DirtyBeautiful Page 4

  A fresh pang of grief cut through his rib cage and Dylan struggled to keep his face impassive. He ate a couple of fries. Drank some water and cleared his throat. “Never knew my dad. Mom died two years ago from liver failure, complications of chemotherapy.”

  Compassion swam in her eyes and she caressed his fist. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back painful memories. I lost my parents too when I was fifteen. Drunk driver.”

  He managed what he hoped was an understanding smile. “You done here?”

  She looked down at her half-eaten meal then nodded. They both stood and after he settled the bill at the counter they returned to his truck. It started up with a rumble and Dylan stuck it into gear. They drove in silence, each lost in thought. Dylan tried hard to keep his mind from that fateful night. He wasn’t even there when his mom died. She was of the ten percent who didn’t survive a relatively simple procedure. After six years in remission, it came back only to take her with it.

  “So have you thought of a name for your dog?”

  Dylan grasped on to the subject like a drowning man. “At the moment he’s just panty-snatcher.”

  She covered her mouth in dismay. “Oh no, don’t call him that!”

  “Have you got any suggestions?”

  “How about mutt?”

  “Nice, but unoriginal. I don’t want half the strays coming to me if I have to call for him.”

  She giggled. “All right. What about Emilio?”

  He snorted. “We don’t want to give him a complex.”

  “He’s a dog! He won’t care if you call him Lady Esmeralda.”

  “But I would. I may as well get a man-purse while I’m at it.”

  “Okay, I get it. Super manly name required. Um…Alejandro?”

  Dylan frowned. “I’m beginning to notice a pattern here. What’s with all the Latin names?”

  She shrugged. “I always wanted to go to Spain. I love the culture. Besides, Latin men are hot.”

  Dylan repressed a glower. He couldn’t be jealous of an entire nation of men, but damn if he wasn’t. “You prefer to date Latinos?”

  She shrugged noncommittally. “I haven’t been out with one, but they sure are nice to look at.”

  He pulled into his driveway and faced her. “What is it you like about them?”

  She pursed her lips in thought. Unable to resist, he leaned across the gearshift and kissed her. She gasped and he took immediate advantage, fusing their mouths together. He licked the sweet edge of her tongue before he withdrew and guided her movements with his own. Dylan crooned his appreciation, shifting in his seat to apply more pressure to his kiss. Soft fingers fluttered over his shoulders and he cupped her jaw to slide his mouth over the plumpness of her lips.

  He tasted her passion, a subtle shudder passed through her body. Seducing her with his mouth, he teased her tongue with his. Imitating the primitive motion of sex, he thrust and retreated in a slow, timeless pace. Each withdrawal was accompanied by the soft closure of his mouth, punctuated by the wet, erotic sound of desire.

  His lips opened again and encouraged her to invite the slide of his tongue across the hot cavern of her mouth. Each progressive kiss seemed to push her farther, forcing her head back into the cushion of the headrest. Needing her to sate this gnawing need, he drew her toward him, signaling to her without words to mount his lap. Jesus, she’d feel so damn good. Eyes glazed with desire, she followed. Her weight settled on his thighs, her ass on his knees. He broke the kiss, rubbing the back of her nape. Their panting breaths filled the cab. Hair shrouded her in shadow and he pushed it aside to stare into her flushed face.

  “Damn you’re sexy.”

  His whole body trembled with ferocious need and he slanted his lips across hers, claiming her. One hand trailed down her neck, the off-shoulder dress slid away beneath his touch. He drew back again and groaned at the sight of her luscious skin. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her exposed shoulder, the haze of desire played with his sense of taste. Peaches, God damn peaches. Moist kisses trailed along her collarbone and he broke up the sensations he visited on her with an intermittent slide of his teeth. He wanted to eat her up like a decadent dessert.

