Crossing Lines (5 page)

Kevin yanked at the tie, which seemed even tighter than ten minutes before. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But if I have to keep wearing these damned ties, I’m not so sure.”

T
wo hours later, right on Kevin’s optimistic schedule, the house emptied, leaving only Erik, Kat, and Janelle Gentry, the executive director of Saving Grace. Another hour later, most everything had been cleaned up and put away, and they’d gotten an official accounting of the evening’s fundraising efforts. In addition to volunteering at the shelter on a weekly basis, Kat had taken on the unofficial role of fundraiser, and she and Janelle were thrilled with the evening’s response.

“You gonna be around this weekend?” Erik asked, pushing the side door open for Kat while Lizbeth showed Janelle out the front.

“Nah, I gotta be in Myrtle Beach first thing in the morning. I promised Marianne I’d keep Spencer so she can run some errands and have lunch with a friend.”

“Why don’t you bring him back here?” Lizbeth said, smiling sweetly as she stepped into the kitchen.

The hair on Kevin’s neck shot to attention, prickles of alarm danced up his arm, and a neon sign flashed in his mind.
BEWARE!

Lizbeth excelled at being bold, extra-spicy, sometimes sour—never sweet.

“I haven’t been around kids since Miranda was little,” she said when he continued to stare. She cut her eyes to the side and dipped her chin—another major fail, because she sucked even worse at being coy. “I need the practice.”

All this Shirley Temple-ing, in conjunction with the topic of kids, would cause most men to panic as they envisioned their future circling the drain. He didn’t understand her motives, but he was positive she wasn’t telling him in some off-handed, roundabout way she was pregnant.

If that
was
her intent, she had the wrong man.

Even though she’d been on the pill when they first hooked up, and as far as he knew still was, he
always
used a condom to ensure this type of thing never happened. He wanted kids. He wanted a houseful of kids. Just not right now and certainly not with Lizbeth.

Erik, obviously not privy to that information, hit the panic button on Kevin’s behalf. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and rather than dancing, his wide eyes wailed a stanza of “Taps.”

Kevin made a sudden move to snag Erik’s attention, then shook his head and smiled, reassuring his friend Lizbeth didn’t just drop a massive pregnancy bomb.

Kat, standing outside, blissfully unaware of the holy-shit-what’s-Lizbeth-talking-about taking place on the inside, yelled into the house, “Give me another two months and you can have all the practice you want.”

Erik grinned at his wife like a man who hit the lottery, then swung back around to Lizbeth. The smile vanished, and he cut a worried glance at Kevin. “Call me,” he said. “We need to talk.”

He tucked Kat’s hand in his and led her across the expansive lawn running between their houses. When Erik first approached Kevin and Steve about buying the chunk of land along the Pamlico River, Kevin shut him down. Being from Raleigh, with most of his jobs in Myrtle Beach, he didn’t need another house to deal with. Steve and Erik kept at him and eventually wore him down. Even though it was a pain in the ass to drive back and forth, he was glad he caved. Most of the time, it offered a respite from the demands of his job, and he wished he had more time to spend here.

When Kat and Erik disappeared from view, he cut off the outside lights and stripped his tie off so fast he nearly ripped it. He tossed it onto the chair with his discarded jacket and beelined for the fridge. Erik’s concerned voice of reason whispered in his ear, but his selective hearing knocked the noisy bastard out with a one-two punch.

Even a non-drinker would toss back a few after a day like this, so he refused to feel guilty for spending a little quality time with Bud and Jack.

“Will you bring Spencer here for the weekend?” Lizbeth asked.

“No.” He winced as the response came out harsher than he intended. “I only have him tomorrow, not all weekend.”

“So?”

After a long, refreshing pull of his ice-cold beer, he said, “So? I’m not dragging him up here for one day.”

“You drive back and forth all the time.” Her husky voice disintegrated to a nasally whine.

“I have to for work, and I don’t enjoy it.” He tried Erik’s squint-for-increased-focus move as he worked to decipher her sudden interest in Spencer. “No six-year-old wants to spend nearly seven hours in the car only to hang out someplace for two hours.” He chuckled as he imagined his precocious nephew crossing his arms and rolling his brown eyes behind his round, wire-frame glasses. The word of the day: lame.

“But I want to see him.”

Kevin took a step back and crossed his arms and ankles as he leaned against the counter. “Why?”

She glanced away and extinguished the candles on the counter, then went to work stacking plates… the same ones Kat had taken out of the dishwasher and stacked moments earlier. “He’s an important part of your life. I want to get to know him better.”

He drank his beer and watched the tendrils of smoke drift into the air before slowly evaporating. Spencer had been an important part of his life from his first breath. Hell, from the moment Kevin found out his unwed baby sister would make him an uncle, he made the baby a priority. Spencer was four when Lizbeth entered the picture, so why the sudden interest? How had Spencer become a pawn on her chessboard?

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, dumping his empty bottle into the recycling bin before going to the fridge for another. “You can come to Myrtle Beach with me and stay the weekend. I’ll bring you back sometime Monday. Or, you can drive separately and come back whenever you want.”

She abandoned the dishes in favor of freeing a few buttons on his dress shirt. “Maybe.” Translation:
No, thank you. I’ll just get what I want by manipulating you through sex.

He tightened his grip on the bottle and squeezed his eyes shut as she kissed the center of his neck, then nibbled her way up to his ear.

“Lizbeth, I’m not going to change my mind. In addition to Spencer, I left Wade dealing with a problem—”

“Do you really want to talk shop right now?” She licked the shell of his ear and released the remaining buttons, then tugged his shirt out of his pants. Running her hands along his sides and around to his back, she whispered, “Or would you rather do something else? Like me.”

