Love in the Light - Laura Kaye Page 0,5
the screen of her smartphone. She opened an image she’d saved in her pictures and held it up so Caden could see. “This is one version of it.”
His eyes flickered back and forth between her phone and the road ahead. “I like that,” he said in a reserved tone. “A lot. How sure are you that you want to do this?”
“Pretty sure,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. It was just a matter of what to get. I wanted it to mean something, like yours do. So I thought about what means the most to me in the world, and it’s family. Once I figured that out and found these designs, I was finally sure. But will you come with me if I get it done?”
He threw a blazing glance at her. “If you want to do this, I’d like to take you to my guy. He’s the best there is. And of course I’ll be there. In a heartbeat, Red.”
She grinned and nodded. His presence would help steady her nerves. “Good,” she said. “Maybe next week?”
“You just say the word,” he said. “And I’ll make it happen.”
Makenna unbuckled her seat belt, stretched across the center console, and lingeringly kissed Caden’s cheek, jaw, neck, letting her tongue sneak out to taste him while she was at it. He smelled good, like soap and mint and something spicy that was pure Caden.
He groaned and leaned into her touch. “Fuck, Makenna,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to stop but I really want you to put your seat belt back on.”
She gave his ear lobe a final lick and settled back on her own side. “Sorry,” she said as the buckle clicked. “I was just feeling really grateful.”
He gave a little chuckle. “Well, I’ll definitely take a raincheck on that. Besides, you can’t put pictures in my head of you getting inked and then kiss on me like that while I’m driving.”
“Why not?” she asked, biting on her lip to try to restrain the smile that threatened. And holy crap if the tone of his voice didn’t make her wish he wasn’t driving. Because she could think of some other very good uses for his hands….
The look he threw her—all blatant desire and frustration—shot heat over her skin. “Because it drives me crazy. And I can’t do anything about it.” He shifted his hips in the seat, drawing Makenna’s gaze downward to the bulge forming in the front of his dress pants.
Slowly, she ran her hand down his chest and stomach to his lap.
“Red,” he rasped, his gaze drifting down to watch her hand rub and grip for just a moment. God, he was a delicious handful. Eyes back on the road, Caden shook his head and grabbed her hand, holding it in a ball against his chest. “I’m not chancing wrecking with you in the car.” He threw her another one of those red-hot glances. “But you better believe we’re revisiting this later.”
* * *
Caden knew what Makenna was doing. For the past two and a half hours, she’d kept him talking non-stop. About his work. About tattoos. About Christmas. She’d teased him and made him laugh and generally kept his mind off of where they were going and what he was about to do—namely, meet her family. Which, of course, meant that she realized how anxious he was. And wasn’t that a complete pisser.
Both because he didn’t want her having to worry about such a thing and because she was right.
Following her directions, he veered off the highway into a suburb just south of Philadelphia.
“It’s less than fifteen minutes from here,” she said, excitement plain in her voice.
Caden nodded and tried like hell to ignore the tensing of his shoulders, the clenching of his gut, and the tightening of his chest. And man how he hated just how familiar these reactions were. Since the accident that had killed half of his family and left him alone with a bitter, angry, broken shell of a father at fourteen, Caden’s body had always responded to stress this way. Working with a therapist years ago, he’d conquered the worst of his PTSD and anxiety and he had some techniques for battling the latter when it hit, but he couldn’t stop it from happening or make it go away altogether.
Caden could never just be normal.
Something he could tolerate when it just impacted himself, but he hated it for Makenna’s sake.
Holding the steering wheel in something close to a death grip,