The Sweet Under His Skin (21 page)

"We're eating outside," Arielle brought him back with her voice while handing him an opened bottle of beer. "You can go take a seat."

"You sure you don't need help?"

"Everything's taken care of. Go ahead."

With a nod and a wink at Aunt Thelma he joined Calvin at the patio table, setting his beer down next to the kid's bottle of root beer.

"Isn't that your third one today?"

"Yes."

"You sure you can handle that, Chuckles?"

Calvin laughed as an answer.

"Okay, buddy. Your bike. What kind of pink were you thinking about?"

"No, no," Aunt Thelma chastised while slapping Arielle's hand away from the pile of plates. "Calvin and I can handle the dishes. It's almost his bedtime anyway."

Arielle gave her a very pointed look but Thelma was already through the patio door, Calvin dragging his feet behind her like he'd rather be in gym class. Arielle shook her head to herself, taking a swig of wine while Quentin cleared his throat and squinted at her over the patio table.

"So, last radiation treatment tomorrow?" Quentin asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Then a week's rest at Aunt Thelma's before chemo. I'm looking forward to this week, actually. I always sleep really well when I'm there. Must be the country air or something."

He grinned. "Yeah, this smoggy metropolis of Portus Felix can sure keep you up, and that's not even counting the traffic and loud parties."

She laughed at that, setting her glass down. "Hey, this is urban compared to the farm."

"Then the chemo starts, ey?"

She nodded, feeling the smile fade. "Yeah. Really, the surgery should have been the scariest part but…the chemo has me terrified."

Quentin cleared his throat again and shifted in his chair. "The contractor I lined up can start day after tomorrow. So that works out pretty well. He can do the bathroom while you're gone."

She winced. "I'm not sure I want anyone here when I'm gone."

"Would you trust me to watch over the work?"

Arielle blinked a couple times, liking how he phrased that as much as she liked the offer. "I wouldn't want to bother you—"

"No bother," he cut in. "I'm right next door. I'm not going anywhere the next few days. Plus, if I scare them enough, I can make sure they're not stealing the knick-knacks or panting over your photos up on the walls."

She made a face. "Quentin!"

He laughed at that. "Hey, if I noticed them…" he let that trail off.

"Oh my God," she mumbled, reaching for the wine again.

The evening was already getting dark since they'd all lingered outside chatting and talking for hours. It was pleasant and comfortable, but with Aunt Thelma and Calvin no longer there Arielle felt on guard again.

"How're you holding up?" he finally asked quietly, those blue eyes focused on hers with alarming intensity and his sonorous voice showing concern. It made her uncomfortable in a very…warm way.

"Me?" She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess…I'm fine. Just doing one thing at a time, really."

He leaned forward, sideways to the table, elbows on his knees so he was almost close enough to touch. "I mean how are you holding up? After your surgery you were…upset."

She swallowed. "I'm sorry about that, I wasn't—"

"Don't be sorry. Not a lot of people trust me enough to really show me what they're thinking. Or feeling. I…kind of felt honored."

She frowned. "By a weeping mess?"

He grinned. "You were never a mess, Arielle. I've been worried about you."

Another gulp of wine. Dammit, and damn Aunt Thelma for sharing her dusty ranch-hand Harlequin story.

"And I'm still thinking about the night of Calvin's birthday," he continued, eyes on the deck boards now. "And when I might be able to do that again."

Arielle inhaled, trying her best to not remember. Fighting back the sensory memory of his hands, his mouth, the smell and feel of him…but it was in her. And she couldn't pretend it wasn't.

"Quentin, listen—"

"I'll never push you. But I think it's fair that you know this. I like you." His eyes came up again and she was pinned in place. "A lot. And not just a roll-in-the-hay kind of like, that ain't it at all. It'd be easier if it was, I'm more used to that. But that's not what's going on here. And quite frankly Arielle, you can do a hell of a lot better than me. I know that. It doesn't mean I accept it. When I want something, I
want
it. I kissed you. And I think you liked it as much as I did."

She couldn't interject, couldn't stop him from sharing. Who the hell talked like that? Just put it all out there as he was thinking it? Who did that?

"Quentin—"

"So you have to tell me to fuck off. Or let it lie. Or give you time. Or ask me to do it again. Because I need to know if I'm banging my head on this wall for a reason. So Arielle…what's it gonna be?"

