Beautifully Damaged (Beautifully Damaged series) by L.A. Fiore (5)

It had been four days since I’d last seen Trace and I still had the sensation that I was floating. Complicated didn’t even come close to describing him, but I was completely captivated. I moved on autopilot, performing my day-to-day activities as I struggled for focus. Reaching Starbucks after my run, I ordered my coffee. I was about to give the woman a twenty when a hand stopped me.

“My treat.”

Goose bumps appeared as I turned to see Trace standing there.

“Hello, Ember.”

“Trace!” Seeing him had a warmth burning through me.

We started from Starbucks. “Thanks for the coffee,” I said as I eyed him from over my cup.

His head turned in my direction and our eyes met and held. “Did you run this morning?”

“Yes. I run so I can feed my cake pop habit.”

A grin flirted around his lips. I wanted to kiss him, wanted to throw myself into his arms and feel those lips on mine again. But I didn’t. His words the other night—that he wanted me but he didn’t want to want me—prevented me.

Walking this close to him I had a better view of the tattoo that ran up his neck to his hairline. “What is that on your neck?” I asked.

“Celtic symbols.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Getting a tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Irritating, but not necessarily painful.” His lips turned up on one side before he asked, “Are you inked?”

I almost choked on my coffee at that question. “No, it’s so permanent. I’d only do it if I knew with absolute certainty that what I wanted done I’d want forever. How often is anyone that sure?”

“It’s just as well. You have beautiful skin. It would be a crime for you to mark it.”

The compliment made my heart flutter before I asked, “Can I see the one on your arm?”

I knew I’d thrown him with that question, but he reached for my hand and pulled me from the sidewalk to the shade of a tree before he took off his jacket and pulled his T-shirt sleeve up over his shoulder.

Hades was depicted as half-monster, half-man, sitting upon his throne, naked and aroused. Above him, angels flew, but they were in one of three poses: hear no evil, see no evil, and speak no evil. Below him bodies writhed, elongated and distorted, like the masked dude from the movie Scream. They clawed at each other, trying to escape the pit. The entire scene was surrounded with fire: brilliant orange, red, and yellow flames that looked to be dancing up his arm. I ran my finger over one particular flame that started out red, but faded to orange and then to yellow as it grew; the transition was seamless and the work was so flawlessly executed.

“It’s beautiful. How long did it take?”

He didn’t answer me so I looked up, and when I did, it was into dark eyes that watched me with such intensity that my heart flipped over in my chest.

“Twelve hours.”

It took me a minute to realize that he had answered me. I was still holding his arm, and as much as it pained me to let it go, to lose that physical connection with him, I released it and took a step back. A loud honk of a horn seemed to bring us back to reality. He slipped on his jacket.

“Are you heading home?”

“Yes.”

“How’s the roommate?” He studied me for a moment, taking in my frustrated expression. “That good?”

“My dad warned me of some things, and sadly I’ve been witnessing firsthand just how right he is. I’m just surprised that I hadn’t seen it before.”

“What—that your friend isn’t much of a friend?”

My eyes widened and I looked up at him. “Yeah, exactly that.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

I took a sip of my coffee as I pondered his comment. “No, I don’t think so.”

“She’s jealous and she has every reason to be from where I’m standing.”

I couldn’t deny the delicious thrill that his very matter-of-fact comment stirred in me, but I wasn’t as convinced. He seemed to know what I was thinking, and added, “If I met your friend and she brought me home and I saw you—no contest. She probably knows that too.”

“Well, I suspect you take repeated punches to the head so maybe it’s not all working right up there.”

He grinned mischievously just before his lips brushed over my ear. “I have a secret—want to hear it?”

My breath left me at his invitation. I could only answer by nodding my head.

His breath tickled my ear, causing goose bumps to rise on my flesh. When he spoke, it was seductively low. “I have a really hard head.” And then he pressed a kiss just above my ear before he pulled back.

I spoke what I was thinking.

“I might swoon.”

“I’ll catch you. I won’t let you fall.” His strong hand took mine. “Let’s get you home.”

A week passed and I didn’t see Trace once. I knew it was intentional. I knew he was trying to put distance between us. I did, however, run into his friend Rafe. That I just happened on him in Starbucks made me wonder if it wasn’t a coincidence.

“How’s Loki?”

“Trouble,” he said with a grin. As I watched him, his smile faded before he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

We walked to a table and I watched as Rafe folded himself into the chair opposite me.

He seemed to take an unusual interest in the surface of the table so I asked, “What’s up, Rafe?”

He lifted his gaze to mine before he said, “I wanted to talk with you about Trace.”

A wave of unease spread through me at the seriousness of his expression before I said, “Okay.”

“I’ve known Trace for a long time. He’s a complicated man, but I have noticed a difference in him these past few weeks and I can only attribute the change to you.”

