afternoon.  These would be opportunities for people who might want to adopt some of the residents to do a little meet and greet with their prospective new family members.  Ashleigh and Michelle were taking turns to lead the tours. 

From the looks of things, the tarantula had barely had time to make itself comfortable before it was being taken to its forever home, and most of the kittens and the stray were being adopted, as well as several other residents.  From the way Ashleigh and Michelle were talking and laughing with the new owners it was obvious that they knew them, so Paul guessed that negated the need for any kind of home check.  Feeling the heat from being over the grill for more than an hour on such a humid day, Paul dispatched Sinatra to bring back an adequate supply of beers for the rest of the afternoon.  They’d take it easy until they got back to the clubhouse, then they’d toast their, or rather Moira’s, hard work thoroughly.

Chiz hefted himself out of his chair and swung himself over to Paul’s side.  “Hey, bro.”

Paul wondered what warranted such a heavy tone.  “What’s up?  Why so serious?”

Chiz leaned back on his crutches as much as he was able.  “Look, I know I was jokin’ around before about you and Tink, but if you’re goin’ to start somethin’ there, just... please... be careful.”

“It’s alright, bro.  Her brother’s already warned me away.”

“Did ya listen any?”

“Some.”  Paul replied.  “Not much.”  He admitted more honestly.

“Figured as much.”  Chiz rolled his eyes.  “Dean ain’t got no right decidin’ Tink’s life for her, and I ain’t warnin’ you off.  I’m askin’ you to take some care.”

Paul had understood that as the president’s daughter Ashleigh was important to the club, but he was only really beginning to understand how deep their care was.  “I know she’s had a time gettin’ over her marriage breakin’ up.”

Chiz cocked his head to one side.  “Do you know why it broke up?”

“No.  No one’s said and I ain’t asked.  Figured she’d say if she wanted me to know.”  Paul shrugged.

“Very noble.”  Chiz nodded.  “But you should know.  Her man left her for someone else.”

Paul didn’t bother even trying to hide how much that statement astonished him.  “Say what now?!”

“I know, believe me, I know.  None of us can figure out what the fucker was sniffin’ when he decided to turn our girl over for some gash that can’t even buy her own beer.”  Chiz said ruefully.

Paul considered that information for a moment.  “He that way inclined?”

“I don’t think he’s a perv, but I’m fucked if I know what some kid could give him that Tink couldn’t.”

Paul turned to look over the heads of the crowd again.  Ashleigh was laughing with a family that looked to be taking a kitten home.  The kid was having a hard time keeping hold of the excited bundle of fluff, and Ashleigh was trying to fix a collar onto the wriggling, furry tyke to much amusement all around.  Something about the scene affected him deeply.  It could have been the parents with the kid, looking all traditional and shit.  It could have been the unrestrained joy that Ashleigh was exuding, happy with the day and what she was doing.  Whatever it was stabbed Paul hard enough to hurt in a place he hadn’t thought could feel pain since he was a boy and he’d realized his own mom was never going to stand up for him.  The longer he stared, the more he realized that the ache was a permanent wound that would take something substantial, and maybe more than he was prepared to look for, to heal.

He spoke without turning back to Chiz, “You don’t have to worry, bro.  I won’t hurt her.”

But on the heels of his statement rushed the realization that he would hurt her in every conceivable way.  He was going to absolutely tear her down, because he couldn’t stop this train he was on; he had a job to do, but he couldn’t stay away from her.  It was too late.  If he tried even to break away now it would hurt her.  When he completed his mission, the one that kept getting lost in the visions of family and future that the club showed him with every little thing they did, he would be tearing her heart out and crushing it in his bloody fist right before her eyes. And yet he still couldn’t even countenance walking away from her, from this club that was rapidly becoming, no that had become, his home.  Paul had a revelation.  He was fucked, well and truly fucked.

Chiz had obviously seen something in his face, not the whole story, there was no way he could have known it all, but he’d interpreted whatever he’d seen there close enough.

“Yeah, I don’t think I do.  Might have to bother about her chewin’ you up and spittin’ you out, though.  A piece of advice, she might look all meek and shit, but remember that Moira’s her mother.  Don’t take that shit for granted.”

