Page 10 of Worthy (Adrenalin #1)
Chapter nine
Maddox
I ’m going to get whiplash trying to keep up with Cade’s moods. One day he’s flirty and mischievous, the next sweet and caring, the next virtually indifferent with an undertone of lust. I know that doesn’t make sense, but that’s Cade in a nutshell. Nothing he does makes any sort of sense to me.
And the worst part, instead of running away from that confusion the way I should, I find myself wanting to run to it. To figure it out.
As if I could.
I put my bags in the trunk and shut it just as Cade strolls into the parking lot, which makes my heartbeat accelerate. A quick glance down the aisle and I see his truck parked a few spaces away. Strange I didn’t notice that until now, although admittedly I was a little distracted by the memory of his pecs outlined in the slightly too small t-shirt Ally put him in.
I’ve seen him without a shirt of course, which is a damn fine sight, but at the time I didn’t take a moment to enjoy it because my guard was up. I saw a guy who knew he was hot, liked to flirt, and I assumed that was the extent of him. I judged him by how he looked and decided I didn’t need to know any more, and didn’t want his sights set on me .
But after getting to know him a bit, after learning some of who he is and realizing the flirty playboy is only a part of the whole package, I’m not afraid of noticing how amazing his body is. I’m not afraid of what that might lead to. Nervous maybe, but not afraid. I’m actually a little curious about it.
Cade stops cold when he sees me, briefly, and I can’t tell if the look on his face is one of relief or unease. But it’s gone before I can decipher it, and he strolls slowly forward and meets me at my car.
″You survived your first costume fitting with Ally,” he drawls, a hint of a smirk on his face.
I know this is Cade’s way of talking without talking, because flirting is common ground for him, but I’ll take it over the total lack of conversation in the store.
″That’s a common occurrence?” I play along, smiling back.
″At least three or four times a year.” His blonde hair sways gently as he nods.
″What can you possibly have to dress up for so often?”
″The bike race, Fourth of July, Halloween.” He ticks off his fingers with a sly grin as he goes. “This town likes its costumes.”
″I’m not sure if that’s amusing or concerning.” I worry my lip, taking in what looks like part of a bike dangling from his hand.
″A little of both, probably.”
″And you dress up for all of them?” I search my brain for any memory of costumes during my past visits to see Uncle Rick and come up empty.
″Ally would have our heads if we didn’t.”
″What did you do before Ally?”
“Huh?” He cocks his head.
″You said she and her husband moved here not long ago. What did you do before you had a costume designer? ”
″Probably wore the same costume for everything, I guess.” The bike- ish thing he’s holding floats up as he shrugs.
″That’s part of her costume?” I gesture toward the bundle of metal in his hand.
″Maybe. I don’t have it completely figured out yet. But the hoop skirt suggestion gave me some ideas, once I figured out what it was.” He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture I’m becoming fond of even though I haven’t decided if it’s rooted in modesty or embarrassment.
″Can I see it?” I’m legitimately curious about what he’s doing, but I also want to keep talking to him, since he’s at least talking right now.
My request catches him off guard. I can see him debating what to say, and it makes me wonder if it’s too personal. But that doesn’t make any sense. He already told me he does some welding, and no one at the concert seemed surprised when Ally asked if he could build her bike. So why is he wavering?
″Yeah, sure.” He finally exhales, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “You can follow me.”
We pull out of the lot, and I follow him to a neighborhood about five minutes out of town. The houses are smaller here and feel homier than where my uncle’s house is. That neighborhood is for vacationers, people who want space and quiet to relax, and this place has more of a community feel, with a park around the corner, and kids running everywhere.
We arrive at a cute little bungalow with a front porch spanning the length of the house, and a long drive leading to a garage in the back. Cade gets out of the truck and starts heading toward it. There’s a regular door to the side of the garage doors, and he holds it open for me to walk inside.
There are high and low cabinets around the perimeter, with what looks like a butcher block counter covering the lower cabinets, although it’s hard to tell under all the tools resting on it. There’s also a massive table in the middle of the space, with several stools underneath it. I recognize the mask you wear when welding, and what I think is the welder itself, but nothing else looks familiar. It’s just a random bunch of parts and pieces, although it does look like things are grouped together by size and shape.
