Temptation’s Edge (27 page)

And when was she going to stop questioning every single thing when it came to Connor?

They’d just agreed to let things be, hadn’t they? She needed to stick to her end of the bargain. No matter how hard it was going to be later on.

Stay in the moment.

That was the key. To simply be in the
now
. Tomorrow—figuratively speaking, since the tomorrow she was dreading was still two weeks away—would be here soon enough.

“Mischa? You staying in there all night? Food’s nearly ready,” Connor called through the door.

“I’ll be right out.”

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The apartment smelled wonderful, and when she went into the kitchen she found Connor standing over the stove, a spatula in one hand, which made her smile.

“Do you need some help?” she asked him.

“Nah, I’m good. Just an omelet. I hope you like mushrooms and tomatoes. You’re not one of those health nuts who won’t eat cheese, are you?”

“I love cheese. I love almost everything.”

He glanced up at her, flashed her a quick grin before returning his gaze to the pan.

“Have a seat, then.”

She did, sliding onto the bench in the breakfast nook, where a pair of napkins and forks were neatly placed. She watched him expertly flip the omelet, then a few moments later he slid it onto a plate. He set it down in front of her.

“Scoot over—we’re sharing,” he ordered.

She scooted, loving it when he moved in close beside her, his big arm brushing hers.

“This looks great. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“Nothing gourmet, but enough to keep myself fed. I stay up late working a lot, so I often find myself eating late at night. Here, how is it?”

He picked up a fork, cut a piece and fed it to her. The cheese melted on her tongue.

“Mmm, very good. Do you like to cook?”

“I don’t mind it. But I’d prefer someone else cook for me, which has never really happened. And which is why I also eat out a lot.” He paused to take a bite himself.

“No one’s ever cooked regularly for you?” she asked as he prepared to feed her another bite.

“Sure, my mum, growing up. Then Ginny, for a while. Ah, sorry. Shouldn’t have brought her up.”

“No, it’s fine.”

He chewed another forkful of omelet. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“I don’t have much time to cook these days, with running the shop, doing tattoos, writing a few novellas a year just to keep my hand in it.”

“That’s right—you’re a published erotica author, like Dylan.”

“Yes, just a few stories out there. It’s not my main career focus,
obviously, but I love it. It exercises a different part of my creative mind. And that’s how I met Dylan.”

“That’s good, then.”

“It is. But I end up eating out with friends or ordering in a lot, too. I can cook, though. I had plenty of practice as a kid. I cooked for Evie and Raine all the time.”

“As a kid? Your mother didn’t cook for you?”

“Sometimes, but to be honest it was mostly tofu and whole grains and green stuff I could barely recognize. Raine and I liked it better when Evie would forget to stop painting, or working on whatever art project she had going. I’d grab some cash out of her wallet and we’d go to the nearest grocery store. When I was nine I bought myself a copy of
The Joy of Cooking
and taught myself a few things. Raine became my sous chef as we got older. She’s a really great cook, now. I don’t know how she does it, with her job and everything. But Raine is a bit of a powerhouse. She always told me she’d rise above the hippie name Evie gave her, and she has. In spades.”

“What about you? Have you risen above your name? Which I don’t think is exactly a hippie name, by the way.”

“Not like Raine is. But yes, I’ve absolutely risen above it. Above everything.”

Connor set his fork down, and she realized they’d polished off the omelet.

“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

A small knot was forming in her chest as she realized what had somehow leaked from her mouth while they were eating. Why had she babbled on about her family to him?

She shook her head. “You don’t want to hear all this stuff, Connor.”

“Sure I do. Why not?”

“Because it’s…not the happiest story.”

He shrugged, the muscles in his bare shoulders rippling. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Well…I guess ‘everything’ is just…growing up with Evie. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

She looked at him, found his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.

“Yeah, I do.”

She bit her lip. “Everything” with Evie was a hell of a lot. “She’d forget about us fairly often, you know? She’d get caught up in a painting or a sculpture or sitting at her potter’s wheel, and Raine and I would just disappear for her. And if there was a man around…” A short laugh slipped from her. “Well, she was just gone. Sometimes literally for days at a time. Until she got tired of him, or he got tired of her. You’d think she’d have learned, after my father disappearing, then Raine’s father breaking things off with her after she told him she was pregnant with Raine. Evie would always swear she wasn’t going to fall for that again, but she did, every time.

“It was a little easier when we lived at the communes. There were other adults around to sort of take up the slack. We’d get a hot meal. Other kids to play with, whose mothers would sometimes make us clothes or read to us when they did that stuff for their own kids. But still…we knew something was off in our lives. That this was not how people lived. Without televisions and a mother who would make it to parent-teacher night at school.” She paused, sighed as she pushed her hair from her face, her gaze going to the empty plate. “Kids need that stuff.”

Connor laid a hand on the back of her head, stroked her hair. “I’m sorry you didn’t have it.”

She looked up at him. There was still a softness in his features. Not pity. Just sympathy.

“It sounds as if you missed a lot from your childhood, Connor.”

“I did. Which is why I know how it hurts. But we’ll save that tale for another day.”

“All right.”

She didn’t mind. She didn’t take it as a bad sign that he wasn’t ready to share the details of what had happened with his father. It was enough that she’d felt so able to talk to him about her past, ugliness and all. It was enough to sit in his warm kitchen, the rain starting to come down outside, making her feel safe and cozy with Connor sitting next to her.

It had been a long time since she’d felt this safe with anyone. And never with a man. She’d never felt about anyone else the way she did about Connor.

But it was enough to revel in the comfort, right now, rather than question it. She’d save that tale for another day.