He knew her plan, could see the blueprint laid out before him. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t interested in sex tonight, especially not when she used it as a method of manipulation, but when she bit down on his bottom lip, the sharp sting was like pulling the pin from a grenade.

She tried to stroke her tongue over his lip, to soothe the pain. But he jerked his head away and allowed the pain to ignite a series of blasting caps along his central nervous system.

How ironic he hadn’t been able to draw forth any emotion before, because now, every negative emotion a man could feel swirled in his gut like a Molotov cocktail waiting for a light. When she nipped at his collarbone and pinched his nipple between her finger and thumb, the charge detonated.

On instinct, he wrapped his hand around the back of her head, angled his mouth over hers, and took her with angry force.

In the back of his mind, he knew continuing to sell his soul to the devil would only get him in deeper. But the devil drove a hard bargain, reminding him they were, technically, still involved. What did it matter if this short-term want was at odds with his long-term needs? Why not have sex to work off a shitty day?

A flash of an image pressed at the edge of his mind, causing him to break the kiss and step back. He opened his eyes and stared at Lizbeth’s dark hair, shaking off the memory of a long, blond braid. The building inspector had taunted him all evening, but he was drawing the line here. She wasn’t invited to this particular party.

Lizbeth’s eyes filled with questions as she studied his face. Sensing his retreat, she hastily unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slipped her hand inside his boxers. His breath lodged in his throat and his eyes crossed as she grabbed his erection and squeezed.

Fuck yeah.

His head dropped back on his shoulders and a hiss pushed through his lips as she pressed her mouth to his chest and ran her tongue over his nipple.

“Are we doing this here, on the kitchen table?” Lizbeth purred. “Or are you taking me to a proper bed?”

His cock jerked in response, anxious to get on with things, regardless of the location. Given the extent of pent-up energy he needed to expel, this would to take a while. The kitchen table, while hot and accommodating under the right circumstances, would eventually become uncomfortable. Switching positions was fine; stopping to change locations wasn’t.

In a voice roughened by sexual desire and self-recrimination, he said, “Bed. Now.”

* * *

After tucking Michy into bed, Sam spent the next fifteen minutes scanning channels with the remote. Nothing captured, let alone held, her attention, so she grabbed a fresh beer, her pen and notepad, and broke out the Vanguard Subdivision file—the reason she was late picking up Michy.

She’d been in her car, pulling out of the lot, when she decided to go back and grab the Vanguard files. Experience proved options were limited in cases like this, but she did have practice, as well as the hardheaded resolve to figure out a reasonable solution.

An hour and a half later, she had several scenarios mapped out for Mazze and Wade to discuss at their Monday morning breakfast. She noted what she could do to move the process along, and even though it wasn’t much, cutting off a week was better than standing still.

She gave the TV one last chance, but after another disappointing round of five-hundred-and-nothing, she chucked the remote and went to bed.

Alone in the dark, she contemplated the paradox of craving daytime solitude while dreading the quiet at night. Being home alone during the day, while Michy was at daycare, seemed naughty and taboo, and she cherished every minute of the tranquility. Home alone in the evening, lying on the couch, watching TV or reading, was plain lonely.

Crawling into a cold, empty bed was hell.

She reached for one of the flannel-covered pillows she kept as a snuggle buddy and tucked it close to her side. Even though the covering was warm, the pillow didn’t ruffle her hair while breathing, nor did it return the hug.

From the nightstand, she picked up the business card she’d found in her pocket while undressing. She stroked her fingers over the raised print, tracing the numbers of Mazze’s cell phone, and wondered, again, how he spent his Friday nights?

He said he’d be in Riverside tonight, but did he have a local hangout where he normally spent his evenings? If she ever went out, might she run into him?

Did he drink, and if yes, did he prefer whiskey or beer? Would the taste linger on his lips, acting as fuel to her fire when they kissed?

She closed her eyes and pictured his full bottom lip, so damned tempting and perfect for sucking and tasting.

And, Lord, his eyes… When he hovered over her, taking her, would they be hot and hungry, or soften with tenderness?

What kind of lover would he be?

She laughed into the dark, cavernous room.

He emitted a powerful, raw magnetism and moved with such a confident prowess, she knew he’d be amazing.

Her nipples hardened as she imagined him touching… teasing… stroking… pleasing.

She deflated into the mattress as Michael’s words pushed through the barrier of her subconscious. She closed her eyes and gripped the pillow close to her chest, trying to stifle the expanding ache that always accompanied the memory. Still reeling from her father’s sudden death, his words cut so deeply, the only way to survive had been to shut down.

As weeks turned into months, the numbness gave way to overwhelming grief, and she plummeted to the bottom of an emotional well. She spent countless days rehashing the night she walked into his office and found his secretary bent over his desk, him fucking her from behind, the picture of Sam and Michaela staring her in the face. Given everything, it was odd to think about, but Sam wondered a million times if he or Sheila even noticed the picture.

His only explanation for the affair had been those cutting, parting words.
You’re ice, Sam. Of course I found someone else. Why wouldn’t I find a
real
woman?
She’d always been self-conscious about her lack of femininity, so his words served as miniature shotgun blasts, ripping her apart, leaving her barely breathing.

Cheri, and her not-so-gentle reminder that Sam needed to get a grip for Michaela’s sake, had been a lifeline, dragging her out of the dark, desolate hole. Cheri worked Sam for months, but finally convinced her to make a fresh start—away from the overwhelming reminders of all she’d lost with her dad’s passing, away from Michael and his constant torment, and especially away from her traitorous brothers.

The decision was terrifying, but Cheri had been right. She was going nowhere fast in Columbia, and in Myrtle Beach, she’d at least have a chance of finding peace and happiness.