"We need to plan this out?"

That brought on a crazy grin. "Not plan it. But I've laid it out there. And you haven't. You've a lot going on, I get that, too. But without you telling me what you want, I'm gonna just do what I want. And you're shy, you're quiet. I want to give you a chance to tell me to back off."

Shit. It made her uncomfortable but she had to admit she liked that he laid it out like that. Arielle set her wine down, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, leaned forward, and tried again. She wasn't as direct. She couldn't do this. She couldn't just say what she wanted.

"I'm not made like that," she said, frowning at how stupid it sounded.

He nodded. "Okay." Then he got to his feet, took her arm and pulled her up with him. "Your aunt and Calvin will be out here soon. Tell me before they get out here or I'm kissing you right now."

Her chest and cheeks warmed instantly, heart fluttering to be standing so close while remembering how he kissed. "Um…"

He laughed. "You're not that well-spoken."

"No, I'm not."

"That's okay," he whispered, hand along her waist, sliding around her back, pulling her close in the process. His widened his eyes, almost a threat. "I'm gonna do it, Arielle. I mean it."

"I don't…I need time to think."

"No, you don't," he assured her. "You've had plenty of time to think of a lot of things. You're leaving for a week, you'll have time to think then." His other hand slid along the side of her neck. "Right now, in this moment, what do you want?"

She blinked. Breathed. Licked her lips. Shit.

Quentin kissed her. Same as before, but it still shocked her how softly he could do it, and she again stopped breathing at first, her eyes closing right at the moment of contact. And then she licked his bottom lip.

She might not have been able to say it, but apparently that said plenty. He…growled, was the only way to put it, hand spearing into her hair at the back of her head while his arm clenched around her back, tight enough that it wrapped all the way around her waist. And his tongue in her mouth was just as aggressive, just as consuming, bringing more heat to her face. Then she had to breathe so she gasped into his mouth but it came across more like a whimper.

Her heart was hammering almost painfully. And the thought of what she may be lacking was gone, he held her tight and kissed her exactly in the way he likely wanted her. And she liked it, holy shit she really liked it.

"Don't kiss her!"

Quentin let her mouth go, but he was still holding her. She blinked to get her bearings back, turning her head to the doorway. Calvin was standing on the porch, his hands clenched tight, his face twisted with anger.

"Calvin!" she scolded, and that's when Quentin stepped back, letting go of her. Her body didn't like that much, but she'd never seen Calvin so angry.

"Don't kiss her. Don't touch her!"

She made eye contact with Quentin, and he was looking just as alarmed as she was. She took a breath then approached her nephew, hand out to put on his shoulder. "Calvin—" she began gently, but he backed out from under her hand.

"No, and you stay away from me, too!" Then he was gone, back through the door in a flurry of stomping feet.

She turned back to Quentin, eyes wide. "I have no idea what just happened."

Quentin's jaw was set, hands on hips. "I got it," he said low, pushing past her into the house.

Quentin got his breathing and pulse back to normal before knocking on the kid's door with his knuckle. More than being absolutely ramped up about Aunt Arielle, he was pretty much gutted by the look on Calvin's face on the patio.

There was no answer to his knock. "Can I come in, Chuckles?"

"Go away."

Guilty and a bit pissed off, that's where Calvin's answer got him to. "Nah man, you give someone an order like that you better be able to explain yourself. You can't just disappear and pout."

"Quentin!" Arielle hissed from the mouth of the hallway. "Just leave him be for a while."

Quentin shook his head. "Nah, I'm finding out what the hell that was all about. He's a kid, Arielle. He has to answer for shit."

"Let him be," she repeated.

Quentin felt his eyebrows go up. "What he just said felt like an accusation, of what, I've no idea. And he doesn't get to talk to you that way, either. He's in your house, it's your rules. You get respect. That's bullshit." She swallowed and bit her lip. He hated to think she might be a bit afraid of him, but at least she didn't appear worried he was going to take his belt to Calvin's butt or anything. "Calvin," he called out, turning back to the door. "I'm coming in, buddy."

