Sweet as Sin (36 page)

Jealous fury shimmered around him. Arms

crossed, jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscles working from across the room, he stood halfway in front of the glass door. Leo approached, full official attitude in place.

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Leo was maybe half an inch taller but John was broader through the chest and shoulders. Like two snarling dogs, they glared, neither moving an inch.

“Step aside,” Leo spat.

“I did,” John growled.

“Your loss.”

“My choice.”

The coded macho bravado soured Livvy’s

stomach. She was not a piece of meat to be fought over by one dog who didn’t want her and another who was playacting. Her voice was soft but firm in the tense room. “Leo.”

It brought a halt to the testosterone standoff.

John moved four inches sideways and Leo four the other way. He did not take his eyes from John’s face as he called over his shoulder, “See you Saturday, Liv.”

“Bye.”

The bells clanged behind him. John shook his head. “I really don’t like him.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not his favorite person either.” Suddenly tired, Livvy just wanted the day to be over even if it was only eight-thirty in the morning. “Forget about it, Murphy. Leo was just trying to bait you.”

“I’m not biting.”

Stung, and ashamed she was after everything he’d said, she closed her eyes to hide a wince. “I never thought you would.”

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John might not have been biting but he did nibble. “So what’s on Saturday? You have a date with Barney Fife?”

His eyes drew color from his suit jacket, turning to ink. His few gray hairs stood out, crystal on ebony. She looked him square in the face. He’d find out sooner or later, it might as well be from her. She tried to make her words light and casual.

“Strangely, although I live in redneck central, I only know two people who own pickup trucks.

Leo is helping me move Saturday. I sold my house.”

If she had kneed his crotch, John’s face could not have looked any more stunned. “What?

When?”

“I signed the papers yesterday.”

His shoulders sagged with a harsh exhale.

“You didn’t have to do that, Livvy.”

“Yes, I did.” The whisper that fell lay between them like a vast river.

“Do you need more help?”

His offer sliced with razor precision and she bristled. Pain made her resistant to much of his sarcasm but she could not handle his sweetness without tears. She’d shed enough of those in private, she would not cry in front of him.

“Not from you.”

His nostrils flared.
That stung, didn’t it?

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“Can we just do this? I have to get on the road.”

“Of course.” She invited him around the

counter to the swinging door with a tilt of her head. He followed, his feline fluidity washing over her.

She motioned to his jacket. “This is nice. I’ve never seen you dressed like this.”

“I’m going to a funeral.” Her hand stilled on the brass door panel. “Preacher died. He had another stroke.”

The gasp flew before she could catch it. His friend had seemed frail but it still must have come as a shock. Her fingers fell to his arm and he didn’t shrug away. “I’m sorry, Murphy.”

He nodded before looking into her eyes. A quiver began low inside her. One step would bring her to his arms. Her feet itched to move. Only the remembered flash of frosted blue gave her the strength to pull her hand away and push the door open.

“David.” The portly chef appeared at her side.

“This is John Murphy. He’s Thorn’s creator.

Show him your magic and let him work his, will you?”

The gray-haired man nodded. “Sure thing, just let me pull the cake and we’ll get started.”

As David ducked into the walk-in cooler,

Livvy motioned toward the hand sink along the Inez Kelley

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wall. “I’ll put your jacket in my office so it doesn’t get sugar on it. Roll your sleeves above your elbows and wash for a solid two minutes.

Don’t touch anything not at your workstation and listen to what David tells you. You’ll do fine.”

He not only removed and handed her his suit jacket, he pulled the burgundy-striped tie from his neck and draped it across her arm. They were warm from his body and she fought not to hug the material close like a teenager with a crush. The top button of his shirt popped open with a quick twist of his fingers before he reached for his cuffs.

Rolling the stark white sleeves, his face filled with longing. His gaze shifted from the splat board dragon to the far table where Justine was rolling layer after layer of dough through a pasta machine.