In the corner closest to the garage door, it looks like there are several finished pieces. One resembles something like the tin man from Wizard of Oz, only rounder, because it’s made with mostly gears and pipe and standing on a block of wood. It also looks like there’s a bench of some kind. A bike frame with a cage-like thing on it is resting against the center table, and I’m guessing this must be his creation for Ally.
″It’s, uh, kind of a mess.” He clears a space at the table. “I don’t have many people in here.”
His statement makes my heart thump soundly in my chest, but I try to ignore it. He’s obviously trying to excuse the chaos, not implying there’s anything special about me being here.
″Shouldn’t it be a mess?” I ask as I take in the clutter. “I mean, a clean workshop would mean there wasn’t much work, right?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up like he’s fighting a smile. “True, but this isn’t work. This is just messing around.”
I wander over to the man made of gears and look to Cade for permission. He nods, and I pick it up, turning it over in my hands to see all of it. It’s not overly large, a little over a foot tall, but it’s heavy. Solid. There’s one large gear for the torso and a smaller one for the head. Straight rods are used for the arms and legs, but they’re put together at angles that suggest movement, like the little man is waving his arms as he strolls along, or maybe dancing. Even though there’s no real expression coming from the gears it feels like this portly man is happy .
″You like it?” Cade asks.
″I do,” I mutter, tilting it to look from another angle.
″Why?”
″He looks like he’s enjoying life,” I say without thinking, then immediately backtrack when my words register. “I mean, I know that sounds stupid, it’s just a bunch of gears. But he looks sort of fat and happy.” I shrug as if the comment was said offhand, though when I finally meet Cade’s eyes, I find he’s staring at me intently.
″What?” I brace for one of his indifferent replies, sure I’ve somehow offended him, but that’s not what I get.
″This reminds me of my grandpa.” He takes the sculpture from me and turns it over in his hands, studying it. “Fat and happy is a good way to describe him.” Cade shakes his head, almost like he’s confused. Or amused. I can’t tell which. “He was a tinkerer, hence the gears, and the older he got the fatter he got, which he blamed on my grandma’s cooking. But he was always moving. Always smiling. He’s the one who taught me how to weld.”
″He sounds interesting.”
″He is. He lived here until he started to have trouble breathing and had to move to a lower elevation… Left me this house and his workshop when he moved…” Cade trails off, looking around the room before his eyes come to rest on the sculpture in his hands, then me.
Suddenly, the air around us is so thick with emotion I can’t breathe. The way Cade’s looking at the sculpture—at me —reeks of an intensity I don’t know how to interpret, and rather than try, I panic, grasping at the first thing that comes to mind.
″Show me the bike,” I blurt.
His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before he puts the fat man down and turns to the bike. “I was going for sort of a birdcage, like a frame that drapes over the back half of the bike, but it didn’t leave much room for Ally to get on. I thought about a door that would swing open on hinges, but that could trap her on it.”
He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. I’m starting to wonder if that’s his way of working through what’s on his mind as he speaks. It’s cute.
He sighs heavily, looking at his work. ″Right now, I’ve got the frame going from behind the seat and over just the back tire so she can drape her coat over it. That way she can get on and pedal like normal since it’s behind her. I still think I need something for the side of the bike to keep it from getting caught in the gears.”
″I think it looks good so far.” I inspect the frame. “Like a bustle.”
″A what?” He looks at me curiously.
″A bustle. It’s a thing that makes it look like a woman’s butt juts out behind her.” I mime the silhouette of a bustle with my hand, but all I get is a curious and slightly intrigued look.
“You know, Cinderella,” I prompt.
Still nothing.
“You don’t have sisters, do you?”
He shakes his head.
I pull out my phone and google bustles, showing Cade the images that come up. He looks between those and the frame he’s added to the bike and cracks a smile. “I guess it does kind of look like that. And now your little,” he waves his hand behind his butt, “makes sense.” He laughs.