  A ragged gasp left her as he blew a hot breath over the pulse point at the base of her throat before his lips gently worshiped the pulsing skin. Her fingers hovered over him as if she didn’t know where to put them. Hooking his hands under her skirt, he traced them upward until the fabric bunched on her upper thigh and his thumbs skimmed her underwear. His body thrummed with the need to push it aside and touch her cunt. Instead he contented himself by running the pad of his fingers over the edge of her panties and down the underside of her thighs.

  Erica shivered, her body lifting to give him access. A wicked chuckle left him and he nipped her shoulder. God, he loved the way she tasted. Breathing her in, he tickled the underside of her knee. His cock pressed against the zipper of his jeans, aching for release. Perversely, he found pleasure in simply touching Erica. Showing her all the delicious places on her body. Silently he promised one day he’d kiss every single spot.

  Trailing gentle fingers over the delicate skin along her back, he worked her erogenous zones. Her back arched, hands digging into his shoulders. She murmured, a sweet wordless sound in response. He wanted her. His cock throbbed to fill her. He wanted to hear her scream in pleasure. He glanced down at her strapless bra and soft belly. God. He hooked his finger over a cup and exposed her breasts. Heat spiked through his dick. Coral-tipped nipples begged for his mouth on them. With a groan, he licked one before suckling it greedily. Erica’s muffled shriek made him smile. It was only going to get better.

  Gliding the tips of his fingers down her spine, he slipped his hand beyond the elastic and cupped her ass, scraping his blunted nails over the ripe flesh. Erica whimpered. He swallowed the sound with his mouth. She cupped his neck, following his lead. Sucking on her plump lip, he ran his teeth over it and pulled away. He cupped her upper back, bringing her closer, her tits pressed against his shirt and he damned the cotton that separated him from her. He breathed on her neck as he swirled fingers over her shoulder blades. He wanted to tease her with want. Make her feel as he did.

  Her head tipped back, her hair caressing the tops of his hands. Damn that felt good. Cupping her hips, he pressed her down onto his erection, hissing out a breath at the spike of pleasure. Her breath hitched, body bowed forward. Bracing his feet, he rocked as she followed his lead. Pleasure blasted through him, his mouth hovering near hers. Breaths intermingled. Erica slapped a hand on the roof, her breast exposed and near his face.

  With a groan, he cupped the heavy flesh and licked the areola before nipping her nipple. She moaned and he soothed the sting with his mouth, rolling it against his tongue. Wet heat penetrated his jeans and a musk scent filled the car. Abandoning one breast for the other, he blew on the tender skin and traced a line around the dark pink flesh.

  Erica rode him harder, her movements frenetic. She was close. He guided her along his shaft, pleasure skating along his cock. Her eyes half-mast, breasts swaying with each undulation, she was a picture of pure temptation. She threw her hand back in search of leverage.

  A horn blasted through the night and shattered their cocoon of ecstasy. Erica startled and gasped. “Oh my God. What are we doing?”

  She threw herself off him and scrambled to pull her clothes to rights.

  Swallowing hard, Dylan dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. His cock pulsed against the rough denim. She was going to kill him yet. He was going to die of blue balls. He exhaled sharply and shifted in his seat, damning his dick once more. Once confident he wouldn’t throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his bedroom, he faced her. She sat with her back against the door. In the semi-darkness, she still looked flushed and very desirable.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she whispered, the husky vibrato making him groan.

  “No chance you’d come in for a nightcap?”

  She wagged a finge
r at him. “I thought your kitchen was off limits.”

  Yeah, just like her. “Maybe another time.”

  She pushed hair back from her face, her fingers trembling. “Yes. Well… Good night, Dylan.”

  He waited until she opened the door before he exited the vehicle. He didn’t know what he’d do if he tried to open it for her. He waved goodbye as she walked up the steps to her porch, then ambled back to his house. He fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the door. The light flicked on and he was hit by the heavy fumes of varnish. He booted the door shut and marched up the stairs. Here the smell was less prevalent and enabled him to breathe easier. In his bedroom, he flung himself back onto his sleigh bed and stared up at the ceiling fan. The light from the moon made the white blades look gray. A thick silence permeated the air and Dylan keenly felt the loneliness like a demon on his chest. It threatened to suck the life from him. He checked the time then retrieved his cell. He flipped through the contacts then pressed dial on “Becks”.