The clear memory slammed into Livvy in vivid color. Heat flooded her face and thighs in the same instant. The gulp that moved his Adam’s apple showed he remembered, too.

David slid the cake board in front of him. “I sculpted the head out of rice cereal but… you might want to start from scratch ’cause it’s kind of ugly.”

Livvy lifted her chin and tossed a half-apron toward John. “When you’re done, I’ll be in my office. Have fun, gentlemen.”

Steps measured, slow and calm, she walked to her office. She hung his jacket on a coat hook and 404

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sank into her desk chair before burying her face in her hands. So close she could see each individual black eyelash, and yet she couldn’t touch him. She fought to hold her tears at bay. One fought back and rolled down her cheek. It held so much pain.

“I knew it.” A snarky voice raised her head.

Standing in the doorway, Pam’s plump figure swathed in a white apron reminded her of a WWII-era German nursemaid. “Figured

something was bothering you but this proves it.

Tall, dark and good-for-nothing flopped, huh?

Well, don’t you fret, babygirl. There ain’t a man alive worth a woman’s tears.”

Livvy grunted. “And how many times have

you been married?”

“Four. And working on number five. But that doesn’t mean men aren’t scum. Just means I like scum from time to time.” Pam smiled, changing her face from sturdy to pleasant. “Livvy, go home.

Me and David can handle things for a few days.

Go home, cry it out, pack your house up and move on. Forget about whatshisname back there and concentrate on you. The thing about a broken heart is you only wish you could die for a while. It fades.”

“Work keeps me sane right now.”

“But you’re driving us crazy,” Pam muttered, waddling back toward the kitchens.

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Livvy ran a shaky hand down her face. She’d live. No one ever really died of a broken heart.

She dove into arranging orders and schedules to cover her absence. Pam’s grandson jumped at the money she offered for a one-day painting job.

In less than an hour, everything was neatly laid out. Her shop would run smoothly, orders would get filled, and the dragon on the splat board would be painted over, erasing all traces of magic. When she returned, she’d have a new address, a new outlook and a new white wall to start over with.

The frame above her desk mocked her. Smooth glass slid under her fingers as Livvy traced her pixie-self’s jaw. The arrogant lift on that lip and the defiant fire in those larger-than-life eyes seemed too unbowed, too unbruised, too unsullied to be her anymore. That drawing embodied

passionate innocence. Her face reflected in the glass, a portrait of what that cartoon image should never become.

This she would keep, the only bit of him she would allow herself. This sketch would not end up on display but buried in the bottom drawer of her desk, under invoice copies, old employee files and a fine layer of stark denial. Maybe in a few years it wouldn’t hurt so much to see it, to remember that, for a while anyway, John had loved her.

She slipped the thin paper out of the frame back and into a protective sleeve. A design name 406

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leaped to her mind and she titled it quickly.

Bittersweet
.

The sound of heavy footsteps warned her John approached. He was drying his hands on a stained white towel and she tried not to remember them caressing her.

“All finished?” The paper trembled in her hands so she laid the drawing aside and laced her fingers together in her lap.

He nodded and smiled a genuine smile that kicked her stomach somewhere between her teeth and her tonsils. “Yeah. David was great. It was pretty cool, Liv. That gum paste stuff is like Play-Doh, kind of fun. And I’ve never seen Thorn like that, free standing, almost alive. I may have to re-evaluate my opinion on the animation offer.

Seeing my characters like that…it was magic. I really like his wings, that shiny stuff. What is it?”

“Pulled sugar.”

“It’s what I see in my head, what I can’t make happen in two dimensions. No one ever…” A softness swept into the room, a reminder of how linked, how connected they’d become, of how far apart they now were. His voice dipped, richer than warm caramel. “Thanks for letting me help.”

This was the John she missed. The man who’d torn her heart to pieces was nowhere in sight.

“Thank you for helping. I’m sure Ashley will be thrilled.”

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The desk drawer pulled out with a slight

whoosh. She stood, handing him a white envelope.

He took it with a curious slant to his brow.

“What’s this?”