″So, what’s left then?” I gesture to the bike.
″Ah, I guess a few more supports for this bustle, but maybe lower so Ally’s whole leg isn’t caged in,” he rubs the back of his neck again. “I won’t really know until I get something on there.”
″Can I watch? I mean, if you’re going to do something now? ”
″I’m not ready to put anything on the bike yet, but I can show you something else, if you just want to see how it works,” he offers.
″Yeah,” I grin.
″Ok, gimme a sec to see what I have to work with.” He digs through different drawers, picking out some gears and what looks like pieces of thin metal pipe. One long piece he leaves straight, but the shorter ones he puts through some sort of press so they start to bend.
When he’s got everything where he wants it, he grabs a stool and sits down as he places the mask on his head.
″Best not to come any closer.” He warns as he gives his head a little jerk and the mask falls over his eyes. The movement is so casually sexy I kind of want him to lift the mask up so he has to do it again, but before I can embarrass myself with that request he turns on the welder, and it’s hard to see anything else.
He positions two pieces of metal together and holds a third tiny sliver of metal above them. The welder seems to melt it, binding the separate pieces along the seam he’s creating. He repeats the process over and over, attaching smaller curved pieces of metal to the one longer piece.
The garage heats up as he goes, but I don’t notice the temperature because I’m so focused on his hands. They’re covered with bulky gloves, but they’re steady, moving almost delicately to avoid missing a spot or straying off course. He’s absolutely still except for his hands, and I don’t know if that’s how it always is or if it’s because he’s working with small materials, but it makes me appreciate the concentration needed to create.
The process is slow, but not so slow that I can’t see it come together. The smaller pieces sticking off the large straight rod sort of resemble leaves, and I’m guessing he intends to use the large gear as a flower .
When he raises his helmet, I’m almost disappointed, because I really want to see the finished product. Then I notice the spark in his eye, and I feel my heartbeat pick up.
″Want to try?” He holds the tools out.
″Me?” I point to my chest. “I’m not really good with tools. I don’t want to mess up your flower.”
″You won’t mess it up, I’ll help you.”
He hands me a pair of gloves and an apron of sorts and adjusts a mask to fit my head. Then he guides me to the stool and stands behind me, placing the welder in my hand. I try to breathe normally with him pressed against my back, but there’s no stopping my heartbeat from accelerating, which it seems to do every time he gets close.
″We’re going to attach the stem to the back of this gear. The gear is our base metal, and this is our bond.” He gives me a sliver of metal like what he was melting earlier. “We’re going to bond the stem to the gear. Hold the bond metal where we’re going to connect the two, and we’ll melt that to join the two pieces together. Got it?”
I nod, and the mask drops down to cover my face. It wasn’t intentional, but it makes him laugh. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be a natural at this?” I catch his grin right before his own mask falls into place.
Cade turns the machine on and positions his hands over mine to help keep them steady. Together we move the bond metal to the parts we want to stick together. The heat coming off the welder makes the room stuffy, and it’s kind of nerve wracking to see sparks flying around as we work, but welding is kind of a rush, and I’m sort of amped when I see that the two pieces we forged together do resemble a flower.
″Wow.” I lift the front of the mask for a better look .
″Nice work.” He admires our effort while I take off the gloves and flex my hands. “I’ve never made a flower before, but it turned out pretty well.”
″What made you try it now?” I hold up the flower.
″You study plants and shit, right?” His tone is nonchalant, forcibly so, but that only gives the words more impact. And even though he’s not exactly right about what I study, the fact he made the effort to choose something that would be personal to me is endearing.
So much so, I set the flower down as I choke out, “What do you usually make?”
″Whatever comes to mind.” He takes his own mask and gloves off and goes to hang them on the far wall. “I just take what I have available and piece things together for fun. The bike is the first thing I’ve done with an end goal.”
″So, this flower just came to you from looking at what was lying around the shop?” I marvel.
″Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
″I can’t imagine looking at a bunch of different parts and putting them together to make something new,” I compliment him.
″They don’t always turn out this nice,” he chuckles. “Half the stuff I throw out because it never turns into anything. But sometimes I get lucky and things fall into place.”