Paul laughed.  He couldn’t help it.

“Go on.  Fuck off over there.  Your head’s not been here since lunch anyway.  I think I can make sure shit don’t burn, even one handed, ‘til Sinatra gets back.”

“I got your back, Chiz, you know that, don’t you?”

Chiz shouldered Paul out of the way of the grill.  “Yeah.  I do. You always have.  And I got yours brother... except if you hurt her, then you’re on your own.  A blessin’ from the Pope wouldn’t even save you.  You’ve been warned.”

“That I have.  That I have.”  Paul wondered if every patch was going to give him their own warning.  Not that it would have made any difference if they did.  He set off over to Ashleigh, trying to keep his pace casual.

“Hey Ash, your stalker’s back.”  Michelle’s face had split into a grin from the moment she’d seen him wading through the crowd.

Paul shook his head.  “Not stalker, bodyguard.  In case anyone brings any more of those big-ass spiders over.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I believe you.  Thousands wouldn’t.”  Michelle deadpanned.

“Aww, you’re cute when you’re funny.”  He replied in an equally sarcastic tone.

Ashleigh had been smiling at their banter, but suddenly she froze.  At first Paul wondered whether it was a reaction to what he’d said, but her eyes were wide and almost scared, until the fear was replaced by fury.  When he turned to see what could have caused such an extreme reaction he saw that she was watching a man, probably about her age, and a girl who was obviously much younger walking arm in arm and heading their way.  The man was dressed in khakis, some sort of pussy canvas shoes and one of those short sleeved shirts with the little crocodile on the chest.  The girl was wearing tiny denim cut-offs, a little patterned halter top that showed a good amount of her torso and heels that seemed just to be tied on with a couple of bits of string.  It seemed to Paul that the more you paid for clothes, unless it was leather, the less you got for your money.  Judging by the guy’s outfit, the girl’s was probably plenty pricey, but instead of looking classy, she looked like a cheap whore, a young cheap whore.

“Hello, Ashleigh.”

“Hello, Matthew.”

Ah, that’s why the anger.  This was the ex-husband, and given the obvious age of the woman, although she was barely that, on his arm, he’d brought Ashleigh’s replacement with him.  There were obviously some parts missing under that perfectly gelled black hair.  Paul was as puzzled as everyone else was as to what this Matthew had seen in the girl on his arm, but when Paul really looked at the girl’s face he got it.  Pure, unadulterated adoration.  Ashleigh was her own woman, a person in her own right who was intelligent and capable and an expert in her chosen field.  Matthew obviously needed an ego boost that he wasn’t going to get from a woman like Ashleigh.  Stupid fucker.  Paul could see what Ashleigh might have seen in the man; he was handsome in a magazine sort of way.  He exuded smugness almost as strongly as the excess of cologne he was wearing and that made Paul’s fists clench.  He had a sudden longing to knock this faggot on his ass.

“I see the day’s going well.”  The guy’s tone could have been more condescending, but it would have been hard.

“Yeah, it really is.”  Paul wasn’t sure, but it seemed like Ashleigh had moved just a fraction closer to him.  He shifted his stance, which closed the gap between them a little more.

Seemingly oblivious to the low-level tension in the air, the child piped up, shaking her short blond hair out of her eyes.  “Matty and I want to get a kitten.”

Ashleigh’s eyes visibly widened to saucers at the endearment, and judging by the frown creasing good ole Matty’s face he wasn’t much of a fan of it either.

“I thought you hated cats?”  Ashleigh’s eyes had narrowed to a puzzled frown.

“They’re less...  tying than dogs.”  The asshole shrugged.  That was an artful dodge if ever Paul had heard one.

“You’re goin’ to want to make sure it has a scratchin’ post so it doesn’t try its claws out on your suits and furniture.  And your mother is goin’ to have a shit fit if the litter box is in the kitchen.”  Ashleigh advised.

‘Matty’ was definitely not entirely comfortable with the situation, which marginally lessened Paul’s desire to knock him the fuck out.  “I know.  We’ll find a spot for it.”

“No, the kitten will.  It’ll find a spot it likes to go and housetraining will go quicker if you put the litter box there.”

“Ahh, well... thank you for the advice.”