Retribution (9 page)

“How are the eggs, Nate?”

He blinked and then lowered his head. “Great as always, Kayla.”

Stacey snickered. “He’ll ask you out eventually, mark my words.”

I hoped not—it would save me the trouble of rejecting him. I’d waitressed at Gigi’s for eight months now, and luckily most guys who pursued me quickly got the message. Stacey and I had gotten close, but she didn’t know about my past. No one did, and that was part of the allure of starting over in a town where no one knew me.

Yet something was missing . . . or rather
someone
.

My demons had relocated with me. Both Gage and Ian stalked the shadows in my bedroom at night, and I spent too much time lying awake. Eve’s nightmares lessoned over time, but mine hadn’t. It didn’t matter if the days were getting easier to get through—it was during those few dark hours when echoes of the past haunted me that I realized how weak I still was.

How broken.

Thankfully, I couldn’t say the same for Eve. She was doing well, physically and emotionally, and she continued to provide the brightest part of my day. She’d started preschool four months ago, and I’d watched her blossom since. Ian’s phone calls also brightened my days, though lately the tone of them had changed. I knew he missed me, and I felt the same way, though I questioned what it was about him that I missed exactly. It was a myriad of things—the sense of security I always felt in his presence, the way his kiss set my head spinning, the fact that I trusted him with my daughter . . . I could fill pages upon pages.

I missed Gage for other reasons . . . reasons that reinforced how lonely I really was.

Once my shift ended, I said goodbye to Stacey and promised to meet her on Saturday for a movie. She also had a child—a boy a year older than Eve. They said they were getting married someday. We laughed about their innocent childhood dreams, but deep inside, the idea bothered me. Kids often said such things, but the thought of Eve ever getting married, of subjecting herself to the cruelty of a man, terrified me. I’d grown so distrustful and paranoid that it put the term “jaded” to shame.

On my way home, I picked Eve up from daycare. The last thing I expected was to find an unfamiliar vehicle in my driveway. My world screeched to a halt at the sight of the man who unfolded from it. He leaned against his door and waited as I let Eve out of her booster seat. I hoisted her in my arms and carried her toward the door.

“Hello, Kayla.”

“Hi . . .” My head spun with the reality of his presence. An entire year had passed since I’d walked away from my old life, and somewhere deep inside, I’d always known he’d come for me, but I hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on that eventuality.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I pushed the door open. The duplex was small, but the place offered more room than our apartment had back in Oregon. “Just let me put on a cartoon for Eve.” I got her settled in the living room with a snack, and then I ushered him into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and silently watched as I turned on the oven and arranged chicken breasts in a baking dish. I kept myself busy with mindless tasks for several minutes, my heart tap dancing the whole time.

He was suddenly behind me, his hands on mine, pressing them to the counter and halting my movements. “Stop.”

I went still. It’d been so long since a man had touched me. Months, though it seemed more like years.

He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face against my neck, inhaling as if he’d thirsted for the scent of me. “I’ve missed you.” He tightened his hold. “So much.”

I closed my eyes and focused on the weight of his arms across my chest, rising and falling with every breath. “Why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Several moments passed, and I finally spoke the words I wanted to say. “I’ve missed you too.” I ran a finger along his forearm. “But—”

“Don’t shut me out, Kayla.”

Shutting him out was impossible. Always had been.

“Can you get a sitter for tonight?” he asked.

I nodded without thinking. Stacey would look after her, but why would I need a sitter? I voiced the question.

“Because I’m going to show you how much I’ve missed you.” He reached into my purse and dug for a few moments until he produced my cell. He held it out. “Get a sitter.”

My fingers curled around the phone, hesitating. I could send him away. He’d go—I knew he would. And I would go about my life in peace. In peace and alone, always keeping everyone outside the bubble I’d built, unable to let anyone in.

And I would never feel this way again.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the phone and dialed.

E
PIPHANY
S
NEAK
P
EEK

Gemma James also writes non-erotica under the name Christina Jean Michaels. Please enjoy a sneak peek of EPIPHANY, her debut NA/romantic suspense novel due for release in July 2013.