″Like your grandpa sculpture?” I tease, realizing too late that sculpture triggers something serious in him since his expression turns thoughtful. Somber.
″Exactly like that,” he says softly, almost distantly, except the look in his eyes is anything but distant. It’s penetrating, seeming to look inside me instead of at me. I feel self-conscious under his gaze, but not because of its intensity. Because of its uncertainty, like he doesn’t t otally understand what’s happening, and doesn’t know what to do about it.
I’m helpless to do anything but return his stare. I don’t know what’s happening either. I can’t explain why I feel a connection to him, why his past doesn’t scare me, or why he seems to open up to me in a way I don’t think he does with others. So, we stand there, suspended in time, just watching each other. Waiting.
It’s too late to pretend this hasn’t turned into a moment, but I don’t know what to do about it. So, I wait, until he finally takes a step. And another. And another. Until he’s standing right in front of me, and I have to look up from my spot on the stool to see into his cloudy blue eyes.
″You know, you’re the first person to see a happy guy in those gears.” He lifts the mask off my head and sets it on the table.
″I am?” My heart is beating so loud I barely hear my own response. He’s so close, towering over me. I almost feel like prey. But the look in his eyes isn’t menacing. It’s gentle.
″You see a lot of things other people miss, don’t you?” he says, more to himself than to me.
″What do you mean?” My voice comes out raspy.
″Situations, people.” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You see into them. Just don’t be fooled by what you think you see in me. It’s not real.”
″What do you think I see?” I murmur, searching his murky gaze.
″Something that isn’t there,” he says softly. “I’m not as good as you want me to be.”
″You want me to believe a man who’s honest and fun, who looks out for the people around him, including a guy he just met, is bad?” I dare him to explain away his attributes .
″A guy who’s only ever used people for sex is bad.” The words are spoken without emotion, but the look on his face is sad. Almost regretful.
″That’s not who you are.” I shake my head.
″It is,” he insists, fingering my hair again. “You just don’t want to believe that about me.”
″I believe using people for sex is something you’ve done. It doesn’t mean that’s all you are,” I say softly.
″How can you be sure? You barely know me.” He searches my eyes, looking for the lie, I think.
″I know enough,” I whisper.
″Saying shit like that about me makes me want to believe it.” He rests his forehead against mine. “It makes me want to kiss you, even though I shouldn’t.”
″I won’t stop you.” I breathe, because right now, even knowing it could backfire, there’s nothing I want more.
Cade pulls back slightly and cups my face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks. His blue eyes are filled with a mixture of wonder and lust so powerful it steals my breath, and in this moment, I know only his lips on mine will restore it.
But the kiss doesn’t come.
Instead, he traces his thumb gently over my lower lip, back and forth, eyes locked on the gentle movement. Then he leans forward.
I close my eyes and sigh just as Cade’s lips meets mine, soft and sweet and impossibly chaste for the man known as a playboy, yet utterly perfect.
His kiss is tender, almost reverent, like this is a dream he doesn’t want to wake from, so he’s careful not to move too quickly.
″Fuck you taste good,” he mumbles against my mouth. “So sweet. So fucking soft. ”
The words are dirty and endearing at the same time, and hearing them makes me gasp. Cade takes advantage, flicking his tongue against my lip to coax mine out, brushing them together in a slow dance that makes my chest literally ache from the delicacy.
His strokes are light, the barest of friction, yet this is the most fulfilling kiss I’ve ever experienced.
I assumed Cade would be a good kisser, but I expected those kisses to be passionate. Hungry. Not slow and gentle, like he’s savoring the contact. Savoring me .
Cade’s mouth brushes affectionately over mine as his hands caress my cheeks, my jaw, my throat. His touch is sensual, patient, like he could spend hours doing nothing more than exploring my mouth, learning my taste.
I’ve never been kissed like this before. Never been made to feel cherished, like my touch is a precious gift, but that’s exactly what Cade’s doing to me right now, making me feel as though kissing me is the most profound sensation he’s ever experienced.
