Page 30 of Daring the Bad Boy
Her face fell, her expression swamped by sympathy and concern. “Your father died? Cal, I’m so sorry.”
His shoulders stiffened, but he kept shooting, needing the whirring sound of the shutter. He didn’t want her pity. Didn’t want it to affect him.
“Don’t be, we weren’t that close. I hadn’t been home in over a decade.”
“That doesn’t matter. He was still your father.”
He shrugged. But something about that instant concern seemed to touch that empty place inside, unsettling him more. “Actually he wasn’t, biologically speaking. The local police chief decided to let me know at the funeral that he was the guy who’d been screwing my mom when I was conceived.”
The comment, which was meant to sound flippant, sounded bitter and wounded instead.
Why did you tell her that, dumbass?
He kept on taking photos, circling Rosie, concentrating on the play of light over the tops of her breasts, the dusting of freckles across her cleavage, the dewy texture of her skin and denying the huge chasm opening up in the center of his chest.
Tying the sheet together over her breasts, Rosie stood and walked towards him, filling the viewfinder. Touching the telephoto lens, she directed the camera away from his face, until he was forced to stop pressing the shutter and meet her patient gaze.
The silence weighed him down, but he couldn’t seem to speak, something painful clogging his throat. And the hole in his chest getting larger and more empty. Her palm, warm and gentle, rested on his cheek, the sheen of moisture in her eyes stunning him.
“That must have been a terrible shock? To find out something like that at your father’s funeral?”
He shifted away from the consoling touch and tried to laugh. But the choking sound ricocheted around the studio, sounding harsh and forced.
“It wasn’t a shock. Hell, it wasn’t even a surprise. The whole town knew my mom was a whore.”
Rosie stiffened, but her gaze remained steady. “How do you know that?”
“Because it’s true.” The words were flat, unlike the stabbing pain in his gut. “She died in a car crash when I was five while she was running away with him. With Decker.” He knew he wasn’t making a lot of sense, but it seemed vital she knew, and understood. “My old man was the only one who would never believe she’d been cheating on him all along.”
He looked down at his feet, blinking furiously to keep the feelings at bay. The anger, the sense of betrayal, but most of all the hurt and confusion.
He studied the hardwood flooring and her bare feet, emotion making his throat ache like a son of a bitch. While that one sickening word echoed like a whiplash in his consciousness.
Whore.
Your mom was a whore, and everybody knows it.
He could see Charlie Randall’s sweaty eleven-year-old face, hurling the insult at him in the home room at Daley County Middle School – but beneath that memory was a hazier one of a beautiful woman with sunny caramel-colored hair and laughing brown eyes and a bosom that was always pillowy soft and smelled of petunia and Betty Crocker’s vanilla frosting.
“How do you know your dad wasn’t right?”
His head rose at the quiet statement. “What?”
“Did you speak to Decker? Did you ask him?”
The fist in his chest began to pound at his temples at the compassion on her face. “Why would I talk to him? The guy’s an asshole.” He dumped the camera on the table behind him. “Game’s over. I’ve got all the shots I wanted.” Not true, but true enough. “I can’t concentrate anyway.” He forced a smile to his lips, one he hoped looked seductive and not desperate. He traced the hard nub of one puckered nipple, through the cotton. “Looking at these for the last twenty minutes has made me horny as hell.”
Her breath caught and lust seared through him, obliterating everything in its path.
“How about we go back upstairs? Play a better game?”
Her tongue darted out to lick her top lip, and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Okay.” It was all the invitation he needed.
Gripping the sheet, he pulled her up, and slanted his lips across hers, desire charging through his system.
Her moan met his answering groan as he ripped the sheet loose, and let it flutter to the floor, then boosted her naked and shivering into his arms. She clung to his shoulders, her fingers threading through his hair as he palmed her generous butt and held on for dear life.
He took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, the pain in his chest disappearing as he concentrated on the pain in his pants. He devoured her mouth, not able to get enough of her hungry sobs.