Scarred: A New Adult Romance (The Anderson Brothers Series Book 1) (27 page)

“He
was in my neighborhood, Dominick!” Denise says, her voice cracking. Her eyes
become glassy. “If you weren’t here, he might have—” She covers her mouth with
her hand and shudders. Tears begin to fall.

I
exhale through my nose and pull her toward me. “Well, he didn’t, and he won’t.
I told you I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again, understand?” I kiss the top
of her head.

She
pulls back and manages to smile beneath those tears.

We
get out of the car and make our way up the walkway, but Larry answers the door
before we reach the stoop. His eyes full of concern, he lets go of the
doorknob.

“Shit,
Dominick, are you okay?” Larry asks. “I heard there was a shooting around
here.”

I
nod. “I’m fine, man. Had another run-in with William.”

His
gaze hardens, and he steps aside to let us in.

“How
is Lauren?” Denise asks.

“She’s
all right. We were just having coffee.”

Denise’s
face brightens. “So she’s finally up? That’s great!”

Denise
leaves, and I plop on the couch with a sigh. “Man, what a day. What time is it,
anyway?”

“Ten
thirty,” Larry says, sitting next to me. “You sure you’re all right, son?”

I
freeze.
Son. He called me “son.”
My
eyes sting. Maybe he doesn’t realize what he said, but I know exactly what I
heard. “Y—yeah, man, I’m good. Never thought something like that would ever
happen to me.”

“Scary
shit, ain’t it? I worked as a bouncer when I was your age, and I saw my share
of scary shit.”

“The
docs said I shouldn’t have survived that motorcycle accident the way I
impacted. I don’t even know what happened, but apparently it was pretty bad.”

“You’re
one lucky kid. Don’t blow that luck on something shitty.” He grins.

I
almost laugh at that.
Man, this “guardian
angel” business is some tough shit.

Chapter 28

It’s Friday night, and the semester is over. Kevin’s
back from Portland, and he’s spinning tonight at Club Wildfire downtown.

The
doors to the club are just opening by the time Denise and I arrive. I’d gotten
my bike repaired and returned as good as new. As I park in a lot across the
street, I spot Larry’s truck nearby.
Larry’s
clubbing tonight, too?
This I have to see.

We
head across the street and stand on the long line that’s practically out the
door. It’s moving fairly quickly, but I drape my arm around Denise’s bare
shoulders, holding her close and admiring her sparkly, silver-sequined strappy
dress and matching heels.

The
sound of Kevin’s music begins to filter outside. I smile. It’ll be good to see
my brother again.

We’re
nearing the front of the line when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jerk and
turn around. “Larry? I thought I saw your truck. What are you doing here?”

Larry
nods, grinning slightly. Lauren is next to him, her arm hooked with his. “What?
You think this old man don’t know how to dance?” he says.

I
clear my throat. “Well, I didn’t say
that
.”

Denise
snickers.

Lauren
smirks. “I’m sure he’s got more rhythm than you.”

I
roll my eyes at her, then turn back to Larry, getting a good look at him. He’s
dressed sharp, looking a good ten years younger in his white blazer over a blue
button-down shirt and black pants. “Damn, Larry, you’ve really outdone yourself
this time.”

“Didn’t
he?” Lauren beams, nestling herself closer to Larry.

Denise
nudges me in the arm. “And you don’t look half bad yourself, Dominick.” She
leans up and kisses my cheek, and I grin stupidly.

At
the front of the line, we show our IDs to the bouncer and head inside. Strobe
lights and fog surround us, and Kevin’s house music vibrates the floor as we
walk. People are everywhere dancing and drinking. Neon spotlights rain down on
the stage over Kevin, who’s hard at work on the mixer. Dressed in one of his
many colorful button-down shirts and a black backwards baseball cap, Kevin’s
body bobs, as if he’s caught up in his own music. Sometimes he can get really
deep into his own little world like that. I guess that’s why his music always
sounds so amazing. Girls surround the foot of the stage, swooning and moving to
the beat.