I was almost too afraid to ask, “A good change or a bad one?”

He held my stare. “A good one and that’s why I’m going to share a bit of his past with you.”

“Are you sure that you should?”

“Yes, it might help you understand him better.”

He pulled a hand through his hair and stared pensively at me before continuing. “I met Trace when we were fifteen. He was in an alley pounding the shit out of some guy. I pulled him off and I truly believe that if I hadn’t, he would have killed the guy. I think he knew it too.

“After that first meeting we started to hang. I think at first he saw me as his reality check, the person who would keep him from going too far. And it was true, I was, since almost every time we were out he would end up in a fight.

“There was so much anger in him, a rage that was nearly uncontrollable. I didn’t know then—and I still don’t—what fuels it, but it was nearly the death of him. He knew that he needed a better way to vent his anger so he found an outlet by fighting willing opponents.”

I paled; I could feel all the blood draining from my face as I remembered Trace in the parking lot and the level of rage in him. The idea of him in some abandoned warehouse pounding the shit out of people scared me. He said he was an amateur fighter but was it more savage than that? Was that why he looked the way he did when he came to my apartment that night? “What, like Brad Pitt, Fight Club fighting?”

“No, not really. The fights are legal, held in a gym. There’s a ref, even judges, but the method of fighting is up to the fighters, gloved or bare-knuckled. It works for him and it’s helped him channel his anger. It gives him a release.”

I had already known that he was a fighter, but I was disturbed to learn that he fought not for the love of it or for the money, but as a release for his rage. What in his past fueled it?

“This thing—it isn’t just rage in him. He also has a deep-rooted belief that he’s a piece of shit. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you and at some point he’s going to push you away. I hope when he does, if you feel something for him too, that you won’t let him.”

“I do feel something for him and I really like being with him.” I studied Rafe for a moment before I asked, “Does he know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Last week, I saw a bit of that rage and I won’t lie, it scared me. But there’s so much more to him than anger. I don’t think Trace realizes how much he has to offer. I like him a lot and I want to see where it goes—whatever it is that’s between us.”

“I don’t want to give you a one-sided picture of him. He’s been a real friend to me too. I grew up in the system and spent the majority of my youth in trouble. As many times as I’ve had his back, he’s had mine. Yes, he’s complicated, but I think you are exactly what he needs.”

I couldn’t help the feeling of hope that moved through me in response to Rafe’s words. “I hope you’re right.”

My cell phone rang and I was tempted not to answer it. I was writing and really didn’t want the distraction, but knowing it could be important, I reached for it.

“Hey, is this a bad time?”

I almost dropped my phone. Trace. He rarely called. I wondered if Rafe had told Trace what we’d talked about the other day.

I saved my book and closed up my laptop. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“I’m waiting for my fight, so I thought I’d give you a call.”

Since he never talked about his fighting, I thought now might be a good opportunity to learn more about it. “Who are you fighting?”

There was a note of humor in his tone when he replied, “Mad Dog Max.”

I hadn’t meant to laugh, but what a ridiculous name. “That sounds more like a bad malt liquor.”

Trace chuckled. “He’s had his face pounded in enough that he looks like a pug so the name is actually very fitting.”

“Do you have an alter ego?”

“Never understood the point.”

“How often do you fight?”

“Several times a week whenever possible. What are you up to tonight?”

It didn’t pass my notice his attempt to move the conversation away from him. “I’m working on an idea for a new novel. I’m just outlining right now, jotting down potential plots and characters.”

“Have you written others?”

“One, but it needs work, so I’m taking a break from it so I can come back to it with fresh eyes.”

“Why do you think it needs work?”

“My old college professor read it and had some suggestions on how to improve the story, most of those suggestions stemming from the need for me to add more realism.”

“It’s fiction, right?”

“Yes.”

“So why do you need realism?”

I laughed out loud before I replied, “That was exactly my thinking, but I do believe he may have a point.”

There was silence over the line for a minute. “Maybe you’ll let me read it when it’s ready.”

Whether he really wanted to read it or he was offering to be nice didn’t matter. I loved that he asked. “I might just take you up on that.”

There was no denying his sincerity when he said, “I hope that you do. They’re calling my fight. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck.” I wasn’t positive but I was pretty sure he chuckled right before he hung up the phone.

After that first call, Trace would call me several times a week and we’d talk for hours. I hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t come around, but I found that I really liked talking with him on the phone, since he seemed more at ease. We didn’t talk about his past or his family, but he spoke more openly about everything else. Whether he realized it or not, our talks were very revealing, exposing a side of Trace Montgomery that few got to see.