  It rang twice before it picked up.

  “Hello—”

  “Hi, Becks, it’s me—”

  “This is Rebecca. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message!”

  Dylan’s heart hurt. It went to voice message after two rings. It didn’t take a genius to know she was screening his calls. His throat tightened and he coughed a bit to dislodge the lump there. “Hey, it’s me, Dylan. Just wanting you to know I got into Templeton okay… Um, I hope you’re good. I’m good too, just…” Lonely. He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re probably busy, so when you get this message, give me a call. Bye.”

  He hung up, fist clenched around the phone. She wasn’t going to call him back. Eyes burning with misery, he tapped the cell against his forehead. Why did he keep torturing himself like that? He heaved a breath and dissected the hurt and frustration, surgically removing it from his consciousness to stuff it behind anger and determination. He hadn’t spoken to his sister since that day over two years ago. He remembered it clearly.

  Chapter Three

  Twenty-six months ago…

  Unease clinched his chest, the invisible band tightened with every passing day. For the last week, he felt as though he stood on a sheer ice surface, waiting for it to crack beneath him. The phone call from his mother six days ago had shaken him up and he couldn’t concentrate at work. Cancer had returned and at the moment she was undergoing treatment. Dylan had offered to fly back to help out, but she laughed him off. It’d been caught early enough that she had a ninety percent chance of recovery. All the tension and anxiety from the past returned with a vengeance. Once again he was nineteen, hearing the news his mom had cancer and without insurance they didn’t have the means to cover her treatment. The helplessness and desperation had sucked the soul from him until it made him sick to his stomach and had pushed him into compromising his values in order to save her life.

  His mouth twisted bitterly, his pride held no value when compared to the life of his mother. He needed his mom. He shoved the door to his condo open and chucked his keys on the hall stand. His cell rang and he picked it up.

  “Hello?” The sobbing on the other end turned his blood to ice. “Becks?”

  “Dylan. I-It’s Mom.”

  “What happened?”

  Beck’s response was a garbled mess between words and wailing. He couldn’t understand her. His heart raced in a hollow chest and his knees gave out. He fell heavily against the tiles but didn’t feel the pain. “Becks! Is Mom okay?”

  “N-nooo!”

  His world tipped off its axis and tumbled straight into hell. “No, no. She said she had a ninety percent chance.”

  “The doctors said her liver failed under the chemo. Dylan, she’s dead.”

  The next few days ran by in a surreal swirl of activity. He’d packed his bags and booked a flight straight to Arkansas. Funeral arrangements were made and the wake held a couple of days later. He couldn’t fathom his mother was gone. For days he drifted in a cocoon of disbelief. He was a spectator to his life, as though he watched a macabre nightmare happen to someone else. He functioned. He ate, he responded when required, yet he felt…numb.

  But it didn’t last. Several more days after he said his goodbyes, Dylan opened his eyes to the morning sun slanting across the ceiling. Outside birds sung and the sky was clear, an affront to his grief. Despair ripped through him like the serrated edge of a rusty knife. It cut ruthlessly into his chest and filled his lungs with the acrid weight of misery.

  A bird flew down to the windowsill and sung to its friends. He swung his head toward the window. In angry misdirection, he snatched at the first available item to throw at the sparrow. It hit the windowsill with a thud and tumbled to the ground. The bird flew from its perch and left him in peace. Light reflected off the silver item and bounced into his eyes. He’d thrown a picture frame he’d bought for his mother. The photo he’d taken after she’d gone into remission, her eyes alight with life and laughter.

  He got up and grabbed the frame to hold it in the sunlight. He ran the pads of his fingers over her face. He thought of her, he thought of the pain that she went through and all that he had sacrificed to keep her here in this world. A choked sob coughed from his chest as he sat back on his bed and bowed forward. Tears splashed on the glass and he clutched it to his chest. Picture frame still in hand, he lay back and cried for the soul of his mother and for his own until he passed out. The next time he woke slightly disorientated and for a flash second he felt all that had transpired had been nothing but a horrible dream.