Larry
and Lauren separate from us, and they head toward the bar, where the two of
them get lost in the sea of dancing bodies. Denise holds my hand, and I snake
through the tight crowd, leading her as close to the stage as I can get. She
lets go of my hand and breaks out in a sexy dance, every movement graceful and
smooth like the natural dancer that she is. I move in time with her, then reach
out and pull her against me. Our bodies together, her back to my chest, we rock
and grind to the bass beat. The crowd all around us roars and screams at the
stage in their rowdy, drunken fashion, moving, dancing, getting possessed by
the music. Colorful sparkling lights from the mirror balls and neon strobe
lights above engulf us, and I feel like I’ve entered a fantasy world with the
most wonderful girl in my arms. Her body is so hot, her pear scent mixed with
her sweat, it arouses all of my senses. I close my eyes for a moment and savor
the intoxicating bliss of our dance, the music, the atmosphere. Pure freedom.

Then
I feel her lips touch mine, and I open my eyes. It’s like waking up from a
dream.

The
music’s still going, though the melody and drumbeat has shifted. People around
us are still dancing, but Denise has stopped and is breathing hard. She leans
her face close to mine. “I need a drink.”

I
nod, huffing, my heart pounding. We squeeze our way through the throng of
sweaty bodies toward the bar, and I flag down a scantily clad bartender.

When
we get our drinks, I pull Denise off to the side, away from the oncoming bar traffic.
“Looks like we won’t be seeing Lauren and Larry any more tonight,” I say as I
scan the crowd.

Denise
winks. “And they won’t be seeing
us
tonight, either.”

I
raise my eyebrows at her. “Huh?”

She
places the cup to her lips, tips her head back, and downs her entire drink in a
few gulps.

Damn! Never seen her drink
like
that
before.

She
grabs my arm and pulls me across the main room toward another, smaller,
black-lit room full of couches, padded benches, and beanbag chairs. A few
couples occupy the neon-glowing couches, while others lounge around in the
other seats. I manage to finish my drink before Denise swipes the ice-filled
cup from my hands and tosses it in the garbage. She pushes me backwards onto an
oversized beanbag chair and plops on top of me. She plants her lips onto mine
and kisses me hard. My hands fall to her hips as I welcome her forcefulness.
Her dress gives off neon sparkles under the overhead black light. The music
shifts again and the thumping, possessive beat returns, making the room vibrate.
She cups my face with her hands, kissing me deeper, and I feel her tongue prod
my lips.

Oh, fuck yes.

I
touch my tongue to hers, tasting her sweet, natural taste infused with Long
Island iced tea. My hands move around to her middle, caressing those firm abs.
Moaning, she kisses over my cheek, down to my neck. Her amazing pear scent
drives me insane. Holy shit, she’s horny. I want to take her right here in this
comfortable chair. She moves back up to my lips, and we share an intimate kiss.
I pull out my phone and glance at the time. Almost one o’clock. As much as I
want to see Kevin tonight, I feel more inclined to tend to this wonderful girl
in my arms. I reluctantly break the kiss and sit her up in my lap.

“Let’s
get out of here,” I mutter in her ear.

She
grins and dismounts me, taking my hand. We leave the club and return to the
bike. She climbs on behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. My diaphragm
contracts as her hands are dangerously close to my groin. God, I have a serious
hard-on right now. I bet she’s doing that on purpose, damn it. I fumble with
the key and eventually start up the bike. I take every shortcut I know to get
home quick. Entering through the kitchen, I hear Chris and Adrienne’s voices
coming from the living room. Hard breathing and moaning.

Neither
Denise nor I seem to give a fuck right now as we make our way to the stairs.
Chris and Adrienne don’t seem to stop, either. I pull Denise into my room and
shut the door. She kicks off her shoes and sits on the edge of the bed. Smiling,
I sweep over her and indulge in a deep, passionate kiss. Returning the kiss,
she begins undoing the buttons of my shirt. Before I know it, both of us are
shrugging out of our clothes and tossing them to the floor. I lay her back in
bed. Her sexy scent is strong, tantalizing. Everything about her is truly
amazing. I’ve had my share of girls, but before Denise, I’d almost given up on
moments like these—moments of happiness when you truly love someone.

I
have no idea how much time has passed as we lay naked in bed together, with her
in my arms. Despite my exhaustion, I can’t sleep. I keep replaying our
lovemaking in my mind. She was beautiful, amazing. So gentle, yet so forceful.

