Reckless (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 1) (8 page)

Friday.
The accident.

Had he really been acting more irritable since then? Come to think of it, why was he still having nightmares about the wreck? One nightmare he could excuse, since he’d witnessed something pretty hairy, but having it every night?
Having it morph into another accident, one on a rainy roadside that left him feeling shaken and raw? And his dream-ghost girl…
No, don’t think about her. Just get through this conversation without making things worse.

He didn’t justify the comment about his treatment of Haley with a response. Deidre knew better than to imply he’d taken out his anger on her. “About the
sullen
,” he said. “What’s she got going on today? I’d like to see her after work, maybe have dinner with her. I need to apologize for last night.”

“Yes, you do.”

He rolled his eyes, but half-heartedly. For once, he didn’t mind her judging him. Today, she was right.

“She’s at softball camp until three, but
I—”

“I’ll pick her up.” He could get off early if he skipped his lunch break.

“No. I don’t want to spring you on her.”

Like a surprise visit to the pediatrician complete with immunizations.
“Deidre.” He was trying to be good. Really, really trying. But if she thought she could pull this gatekeeper shit, he was going to let her have it. Nothing would stop him from making things better with Haley.

“I’m not saying no to
seeing her. In fact, I think it’s a good idea. Just let me talk to her first. Prepare her.”

“Jesus.” He pulled at his hair with the hand not holding the phone. “I’m not a monster.”

“Of course you’re not. But you do have a problem controlling your temper.”

He wished he could deny it, but he just sat there mute.

“Haley’s not used to seeing you get so upset. Can you blame her for being a little freaked?”

She could have brought up his past, his high-strung, quick-to-anger father and the effect that kind of upbringing had had on him. But she didn’t.

“Fine. Call me when I can see her.”

“I’ll get in touch by four.”

He had just made it home from work by the time Deidre called. “She doesn’t want to see you. I’m sorry.”

He was in the kitchen, unpacking grocery bags.
Two steaks to marinate, two potatoes to wrap in foil and stick in the oven. He’d gotten Haley’s favorite baked potato fixings, sour cream, shredded cheddar cheese, scallions and her favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry’s—strawberry cheesecake—for dessert.

“What do you
mean, she doesn’t want to see me?”

“She’s hurt, Derek.”

“I know. I want to apologize to her. Did you tell her that?”

“I told her you felt bad about hurting her feelings and you wanted to see her tonight. That’s all. She said you can email her if you want. Maybe that’s a good place to start. I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want to hear.”

His face flushed with anger. At himself, for a change. He had hurt his little girl bad enough that she didn’t want to talk to him. He was a douche bag.

He got off the phone with Deidre and stared at his laptop screen until it became apparent he had no idea what to say to Haley to get her to talk to him again. Frustrated with himself, he went through the motions of eating dinner. He opted for canned soup and some pre-cut veggies, hoping to save the steak for Haley. After washing up, he retreated to his basement to the heavy bag he’d bolted to the rafters. He gloved up and punished the bag until his muscles burned and his mind was clear.

When he came upstairs, the setting sun was casting long shadows across the hardwoods in his living room. On the kitchen table, his laptop taunted him with happy screensaver photos of Haley. He still didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t let her go to bed thinking he hadn’t even tried.

Love you, kiddo,
he typed.
Dinner tomorrow?

He cracked open a beer and stared at the screen like a hopeful puppy for several minutes.

Finally, shaking his head in disgust, he scraped his chair back and headed to the bedroom for some clean underwear before he hit the shower. His house was getting dark, so he flipped on the living room and hall lights on the way. The action reminded him of his dream girl’s words to him that morning.
I always show up here in your room after dark. And I always stay until five or so.

He froze with his hand on the knob of his bedroom door. A chill iced his spine. He released the knob and backed away, finding clean underwear and sweats in the laundry room, instead.

After finishing his beer in the shower, he checked the laptop one last time. Haley hadn’t responded. He cursed himself.

