A Little Bit Wicked - Melissa Foster Page 0,47

fifteen, Preacher helped me track down the family of the man my father had killed, and I apologized to them. They knew I had been just a kid back then, and they forgave me. And man, I needed that forgiveness. But I also needed something else that only my father could give me. It didn’t matter that by then I felt like a Wicked. I wasn’t one. I was a Brown, and I hated that so much. It felt like a noose around my neck, a constant reminder of the man I had come from and all that he’d taken from me—my mother, my childhood, hell, even several years of my life following his arrest. But I didn’t know what to do about it. Then I saw Violet over the summer, and I told her about my dilemma.”

Chloe felt a pang of jealousy. “How long have you known her?”

“I met her out on Wellfleet Pier when I was a long-haired thirteen-year-old punk with an attitude and an unlit cigarette hanging out of my mouth. She was twelve, sitting on the pier dressed in all black, looking like she hated the world. We watched each other from a distance for a while, and at some point she told me to ‘sit the fuck down.’”

“Sounds like Vi.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome. We shot the shit and got to know each other and spent every day together while she was in town, and for many of the summers after that. She’d been ripped away from the only family she’d ever known when she was just a kid, and her crazy mother had dragged her all over creation, never giving her a chance to have friends or a stable home. We both had trust issues, but suddenly we had someone from our own side of the tracks, so to speak, to talk to. We’ve been best friends ever since. She’s the one who suggested that I go see my father in prison and tell him exactly what I thought of him. She said the bastard deserved my wrath. What she knew that I didn’t at that time was that I needed that closure, too. I needed to tell him how much I hated him for the way he treated my mother, and a whole lot of other shit. Violet’s also the one who suggested I ask Preacher and Reba if they’d ever consider adopting me. She said I had a chance at a family, and I should take it.”

“I knew you and Violet were close, but I never realized how much you two have been through together or what you really mean to each other.” She mustered the courage to tell him what else he deserved to know. “I have something to confess.”

He arched a brow.

“Another reason I was keeping you at arm’s length was that you…um…tried to help Vi forget Andre when she first moved back here by sleeping with her. It wasn’t something I would ever do, and I didn’t understand it.”

“Chloe, Vi and I go way back, and that was a—”

She pressed her lips to his, silencing him. His lips were warm and sweet, and it was just a closed-mouth kiss, but the electricity sparking between them brought a rush of exhilaration. When she pulled back, she was breathless and craving more. Lord help her, because the look in his eyes made her want to take it. She had acted on impulse, and she was afraid she might do it again, so she quickly said, “I don’t need you to justify it. I just wanted you to know why else I had held back. So…did you take her suggestion?”

“Chloe” came out fast and fierce as he buried his hand in her hair and crushed his mouth to hers.

His lips were soft but insistent as his tongue swept over hers. He kissed her passionately, taking his time, as if he were savoring every moment. His fingers threaded into her hair, and he angled her mouth beneath his, their tongues tangling in an exquisite, toe-curling dance. His arm tightened around her waist, strong and possessive, and he made a low, sensual sound that seared through her like lightning. She’d dreamed of kissing him so many times, she was sure she’d known exactly what it would be like. But boy had she been wrong. She’d never experienced anything close to the divine ecstasy of kissing Justin Wicked. She wanted to stay there in his arms, with the breeze on her cheeks and his lips on hers

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