  But that moment passed. He was in his mom’s house, in his old room, but this time Mom wasn’t in the kitchen, making pancakes and dancing around to Bruce Springsteen. The wake was not that long ago and still he had yet to absorb what his being here meant. The house, once full of life, now seemed bereft of it. He threw the sheet aside, padded from the room and into the kitchen. There, where his mom’s effervescent spirit felt most present, the misery he held back pounded on his chest and squeezed the air from his lungs. His throat ached with the effort to hold the tears at bay, but they broke free anyway. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and sucked in a ragged breath.

  Nothing could be more painful than this and he desperately wished for someone to comfort him.

  “Jesus Christ.” He didn’t know if that was a prayer or a curse.

  By sheer force of will, he pulled his emotions under control, lifted his head to glare straight ahead. He pushed his grief behind a wall of anger and locked it away. He had to pack up his mom’s stuff…

  A knock interrupted his thoughts—thank God—and he made his way to the front door. He peered through the peephole then threw it open, concern tight in his stomach. “Rebecca.”

  Tears streamed down her face as Rebecca stepped forward and slapped him. Hard. Reeling from the shock, he slowly faced her as she pushed past him into the house. Numbly he closed the door behind her.

  “How could you do this to us?” she screamed.

  Dylan stared back in bewilderment before understanding dawned. He reached for his little sister, desperate to soothe her pain. To protect her. “I know you’re grieving—”

  She veered away from him. “Don’t you touch me!”

  Her words ripped a hole in his chest and he rubbed at the pain. He knew she didn’t mean what she said. She had felt alone and abandoned when he failed to come when their mom had been admitted. Mom had said not to bother, and he hadn’t. He had a shoot to do and knew his mom would need the money he’d generate from that.

  “I can’t believe you would do something so—so vile!”

  Now Dylan was really confused. “I’m sorry, I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She laughed, a sound absent of any humor. “Of course you know! Half America probably knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  She fished for something in her bag and threw it at him. It hit his chest and fell to the floor before he could catch it. He stared at t
he glossy cover and his heart dropped. Oh no.

  “Don’t recognize it?” she snarled. “How about these?”

  She tipped her bag until over a dozen films tumbled to the floor. Each had a picture of him on the cover in some lurid pose.

  “These came in the mail today! Some anonymous person thought I should know you have been busy doing porn while our mom was sick. You…selfish bastard!” The last came out in an anguished scream, the weight of her agony hit him like a freight train.

  “You weren’t even there!” she gasped. “I had to take care of her. I had to w-watch her struggle through chemo and you—you were fucking some skank!”

  She stared at him as though he were lower than slime. Her lips trembled and she threw up a hand in revulsion and moved toward the door.

  “Becks, wait.” He made a desperate grab for her arm and she spun on him. His gut twisted at the betrayal on her face. “You don’t understand.”

  “What’s there to understand?” She wrenched her arm from him. “Am I supposed to understand that I was left here to take care of Mom alone so that you could fulfill some misguided male fantasy? That while I was trying to do CPR on Mom you were screwing some dirty…” She waved her hand in front of her chest, her sentence ending in a wordless sound of disgust.

  Dylan swallowed hard, his eyes stinging under the onslaught of her words. “I had to,” he whispered. “I had to take care of—”

  “I don’t care! If Mom knew what you did… It would have killed her to know that her son was prostituting himself. Well, I hope your dick falls off. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

  Present day

  And she kept her word. She never returned any of his calls or emails. She moved without telling him, an unfortunate incident he discovered when he’d flown up there for a Christmas Eve surprise. The day she left had burned a hole in his heart and made him wish for something to bring the pieces all back together. Deep down Dylan knew that if he had to do it all over again, he probably would have. It gave Becks, who was only sixteen at the time, six more years with their mom. Six more happy years for her to remember.