My
phone reads 4:30 when I reach over to check it. In several hours, my M/C club’s
benefit cookout will begin. A month ago, I didn’t imagine I’d be going with
Denise, but here we are. I slide out of bed, slip on my boxers, and tiptoe off
to the bathroom, tossing the used condom in the garbage along the way. After
doing my business, I return to bed and cradle her back into my arms. Smiling
broadly, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, dreaming about the most wonderful
girl in the world.

Chapter 29

Wake up, lazy-butt!”

A
pear-scented pillow hits me in the face. I jerk myself awake, the cool air of
the room whisking over my bare chest. Denise is at my bedside, pillow at the
ready for another assault. Dressed in a gray cut-off shirt and flared denim
jeans, she looks incredibly sexy, which agitates my morning wood.

Her
eyes glance down toward my groin, and she smirks. “You better get up before
we’re late for the cookout.”

I
rub my eyes and yawn.
Oh yeah, the
cookout.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting up. What time is it?”

“Nine
o’clock. It starts at eleven thirty, right? So get up!” She smacks me in the head with
the pillow again and laughs.

I
wince. “Ooh, should
not
have not done
that.” Grabbing the pillow, I give it a good tug and pull her atop me. She
squeals in laughter. Our faces come close, and I steal a kiss. A small moan
escaping her, she returns the kiss, then slowly pulls away.

“We’re
never going to get there in time at this rate,” she says, rolling off me.

I
grin. “Well, I’m not complaining.”

“Oh,
come on. What about that poor little girl you’re supposed to be raising money
for?”

I
rub the back of my head. “All right, all right.” Yawning again, I slide out of
bed and sort through my clothes, also grabbing my denim, patch-riddled M/C club
vest, then head downstairs.

Leaving
the bathroom, showered and dressed, I catch a whiff of cooked eggs and toast.
Following my nose to the kitchen, I spot a plate of scrambled eggs and french
toast sitting on the counter next to my bike helmet.

I
smile.
Did Denise make this for me?

“If
you don’t eat it, I will, because
damn
,
that toast was good!”

I
snap my attention toward the kitchen doorway, where Chris, dressed in a black
T-shirt, a pair of camo cargo shorts, and his favorite black all-star sneakers,
is leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

“And
yes, Denise made that for you,” he says, as if reading my mind.

“Wow,
man. This is unreal. I’ve never had a girl cook for me before. Well, except my
mother.”

“Moms
don’t count.”

I
pick up the plate and brush past him, muttering, “I’m sure this tastes as good
as it looks.”

“Dude,
are you kidding me? Denise makes your awesome chicken florentine taste like
shit!” Chris laughs.

Frowning,
I head to the living room. Denise and Adrienne are sitting on the couch
watching Saturday-morning cartoons.

“Morning,
ladies,” I say, plopping down on the armrest. I finally take my first bite of
the toast, which is still warm.

Holy fucking shit!

My
eyes widen as the bread practically melts on my tongue. There’s a hint of
sweetness to the toast, and I realize it’s been sprinkled with sugar.

It’s
only breakfast, but Chris is right, it
does
make my chicken florentine—which I’ve been quite proud of—taste like shit.

This
girl is amazing.

Denise
beams at me, perhaps noticing my look of pure bliss that I just can’t hide.

“There,
you see, Denise?” Adrienne says, gesturing toward me, mirroring Denise’s smile.
“You have him practically wrapped around your pinky now. He’ll do anything you
say to get more of that awesome french toast.” She looks at me. “Won’t you,
Dominick?”

I
swallow a mouthful of toast. “Uh, sure,” I say absently, even though Denise has
had me wrapped around her pinky since I first met her.

“But
I still like his chicken florentine,” Denise says, grazing the jawline of my
five o’clock shadow with her finger.

Her
brief electrifying touch almost makes me choke on the eggs, which also taste
awesome. “I’ll—I’ll cook some for you tonight if you want.”

She
just smiles. Hell, she has me practically wrapped around her pretty little
finger with just that damned smile alone.

“Thanks
for the breakfast, by the way,” I say, realizing I’ve cleaned the plate of
every bit of food. “You’ve completely put my cooking skills to shame.”

“What
cooking skills?” Chris says, then laughs.