Sweet as Sin (6 page)

Inez Kelley

57

Propping her chin on her hand, Livvy watched while he drew the girl into conversation. “Do you like Jondi?”

The girl’s dull brown ponytails swished as she shrugged. “I like Thorn better.”

“Me too. What’s your favorite scene?” John quietly slipped the thick book from the pouch, holding it against his leg.

Ashley stared at him for a long minute before twisting her mouth in contemplation. “When Thorn and Andros are making the fire power potion and it explodes.”

John nodded. Idly, he pulled a pen from the backpack pocket and flipped the book open. The pen began skating along the inside front cover.

Ashley watched his hands, her eyes growing wider.

“That was a cool scene.” John’s words

provided a backdrop as the pen flew on the page.

“The explosion rocked the entire base of Windago Mountain. I liked when Jondi and Thorn finally faced the Serpent King. They could’ve died if they hadn’t trusted each other.”

Ashley shook her head vehemently. “No,

Thorn would never let anything happen to Jondi.

Remember when he flew through the ice storm with a broken wing? Thorn would die before he let Jondi get hurt. When they drank from the Brotherhood Well, their souls got all mashed 58

Sweet as Sin

together. They’re better than best friends, better than brothers even. Thorn will always protect Jondi, no matter what.”

John’s hands moved like a bird, quick, darting, graceful. He rarely looked at the page. Instead, he looked at the girl, whose face now shone with interest. Ben stared in wonder.

“Like you said, they’re part of each other.

When one hurts, so does the other, but Thorn
did
hurt Jondi. He had to pull the poisoned fang out before Jondi died. He hurt him so he could heal.”

Ashley scratched her chin and thought. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

John smiled and turned the book for her to see.

“Thorn’s a protector, a guardian to those he loves.

When he watches out for you, nothing bad can happen anymore.”

Ashley’s eyes grew damp and her lip quivered.

She looked up at him, hero worship in her eyes.

John had worked a bit of magic with that pen, some charm that touched the sad little girl.

“You’re him.” The girl’s soft voice filled with awe. “You’re J. B. Flannigan. Mom said you lived around here but I didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I do. You should always believe your mom. She’s part of you, too. She’d never let anything bad happen to you if she could prevent it.”

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Ashley touched the drawing with timid fingers.

“You drew Thorn with his missing ear. No one remembers that.”

“It makes things harder for him since he uses his ears like eyes. It takes more work, but he does it. He won’t let himself fail. It makes him grumpy, though, when he can’t do something. That makes him work harder. And makes him grumpier.”

John tugged her ponytail, earning her smile. He handed her back her book and she cradled it open, staring down at the picture. Without looking, she reached for her crutches and slipped the bands over her arms. The rubber tips banged on the floor with a hollow thump as she walked the few paces to her father and showed him the sketch.

Livvy spied Ruth Bernstein over the girl’s head.

The tired mother had streams of tears on her cheeks as she stared at her daughter, who grinned brightly at her father. Hands steepled to her mouth, Ruth turned to John and mouthed “Thank you.”

He nodded back.

Dashing tears from her own eyes, Livvy smiled brightly at the girl, who presented her with the book. “Can you do this? I want this on my cake.”

In broad bold lines, a huge bat glared. His massive wings were wrapped around a smiling pony-tailed girl with nine freckles. Behind him, a gloomy forest screamed terror but the

determination on the bat’s face projected security 60

Sweet as Sin

in his embrace. His ferocious eyes dared anyone to harm his charge. Rather than fear, the image sang with comfort and safety.

Livvy nodded. “Yes, I can do this. It’ll be the best bat mitzvah cake I’ve ever done.”

Ashley picked out flavors and colors. She was talking excitedly to her mother about guest lists and decorations when the bells over the door tinkled and a thin dark-haired woman entered.

With a smile, she crossed to John and took the seat just vacated by Ashley. The same slant to their eyes and ebony sheen to their hair screamed the familial bond, and Livvy internally winced.

Her lust had blinded her to such commonalities.

