Savage let his burning gaze drift over her face and down her body in a slow, heated perusal that nearly made her catch fire. She felt as if he’d purposely ignited a wildfire deep inside of her.
“Goin’ to get yourself in more trouble than you’re already in, woman.”
“Donny has Down syndrome and lives in the little apartment across the street from the grocery store, right above Donna’s Gift Shop,” Doris explained. “He’s a good boy and usually is pretty good at taking care of himself. Inez and Donna Baker look after him. Jackson Deveau, the deputy sheriff, helps him most of the time, but Donny got into some trouble with his checkbook and Jackson wasn’t around. Donny got very upset and no one could calm him down, so Inez sent for Savage. He took care of it right away.”
“Why would Inez send for Savage?” Seychelle asked, all teasing gone. That didn’t make any sense at all, and she really wanted to know.
Savage leaned back, gripping her bare ankle beneath her jeans with one hand while he snagged two more cookies off the plate with the other. His palm began to slide up and down over her calf and the scars there. He seemed to do that a lot, and she realized for the first time that not only did it soothe him, but he actually fed her energy that others drained from her. He didn’t just take from her. He gave to her. He’d done it when they were alone together in the bedroom. She sat up straight, going very still as realization hit. That was part of the reason she found his company so exhilarating. He wasn’t just taking.
“A couple of years ago, Czar and the others came to town and there were horrid men from another club in Inez’s store destroying the place. They smashed things and were pushing Donny around. They weren’t going to pay for anything either,” Doris said.
“We can change the subject anytime, Doris,” Savage said.
Seychelle had missed him so much. Missed the way he made her laugh. Missed the way he made her feel so alive. The energy he provided. And she hadn’t even realized until this very moment, sitting on the porch with Doris, that Savage gave her back what those in need took from her. As revelations went, it was a pretty big one. Huge. She had always been the caregiver. The nurturer.
The idea that Savage didn’t just take made her feel strange. Self-conscious. As if she was taking from him something she shouldn’t be. Did he know? Was that why he was always rubbing her leg? The scars that connected them? She thought of her scars that way. His hand, under her jeans, continued to slide up and down her leg slowly, the pads of his fingers tracing the ridges and whorls of the raised scars. She thought he’d done that for himself, and she’d loved it. Now she didn’t know what to think. She nearly pulled away from him, but was afraid if she did, he’d be hurt. She wasn’t positive how she knew that, but she did, just as she knew the more time she spent with him, the more danger of getting her heart shredded.
“No, no, Savage. People need to know that you boys were good to Inez and Donny. Czar, Savage and the others took those bad ones out of the store and into the street, Seychelle. Taught them a lesson too, right before the cops showed up. Donny hero-worships those boys, and Savage in particular.”
Savage let out a little groan. “Seriously, Doris? Half of Torpedo Ink was there, not just me. I beat the shit out of someone and you think that’s a good thing?”
“Yes, I do,” Doris said staunchly. “Sometimes there’s nothing else to be done. Those men would have hurt Inez and Donny.”
Savage heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Inez talks too much.”
“I think Doris is right,” Seychelle declared, meaning it. “You do good things. You might look different, but you do very good things. He saved a little boy’s life a few weeks ago. That’s how we met. Dropped his bike in the road, scooped up the kid out from a truck coming straight at them and ran. Everyone else was just frozen and screaming.”
“Oh my,” Doris said. “Does Inez know about this?” She sounded breathless. “She always knows everything first, but she never said a word.” There was no doubt Doris planned to tell every single one of her friends at bingo or cards.
“If she doesn’t, don’t tell her that bullshit story,” Savage snapped. “It isn’t true.”
Savage’s fingers never stopped moving on Seychelle’s leg. The feel of his skin against hers was mesmerizing. Every stroke felt like a caress. Her nerve endings were raw, and his touch sent little sparks of electricity up and down her leg. She wasn’t certain if it felt good or if it hurt, but it made her feel very connected to him, and she didn’t want him to stop.