Why did he have to let his temper get the better of h
is judgment? Why did his mouth always spit out whatever thought went through his head when he was angry? He’d grown up with a father who behaved exactly the same way and had promised himself he wouldn’t end up like that, bitter and old with everyone around him running for cover every time he entered a room.

Hands on his hips, he stood in the living room, staring down the hall at his bedroom door.

Full dark had fallen. Part of him wanted to open the door and see if his dream girl was waiting for him on the bed. Part of him wanted her to hold him again and tell him he wasn’t a bad guy.

Another part of him felt sick to his stomach at the thought of a ghost on the other side of that door.

He dropped to his hands and toes and did his bedtime workout routine right there in the living room. Then, embracing his cowardice, he went to bed on the couch. Haley had picked out a snuggly-soft, navy blue and gold throw that looked great on his leather couch. He wrapped himself in the blanket and rested his head on a fancy pillow with matching colors.

Before he turned off the lamp on the end table, his gaze fell on the curtains Haley had chosen for his front window. The heavy fabric, gold-colored with rust and navy stripes, looked decadent but still masculine. He didn’t have the imagination to have picked them out for himself, but the colors complemented his latte-colored walls perfectly. He hoped when Haley saw them, she’d like them as much as he did.

When DG arrived in her usual corner of Derek’s bedroom, it was darker than it had ever been before. The new blinds were closed, and so was the door. All the times she had been here, the door had never been shut. Except this morning wh
en he’d fled from something so disconcerting he couldn’t stand to face it: her.

The only light came from under the door. She heard De
rek moving between the kitchen and the living room. The urge to be near him drew her across the room. She grasped the doorknob, knowing it wouldn’t move, but needing to try anyway. Nothing.

Being separated from him was worse torture than the fog. Not knowing how he felt tonight had her insides in knots.

Had he made up with Haley? Had he suffered a hangover today? Was he wearing jeans or sweats? Was he still pretending she was nothing but a dream or hallucination?

Her skin flushed hot as she remembered giving in to her attraction last night. She finally knew what the thick muscles of his shoulders felt like under her hands, the taste of his salty skin as her tongue played along his neck. She finally knew the passion of his kiss. Wow, the man could kiss! She had no memory of kissing anyone else, but even if she’d
Frenched a dozen Don Juans, Derek’s rough, possessive kiss would have wiped the slate clean. There had been no room for insecurity or indecision in it. She wished she had half the confidence he wielded in his kiss alone.

And in his touch. The man was a taker, and she wanted
to be taken completely. Derek would never let something like doubt stop him from possessing whatever he wanted. And she had been foolish enough to think he might want her. When he’d accepted the intimate comfort she offered, she’d thought he’d accepted her. She’d felt like she finally had an ally in this strange existence. Someone cared about her. She could deal with her situation, as long as she had that much.

How wrong she’d been. Whatever she thought they’d shared last night, this morning he’d been scared of her, and tonight he had barred her from reaching him. At first, she hoped it was unintentional, but when she heard his footsteps pad from the bathroom to the living room and saw the light extinguished and heard nothing more, she knew he was avoiding her.

The rejection cut deep. She sank to her knees and pressed her forehead to the door. Tears tried to come, but she refused them. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d been too bold. Perhaps with the affection she’d pushed on him while he’d been vulnerable. Definitely with her pathetic attempt at morning-after conversation.

Embarrassment made her rock her head against the
smooth wood. Anger at her miscalculation made her fists clench. She should have been more cautious.

Now he was sleeping somewhere on the other side of
this door, where she would be powerless to help him if his nightmares returned.

“Spare him those horrible dreams tonight,” she begged whatever power had brought them together.

But her plea went unanswered. Before long, she heard him begin to whimper. The sound of leather creaking told her he was on his couch and likely thrashing, like she’d seen him do in bed with the nightmare at its worst. Her stomach turned at the thought of him scared or hurting.

“Derek,” she called through the door, desperate to wake him. But he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear her even if he were awake. “Please, wake up! Oh, please,” she added under her breath as she gripped the doorknob and yanked with all her strength. “Please,” she implored again, putting a foot on the doorframe and pulling until her muscles protested and her joints throbbed
with pain.