Two weeks after my talk with Rafe, I was sitting in my living room and my thoughts drifted to Trace, as they had a habit of doing. He was a puzzle to me. I knew his reputation, but I didn’t see him the way others did—like the man that Luke described on that first night at Sapphire. When I looked at Trace, I saw a man who repeatedly did things for others, helping me out of a few scrapes, coming to the aid of that woman at the gallery, attending charity functions to help those in need. I saw a man who could look at the depiction of a soul in torment and relate.

I was beginning to suspect that Trace’s image was not just a product of his low self-esteem, but a means to keep people from looking too deeply at him. I saw a glimpse into the man underneath that hard shell and I liked that man—a lot. Yes, I suspected he was a damaged soul, but he was a beautiful one too. I wanted to believe that Trace avoided seeing me because of his poor self-image, but I also wanted to believe that he called because he felt it too—the connection.

I missed him and as much as I looked forward to his phone calls, they weren’t enough for me. I wanted to see him so I grabbed my phone and called Rafe.

“Rafe, it’s Ember.”

“Hi, Ember. What’s up?”

“I want to see him. Do you think that’s a bad idea?”

“No, I think it’s a great idea. He’s been a bit of a prick lately.”

“What?”

He chuckled over the line before he added, “He wants to see you too.”

I couldn’t lie, those words made me feel really good, but then I sobered when I asked, “Do you know if he’s home…” I almost couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out, since I was afraid of the answer, “and if he’s alone?”

“Yeah, he’s home alone. Let me give you his address and thank you.”

“For what?”

“Caring about him.”

When the cab pulled up in front of Trace’s building, I was surprised to see that we weren’t too far from Clover. How did Trace afford a place on the Upper East Side? I climbed from the cab, paid the man, and headed up the steps to the door. Rafe must have called ahead to let the doorman know I was coming since he greeted me warmly before giving me directions to Trace’s apartment. I made my way to the fourth floor and down the hall to his apartment. I stopped at his door and took a few deep breaths. I couldn’t believe I was here—that I was actually at a man’s apartment. I had only ever been in one man’s apartment, but this wasn’t just any man, this was Trace, and so I knocked.

The door opened and Trace filled the space. The look of surprise on his face made me feel both happy and sad.

“Ember, what are you doing here?”

I held his incredulous stare and answered honestly, “I wanted to see you.”

His reply, and the manner in which he said it, broke my heart: It was clear that he was unaccustomed to people visiting him for the sole purpose of just wanting to see him.

“Why?”

“I missed you.”

He just stood there and I think he may have been in shock.

“Is this a bad time?” I asked.

“No, sorry, please come in.” He stepped back so I could enter and when I got a good look at his apartment, it just added another layer to the mystery surrounding Trace. The place must have cost a fortune. That night at Clover, clearly the two thousand dollar price tag was nothing at all to him. So where did the money come from? I pulled my mind from that and looked around. Though it was sparsely decorated, it was done so with quiet taste. Charcoal-gray walls and walnut floors covered with a Persian rug in deep earth tones were the backdrop for the masculine living room composed of a cognac-colored leather sofa, a dark-oak coffee table, and a TV armoire. The kitchen was against the left wall before the long hallway that led, I guessed, to the multiple bedrooms and bath.

As I moved into the living room, I noticed the walls were bare. There were no pictures of his family or friends. His walls must symbolize his life. He had people around him all the time, but no one that mattered, no one that he cared about, no one he loved, and it was because he hadn’t let anyone get close enough. I turned to him. “I like your place.”

He was leaning against the door with the strangest expression on his face.

“What’s wrong, Trace?”

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Do you want me to go?”

He moved from the door and walked over to me to take my hand into his. The look in his eyes made my toes curl before he replied, “No.”

He led me to the kitchen before he released my hand.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you have hot tea?”

He looked at me from over his shoulder as a grin tugged at his mouth. “No, how about coffee?”

“Perfect.”

I sat and watched as he started the coffee and then he turned to me.

“I guess I don’t need to call you later.”

I gave him a saucy smile before I replied, “I’ve always preferred face-to-face myself.”

We settled in his living room with each of us at opposite ends of the sofa, but turned so we could face each other. He still had a funny expression on his face, which prompted me to ask, “Are you upset that I’m here?”

It was surprise that flashed over his face in response before he said, “No, I just can’t figure out why you’d want to come here.”

I studied him for a moment. “Are you kidding?”

“I’m completely serious.”

“I like you, Trace. I came because I missed you.”

A smile touched his lips, but the look of disbelief in his eyes hadn’t passed my notice. I wanted to ask why he found it so hard to believe that I wanted to be here, but I was too busy soaking up the sight of him. He looked so comfortable, almost relaxed, and the sight of that gave my heart a happy sigh. What made him so beautiful to me was the vulnerable man underneath that handsome face.

“What are you thinking about?” Trace asked, pulling me from my silent study of him.

“You.”

There it was again, surprise flashing across his face. I couldn’t imagine what happened to make him hate himself so much. I’d ask, but it wasn’t the time so I changed the subject.

