Wound Up (5 page)

“Cute. We’ve got to get out of here in the next half hour.”

“Let’s hurry and get breakfast.”

“Sure.” She waited. He didn’t move. “You have to let go of my face first.”

Quick and hard, he took her mouth, backing her up against the wall as he kissed her.

When he shifted and let his lips trail down her neck to nip her collarbone, she shivered. “You have a real thing for walls.”

“Not until you, I didn’t.”

The hummingbirds in her belly took up acrobatic maneuvers, successfully avoiding her pride’s attempts to squash them. She couldn’t help it if he kept saying all the right things. Every woman wanted to know she was wanted.

Wanted.

The idea she could be part of something bigger than just herself, that she could spend the next two weeks with someone, with
him
, was the greatest temptation she’d faced in, well, ever. She’d spent a lifetime alone, craving the things her friends took for granted—parents, extended family, the dreaded Christmas sweater, conflict between Aunt Jane and Uncle John. College had alleviated some of that when she’d met her three closest friends, but there was still a longing for family she didn’t dare look at too closely. It would simply remind her that her past hadn’t taught her anything about what it was to love or be loved. That was a reminder she neither wanted nor needed.

With Justin, she could have a short window of belonging. Granted, it wouldn’t be forever, but it would be for now, and that was far more than she’d thought to get out of a one-night stand. She’d just have to make sure she kept things lighthearted so no one got hurt when she said goodbye. What could possibly happen in two weeks that would change the ultimate ending?

The answer was easy. Nothing would happen that she didn’t expressly allow.

Decision made, she wove her hands through Justin’s hair and pulled his mouth back to hers, seizing control of the moment. Their tongues sparred against one another, wrestling for dominance.

He groaned, grinding his towel-clad hips against her. Planting a hand on the wall beside her head, he broke the kiss, resting his chin on her head. “You’re going to make me miss the hotel’s free waffles.”

“They’re overrated.”

“Had them before?”

“Nope, but I’ve had you. How can a measly fast-food breakfast hold up to the Mighty Maxwell?”

His bark of laughter surprised her. “You’re quick. I’ll give you that. And your flattery will ensure you get the first ‘measly’ waffle.”

“Your priorities are messed up,” she muttered, ducking under his arm and gathering her clothes.

“There’s still lunch—and dinner—later this week. You agreed. I promise dessert will make up for today’s disappointment.”

“It better. I want pie this time.
Good
pie.”

His lips twitched. “I can manage that.”

“Huh.” She pulled on her thong. Jeans followed, then her oxford, wrinkled as it was. Her shoes proved elusive, and it took her several minutes to find them—one in the bathroom and the other in the closet. Go figure. Hopping on one foot, she absently called through the room to Justin, “So, what have you got going on this week?”

“I start my new job tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” She slipped into the bathroom to try to wrangle her hair into some form of submission. “Hand me my purse, would you?”

He set it on the counter before he went back to putting himself together.

She dug through her bag, finding a hair tie and a small brush.
Score.
A ponytail would work. Slowly working out the knots was a trial in absolute patience. “So, what are you going to be doing?”

“Working for a nonprofit that helps disadvantaged youth.”

Her heart stalled as a block of ice landed in her belly. “Yeah?” She tried for a nonchalant tone but hit somewhere closer to high-pitched curiosity.

“Yeah. Great place. They were a huge part of my life years ago. I wouldn’t have gone to college let alone pursued my doctorate if it hadn’t been for their program.”

“Yeah?” she asked again, fumbling the brush. It clattered to the floor, the sound seemingly amplified by her anxiety. “So, what’s the name of this place?”

“Second Chances.” He stepped into the bathroom and sat on the tub’s edge to tie his boots. “Pretty appropriate name, actually. It’s exactly what they offer kids who—” He glanced up, brow furrowing. “What’s the matter?”

“Well, this is awkward.” She tried to swallow, but her throat had apparently mummified.

“What?” When she didn’t answer, he set his foot on the floor. “What is it?”

The ominous tone of his voice said he knew but didn’t want to accept the truth. Too damn bad. There wasn’t an easy way to change what she had to say.

He stood, looming over her.

She crossed her arms under her breasts.

“Shit.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

“Pretty much.”

“Why didn’t you mention you were doing your practicum at Second Chances?”

“I could ask you why you didn’t tell me you would be working there. Same answer, Captain Obvious. I had no idea it was relevant.”

He stalked out of the bathroom and, if she interpreted the sound correctly, punched a pillow before his words punched the air. “Freaking fabulous.”

“You know what? You better gain a little perspective and a lot of control, fast. You’re acting like I did something wrong. News flash—I didn’t. So get over yourself and cut the temper-tantrum crap.”

“Grace, if they find out I screwed around with an intern, I could be fired before I even start. This could destroy my career. Don’t you get it? You may have just ruined my life!”

How often had she heard the very same thing from her mother? How often had she been forced to listen to all the things her mother would have seen and done if she’d been able to afford an abortion?

