A Date With the Other Side (27 page)

“You.” Boston paused, throbbing, unbelievably close to exploding, wanting to savor the moment, to memorize her face the way it looked right then.

Her legs locked around his back, pulling him deeper into her. Shelby panted, little sounds of passion, her hands gripping the arm of the couch. He needed her to say she loved him—he wasn’t going to move until she did, no matter what it cost him. He had to hear it, had to know that he mattered, that she was his to take and keep and live with for the rest of forever.

“Do you love me too, Shelby?”

Shelby was overwhelmed by the riotous feelings ripping through her as Boston caressed the corner of her mouth with his lips and pulsed inside her with an intimacy she’d never experienced. Every inch of her was alive with pleasure, streaming with passion, aching with want.

She felt his vulnerability, was humbled herself by it, was amazed that this man could feel what he did for her. “Yes, Boston, I absolutely do love you too.”

“Good.” He took her mouth with his and moved inside her, with a wild edgy abandoned thrust that had them both skating into violent release a minute later.

It swept over her, hard and fast and unexpected, and she clung to him, calling out his name, drowning in sensation and ecstasy. Boston dropped onto her, a crushing weight that felt so real and solid she didn’t even object.

Turning her head and sucking in air, Shelby didn’t see his face when he spoke. He was kissing her forehead when he murmured, “Come back to Chicago with me.”

Shelby lost all ability to breathe, and it wasn’t because he was lying on her. “What? Why would you want that?”

He laughed softly. “Were you sleeping when I told you I’m in love with you? That’s why. Come to Chicago. Marry me. Make my apartment a home.”

That was so not fair of him to dangle something like that in front of her. She shoved at his chest to get him to back up a little, give her a measure of space. “Boston, I can’t do that. I can’t leave Cuttersville, you know that.”

He eased out of her reluctantly and gave her such a look of puzzlement, Shelby understood that he truly didn’t get it. Boston didn’t have the kind of family that mattered and so he didn’t understand.

“I can’t leave Gran, and my mom, my cousins. And I’d never fit in in Chicago. I’d get lost on the subway thingy thieves would peg me as an easy hit, and all those women prancing around with fancy jobs and even fancier black wardrobes would leave me feeling like a country cow.”

The very thought of living in the city made her feel claustrophobic. Shelby sat up and fished her panties back out of her shorts with a sigh. She hadn’t wanted it to end like this, so soon. She had been hoping that once, just once, she could spend the whole night in Boston’s arms. “Why don’t you stay here in Cuttersville?”

Boston raked his hands through his short hair. “I can’t. When my boss says I have to leave, I have to. And how do you know you wouldn’t love Chicago? It’s a great town. You could go to college if you wanted to, and get a real job. I’d pay for it.”

Shelby froze in the act of skimming into her underwear. “I have a real job. And I don’t need you to pay for me to better myself. I happen to like the way I am right now just fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Boston was back in his own boxers and dragging on his jeans. “I just meant if money was holding you back, I have that.”

Tears were in her eyes, and Shelby had no patience for them. She blinked hard and reached for her T-shirt. “You don’t get it, Boston. I don’t need money to make me happy. Never have, never will. And while you can give me money, you can’t give me what I really want.”

Even in the dark she could see his stony gray eyes. “What is it that you want?”

The last thing she’d wanted was to hurt him, but she had to be honest, here and now before they both starting spinning fantasies about working things out. “I want to live here in Cuttersville close to my family. I want a creaky old house just like this with antiques older than Gran. I want a husband who loves me and doesn’t care when I wear grubby shirts. I want children, a family of my own that I can raise right here in the same way Gran and my mom raised me.”

There was a long pained silence. “You’re deluding yourself if you think any man alive would prefer you in dirty baggy shirts over a tight tank top.”

He’d either missed the whole damn point or he was being deliberately dumb. “Tell me, honestly, can you give me any of those things? Can you be content to live here without access to hair products? Can you say that it wouldn’t bother you if I stayed at home and raised… children?” She’d almost said
our
children then had caught herself because it was too painful to say that out loud. “I know you. You don’t understand that lack of ambition.”