It’s profound for me too, so intense and intimate I can’t contain the emotion building inside me. I sigh, a throaty, lust-filled exhale that makes Cade freeze and pull back slowly.
His jaw is locked tight as his eyes roam over my face, lingering briefly on my lips before meeting my gaze, searching. Waiting. His breathing is shallow, like it’s taking all his energy to stay in control, and while the gentle exploration we just shared was perfect on so many levels, it’s no longer enough. I want more. I break our stare to look at his lips, and his restraint evaporates.
Cade hoists me off the stool and sets me on the table, putting my face level with his. He casts my apron aside and spreads my legs wide so he can step between them, pressing our bodies together as he crushes his mouth to mine. He moves urgently, hungrily, threading his fingers in my hair and tilting my head where he wants it so his tongue can slide against mine. This is the passion I expected from a man with his experience, and while I don’t want to think about how he got that experience, I’m not complaining about its benefits.
Whereas our first kiss was sweet and tender, this kiss is carnal. Demanding. Lips and tongues and teeth clashing together furiously now that we’ve given into our desire. Both kisses are intense in their own way, but while Cade had me melting earlier, he now has me burning up.
His mouth clings to mine, his tongue stroking feverishly against my own, coaxing a moan from deep in my throat. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss.
I slide my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, into his hair, relishing the feel of the soft strands sliding through my fingers. I swear he growls under my touch, clutching my head in his hands and pulling me closer.
Heat explodes through my body, traveling from my mouth, past my chest, and settling between my legs. It’s been several months since I felt the sweet ache of desire, sensed the press of a man’s erection against mine. I rock my hips forward to relieve the pressure building there and feel the extent of Cade’s need. Flames shoot through me as I grind against his length, the friction causing me to moan against his mouth. I want more of that.
I rock forward again and…
Cade utters a strangled groan and steps back so our bodies are no longer pressed together, although he’s still holding my head in his hands, forehead pressed to mine.
″Fuck, Madd,” he pants. “I wasn’t supposed to do that. You shouldn’t have let me touch you. ”
″I wanted you to touch me.” I heave, just as breathless. “I want you to keep touching me.”
I feel his head shake slightly. “Don’t say that to me. It’s hard enough to resist you as is.”
″Why resist?” I gasp.
″You know why.” He traces his fingers along my cheeks.
″I don’t.” I shake my head.
″Yes, you do. Your first instinct about me was the right one.” He drops his hands and takes a step back.
″What are you talking about?” I frown.
″You thought I was an outrageous flirt. Don’t deny it,” he adds when I start to shake my head. “I know what you saw. It’s what everyone sees. And you were right. Just because you see more than a flirt doesn’t make me good for you. I fuck people for fun, nothing more. You deserve better.”
″You didn’t kiss me like it was just for fun,” I protest.
I can tell I’ve tripped him up because he doesn’t answer right away. He seems to be reliving that kiss, what it meant. But either it meant nothing, or he doesn’t want to acknowledge it did, because he shakes his head dismissively and says, “It was just a kiss. I’ve got a lot of experience with that,” he adds for effect.
His comment was meant to sting, but it doesn’t make me hurt as much as he intends. It makes me sad, because I know it’s his way of trying to make me see him like he sees himself. What he doesn’t understand is how I can’t unsee the good parts of him. It doesn’t matter what he says to push me away, I’ll still see the whole picture instead of the parts he thinks I should focus on.
I want to make him understand that, but I know years of being regarded as a plaything have conditioned him to believe that’s all he is, and it will take time for him to trust that I really do see more than what's on the outside. If I push him tonight, he’ll just retreat further, so while it literally pains me to see him doubt himself, or think that he made a mistake by touching me, the best thing I can do now is leave. But I won’t leave quietly.
″If you have so much experience kissing then you should recognize the difference between simply touching your lips to someone else’s and tasting them. Getting lost in them. I know the difference. Make sure you do before you make decisions about what I deserve.”
Cade’s eyes track me miserably as I head for the door. I don’t know if my words make any sense to him, but I do know that was not the kiss you give someone for casual fun. Now, I have to help him understand that.