“Go to hell,” she whispered, the words a gauntlet thrown down after a lifetime of blanket neglect and emotional abuse.

Snatching her jacket off the luggage rack, she blindly dug out a handful of bills and walked over to Justin, dumping them at his feet. “Here’s the tip I didn’t give you last night, and some free advice, too. Never piss your ‘client’ off before you’ve been paid or the deal might fall through.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you just call me a whore?”

“I’m losing my touch if you have to ask.” With that, she headed toward the door. “Enjoy your waffles.”

5

J
USTIN
HOPPED
OFF
the
28 bus and, shoulders hunched, started up the sidewalk. Though it was only a couple of blocks to his mom’s, the walk through this neighborhood could be a little dicey. The area was rough, but it wasn’t particularly violent during the day. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be under the right circumstances, though.

Levi had offered to drop him off when Justin had returned the car, but he wanted time to think before he walked through into his childhood home for the traditional Sunday supper. He knew his family would sense his mood and ask him what was wrong. He wasn’t quite ready to answer those questions. Not with Grace’s fresh, clean scent still flooding his nose and those accusing green eyes filling his mind. It was hard to piece together exactly how they’d ended up exchanging such vitriolic words and letting something with so much potential go up in spectacular flames.

It was the worst possible reminder of who he’d been—the kid with potential who never quite got it right. Was he still that same kid? Would he never outgrow the impulses that led him to screw things up just when the perfect opportunity presented itself? Would he never be able to hold his damn tongue when someone seriously pissed him off? If he couldn’t manage these basic human decencies, he was destined to fail at whatever he tried to do or be.

Justin strode up the front walk as he had a thousand times before. Sounds from the television leaked through ancient caulking around the windows, and the CBS Sunday-morning news anchor’s distinctive voice was followed by dramatic music and a second reporter’s voice. The front door stuck when Justin twisted the knob, forcing him to put his shoulder into it. He’d have to fix that. The last thing his mom needed was having to muscle open the door after she’d been on her feet for ten straight hours, waiting tables all night.

“That you, baby boy?” she called from the kitchen.

“Nope.”
Crap, the kitchen.
Yep. She was going to want to talk. Not yet, not yet, not y—

“Step into my office, sweetheart.”

Resigned, he dumped his messenger bag on the sofa. The smells of lemon oil and fabric softener were subtle but pervasive, clean scents that comforted him. Pausing in the doorway, he watched as his mom made coffee with absolute economy of motion. She still wore her black pants and white shirt from the diner, but she’d exchanged her sneakers for slippers.
Such a beautiful woman
, he thought.
Such a hard life
. But it had been that way for all of them after his old man had been killed sixteen years ago, and he hadn’t made it any easier by finding ways to express his grief through a life half-lived on the streets.

Glancing over her shoulder, she tipped her chin toward the table. “I watched you walk up—one of those nights at the club, hmm? Have a seat, even though you didn’t call to let me know you were coming today.”

He slid into his chair and balanced on the two rear legs, hands crossed over his belly. “I don’t think my forgetting to call in for Sunday supper reservations constitutes a kitchen inquisition, does it?”

“Depends on whether or not you make me break out the thumb screws.”

“Funny lady.” She set a cup of coffee in front of him, the color a deep caramel, and he sighed. “You know, I’ll be certain I’ve found the woman for me when she can make coffee as well as you can.” He lifted the mug to his lips and, at the same time, they both said, “Dollop of love.”

Laughing, she pulled up a seat. “So, what happened?”

“Club was fine. Then I had a...date. Typical kiss-the-girl stuff.”

“Pretty story. Now tell me the truth.”

Justin fought the urge to squirm. “No story. She’s just a woman.”

He hated the way her shoulders visibly relaxed, hated that he had caused her to fear he’d taken a huge step backward into his previous life of violence. Her fear was well warranted, though, seeing as he’d spent years putting it there.

“So, this woman. Who is she?”

“I’m pushing thirty-one, Mom. This obsession with my love life isn’t natural.”

“Your protest is duly noted. I still want to know who she is.”

“Her name is Grace.”

“Any chance this is the same Grace you mentioned a thousand times while you were teaching?”

“I beg your pardon,” he answered, feigning indignation. “I hardly mentioned her at all.”

“Justin.”

He shifted to stare at the ceiling. “Yes, Mom. One and the same.”

“Don’t ‘yes, Mom’ me, Justin Alexander Maxwell. I have a reason for asking.”

“You’re nosy?” he quipped, wincing when she reached over and slapped his shoulder.

“Be respectful.”

The sight of her settling in her chair, sipping coffee, equaled comfort. For all he teased her, he wouldn’t give up these kitchen-table talks for anything. It was rare these days that they had a spare moment alone together given that his sisters always wanted to be involved in everything. He loved them, truly, but these quiet moments with his mother were precious.

Clearing his throat, he sat up. “So what’s with the whole ‘come into my web’ business? You planning to cocoon me and drain my life force for not calling?”