His whimpers changed. One moment they reflected phy
sical pain, the next they were heart wrenching pleas. “Daddy!” he cried. “No! You have to wake up!”

She couldn’t stand it. She should be comforting him, telling him it wasn’t real,
making sure he didn’t have to face his nightmares alone. The door wouldn’t budge, but if she was a ghost, maybe she could go through it…or under it. It was worth a try.

She shoved her fingers under the door, and willed he
r body to transform to mist or whatever and slide underneath, following the path of her fingers. But she only bruised her knuckles.

Derek’s suffering tortured her ears. He was only a few yards away, but completely out of reach.

She had an idea.

This morning, she’d turned off his alarm and clicked on the lamp without thinking about it. Those things weren’t on the bed. They were beside the bed. She shouldn’t have been able to affect them. She’d been able to because
she’d
been on the bed. Maybe if she got on the bed, she stood a chance of waking Derek from his nightmare.

She leaped up on the mattress, and started yelling for him to wake up, pushing her vocal cords to their limit. “It’s only a dream, Derek! It’s not real! Wake up! Wake up!”

When his sobbing continued, she grabbed the heavy brass lamp, yanked the cord from the wall and threw it at the door. The wood shuddered with the direct hit, and the lamp clattered to the floor.

“Wake up!” she yelled one more time, and her voice echoed off the walls.

His crying stopped.

* * * *

Sweat coated Derek from head to toe. His heart thunder
ed in his chest, each beat ripe with the agony of loss. He’d been having the nightmare again, only this time, it had been even more brutal than before—no sweetly whispered words or gentle caresses to ground him and remind him none of it was real. He’d been at the part where the man he called daddy lay limp on the ground while remorse and rain pummeled him, when something jarred him from the dream.

A loud bang.

He reached for the bat he kept by the bed, but his hand didn’t connect with it. He sat up, disoriented.

That’s right, he’d gone to sleep on the couch, too chickenshit to set foot in his room in case there was a ghost inside. A beautiful, sexy, compassionate ghost who had a comforting touch, vulnerable blue eyes, and the softest, sweetest lips imaginable.

What a fool.

He untangled himself from the blanket, peeled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt, and stood with difficulty. The aftereffects of adrenaline made his legs quake. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he reached his bedroom door and threw it open. Something heavy scraped across the floor as the door brushed it aside. Judging by its heft, it must have been his lamp. He swiped a hand over the switch on the wall to turn on the overhead light.

Blinking against the brightness, he focused on the bed. There she was, kneeling on top of his mussed sheets, pressing a bruised hand over her mouth.
His dream girl.

His breath rushed out in relief.

She had porcelain pale skin with freckles at the tops of her shoulders. Auburn hair framed her fresh, twenty-something face and fell in waves behind her back. Her dark blue, sleeveless shirt matched the color of her eyes, and the color of his new bedroom curtains. The cuff of her white shorts hugged her ivory thighs a hand’s span from her knees. Her wide eyes swam with concern.

Her hand fell away from her mouth, revealing full, perfect lips. “That was louder than I thought it would be. I’m sorry. I was trying to wake you up. Are you okay?” She bit her lip, insecure. Her gaze wandered down his bare chest, and her eyes grew even wider befor
e snapping back up to meet his. Pink rushed to her cheeks.

The shy heat in her eyes chased away the lingering terror of the nightmare. It also made him instantly hard.

He was an idiot for being afraid of this gentle creature. And he’d be a double idiot if he didn’t have her in his arms in the next heartbeat. In two strides, he reached the bed, pulled her to his chest and kissed her.

Sensual fire ignited in his stomach as he
took her lips.

Her arms went around him, her fingers clinging to the
bare skin of his back, and he almost lost his mind.

Lust and a primal urge to possess pushed him to deepen the kiss.
With one hand, he cupped her head, holding her in place while he delved into her mouth and took the comfort he’d denied himself by shutting her inside his room.

