Page 1 of Chasing Ink (House of Ink #3)

I Hate Weddings

A listair

I stare at Luke and Abigail as they dance together for the first time as husband and wife. They look sickeningly happy and I throw up in my mouth just a little.

Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for them, but I know I will never have this.

Since I can remember I have only wanted one girl, and she is so far off limits it’s laughable. She is also walking toward me with a smile I know means nothing but trouble.

“Why are you frowning?” she asks, staring up at me. “This is a happy occasion, and you look like you want to smash someone’s skull in.”

“Your brother put me in a monkey suit and this tie is strangling me.”

I pull at the offensive piece of silk and she laughs. Standing on her toes, she loosens the knot and lifts it over my head before undoing the top button of my shirt.

“What are you doing, Skye?” I ask, my voice a low rumble.

“Helping a friend,” she says back. “Does that feel better?”

I nod, unable to form any words. People think I’m quiet and stoic, but the truth is I’m terrified of saying anything because I may not be able to stop. If I allow any words to fall from my lips I just might let every thought I have ever had follow.

“Will you dance with me?” Skye asks softly. “My date stood me up.”

“Date?”

“Yes, Ali. People generally bring dates to weddings.”

“I don’t dance,” I say instead of asking who this person was. I already want to pummel him into the ground.

“You’ve danced with me,” she counters. “At my senior prom.”

I smile, remembering that night. “That’s because you looked so sad, all alone.”

Her face changes and I know I’ve said something wrong. Somehow, I always say the wrong thing to her. She turns to walk away and I grab her wrist.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean it like? Alistair?” She’s pissed. She only uses my full name when she’s angry. “Why don’t you explain to me, again, how you only spend time with me because I’m your best friend’s little sister. Or how we’re not really friends.”

Shit. I pull her away from the dance floor and out of the reception hall. I don’t want her brother seeing her this upset, not today.

“What do you want from me, Skye?” I ask once we are away from everyone else.

She glares, her chest heaving behind her grey silk dress. I can’t keep my eyes off her, haven’t been able to all day. The damn dress accentuates every curve of her body, and the fitted bodice lifts her full breasts even higher, making her cleavage more prominent.

“I want you to be a fucking man,” she says angrily. “Either we are friends and you stop treating me like a little girl. Or I am just Luke’s little sister and you stop eye fucking me.”

“What?”

“I’m not an idiot, Ali,” she says softly. “I know you’re not in love with me. This is real life, not a damn romance novel. But you want me.”

“I don’t...”

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Since I came back from New York, you’ve been weird around me. So either make a move or back the fuck off.”

I stare at her in disbelief. This is not how I thought this day would go at all. “Luke would kill me.” The words are soft, but she hears them.

She chuckles, a broken, sad sound. “That’s how I know you’re not in love with me. If you were, my brother’s reaction wouldn’t matter.”

She turns and walks away from me and my heart breaks.

I love Skye Baxter. I’ve loved her since we were kids. But I can’t do anything about it. She deserves more, better than me. I’m eight years older than her and her brother’s best friend. I’m a fucking tattoo artist with nothing but a house, truck, and dog to my name for god’s sake.

So instead of going after her, instead of telling her the truth, I watch her walk away. And for the first time since I laid my eyes on her all those years ago, I think she may really be done with me.

****

F ucking destination weddings. Yes, Tahiti is nice this time of year, but I want to be home, not on this fucking island for the next damn week.

I want to go to work where I can bleed my frustration out in my art.

Instead, I’m sitting alone in my bungalow, drinking an overpriced beer and trying to figure out how the hell I let everything fall to shit.

Someone knocks on my door and I stare at the wood.

“I know you’re awake.”

Skye. Fuck me. She shouldn’t be here. I’ve had quite a lot to drink since we fought and I’m not sure I have it in me to push her away anymore.

“Please Ali, I just want to talk.”

Her voice cracks on the last word and I stride over to the door and pull it open. She doesn’t give me a moment to say anything before she slips inside, her shoes in her hand and her black curls a riotous mess down her back.

I close the door softly, leaning back against the wood even though I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be alone in a confined space with her when I’m sober, much less when I’m halfway to tanked.