“I don’t understand your willingness to just throw in the towel on us without even trying or talking about options.” He stood up, brushed her bare leg with his jeans. “Clearly you’ve made up your mind already.”

Shelby didn’t know what she’d done except make a huge elephant-ass-size mistake. She never should have slept with Boston, she never should have told him about her feelings, she never should have even spoken to him the first day she’d met him. “Boston, I’m trying to fix this before we hurt each other worse.”

Suddenly he bent over, so fast that she jumped. He pressed her shirt and shorts against her bare breasts with a scowl. “Do me a favor. Put some clothes on before we continue this discussion.”

Embarrassed, she got dressed. “What else is there to say?”

“Just tell me that you’d rather take a chance on staying here and never getting married or having the kids you want than come to Chicago with me. Just tell me that.”

Shelby had never been the type who knew how to soothe and comfort, or say the right thing to defuse a situation. She was honest and direct, and before Boston, she hadn’t had a relationship with another man besides Danny since she was fifteen. She didn’t know how to do this. “Danny asked me to marry him again.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

She could feel Boston’s hurt and anger, even before he spoke, his voice tight, hard, cool. “When?”

“A couple of weeks ago.” Shelby stood up, unable to sit still anymore, hating what she was doing to him, knowing that she had to if she wanted to retain her own bit of sanity and not agree to do whatever he wanted. To not stupidly agree to go with him and then hate every minute of it, hurting them both worse in the long run.

A professional mask had slid over Boston’s face. He watched her, assessing, but calm and in control. “And you’re going to say yes?” he asked conversationally, like they’d run into each other at the grocery. His hands were clenched into fists, though, revealing more than he probably wanted to.

Shelby could picture him at work, intimidating and always, always coming out on top.

“I was thinking about it.”

Very slowly, he leaned back against the end table next to the sofa. “I see. So all this time, while you were making love to me, you were thinking about marrying Danny Tucker.”

When put that way, it sounded so gosh darn awful. She’d just sent things from bad to hell in a handbasket. “Boston…”

“Shelby,” he said with barely contained control, though it felt like someone had hacked out his insides with a machete, “I’m asking you to get your things and leave. I really prefer you didn’t spend the night.”

She stood there in front of him, rumpled and sexy, her lips still swollen from his kisses, and knew she had just taken the piece of him he’d given her and thrown it back in his face.

“Boston, let’s talk about this. Marrying Danny would be the practical thing to do.”

“Fuck practical.” His determination to be rational, calm, unemotional shattered. “I told you that I love you. And you stand there and say you want to go back to a man who can’t even give you an orgasm?”

“That’s not fair. I was young…” She stuck her fingers on her temples and squeezed. “I can’t believe I’m having this discussion with you, God. This isn’t fair to Danny. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Her concern was for
Danny
!

Boston couldn’t take any more. He wanted to be alone with his hurt, to tamp it down in private. It was a trick he was good at. When he’d been a child and his parents had fought or rejected his attempts to gain their attention, he’d gotten very good at hiding it, nursing his wounds off by himself.

“Shelby, I’ll go upstairs and get your bag. You can continue the tour in the mornings, but I’m going to have to ask you not to do the five o’clock tour anymore. I don’t want to have to be here for that.”

Her mouth worked, but she didn’t say anything.

“I hope that you’ll be very happy as the farmer’s wife, but I’d prefer not to receive an invitation to the wedding.” He gave what he hoped was a passable smile.

The thought of her marrying Danny Tucker, warming his bed, taking him into her mouth, had him heading for the door with Olympic sprint speed.

“Oh, Boston,” she said, touching his arm as he moved past her.

That sound of pity was like acid on an open wound.

He was saved from having to reply by the TV turning off and the lights turning on, plunging them both into artificial brightness and temporarily blinding him.

“What the hell?” He blinked against the glaring lamplight and looked around the room. All three lamps plus the hall light were on, and the red light of the camera he knew he’d turned off glowed.