“So a single man doesn’t keep tea in the house?”

Humor danced in his eyes before he replied, “Not this man, but, since I know you like it, I will.”

The warmth that burned through me in response to that was completely involuntary. I held his gaze as I smiled. “I like Earl Grey with lavender honey.”

“I’ll have it for the next time.”

So there was going to be a next time; this was progress. The silence stretched out for a few minutes as we just stared at each other. I wanted to touch him, wanted to crawl over to him and curl up into his lap. I wanted my mouth on him and my arms around him, but I managed to control that impulse.

I wasn’t battling those feelings alone when Trace moved so effortlessly and pulled me into his arms. His mouth closed over mine and I gave in to my need to touch him and pulled my hands through his hair. He teased me, dipping his tongue into my mouth to taste me, before pulling away and feathering kisses along my jaw. His tongue traced my earlobe and my body’s reaction was immediate as delicious little chills shot down my arms. My breasts felt fuller and my nipples grew hard. I sought to ease the ache by pressing myself against him. There was a tingling between my legs and with it came an edginess that made me feel wanton. I wanted to taste every inch of him, wanted to feel him inside me as I stretched to take him. The rawness of my need was both terrifyingly new and deeply arousing.

He gently lowered me onto my back before he moved to cover my body with his own. It was instinctual when I spread my legs to cradle him between my thighs. I felt him hard and thick pressing against the part of me that was throbbing and to my embarrassment and delight I almost came. His hands moved down my body, his fingertips setting off little fires under my skin as they traveled down my arms, over my stomach, across my ribs. He moved to kneel between my legs as his fingers played with my shirt, slowly moving it up my body before taking it off completely. His hands on my bare skin felt so amazing but was nothing compared to the feel of his lips on my collarbone as he pressed kisses there. His tongue licked my overheated skin, moving down my body until he reached my breasts, which were aching for his attention. He kissed under those overly sensitive mounds, around them, and above them but he didn’t actually touch them. He worked the front clasp of my bra, flicking it open until I felt the cool air brush over my nipples that were so hard they hurt. His lips were barely touching me as he moved over my breast and then he flicked the nipple with his tongue. Lust shot right between my legs as I grabbed his head and pulled him to me. When he sucked me deep into his hot, wet mouth I moaned in sheer pleasure. He cupped my neglected breast, caressing and squeezing before tugging on the nipple. The ache between my legs was accompanied by a dampness as I shifted my hips, looking for relief. Trace moved his one knee higher so I could rub myself hard against him. I felt powerful and needy at the same time. My hand itched to pull the hard length of him free. I wanted to hold him in my hand, wanted him in my mouth, wanted to push him on his back and sink down slowly onto him as I took him deep inside of me. I wanted to ride him until we both came. Trace seemed to sense what I wanted when he pulled his mouth from my breast and in one fluent move he had my jeans unsnapped and down my legs along with my panties. A heartbeat later, Trace’s mouth was right where I ached for him the most.

“Oh my God.”

He gripped my hips and pulled me hard against him as his tongue and teeth drove me wild. Lust coiled in my belly as my hips moved against his mouth. I fisted my hands in his hair as I shamelessly ground myself against his invading tongue. The orgasm started slowly until Trace slipped two fingers into me as he sucked on that pulsing nub. I came hard as I cried out from the fierceness of it. It went on for so long as my body pulsed with my release. I felt weightless, sleepy, and sated all at once. It was only after my body came back down that I realized Trace had gone still. I was afraid to look at him for fear of seeing regret. What I saw instead made my heart miss a beat. There was lust and tenderness in his gaze. I was inexperienced but I knew I was the only one who’d experienced the pleasure. I reached for him, wishing to give him what he had given me, but he stopped me and gently wrapped his hand around my wrist.

“Not tonight,” he said gruffly.

It felt like ice water being doused over my head. Suddenly I realized that I was naked and I felt completely exposed. I moved with far less grace than I would have liked and started dressing. I had to go. Mortification burned my cheeks and the need to cry was so close that I frantically pulled in breaths to prevent it. I had just reached the door when Trace came up behind me and pulled me back against him.

“Don’t leave angry, Ember. You have no idea how much I wanted that.”

I couldn’t look at him so I focused on the door when I said, “It was one-sided.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was about giving you pleasure and I loved every fucking second of it.”

He turned me to him and pulled my chin up. I saw in his expression that what he spoke was the truth. And then he kissed me and, tasting myself on his tongue, knowing that he derived pleasure from giving me pleasure, I lost a little piece of myself to him in that moment.

“You can stay,” he whispered.

“I should go.” Despite his words, I couldn’t stay, because I was in way over my head with him.

He looked disappointed, but he reached for my hand and started from the apartment. “All right, I’ll get you a cab.”