Page 5 of Scars of Silk

My hand clutches the handle and I start to pull on it. “Want to come in for a coffee? It will have to be black, I haven’t got any milk in. Oh, and the house is a shit hole.” I lift my shoulders and try to smile. I’m a dick.

“Tempting, but no thanks.” She smiles a little and I try again to pull on the handle, but still not opening the door.

“Want to see if my tattoos cross the sexy line?” I stare at her boldly. I’ve got nothing left to lose. And honestly, I don’t want to walk into that house alone. Also, I could do with a fuck and she’s pretty to look at.

She throws her head back and laughs, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. I’m watching her, my gaze intense. I can almost see my suggestion running around that pretty little head of hers. “That’s an offer you rarely get,” she says, her voice still light with her burst of laughter.

“It’s a onetime only deal.”

She chuckles and shakes her head, but she’s not turning on the ignition and driving off like a bat out of hell. I wait.

“Onetime only.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “Someone really should tell you if you’ve crossed the sexy line.”

“Someone should, yes.” Pulling on the door handle, I slide out of the car, dragging my bag with me.

I flash her a shit-eating grin when she opens her door and stares at me over the hood of the car. “I’m just helping you out.”

You sure are, darling.

“Yes. Yes, you are. Then you can get back to that glamorous little life you are living.”

Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t retort whatever is stinging the end of her tongue. “Onetime.”

She reminds me of Faith… I block the thought… That’s the last time I want to think about my old childhood friend and the huge mess I’ve made of everything.

I hold my arm out, motioning her up the short pathway to the front door.

It’s just a fuck, and that's the one thing I need right now.

Two

Sienna

What am I doing? No, seriously. What am I doing? I shouldn’t even have let him in the car, let alone driven him the whole way to Brighton, and then got out of the car with him. The flaw in the plan was me getting out of the car.

Walking behind him, I try hard not to look at the wide set of his shoulders under his jacket that narrow into a trim waist. I glance at my watch. Bloody hell, it’s gone six. I won’t be making it for dinner with my father. I cringe a little, knowing all too well I’ll hear all about it, and not necessarily in ways I’d like. But I’ve driven all this way…

He opens the door, and I can sense the hesitation rolling off him. I KNEW he was all talk. I snigger a little under my breath but then lose all ability to breathe as he spins around into my space and catches me close. He smells, well… he smells all man. Not a hint of aftershave, or the cloud of the stuff I’ve got used to inhaling. There’s just the warmth of skin, combined with washing powder and soap. I push my hands against his chest finding only solid pecs beneath his jacket.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” My heart hammers against my ribcage like it’s a bloody xylophone.

“Distracting you from the mess.” His lips skim my neck, his nose pressing along the edge of my cheekbone. God, he smells heavenly. Clean clothes, soap, and smoke.

I push him away, my fingers almost massaging his pecs, and turn to peek into the house. It’s a small hallway that opens into a wide living room full of large, pale leather furniture. “Looks tidy to me.”

He turns in what seems like genuine surprise. “How the hell did she get in?”

“Who?”

“Abi.” He scrubs a hand along his face looking bewildered.

“The last of the Musketeers, right?” I’ve heard enough from Elijah’s fiancée Faith to put all the characters into their place.

“Musketeers?” He’s distracted as he walks into the lounge, but then turns to face me again. For the briefest flash the veil of bravado drops, and his eyes are open and honest: amber and chestnut, frank and exposed. “Yeah. Abi’s Goofy.”

I follow him into the house, not waiting for an invitation. I snort, clutching my hand to my mouth. “I said Musketeers, not Mousketeers.”

He chuckles, that cloak of indifference he seems to wear pulling back around his shoulders. “Mousketeers are far better; at least they weren’t depressed and suicidal like Athos.”