“What do you want, Skye?” I ask gruffly. “Didn’t you say it all earlier?”

It’s only when she lifts the bottle of tequila to her lips that I realize she has been drinking. She turns to face me, tears swimming in green eyes. She looks so lost that I just want to wrap her in my arms and hold her.

“I don’t know what I want,” she says softly. “I just know that I can’t lose you. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I’ve had a few drinks and I was just angry that I got stood up. Please don’t be angry at me.”

The moment the first tear tracks down her cheek, I’ve lost the battle.

I sweep her up into my arms, depositing her near-empty tequila bottle on the low coffee table before I fall into the couch beside it.

I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight as she cries and I know I will do anything and everything in my power to get her to stop.

“I’m not angry, baby doll,” I say gently, rubbing circles on her back.

“You should be. I was so mean.”

I chuckle. “I have thicker skin than you know.”

She tilts her head back to look at me and I swear my heart stops. How am I supposed to stay strong when she looks at me like that? Her gaze traces my features, looking for God knows what. She takes a deep breath and then her lips are on mine.

Fuck.

My.

Life.

I don’t push her away, telling myself I will just let it last for a moment, something I can savor when I am alone at night. But the moment she swings her leg over my lap and straddles me I know I’m fucked.

I should stop this, but I don’t. No, like the fucking idiot I am, I soak in every moment and pray that tomorrow we can go back to normal.

Her lips on mine are firm but soft and I can’t help but deepen the kiss.

My hand tangles in her hair and she opens her lips and allows my tongue access.

She tastes like tequila and sin and I want to consume her.

She rubs her pussy against my obscene erection and I stop dead in my tracks. This is Luke’s little sister. I can’t fucking do this. No matter how drunk we are.

Slowly, I shift her off my lap until she sits beside me. Leaning forward, I rest me elbow on my knees and rest my head on my palms. I wish my hair was longer so I had something to pull at.

“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” I say softly.

“Why not?” she whispers in return. “I thought we were both enjoying it.”

“You’re drunk....”

“I knew what I wanted before I started drinking,” she retorts, standing and pacing the length of the bungalow. “I’ve wanted you since I was a damn teenager, Alistair, so don’t tell me this has to do with the fact that I’m drunk.”

“Skye...”

“Let’s make a deal.” Her voice has gone up two octaves. “You want me and I want you. We’re here, on this island for the next week. Let’s just forget about who we are at home.”

“What?”

“Yes,” she says with a bright smile. “This is brilliant. This way we don’t have to worry about it turning shit upside down. You get a vacation fling and I can learn all the things I need to know for when I actually find a man that wants me.”

I’m standing now too. “You cannot be serious!”

“Oh, but I am,” she says with several nods. “I want you to teach me about sex and blowjobs and orgasms. And when we go back to Frankliton we can go back to our normal lives.”

“Teach?” I am confused as fuck, and I don’t know if she’s too drunk for this conversation or I am, but I do know that none of what she is saying makes a damn lick of sense. “Why would you need...”

She stares at me with a dumbfounded look. “I’m a virgin.” She says it so matter of fact, but it hits me like a ton of bricks.

“No. I’ve seen you leave the bar with guys. You went to college in New York for crying out loud.”

She laughs. She actually fucking laughs. “I’ve never even had someone touch my boobs. That kiss,” she points at the couch we were just sitting on. “That was like the sixth kiss in my whole life and definitely the first proper one.”

“But... You always say stuff,” I mutter stumbling over my own words. None of this is making any fucking sense.

“It’s embarrassing.”

I stare at her in stunned silence. My mind and my hormones are raging a mile a minute. My cock is hard and heavy in my pants, begging to get to her. I could be her first.

“Please Ali?” her words are soft as she places her hand on my chest, over my erratically beating heart. “I trust you. And after, we can walk away. No one needs to know.”

Fuck, that’s tempting. Even though I know I will never be able to forget any of this, or her, I really, stupidly, want to grab this opportunity. Even if it means that I will live the rest of my life knowing what it is like to have her but still needing to let her go.

“If you still want to do this when you’re sober, come talk to me.”