“The Shack’s standard fee for local artists. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of…anything.”

He crumpled the envelope in a ball and tossed it on her desk along with the damp towel. “I didn’t do it for pay. I did it for a little girl who has enough pain to deal with.”

Damn, this John really needed to leave before she forgot he broke her heart. She retrieved his jacket and tie. “Then I’ll just repeat, thank you.”

Focused on unrolling his sleeves, he ground his teeth so loudly she heard the scrape. Nothing was spoken until he fumbled with the cuff on his right wrist. Her fingers slid the button through the slot for him. Her feet had closed the distance between them without her realizing it.

“Thanks.” The gentle word fanned her hair and she raised her eyes to his. He stared down at her face. Love shone so brightly, it blinded her. God, she missed him.

Possessed by some crazed goddess of reverse seduction, Livvy tucked the tie under his collar, smoothing her hand along his shoulders and down his buttoned front. Touching him was automatic, soothing and so very familiar. Metallic salt filled 408

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her mouth and she pushed back sadness. The cuff she’d fastened moved farther up, until one long section of hair wrapped around his fingers. His other hand moved to her hip. With his lids lowered, he brought his mouth to hers.

“Don’t.”

Both hands fell away as he stepped back.

“Sorry, habit.”

Handing him his jacket, she fled to her desk.

Shoulders she knew the taste of shrugged into the coat and she searched for something, anything, to fill the yawning silence.

“How’s Gina? Did she get her test results?”

He snorted and brought his chin up to button his shirt. “I don’t know. She’s not talking to me.

I’m going to corner Pete today.” Tie tails in each hand, he stopped and looked at her. “Have you talked to her?”

“Me? No.”

“I just wondered.” The silk strip whizzed as he knotted it and slid it upward.

Her leg started jerking and she grew desperate for him to leave. A step behind the chair hid her shivering.

He made no move to go away. Instead, his

hands sank deep in his pockets, jacket flaps tucked behind thick wrists. “What about you? Any test results I should know about?”

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It took a minute for her to understand his question. The tremor rose from her leg to her stomach. The effort to keep her voice level was enormous. “You’re off the hook, Murphy. I’m not pregnant.”

He exhaled so loudly she knew he’d been

holding his breath. The sound raked her with a hundred needles, each tiny prick scoring a bloodless line. Silver crested her vision and she knew teardrops would follow. She needed him to leave.

She gave him a shove. “Give Gina my love.

And the boys, too.”

He stared, emotion raging on his face. She knew he loved her. Knew he’d purposely thrown away what they could have had. Thrown it away in the one manner that would hurt her the most. It was a cruelty she’d never thought him capable of.

She’d been wrong.

“Goodbye, Murphy.” Those two words rang

with finality.

His brows twitched and his eyes closed.

“Goodbye, Liv.”

He turned sharply and the edge of his coat skimmed the loose papers on her desk. A few fell, fluttering across his pathway, and he knelt to gather them. His hand stopped inches from one paper then he reached out and brought the plastic-410

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covered sketch up. A myriad of expressions darted across his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

“What the hell…? Where’d you get this?”

“I…” She darted her eyes to the album then back. “You threw them away.”

“Them?” His mouth gaped then snapped shut.

He thrust to his feet, looked down at the black book and sneered. “This is what you’ve been working on? The Dark Cravings shit you were always talking about?”

The transparent sheath wrinkled in his grip as he flipped the album open. The first page held a copy of Thorn embracing a freckle-faced child. A prepared sheet already waited for the photo, the blurb typed below describing each detail. He turned the page and gritted his jaw. The

casketmobile, his original, sat opposite Meagan’s modified one. Pure venom hissed along her spine from the heat of his glare. He searched page after page, snapping them with increasing strength.

“You fucking bitch.”

Livvy recoiled. “Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘You. Fucking. Bitch.’” Two bright slashes of red along his cheeks held the only color on his face, the rest was blanched and sallow.

Beneath his jaw, that dark angry vein throbbed.