Trouble (Orsen Brothers #1) (12 page)

He nodded and smiled at me, reaching across the console and grabbing hold of my hand. “I…” he started, rubbing his throat. He seemed to have trouble coming up with the words. There was something endearing about it—a guy like him not knowing what to say.

“I’m glad you came,” he said after a few moments, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You ain’t quite as tight around the gills as I thought.”

I laughed and let go of his hand, pulling my hair back away from my face. “Well, thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that.

Something flickered in his expression. It was clear that he wanted to say something but he seemed to think better of it. I tore my gaze from his, focusing on the grey scenery around us.

“Its nice to have someone to talk to,” he spoke up, “Anders is really all I have these days…but he ain’t much the same as he used to be.”

“No?”

“Nah.” He shrugged and lit a cigarette, rolling down his window.

“Well I don’t mind listening,” I said, sensing the tension in his voice, “In fact I pay someone a lot of money to do just that…”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “I go to two therapists. One is my mother so that’s just—” I tossed my hands in the air and he laughed. “And…the other is this woman who thinks prescription drugs are the answer to everything. I don’t even think she really listens to what I’m saying half the time…”

“I listen.”

My breath caught on my throat. I studied him as he smoked, taking slow drags and exhaling through his nostrils. A few loose strands of hair stuck to his face and his clothing was damp. But it only made him all the more sexy. “What?” I whispered, finding my voice.

“To what you’re saying.” He waved a hand at me and nodded. “I listen.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my hands and blushed. “Well…thank you...”

He laughed and looked back out the window, tracing his calloused pointer finger over the moisture on the glass. “So, Venus,” he spoke up, changing the subject, “Tthat wasn’t a date—which you made
very
clear—but if I did want to ask you on one…”

“Yes?”

“What would you say?” He glanced over at me and I chewed on the question for a moment. On the one hand, he was way more likable than I expected. But on the other, I was still a very married woman.

“I don’t know,” I managed.

“Come on,” he urged, giving me a soft nudge in the shoulder. “Breakfast was good right? Let me take you out on a date. I’ll wear a clean shirt and everything. We’ll drink wine…you can tell me why you stopped wearing your wedding ring…”

His voice was quiet yet disarming.

“Ok,” I breathed. “But don’t call it a date. It’s not a date.”

“Right.” He held up his hands and ashed his smoke out the window. “Just two people getting dinner together.”

“Right.” I climbed out of the car and approached mine, pausing to look back at him.

As soon as I arrived home I collapsed in bed.

I was awoken a few hours later by the rain, which came down in violent sheets and showed no signs of relenting anytime soon. I sighed and tried to fall back asleep but a heavy knock on my front door jolted me upwards.

I glanced over at the clock. It was almost midnight. Whoever was showing up at my doorstep this late at night better have a damn good reason.

I padded out of bed and across my unpolished floor, which squeaked beneath my feet. My heart beat hard against my ribcage as I approached the front door. The second knock was even louder than the first and a lump surfaced in my throat. I turned on the porch light with a shaking hand and balanced myself on the tips of my toes, trying my best to get a look out the peephole.

It was no use. The rain had done its job of blurring out the dark figure looming on the other side. I undid both locks but kept the skinny silver chain secured as I peered outside. The fluorescent porch light casted a glow on a pair of worn leather boots covered in mud. I looked up and squinted through the rain.

Anders Orsen stood in front of me; his sable hair sticking to his battered face as beads of water trailed down his chiseled jaw. His dark eyes bore against mine and I immediately felt vulnerable in his presence.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he spoke up, darting his tongue over his chapped lips, “can you just let me in for a second?”

I gripped the doorknob until my knuckles flushed of color and thought it over for a few moments. The voice in the back of my head told me to slam the door in his face and return to bed. He was a convicted felon after all. But I was too intrigued to turn him away. I also couldn’t help but felt sorry for him after my conversation with Liam.

With a deep sigh, I shut the door and undid the chain. Luna always said I was too trusting and maybe she was right. If he was here to kill me, I sure was making it pretty easy for him.

“So…what do you want?” I demanded, stepping aside to let him in. The inside of my mouth was still sticky from sleep and my words came out thicker than intended. “How did you even know where I lived?”

He shrugged off his weathered leather jacket and stepped forward, his large frame towering over mine. He was at least a head taller than his brother. I swallowed hard and searched around for something, anything, I could use to defend myself if it got to that.

“I found you in the yellow pages,” he said coolly, keeping his eyes trained on mine, “Liam told me your name. There ain’t too many Venus’ in Poulsbo.”

“Oh…”

“I wanted to apologize,” he continued, waving a hand at me.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “For how I treated you at the hospital. It wasn’t right.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well I appreciate that. But you couldn’t have waited until morning?”

“Yeah…” He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “I was only just released. They kept me on a suicide watch for twenty-four hours on account of how it looked…”

“Like you were trying to kill yourself,” I clarified, getting right to the point.

“Right.”

“Well?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. “Were you?”

He flinched and looked away from me, running a hand through his wet hair. “Nah,” he breathed, shifting feet. “It was an accident.”

“Right,” I said after a few seconds. That was a lie I was quite familiar with. “An accident…”

Feeling uneasy in the dark with him, I entered the living room and turned on the lamp next to the couch. “Not so fast,” I spoke as he tried to follow me. I nodded at his feet. “Take those off. I don’t want mud getting everywhere.”

