Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
CLEO
My back aches from working on clients all day. All I want to do when I get home is have a hot soak in the bath, eat something comforting, pour myself a glass of wine, and slip into bed with a good book, reading until I fall asleep.
I’m not working tomorrow, so I can sleep in—no alarms, no appointments, ahh bliss. The studio is getting busier, so I talked to the guys today about the possibility of hiring a new artist.
Turning into my street, as I inch closer to my house, I see a familiar bike parked in my driveway.
My body fills with trepidation after today’s incident at the studio.
War acted like a dick, and it got me thinking that I need to override the horny side to my brain and maybe tell him to skip hoops before I fall too far.
The headlights from my car heighten War’s silhouette as he leans against his bike. His arms are folded across his chest, and his ankles crossed.
He turns his head, looking at me through the windshield, and my heart flip-flops in my chest at the sight of him. I am pissed at what he did today at Rugged Ink, but something about him being near me soothes something in me.
Turning off the car, I step out, collecting my purse before shutting the door. I step closer, spying a brown paper bag with a familiar logo on it.
“You went to Claude’s Diner.”
He stands to full height, a smirk in place, but I see some hesitation in his eyes.
“I did. The lady there helped me with what you liked.” He rubs the back of his neck in a nervous way.
What does he have to be nervous about?
Picking the bag up off the ground, I inch closer to him. The mixed aroma coming from the bag of food and him makes me inwardly groan.
“Something occurred to me tonight and I am not a fucking fan of it, baby,” he starts.
“I know nothing about you, and that is because you won’t let me get close.
As cheesy as it fucking sounds, I want to date you, Cleo.
Something or someone hurt you before, and it’s stopping you from having some form of happiness with someone—with me. ”
As I listen to his words, my heart recognizes something in him. I sigh and walk past him to my front door and unlock it, before looking over my shoulder at him.
“You might as well come in. I am fucking starving.” A satisfied smirk crosses his handsome face.
Turning to walk into my house, I give him my back so he cannot see my smile. Dumping my purse on the chair that I have by my front door, I kick off my boots, then pad my way to the kitchen.
I gather us some plates as War pulls out the food he has brought me, but from the smell, I know that he got my favorite.
“I have no idea what the old lady put in here; she handed me what she said was your usual,” he explains.
Frowning at him, I think over the staff who works at Claude’s and there is no older lady that works there.
“What lady? There is only Claude who works in the kitchen. His two granddaughters and grandson when he is not in school and daughter work the floor.”
He stops what he is doing and looks at me. “Are you sure? White hair in a bun, purple makeup?”
“No. Never seen her before.” I shrug.
“Well, she knew you, baby. Said your name and told me what you like. Hell, she even laughed when I told her that you were my woman. Described your traits to a T.” He winks.
I turn his words over in my mind, searching for any trace of the woman he described, but nothing comes to mind. Yet, something feels strange about what he said, something bone deep, and I cannot put my finger on why I feel like this.
I shake off the feeling; there is nothing I can do about it now. I look down at the food and my stomach grumbles, making him chuckle.
“Come on, we can talk while we eat. You need to fill me in on who hurt you, baby.”
His voice is like smooth melted chocolate, mixed with genuine sincerity, and it makes me want to confess everything to him.
War watches me quietly, his smirk on his face, as I unload our food, letting him watch me. This feels very domesticated as he then flits around my kitchen like he belongs there, getting us drinks.
Shit, he does look good in my house. As I watch him from the corner of my eye, my lips twitch, liking what I am seeing.
“Let’s eat,” I say before walking into my living room.
I sit on the sofa, and War takes the seat next to me, setting our drinks on the coffee table.
Without waiting for him I dive into my patty melt, letting the mix of melted cheese, the burger patty, onions, and the magic sauce that Claude uses soothe my taste buds and hungry stomach.
I moan as the flavors hit me; my hunger had been forgotten until this second. Damn, this is some good food.
Opening my eyes, I see that War is watching me with a smoldering look that can only be described as him wanting to devour me.
“You need to stop moaning like that, baby, or we will be leaving the talking for later.” His voice is husky and deep.
I cannot stop from grinning, making him shake his head, growling at me before taking a bite of his food. He chews before looking at me again.
“Tell me who hurt you.”
Sighing, I know that I need to spill everything to him. He did to me about his dead wife. I do not know what has changed since earlier today, when he was a dick to me at Rugged Ink.
“I met him when I was training to be a tattoo artist. He came in for some ink and we just clicked. He was charming, wore nice clothes, flashed his money around, and I was a broke girl who was learning a new trade. He took an interest in me, something most men did not. For months it was great, and I was in deep in love.”
A deep throaty growl leaves him, and I snap my gaze to his. His eyes are dark and full of anger, as if he senses what is coming.
He blinks, shaking his head. “Sorry, carry on.” He tucks into his food as if he needs a distraction.
“It was verbal abuse at first: he would belittle me in private until he got bored of that. Then he would belittle me in front of everyone else so he would look like a big man. The cheating was constant. His men would take pride in sharing details about the women he was fucking, making sure to let me know that I was worthless, yet he would not let me go.”
“How did you get away from him?”
“My cousins and friends. The ones at the club at Halloween. He hit me, and I think that something snapped in me that day; so when he left, I knew that I had to run. It was the wake-up call I needed. I stole money from him and the girls helped me run.”
The room temperature drops when I say that Pato hit me. War stills in his seat, but I can see that his body is tight with anger. Placing my abandoned food on the table, I do the same to his, and touch my hand to his larger one.
“War, I got away. The last I heard, he was out of the country because he pissed off the wrong person.”
“Name?” His body vibrates with anger, and I hate seeing him like this because of me.
“I am not giving you his name because he is not worth the time or energy.”
“I will fucking kill him, Cleo. Give me his name.”
“No.” I am not sure what makes me do it but I straddle his lap. “I have moved on, made something of myself here. I am happy.”
“No, baby, you are not. You will not let yourself find love because this cunt hurt you.”
I look down to where my hands are on his abs. I can feel them through the material of his light grey tee. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my pussy throbs as it rests over the bulge in his pants.
“I am trying, War.”
“Mason,” he reminds me.
I smile. “Mason. I am trying.”
He grins and his hips flex.
“Damn, I like the way my name sounds on your lips, baby.” With that, he crashes his mouth to mine and I am lost in his touch.