He waited, got no answer, then pushed the door inwards. Calvin was on his side on his bed, curled up in a ball with his face to the opposite wall. Quentin stepped into the room, hands on hips, waiting. Still no response. "Calvin," he said, intentionally softening his voice. "What was that all about?"

Silence again. Quentin inhaled, putting his patience to the limit, eyes scanning the room and its diagrams of solar systems and pictures of stars and shit. New to the mix: a beauty shot of a Harley Davidson Softtail Classic. He guessed it was a 2003. There was also a shelf stuffed full of well-loved books, more than Quentin had probably ever held in his lifetime, never mind read. On top sat that damn Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

Quentin picked it up, grinning at how pages were dog eared, even though it was a library book. "How many times have you checked this book out, Chuckles?" No answer, just a sniffle. Quentin lowered himself to his ass with a groan, leaning against the wall next to the door. He flipped through the marked sections, eyebrows high as he realized this book was a bit better than he had originally thought.

"
'Other people can talk about how to expand the destiny of mankind. I just want to talk about how to fix a motorcycle. I think that what I have to say has more lasting value
'," Quentin muttered to himself. He didn't like reading out loud, he was nowhere near as smooth with it as Calvin was. He flipped pages again, casting a look up at the lump on the bed. Nothing.

He cleared his throat, found another marked page. "
'You look at where you're going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you've been and a pattern seems to emerge'
." That one registered. Man, that one really registered. Flipped pages again.

Still, Calvin didn't stir. Quentin tried another one. "
'The truth knocks on the door and you say—Go away, I'm looking for the truth—and so it goes away'
. Puzzling."

Calvin sat up, that little face still screwed up with how pissed was, eyes red, and he slid his glasses back in place. Fuck it. Quentin was taking him to get new glasses, that pissed him off.

"What's going on, man?" Quentin asked gently. "You gotta tell me why you went off on me like that."

Calvin's lower lip shook when he talked. "It was just because you liked her. You're not my friend at all."

Well shit. If Quentin ever thought a kid this small and skinny couldn't possibly hurt him, he was dead wrong. That was a sucker punch to the gut.

"Why would you say that?"

"Why else would you pretend to be my friend?"

"Calvin, trust me, I'm a real shitty liar. I wasn't pretending anything." Fuck, this was complicated. Quentin set the book down, rubbing his eyes. "Why would I be here asking you to talk to me?"

"So Aunt Arielle doesn't get mad at you. Because you like her."

"I don't want you mad at me, Calvin." Maybe it was because he used the kid's real name, but he finally got eye contact. "Come on, man. We hang out, isn't that fun?" Calvin nodded. "Am I mean to you when your Aunt Arielle's not around?" Pause, then Calvin shook his head. Quentin saw it, plain as day. "Were guys nice to you just to get close to your mom?" Biting his lip, Calvin nodded. "Then they left when they didn't want her around anymore?" Again, a nod. Quentin got to his knees, bracing his elbows on the side of the bed. "Calvin, you're smarter than me. You're gonna be a better person than me. You won't do as much stupid shit as me. Technically, you shouldn't want me as friend."

Calvin looked panicked. "But I thought you were—"

"I am," he assured him. "And I'm the lucky one, buddy. Trust me. I like you, Chuckles. And yeah, I like your aunt Arielle. I mean, she's really pretty. Don't you think she's pretty?" Calvin made a face. "Hey, come on now. You know she is," Quentin said with a laugh, giving the kid's shoulder a knock.

"I guess," he admitted. Reluctantly.

"Dude, you can get as mad at me as you want. Call me names. Tell me I'm doing something dumb. But give me the chance to explain myself. 'Cause we're friends, and that's how it is with friends. I can do the same thing to you." He lowered his face and raised his eyebrows to show how serious he was now. "But I never want to hear you be mean to Aunt Arielle ever again, got it? Get mad at me all you want, but not her. She doesn't deserve that. Right?"

Calvin's eyes watered up again. "I know."

"Don't cry," he was saying, but before he knew it this skin-and-bones nine-year-old was throwing himself into Quentin, hugging him. Quentin froze, not sure about the decorum on hugging kids. Kids that weren't his. Fuck it. He hugged Calvin, patting his narrow little back. "You got a problem with me, you tell me, buddy," Quentin said. "I ain't a mind reader. You gotta have the balls to say it or just put up with it. Yeah?"