Livvy wrapped up the Bernsteins’ details and Ben walked over to John. The two men exchanged low words and ended their conversation with a handshake. He tried to lead his family out of the store but Ashley turned, hobbled back to John and thrust the book at him.

“Will you sign it?”

With an embarrassed smile, John nodded and scratched the pen against the paper again. The family left and John stood, a dark flush on his cheeks. “Autographs, that’s something I can’t get used to.”

Livvy didn’t care who was in the room or who saw. She rounded the counter and reached for him.

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Planting a soft sweet kiss on his lips, she blinked against tears she’d been holding at bay.

“You’re a remarkable man, John Murphy.”

Gina thrust her hand at Livvy and introduced herself. Livvy responded politely but she couldn’t take her eyes off John. He had dimensions she’d never imagined. He’d just given a cheerless little girl the tools to pull herself out of a depression and blushed when asked to accept praise. The same hand which had brought her to a shattering climax had empowered a fragile child. What other mysteries was this man hiding?

Gina Salvatori stirred the marinara sauce before adding the chopped basil. Her brother stood beside her mangling an onion. She took the knife from him and shooed him away. He didn’t fool her. He hadn’t wanted to help with dinner so he made himself a nuisance until she took over.

“I’ve missed you. That book tour was too

damn long. I’m glad I could get away and come help.”

“What? We’ve talked every week.”

“Email is not the same. And I’m talking about family time, not you sending me stupid jokes. I miss goofing off with you, and the boys need to spend some time with their only uncle.”

“Don’t nag. I’ll visit at least once a month, promise.” John sent her a charming smile, one she 62

Sweet as Sin

knew to immediately be wary of. “I’ll bring them noisy, annoying battery-powered toys so every time you hear them, you’ll think of me.”

She pointed the sauce-covered spoon at him.

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckled and, sitting at the bar, grabbed a notepad and drew shapes.

“So anything new and exciting happening in Monsterville?”

His deep sigh made her brows furrow. His jaw worked back and forth before he raised his eyes to hers. “There is absolutely nothing happening in Monsterville. Not a damn thing.”

“Oh God, since when?” Her heart lurched.

John always had stories to tell. Always her protector, her babysitter and her surrogate father, he’d made her childhood magical and safe. With their upbringing, it was a huge accomplishment.

John without words was terrifying.

“A month or so.” His voice was low and tinged with ache.

“You’re going through a lot of changes. Give it time. It’ll come. Don’t force it.” She squeezed his arm in support. He snorted and his doodles evolved to a bubbling cauldron of bones and onions. “So, tell me about Livvy.”

The pencil stopped. “Nothing to tell. You met her.”

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“She didn’t even know I was in there. She only had eyes for you.”

Her gaze narrowed as he shifted on the bar stool and flipped the paper over to draw more.

Shoulders hunched over the paper as if shielding it, he radiated tension. Concentration beyond the simple scribbles lined his face.

Gina cocked her head and stared at him.

“Johnny, what color are Livvy’s eyes?”

Softness eased the lines around his mouth and a gentle smile lifted his lip. Delight infused her.

“Depends on what she’s wearing. One minute they’re like summer lilacs, the next they’re like storm clouds.”

Gina let him draw in silence for a few minutes while she added the garlic and oregano to the sauce. At times, for her, John had reached mythical status. He was her strong, capable older brother who faced any challenge with fierce determination. He might come out bloody but he’d come out standing. It wasn’t until she was an adult that she realized he came out standing alone.

Always.

“Johnny, how many women have you loved?”

His head shot up. “Gina, keep your nose out of my sex life.”

“Not sex, you idiot. You could’ve screwed the entire Miss America lineup and I wouldn’t care.

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Sweet as Sin

I’m talking about love. How many women have you loved?”

“You lawyers ask too many questions.” He

grimaced and turned his attention back to his paper. He focused all his energy on the notebook, the pencil scratching louder, faster. Her question obviously made him uncomfortable but Gina was no longer just his kid sister. She was a grown woman, a wife and mother, and she didn’t need a protector anymore. Her life was content and she wanted his to be the same.