Excerpt of Epiphany:

I’d arrived in Watcher’s Point a month ago, and the local gossip mill had welcomed me by exposing my mother’s secret. I bet if she’d known about my "special ability" she wouldn’t have kept the truth hidden all these years. Kind of hard to keep a secret when your daughter dreams of unexplainable things.

Like how I’d known the sun’s rays painted the hillside in copper tones at sunset, or how violent the ocean could get during a storm, crashing over jagged rocks and sending bursts of seawater onto the highway. I’d seen the town many times in my dreams—had walked the streets and tasted the salt in the air—but my mom hadn’t been aware of my virtual visits to her hometown. The place where I’d been conceived, or so I’d recently learned.

That was the thing about secrets—they have a way of unraveling, even after twenty-three years.

“You’re doing it again.”

I blinked and looked at Six, the only friend I’d made since moving. “Doing what?”

“Dwelling.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“No depression allowed.” She wagged a finger at me. “Besides, you’ll forget all about this chaos with your mom when you see what I’ve got.” She pulled a dress from her closet, which was so overstuffed it practically spit the garment into her hands. She held it up, triumphant.

“You’re nuts if you think I’m wearing that. Nuts enough to call Cahoots.” I folded my arms and bit back a smile.

“What the heck is Cahoots?”

“A program for crazy people.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” She threw the scrap of fabric at me. “Put it on, Mac.”

I hated the nickname almost as much as skimpy dresses. “Uh-uh. No way.”

“These too.” A pair of strappy heels landed at my feet, and Six set a hand on her curvy hip. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be hell on heels. 
Sexy
 hell on heels.”

I didn’t want to be sexy
hell
on anything—especially those torturous-looking pair of shoes. “I don’t do sexy,” I said, draping the dress across her bed.

“Are you kidding? That outfit will do wonders for those legs.”

“What legs?” I glanced down at my freshly painted toenails—she wasn’t kidding about the makeover. “I’m five-four, not exactly leggy, if you know what I mean.”

“Hence, the dress and heels, silly.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into her closet-sized bathroom. “Chill out and let me work my magic.” One sharp look silenced my grumbling. Why had I agreed to let her drag me out? And to a dance club of all places?

Oh, yeah . . . to 
meet
 people.

I collapsed onto the lid of the toilet and gave up the fight. It was only one night. Besides, maybe Six was right. I’d end up in a mental ward if I didn’t lighten up. So what if the upheaval of my life nipped at my feet like a Pomeranian?

What a freaking understatement.

I didn’t belong here. I should be back home, getting lost in my drawings and on the cusp of finishing college. But here I was, on my own in a new town, making new friends, and pretending my heart was still in one piece.

Six pulled out a tray of colorful palettes and brushes, and I found it ironic that her cosmetic kit resembled my art supplies at home—the only sign the apartment next door was mine. I hadn’t been there long enough to leave a personal imprint; no pictures or even decorative touches—just my drawings and the related paraphernalia scattered throughout the space. I stifled a sigh as she put her skills to work, transforming my face into God knows what. Fun . . . I could do fun.

“You’re not gonna make me look like a Geisha, are you?”

She burst out laughing. “Don’t tempt me. You wanna talk about insanity? Missing masquerade night at High Times is unheard of.” She snapped open an eye shadow compact. “Tonight’s our night to get drunk. Lord knows we’re gonna serve plenty of wasted dumbasses on Halloween.”

Working on Halloween didn’t bother me, though I didn’t bother telling her that.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

I complied, and the soft bristles of her makeup brush feathered across my lids. Instantly, a mahogany gaze flashed in my mind. Familiar eyes set in a face so gorgeous, I was certain better eye candy didn’t exist. My mystery man had haunted my nights for years—in dreams that weren’t always just dreams.

“Are you done yet?” I mumbled.

“Don’t move!”

“Yes, master.”

“Mackenzie, you’re impossible.”

I held back a smile and let her finish her “art.” With face goo done, she went to work on my hair, wielding a secret female weapon: the curling iron. “You’ve got ten minutes, then I’m outta here,” I warned.

“Not a problem.” Apparently, having short hair had its advantages. She finished in five and stepped back. “Dress time.”

