Free Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) by Verlene Landon Page B

arteries and veins called to her—the first syllable when exiting his heart, the second on its return.
    Whether he liked it or not, she was now a part of him. He could only pray, with time, that part wouldn’t be as lethal as it felt now. Honestly, he’d love nothing more than to pursue a relationship with her, but he was afraid, scared as fuck really. He was terrified he may never see her as the salvation he now wanted to believe she could be, and instead, be doomed to view her as the woman who destroyed the last decent part of him left after Tonya decimated the rest.
    It’s not her fault. It’s that bitch waitress who tried to crush those last vestiges of you worth salvaging. Tori can save you.
    Fuck, he was turning against himself. The desire to ram his head into a brick wall over and over to quiet that inner voice was damn near irresistible. In spite of all this bullshit, he had an overwhelming urge to know everything about her.
    “So, Tori from the plane, tell me what makes you, you ? You can tell me while we cuddle, I wasn’t lying when I said I was good at it. If it were an Olympic sport, I would’ve medaled in it. Gold each winter, guaranteed.” Waggled eyebrows and a well-timed wink usually brought a woman to her knees, so he had no reason to believe she would be immune.
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You need your rest, and I need to return to my cabin. I’ll check on you in the morning.” Tori was pushing against his chest, trying to wiggle off the bed. Shit, all she had to do was let her eyes drift to his crotch and she would know her actions were having a side effect she didn’t count on.
    Fuck if she didn’t look like a frightened little lamb, but even that was adorable. His heart picked up a beat, not just because it was cute as Hell, but because it offered him proof that she was not as unaffected by him as she tried to pretend. She was attracted to him on a base level and if he wasn’t over-reading the situation, a deeper one too, perhaps. That served to push some of his anger toward her even further away.
    “Relax, sweetheart, I meant as friends. Platonic cuddling, that’s a thing right? I just really want to get to know you, what makes you tick. And if I have your oath of secrecy?” He waited for her to relax and nod in assent. “I genuinely don’t want to be alone right now.” A look of understanding dawned on her face and Michael felt he should open up a little, get the ball rolling so to speak.
    “When I was little, and I got a boo-boo or was sick, my mom would lie beside me and stroke my hair. Play with it, really. I always had longer hair than was the style. Anyway, she would twirl my hair and sing something from whatever decade she was feeling, or power ballads, to me. That’s where my love of music started, I think. It became the only thing that would soothe me. Even as a grown ass man, I like to have my hair played with when I don’t feel good.” Chancing a glance toward her face, he expected to see her shock or disgust or…something—judgment, or pity, maybe—but that wasn’t even close to what he saw.
    There was none of that. Instead, he witnessed understanding and warmth and, dare he dream, affection. It looked like genuine affection for him as a person. Not just the singer on stage or the trainer in the gym. He used to love those looks of lust and desire he got based just on his voice or physique, Hell, he’d lived for them. So much so he didn’t realize how much he desired a look of attraction based on his inside not his outside. It was beautiful, shit, she was beautiful, and not just outwardly either. How could he hate someone like her?
    Reaching out, hesitantly and halting, she placed her hand on his head. The sense of rightness just crashed over him like a waterfall. Slowly, she began stroking, caressing, and twirling his hair. Michael closed his eyes and savored the feelings that her touch brought. The physical sensations were delicious, but the