He climbed out of the truck and went around to help her out, but just as fiercely independent Cait had done at his place, she was already on the pavement with her backpack over her shoulder, closing the passenger door behind her.
As he lifted her bike out of the back of the truck, she said, “Thanks. You can leave it by the garage.” She brushed her cheek over Scrappy’s head, and her hair tumbled in front of her eyes.
She wore her hair short, just below her ears, reminding him of the actress from Blindspot. He had the urge to tuck it behind her ear so he could see her face. He’d never had urges like that before, but he liked looking at Cait and reading the emotions in her eyes. But he didn’t want to scare her off when she was finally letting him get closer. Instead, he wheeled the bike to the garage and followed her up the steps that led to her apartment.
She was adorably sexy in her hiking boots and his T-shirt. He couldn’t take his eyes off her ass as it shifted against the thin cotton. She was as wrong about her looks as she was untrusting of most people. She had the face of an angel, the most delicate, feminine curves he’d ever seen, and legs that went on forever. Her porcelain skin was decorated with an interesting mix of tattoos of buildings, trees, animals, shapes, webs, all in varying shades of muted colors. He wasn’t usually a fan of so many tattoos on women, but they looked beautiful on her, and he wanted to know the story behind each and every one.
She stopped halfway up the steps. “You don’t have to come in.”
He hoped seeing where she lived might provide some clues to why she was so wary. “What kind of a dog daddy would I be if I didn’t check out where Scrappy was going to be spending half his time?”
“Are you always this pushy?”
“I like to think of myself as caring, but you can call me pushy if you want.”
She shook her head, a small smile curving her lips. “Fine.”
“You’ve got a great smile, Cait.” He followed her up to the landing. “You should do it more often.”
She gave him a disbelieving glance as she unlocked the door. “You should know by now that flattery won’t get you anywhere.”
“I didn’t think it would,” he said as he stepped inside, catching a glimpse of her bedroom to their right, decorated in earth tones, the bed neatly made.
“You can wait in here.”
He followed her in the opposite direction, into an impeccably clean kitchen/living room combination overlooking the front yard. Several sketchbooks and colored pencils littered countertops and a small kitchen table near a wall of appliances and oak cabinets. A beige love seat and couch created a cozy nook by the large windows, and a corner bookshelf sported mostly art titles and a few framed photographs.
“This is nice,” he said as she pulled a bowl out of a cabinet.
“Thanks. I can’t take credit for any of it. It was furnished when I moved in.”
As she filled the bowl with water, he glanced at a sketchbook on the counter that was open to a page with a logo for Strings and Things, a music shop in Chaffee, an artsy town on the island.
“Did you design that logo?”
“Yeah. That’s not the final design, but it was close. The final had thicker chords. Jagger asked me to help his friend who owns the music store.”
“You’re really talented.”
She kept her eyes trained on the bowl. “Thanks.”
Brant went to the side window, gazing out at the ocean. “You have an awesome view. Do you like living here?”
“Mm-hm. It’s nice living near Abby and Aiden.” She set the bowl on the floor, kissed the dog’s head, and set him down, but he pawed at her leg, whimpering. She picked him up and rubbed her nose over his. “You can’t shower with me.”
She was so loving toward the dog, Brant wondered if she’d ever been that affectionate toward a human. “Don’t feel bad, Scrap. She told me the same thing. You can hang with me while she gets naked.” He went to her and reached for the dog, earning another eye roll from Cait.
“I’ll be fast so we don’t miss the vet appointment.” She hurried into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
“Let’s see who Caity’s got pictures of.” He carried Scrappy to the bookshelf and picked up a picture of an adorable green-eyed little girl with long, light brown hair who had to be Cait at three or four years old. She was sitting in the grass with a young blond woman. Cait was looking up at her with stars in her eyes. He wondered who that woman was to have earned Cait’s glorious smile.
He set down the picture and picked up another. Cait looked to be in her late teens, wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, and black Converse like the ones she often wore. She was rail thin, and her hair was cut short above her ears on the sides and longer on top. She stood with one arm across her stomach, her other elbow resting on it, her knuckles grazing her chin, as if she needed a barrier between herself and whoever was around her. Brant had witnessed that shield of protection a lot during the first month he’d known Cait. She still stood that way when she was uncomfortable, but it was less often these days. She had only a few tattoos on one arm in the picture, but the wariness in her eyes was as sharp as ever. He wondered what had changed in the years between the first picture and that one.
He set that one down and picked up another. In it, Cait was sitting at a table with three tattooed guys. The largest, a mountainous bearded man with several piercings and coal-dark eyes, sat with his arm around her, holding her so tight, despite her smile, Brant wondered if she was being held against her will. He knew that was a ridiculous thought. Why would she have put up the picture if that were the case? He didn’t know anything about her life on the Cape other than that she was a tattooist and body piercer, but now he wondered if she’d gotten herself mixed up with rough people.
He mulled that over as he admired the last picture, taken at the grand opening of the Bistro. Cait was sandwiched between Deirdra and Abby. They were all smiling, but those ever-present shadows dimmed Cait’s eyes.
“Snoop much?”
He turned with the picture in his hand as Cait strode toward him, looking hot as sin in a tight white tank top, skinny jeans with tears in the thighs—his favorite pair, the ones with a tear just below her left butt cheek—and red Converse. Her hair looked towel dried and finger combed, giving her a sultry appearance that made him want to bury his hands in it and kiss her.
She reached for Scrappy, eyeing Brant as she cuddled the dog.
“I was just checking out my competition.” He set the picture he was holding down and pointed to the tatted-up guy with his arm around her in the other picture. “Is that your boyfriend? Is that why you won’t go out with me?”
She headed for the door. “We’d better go so we don’t miss the vet appointment.”
“Way to avoid the question.” He followed her out.
Aiden was climbing out of his car as they came down the steps. He was a dead ringer for David Beckham, minus the tattoos, and probably worth three times as much as the soccer phenom. “Hi. What are you guys up to?”
Brant couldn’t resist teasing Cait. “We had an afternoon tryst.”
“We did not.” Cait shot him a death stare.
Brant crossed his arms and lowered his chin, speaking in as serious a tone as he could muster. “Did you, or did you not, have to come home to change your underwear?”