Connor kept his hand at the small of Mischa’s back as they moved through Koi, the Japanese restaurant where they were to meet Alec and Dylan for dinner. It felt somewhat strange going there together, almost as a couple, but Alec had asked him again, told him he was overthinking it and to just come. It was something he hadn’t experienced for a long time, not like this. It was different from taking a woman to a party, or to the Pleasure Dome. But there was also something that felt natural about it, because it was Mischa.

Everything felt natural with her. Things had been easy between them this past week, since the night she’d worked on his tattoo. Even the revealing talk they’d had at his kitchen table. Well, revealing for her, at any rate. But he was glad they’d talked. She’d been more open since then, on every level. It had made the sex, the power play, thrilling as hell.

And he’d be lying to himself if he thought that was the only thrill.

Not now.

No, now he spotted Alec’s hulking figure at a table near the rain-spattered window, Dylan looking tiny beside him. Their heads were together, her dark auburn hair shining in the dim light of the restaurant. Pretty hair, Dylan had. But not the pale spun gold like his Mischa.

His.

Lord.

He let his fingers tighten possessively at her waist—
needed
to for a moment—and she turned to him, her blue gaze questioning. He smiled, and she shrugged, letting it go.

“Hey.” Alec stood to greet them, giving Connor a good pounding on the back, leaning over to kiss Mischa’s cheek before Dylan got up to hug them both.

He helped Mischa into her chair, then sat beside her at the table.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long. Traffic was hell,” Connor said, flipping his napkin into his lap.

“Just a few minutes,” Dylan answered. “We hit traffic, too. But we’ve already ordered some calamari and a round of beers. Hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, you are the little subbie girl,” Mischa teased her.

“Ha! You’re one to talk, these days, hon.” Dylan beamed even as she protested, and Alec grinned down at her.

“You two,” Connor said. “Grinning like fools.”

“Like happy fools,” Alec said, lifting Dylan’s hand to his lips to drop a quick kiss there. “You should try it sometime.”

“Nah, happy isn’t for me.”

He realized only as he said it that a good part of him truly
believed it. He glanced at Mischa, shook the thought away. He was happy enough at the moment, wasn’t he?

The waiter came with their beer and he poured his into a tall glass, then poured Mischa’s, too. He took a swallow. “So, where are you in wedding details? Just about finished up by now, I’d imagine?”

“God, no.” Dylan shook her head. “There are still a thousand things to do. I had no idea weddings were so much work.”

“Good thing this is the only wedding either of us will have to have,” Alec said, looping an arm across her shoulders.

“And good thing Mischa is here to help.”

“I wish I was of more help. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Kara and Lucie I’d be totally lost. And I’m sorry I have to get back to San Francisco, Dylan. I wish I could stay right up to the wedding.”

So do I.

Connor took another long draught from his beer glass. He had to stop thinking that way. There was no point.

A small twist in his gut, but he wasn’t having it. He took another swallow, saw that he’d nearly drained the glass already, realized what he was doing and set his glass down. He wasn’t going down that road, drowning the thoughts roaring in his head with alcohol.

“Don’t worry, Misch,” Dylan said. “I understand. You have a business to run. Speaking of business, how are things going with Greyson?”

Another odd twist in his gut that he chose to ignore. He didn’t like hearing that man’s name. Didn’t like to be reminded of how close Mischa was to him.

Fuck. He was being a right idiot.

“Everything’s going really smoothly. Opening a new shop with a partner to do half the work is a lot easier than it was doing
it myself with Thirteen Roses. We’ve already had a preview peek at the architectural plans for the build-out, and it’s looking great. And we finally chose a name—1st Avenue Ink.”

“That’s exciting,” Alec said. “When do you think you’ll open?”

“Oh, it’ll still be a good four months or more. That’s if the build-out goes well. But I’m counting on a few hitches. Contractors aren’t always the most reliable bunch. And even if Greyson’s guy is as good as he says he is, I know things happen he can’t foresee.” Mischa shrugged.

“But you’ll be back to check on things before then?” Dylan asked.

Connor clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his chest tightened. He glanced up and found Alec watching him.

“Definitely,” Mischa answered. “We still have to hire artists and a shop manager, and we’ve agreed we won’t take anyone on until we’ve both met them. We don’t plan to hire any artists just from seeing their portfolios. We want to be sure they’re a good fit in every way. Personality clashes can ruin a tattoo shop—the clients always feel the tension, so we’re being careful.”

Alec raised an eyebrow at him. Connor pretended he had no idea what the question was.

“How often do you think you’ll make it?” Dylan asked her.

Connor’s fingers flexed on his glass. He hadn’t let it go, apparently. Alec noticed it, too. He was still watching him, and he knew damn well his friend was taking in every response, the same way he would a sub he was playing. The man was too damn well trained in the art of observation.

“Probably at least once a month, for a few days or a week at a time. It depends on how busy the shop in San Francisco is. But it’ll be good practice for Billy for when I’m splitting time between the two shops.”

“You’ll need a place to stay when you come,” Dylan suggested.

Mischa waved a hand. “I can camp at a hotel until I find a place of my own.”

“Don’t be silly, Misch. I was going to rent my apartment out after the wedding, but that can wait. Why don’t you stay there?”

Or at my place.

What was he thinking?

“I don’t want to put you out. You’ll have to at least let me pay you some rent.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is, Dylan. I won’t even consider it otherwise. But if you’re really okay with it I’d love to stay at your place; I’m always so comfortable there. And it’ll be nice to have a home base with all the stress of opening a new shop.”