Free The Sweet Under His Skin by Portia Gray Page B

Auntie Arielle?"
    She looked up at Calvin's careful question, and her heart leapt up into her throat.
    Clark Davidson.
    Hewas standing on her stoop, that was the first cause for panic. Then she took a moment to realize he was beaten. Both eyes were healing from bruises, blood pooling in his orbital sockets. His nose looked…different, as well. It had been broken, most definitely. She just stared, mouth hanging open, suddenly and guiltily, admitting to herself she definitely owed her neighbor a supper. And hot dogs seemed like not quite enough.
    "What are you doing here?" she snapped to hide her surprise.
    Clark's eyes darted downward to Calvin then back to her. They looked enough alike that he probably assumed Calvin was hers. "I came over to apologize."
    She waited, but that's all there was. "Okay," she returned slowly. "Not accepted."
    Calvin looked up at her over his shoulder. "Is this the guy that hit you?"
    Arielle was startled by the question, but her nephew was too smart not to have realized what happened, and who had done the damage in front of them. She ignored Calvin and looked back at Clark, waiting.
    "Fair enough," he said, reaching into his back pocket.
    Arielle tensed and yanked Calvin out of sight from the door, shoving him against the wall. It was an overreaction but she couldn't help it.
    Clark froze, hand out. "No, no. I'm not here to…I brought you this." He found what he wanted from his back pocket and held it out towards her. It was a fat envelope.
    She frowned, not reaching for it. "What is it?"
    "Please. Just take it. Okay?"
    "What is it?"
    Clark tensed his jaw and looked irritated, lowering his chin to stay calm. "It's the ten grand, okay? Just take it."
    "I don't want your money," she hissed, almost a whisper. "Are you insane? You think that makes it okay?"
    Now Clark was a mixture of scared and confused. "Look, take it and make sure to tell your friend I gave it to you."
    Arielle shook her head. "My friend? What the hell are you talking about?"
    Clark bit his lip, then fought to keep his tone calm. "Don't fucking jerk me around, Arielle. Take this money and tell your friend to stay the fuck away from me."
    It dawned on her so slowly she felt like smacking herself. Her friend who had done a little plastic surgery, that's what he meant.
    Wait, Quentin told Clark to give her money?
    "I don't know what he told you but I'm not taking payment for getting hit."
    "Take the fucking money and call him off, dammit!" Clark roared. There was the rage she'd seen when he hit her, and it made her shrink back despite her anger.
    "Easy, asshole." The voice was calm, odd, and she wouldn't have believed the effect it had on Clark Davidson if she hadn't seen it for herself.
    The madman in her doorway turned to face the madman on her lawn. Quentin was calmly smoking a cigarette, his eyes were focused on her visitor in a way that she never wanted to see directed at her.
    "Look, I brought her the cash—"
    "Good. Took you long enough," Quentin cut him off, pinching his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and holding a hand out. "Let me see it."
    At Quentin's voice Calvin moved to stand in front of her, and she clutched his shoulders to keep him inside the house. What the fuck was this maniac doing?
    Clark descended her four concrete steps with the enthusiasm of a man walking the plank and slapped his apparent payment into Quentin's hand. Quentin was smiling, cigarette still hanging out, eyes on Clark as he opened the envelope. He only looked down to thumb through the contents. Apparently he liked what he saw. He nodded, taking the cigarette out from between his lips to say, "Good job, Clark."
    "We're done here," Clark wanted verified. He looked over his shoulder at Arielle. "Right?"
    "Eyes on me, asshole," Quentin snapped. Clark did as told. The envelope was poked into his chest. "Remember me when you think it's okay to hit anyone. 'Cause you pick the wrong person and you're gonna get it back worse. You got no game,