“Johnny, you’re thirty-eight years old. Don’t you think maybe it’s time to start looking at settling down?”

“I bought a house, didn’t I?”

She smacked the counter with the dishcloth and glared. “Yeah, and your sister came to help you settle in. Do you not see anything wrong with that picture, brother-mine?”

“So leave. I didn’t ask you to come down. I could’ve managed just fine alone. I always do, always will.”

He wouldn’t raise his head to look at her. Cold dread poured over her. “Oh my God, you believed him.”

The pencil stopped but he didn’t look up. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”

“Yes, you do!” Shock made her skin cool as she looked at him with pity. Maybe her childhood Inez Kelley

65

hero hadn’t escaped as unscathed as she thought.

“Just because our father was a—”

“He was
not
my father. He was yours, not mine.” The quiet words were colored with fury and she swallowed the rest of her protest. His image shimmered behind the tears filling her eyes—tears for John, the man, and tears for Johnny, the little boy.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning back to the sauce. Tense silence breathed in the room, a monster from the past. It raged as the bloody red liquid bubbled and brewed. The slam of his deck door made her jump.

The loose deck step provided just the outlet he needed. Screws would be stronger but they didn’t have the same therapeutic strength so he slammed nail after nail into the wood. Around the thirteenth nail, he paused and wiped the sweat from his upper lip.
Damn Gina to hell and back.

He didn’t mean that. Hanging his head, he thrust the hammer back into his toolbox and climbed the repaired stairs. Throwing his body into a deck chair, he brooded. Old fears threatened to resurface and he pushed them back with a muttered oath. Some monsters were better left in the closet.

The soft creak of the door let him know his sister approached and he stubbornly turned his 66

Sweet as Sin

head away. A glass of iced tea appeared and he closed his eyes. She was always trying to take care of him. He took it in one hand and grabbed her wrist with the other. Sliding his hand down to her cool palm, he squeezed. She squeezed back.

Just like that, they were all right again and she left him to his thoughts.

He could never stay angry with her. It was for her that Jondi and Thorn and all the rest had been born. Lying in the dark, she would tremble and shake as they listened for the footsteps on the stairs. To distract her, he told long winding stories of magic and triumph until she fell asleep, still holding his hand. Long after she stopped believing in monsters and magic, the tales lived on.

The iced tea was cold in a throat made sore with swallowed memory and he drank deeply to wash the ache away. He set the glass beside the discarded tablet he’d carried outside. He had them all over the house, bought them in bulk. It was a small pleasure to have them handy when the urge hit. He no longer had to hide his work, fear who might take it, twist it to see what they wanted.

A passing cloud shadowed the book as he

flipped it open and thumbed to a blank page. He wasn’t the type to draw kittens and rainbows. His style was more…sinister. Long ago he’d figured out his brain held far too many dark, disturbing images that required purging, if not through words Inez Kelley

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then through simple sketches. He’d tossed a few into the envelope when he signed with his agent just to show her what he envisioned with the first book. The next thing he knew, he was illustrating his own stories.

He liked it that way. Not every child lived a saccharine-coated life and identified with all those happy, bright pictures in other tales. Others just liked the impudent twist he placed on everything.

John snorted. He was nothing if not irreverent.

The idle scribble took form and he gave a wide berth to his muse. In a few minutes, something stirred in his soul. Broader now, his strokes curved and squiggled on the paper with increasing speed.

Words leaped in his mind like popcorn in a kettle. The ice rattled in the glass as he bumped the table in his haste to get to his computer.

Chapter Three

Livvy trekked up her driveway, longing for a hot shower and a cool drink. Before she reached her door, her name rang out. She waved to Gina leaning over John’s deck railing. The brunette motioned her over and Livvy stifled a groan. She didn’t want to make nice with John’s sister. She wanted to wilt and wash off six layers of puff pastry but the thrill of seeing John stirred her blood. She hooked a sharp turn and crossed the backyard.

“Hey.” Gina smiled. “You look beat.”

“I am beat. If I never see another piping bag, I’ll be happy. I had a sale going and don’t think I sat down once since noon. Good for business, bad for my feet.”