I groaned. “Can’t I just wear jeans?”

“Nope.”

A few minutes later I stumbled—three-inch heels and all—to the mirror on her bathroom door. “I look like a hoochie momma!”

“That’s the idea.” She twirled a red curl around her finger and grinned at me.

The classic “little black dress” emphasized places I’d prefer to leave alone, though I had to give her props for the gunk on my face—my slate gray eyes hadn’t looked so smoky since prom. “I thought masquerades were supposed to be classy.” I yanked the hem down and cursed under my breath for letting her talk me into a dress. “I mean . . . what kind of bar puts on a masquerade party?”

“You’ve obviously never been to High Times.” Of course, her brand of coercion wouldn’t be complete without a sparkly masquerade mask; she held it out to me, a challenge in her eyes. “Now quit stalling and put this on. The night’s not getting any younger.”

An hour later, I wondered if the night would ever end. Six started right in on her Mac-needs-to-meet-people
 
campaign. She must have introduced me to a dozen men: freakishly tall guys; chubby short guys; full-bearded tattooed guys; hunky gym guys. Even geeky tech guys. It was a smorgasbord of guys, and I was positive I wouldn’t remember a single name. Masquerade night, I scoffed. More like operation let’s-get-Mac-laid night.

Techno music blared from every speaker, and like most popular bars, breathing room was a luxury. A kaleidoscope of masked faces whirled around me as I inched through the sea of bodies, amazed at what some people called dancing.

Six was nowhere to be found. I hadn’t seen her since she’d dragged a tattooed guy onto the dance floor fifteen minutes ago, already drunk on some blue concoction. Sweat and alcohol wafted in the air, a reminder of another night—one I’d spent the last few months trying to forget. I balled my hands as the room blurred.

Coming here was a bad idea.

“Watch out!” someone yelled after I’d stepped on a foot.

Sweat trickled down my hairline, and I blinked rapidly as the walls imploded on me. Spotting the women’s restroom a few feet away, I mustered an apology and hurried inside. The room was blessedly empty. I tore off my mask and stared into the dingy mirror, breath coming in shallow gasps as I willed my pulse to slow down. It still hadn’t returned to normal when the door squeaked open behind me.

“Hey!” a woman shouted as she stumbled in with a crash. “You fucked up my shoe. Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.”

I froze, recognizing Christie’s reflection despite the mask she hid behind. It wasn’t easy to forget the woman who blamed me for a lifetime of resentment. Out of all the toes I could have crushed, they would have to be hers.

Christie’s dark eyes widened. “Why haven’t you slithered back to your hole yet?”

I straightened my spine and turned to confront her glare. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

She smirked. “You don’t belong here. Everyone knows it.” Her gaze traveled to my toes and back up again. “Dressing like me. Trying to 
be
 me.” She tsked-tsked. “So pathetic.”

“This isn’t about you.” I paused, trying to think of a way to make her understand. “I had no idea when I came here. I didn’t know.”

Christie’s face twisted, and her hands bunched into fists. “He wasn’t your father!”

“According to the whole damn town he was.” I clamped my mouth shut before I could say more and went to move past her. Last thing I needed was another argument with Christie Beckmeyer. Who would’ve thought I’d discover a sister . . . just to have her hate me?

She blocked my exit at the last second. “Your mom’s a slut. My dad wasn’t the only guy she screwed.”

“Get out of my way,” I said through clenched teeth, “unless one ruined shoe isn’t enough for you.” Just because I wasn’t speaking to my mom didn’t mean I’d let anyone else badmouth her. Christie must have seen something dangerous in my eyes because she stepped to the side and let me pass. I resisted the urge to throw something as I shoved through the crowd.

“There you are!” Six materialized in front of me, and something blue sloshed over the rim of her cup. “Why’d you take off your mask?” She shoved her drink into my hands before refastening the mask over my eyes. “Makes you mysterious. Now, bottoms up. You don’t look like you’re havin’ fun.”

“Six, I’m not really in the mood—”

“Oh,
noooo
you don’t. You need a drink. Loosen up already.” She bounced away and gestured for me to follow. “C’mon! There’s someone I want you to meet.”