“Uh…” Shelby was suddenly at his side, standing so close he wanted to throttle her.

Didn’t she know he could smell her? Feel her arm brushing his? Didn’t she know he was suffering the agonizing painful death of hope while they stood there?

He didn’t give a shit if the ghosts in this nuthouse stood up and did the Macarena. He wanted to be alone almost as much as he wanted Shelby. As his wife.

The spirits didn’t do any line dances, but every cushion on the sofa and the numerous chairs throughout the room were slung to the floor by unseen hands like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The drawers on the occasional tables jerked out with harsh squeaking sounds, and the distinct stomping of angry footsteps did a circle around the coffee table.

For once, Boston felt in total sympathy with Red-Eyed Rachel. If Shelby wasn’t standing next to him, he just might throw a tantrum along with her.

“Someone’s having a mighty big hissy fit,” Shelby said in awe, grabbing on to his arm. “Shouldn’t we leave?”

“And miss the fun?” But he did move Shelby behind him, closer to the hallway if it should become necessary to run or dodge flying objects.

-

“I don’t think anybody’s having fun in here.”

Twin candelabras left the fireplace mantle and bounced on the hardwood floor with an ear-splitting rattle.

Boston wanted to stay amazed and almost awed by what he was seeing in front of his very skeptical eyes. And it matched his own mood so profoundly, he was almost amused. But he gave Shelby a little nudge. “Just back out of the room, Shel, and go out onto the porch.”

Her anxious breathing was loud in the suddenly still room, the silence ominous, the air shifting, waiting. He heard Shelby take two steps backward. And scream.

Whirling around, he saw her standing in front of the pocket door, arms up, statue still. Over her head he saw a man leaning against the door, with thick blond hair and prominent sideburns. He wore a black double-breasted suit and had his head cocked slightly to the left, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. A puzzled frown was on his face, then he wavered, dissipated, was gone.

Shelby turned back to him. “The Blond Man, Boston, that’s who that was!” She covered her mouth. “But he wasn’t smiling. He’s supposed to always be smiling.”

A little stunned by what he could swear he’d seen, yet what seemed so unbelievable, Boston shook his head. “Maybe he doesn’t like Rachel’s antics.”

Or theirs. Maybe the guy was smarter than both he and Shelby and saw they were making a mistake.

It certainly felt like one.

Shelby had been putting it off long enough.

So she had called Danny and asked him to come meet with her at the Yellow House. He was due any minute, and she paced the length of the porch wondering how she would tell him that she couldn’t marry him.

In the week since she’d made love to Boston in the parlor, Shelby had had a lot of time to think. Too much time, despite the numerous TV interviews and influx of ghost gawkers. Because every time she spoke, she thought of Boston. And every time she thought of him, she had a whole series of doubts that ran through her head.

Doubts that maybe she’d made a mistake. Doubts that maybe love was worth giving up everything she knew. Doubts that she could ever find happiness or passion with another man.

Certainly not with Danny. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to her. She would be half a wife to him, and that was fifty percent less than he deserved.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to say, though. By the time Danny bounded up the steps with confidence and a pleasant smile, Shelby was sweating like a cold Coke can.

“Hey, Shel, what’s up?” He kissed her on the forehead. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yes. We have a problem.” Shelby stuck her hands in her pockets, walked a few paces, took a rigid pass by the porch swing, then circled back around. She stopped in front of him, took a deep breath, met his eyes.

“Danny, I’ve thought about this a lot. It’s been a really difficult decision for me, because I truly do love you as a person, but… I can’t marry you. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

While she held her breath, he just blinked, then gave a big sigh, crushing her with the simple sadness behind it. “That’s okay, Shel. I kind of thought you’d say no.”

“Why?” she asked, curious.

“Because your heart is on your sleeve, honey. You’ve fallen for Boston, big-time.”

Fresh pain shot through her, and she fought the tears that instantly threatened. She wasn’t dealing well with the idea that she’d fallen in love with the wrong man. It just seemed to confirm her idiocy, and that wasn’t a pleasant thing. “Boston and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”