He nodded and did as I instructed, setting his heavy boots down beside the door. “Nice place,” he commented, lingering in the doorway behind me. “A little bare but still nice.”

“Thanks,” I called out to him as I entered my bathroom and grabbed a towel, tossing it to him. “Look, you can sleep on my couch for the night but you need to leave first thing in the morning.”

“I appreciate the hospitality,” he said, taking a step toward me, “but I wasn’t planning on staying.”

“Well its pretty bad out there,” I said, nodding out the window. A shiny bike was parked behind my car. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to be driving that in this weather…”

“Well alright.” He smiled and peeled his wet shirt over his head, revealing a perfectly tone abdomen and tough, tight muscles that rippled as he adjusted himself on my couch. “If you insist.”

He was covered in tattoos and raised scars that told a story of their own. His eyes trailed their way down my form and his full lips curled upwards, revealing two slight dimples in his cheeks. His face had a sort of effeminate quality about it that was different than his brothers. I swallowed hard and averted my gaze. He was a work of art. They both were—just in completely different ways.

Something about the way he was looking at me made me draw in a sharp breath. “Well…goodnight then…” I managed awkwardly, entering my bedroom as his gaze burned against my back.

The night was heavy.

I told myself it was accidental when he ended up in bed beside me. That it didn’t mean anything. But I couldn’t pretend not to enjoy the way his body felt against mine. He fucked me slowly and tenderly, in time with the thunder that boomed outside, his movements slow and rhythmic and his eyes never leaving mine.

No one had ever touched me that way before.

Our limbs tangled and his hands roamed all over me. not touching any one part of me for too long, and I could feel his heart beating hard against his chest in time with my own. When it was over, we collapsed in a sweaty heap and he lit a cigarette.

“Where did these come from?” I whispered into the darkness, trailing my fingers over the scars on his chest as he flinched. “The accident?”

We were so close together that our faces were touching. He brushed a hand over my cheek and traced circles over my flesh, causing me to shiver. The sliver of moonlight leaking through the crooked blinds in my window illuminated his face. He was bruised from head to toe but somehow still handsome.

He almost seemed like an illusion, something ethereal and impalpable, and I had to pinch myself as a reminder that this was really happening.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered downwards and he drew in a sharp breath as he studied me, taking slow drags of the burning cigarette between his fingers. His naked body was warm and sweaty against mine and tiny bumps surfaced on my flesh as he caressed my hair away from my face. He smelled like nicotine and cologne—and something else—something earthy. It occurred to me then that he probably hadn’t showered since the incident at the bridge.

“I spent some time in Afghanistan,” he answered after awhile, his voice thick and languid. His forehead scrunched and his brows knit together as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, catching my fingers in his own and brushing his thumb across my palm. “I got little pieces of metal wedged in every part of me. Shrapnel. Makes walking through airport scanners tough.”

His deep laughter softened the moment.

“Oh,” I said quietly, resting my head against his chest. I thought of his wife and swallowed hard. I considered telling him about my meeting with his brother but ultimately thought better of it. “You’ve been through a lot…”

The only noise was our unsteady breathing and the soft hum of the television on low in the living room. He shrugged and ashed his cigarette in the ashtray beside my bed, rolling over on his side to look down at me. The only thing I could make out behind the soft glow of his smoke was his eyes, dark and glimmering. “What about you?” he questioned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Me?”

“You live here alone and never bothered to unpack.” He nodded at the boxes lined up along my wall. “You don’t wear your wedding ring anymore...”

I licked my lips and searched for a response as my heart hammered against my chest. He was just as intuitive as his brother. “You drink,” he added.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Nah,” he answered quietly, “I just know an addict when I see one.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should have been offended.

“What about these ones?” I questioned, wetting my lips and changing the subject as I trailed my fingers down the raised scars on the insides of his arms. “Where did these come from?”

He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He met my gaze and a smile etched its way across his face. I pretended like I didn’t notice the hollowness behind it. He kissed me and I could taste his answer on his tongue.

His lips were soft and electrifying. He pinned me against the bed by my wrists, shifting on top of me, his calloused hands warm as they crawled their way up my bare stomach. His fingers grazed the pulse point just below my earlobe and I shivered, basking in the fleeting tenderness of the action.

I could taste myself on his tongue and his nails left behind half-moon imprints in my flesh. He managed to find a way to make being rough feel gentle. When he pulled away from me, I touched my bottom lip with a trembling hand and tore my gaze from his.

When I awoke the next morning, it all seemed like a dream, but his balled up shirt on my floor told me that it wasn’t one. I found him sitting shirtless at my kitchen table behind a box of cereal, shoveling soggy yellow flakes into his mouth as he flipped through my mail.

“Hey,” I spoke up from the doorway, pacing forward and snatching it from his hands, “that’s kind of private don’t you think?”

He laughed and raised an eyebrow at me, nodding at my scanty attire. I looked down. I was only wearing a pair of cotton boy shorts and my bra. How had I managed to leave my room without putting on my robe? I tried to cover myself in a feeble attempt at modesty, but it was no use, so I slid down into the empty chair across from him instead.

He continued eating and I studied him. Milk dripped from his mouth and he wiped his hand over his lips, meeting eyes with me. “What?” he questioned, raising a thick brow at me and smiling, “do I have something on my face?”