A horrible thought struck him and he reeled back from the kiss, pulling a moan of protest from her. He snatched up her hands. Both had fresh, red bruises across the knuckles. The joints were swollen and looked painful. He turned her hands over, and her palms were red, too.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“It’s nothing.” She tried to pull her hands from his grasp, but he didn’t let them go.

She’d been banging on the door, trying to get out. Trying to get to him. She’d been so determined she’d injured herself. Because of his cowardice. His throat closed with self-loathing.

“It’s nothing,” she said more forcefully. She twisted her wounded hands out of his and placed them on either side of his jaw. Her hot palms branded his guilt onto his face. “You look exhausted. You didn’t get enough sleep last night, and unless you get back to sleep soon, it’ll be the same tonight. Why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I can watch over you now.”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but guilt assaulted him, not just for trapping her in his room tonight, but for last night, too. She’d given him amazing pleasure without asking for anything in return. The sweet, sexy thing had been panting and grinding on top of him, kissing him with hot abandon. That he’d left her like that without returning the sexual favor then treated her the way he had in the morning made him sick to his stomach. And despite it all, she wanted to watch over him so he could get some sleep.

He owed her an apology.
And an orgasm. And he wouldn’t waste a single second by going to sleep. If what she’d said this morning was true, he’d only have her until five AM or so.

It was almost midnight. That gave him a little more than half the night to make up for what an ass he’d been.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. It’s time for me to give you what you need.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheeks. Alternating between kisses and swipes of his thumbs, he smoothed away the faint lines of distress on her face.

“I don’t need anything,” she said,
surrendering to his touch. He bit back a grin at the breathy desire in her voice. “Just to know you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m not okay,” he whispered against her lips. Then he kissed her softly. Jesus, he could kiss her all night. Between tender pecks that had their lips clinging with breath-stealing friction, he said, “I have this heavy weight on my conscience, and I’ll never be able to sleep unless I get it off.”

Her eyes drifted closed as her lips joined in the sensual dance. When he gave a little lick to those lush, pillowy lips, her tongue flicked out in answer.

“Get what off?” she asked innocently, her mind clearly wandering from the conversation.

He loved that he could muddle her concentration with a simple kiss. Chuckling, he said, “You’ll see,” and set to righting his many wrongs.

* * * *

Derek’s mouth moved over DG’s, and tingles spread from her center to her fingers and
toes. His lips were insistent but mostly closed, his embrace sure but gentle. The kiss was honest and contrite, almost like an apology, and yet the arrogant masculinity that was pure Derek rode underneath. The tenderness of it took her breath away, and the dominance in it ignited her body.

Suddenly, she wasn’t as concerned about his rest as she’d been a few minutes ago. She could think of more productive things for him to do than sleep, such as kissing her some more, and letting her be his dream girl in truth.

She parted her lips, inviting him to deeper intimacy. She needed him to help her forget her dread of the fog and her uncertainty in this strange existence. But he pulled away.

She growled in protest
, but the look on his face made her forget her disappointment. It was soft with affection. And pained. What had he been saying before he’d kissed her and destroyed any semblance of intelligent thought? Something about a heavy weight?

“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“Sorry?” she repeated, still dazed from Derek’s kiss.

He climbed off the bed and left the room.

“No!” She leaped after him, her body strung tight with panic. She couldn’t bear to become separated from him again.

At her cry, he stopped in the doorway and turned back to the bed.

She bounced off his hard chest. Stumbling back, she caught herself and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Shit. Where’d you go? Are you still here? Please, st
ill be here.” His frantic gaze searched the room. He gripped the doorframe so hard the wood creaked. She was standing right in front of him and he couldn’t see her. Nor had he felt her run into him, apparently.

Somewhat appeased to know he wasn’t running away f
rom her, she hopped back up on the bed.

He instantly pinned her with his gaze. Relief softened his features. “It’s true.” His voice was quiet with wonder. “You really do disappear when you get off the bed.”