“I ought to wash your mouth out with soap for being such a disrespectful brat,” she teased, setting her coffee cup down and crossing her arms over her chest. Her face suddenly lost all traces of humor, and she stared at him with such intensity he wrapped his hands around his coffee mug to give them something to do besides fidget.

Unable to stand it, he asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re avoiding the conversation. That typically means you’ve done something remarkably unwise and you aren’t ready to discuss it yet.”

His shoulders hunched. “Yeah, well, it would help a great deal if you didn’t know me so well.”

Leaning forward, she stilled his hands as he spun his coffee cup. “Talk to me, Justin. What happened?”

“Things that were supposed to be simple got very complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

He whipped his chin to the side and popped his neck before sliding low in his chair. Settling back in his seat, he began twisting his cup around in his hands again, over and over, staring at the chip on the rim instead of looking at her. “Just complicated.”

“Tell me one thing.”

“Sure.”

“Does she matter to you?”

“Jeez, Mom.” Shoving out of his seat, he took the dregs of his coffee to the sink and dumped them out before rinsing the cup.

“Justin.”

He faced her, propping his hip against the worn laminate counter and staring at her with as much detachment as he could muster.

“Enough said,” she murmured softly.

“Nothing said,” he countered.

“And that’s enough.” She stood, resting her hand on the back of the chair. “I’ll be here if you want to discuss whatever went wrong.”

“I just want to get on with my life, but it’s not that simple.” When she didn’t press, Justin gently banged his head against the nearest cabinet door. “She’s working with me, Mom. At Second Chances.”

“That’s a complication, but far from an insurmountable one.”

He snorted. “She didn’t tell me she was doing her practicum there. I wouldn’t have messed around with her if I’d known. It could cost me my job. I can’t afford that, not in the short or long term.”

“Did you tell
her
you
were working there?”

“No, but...” His mouth thinned as his jaw set, but damn if he could stop himself. “No.”

“Then doesn’t she have just as much right to be angry with you as you have to be angry with her?”

“She’s just doing a practicum. This is my first professional job.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s not quite the same thing.”

“Uh-huh. And why is that?”

“I have more to lose. If I’d known there was a potential ethical conflict, I would have kept my distance from her.”

Darcy arched her brow. “You sound a bit superior there, son.”

“Look. She’s leaving after the eighty-hour investment. This is my job. I’ll have to clean up whatever mess this causes, and that’s if they even let me. I don’t need the complication.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “I would wager she doesn’t, either, Justin.”

“You know how important this job is to me,” he muttered.

“What I know is that you’re sounding pretty self-righteous when you may well have done her as much harm as she’s done you. Supper’s on in an hour.” When he started to respond, she held up a hand and walked out of the room.

As far as parting shots went, it was pretty damned impressive—she had managed to hit a bull’s-eye over her shoulder.

She hadn’t even broken her stride when she pulled the trigger.

* * *

G
RACE
SAT
IN
the little crepe diner for the second time in twenty-four hours as she waited for Gretchen to pick her up. Taking the bus home had been an option, of course, but Grace had to return Gretch’s cell phone before Gretch left for her new job in San Francisco anyway. But the moment she’d heard Gretchen’s voice, she’d wanted the solid security of friendship, the only kind of relationship she’d learned to trust in and count on. Half the story had been out before Gretchen stopped her with a firm, “I’m on my way.”

Grace dreaded the inquisition she knew she’d face when Gretchen arrived. There were things she didn’t want to answer and things she couldn’t. For example, Justin had heated her blood with a one-two punch of lust only to deliver a hard knockout that had left her cold. How was she supposed to explain that?

“See, it’s complicated,” she muttered to herself. “We had wild and crazy sex that blew my mind, but then this morning he became a self-righteous prick and blamed me for ruining his life.”

Nope. She was going to leave that little nugget of information alone. There would be questions about his skill, about the whys and the hows of every action, and she couldn’t relive it. No, that wasn’t true. She couldn’t
stop
reliving it. It was that she didn’t want to share it. That,
that
was the sticking point in the retelling because she didn’t want Gretchen to bad-mouth Justin in defense of Grace’s own actions. It wouldn’t be malicious. Gretchen would only speak out as a matter of loyalty. She understood that. But still...

Absently picking at a rough cuticle, Grace could admit to herself that she didn’t want to be alone right now. She wanted to be reassured that someone had her back, and her friends were her surrogate family, the support she’d never had. They wouldn’t let her suffer alone.

A gust of salt-laden wind whipped through the restaurant door. The breeze off the Puget Sound was cold this morning. Grace shivered.

Gretchen walked in followed by Lynn and Meg.

Gretch slid into an empty chair and flipped her keys around her pointer finger. Spin, catch. Spin, catch.

Meg and Lynn sat as well, each hanging their handbags on the backs of their chairs and covering them with their jackets.

Grace stared at her hands, picking at her cuticles. “Wow. The whole cavalry.”

“Gretchen picked us up after you called.” Meg laid her hand over Grace’s, stilling the destructive habit. “This is the last time we’ll all be together, so we thought we’d tackle this crisis as a group.”

“I wanted to give your phone back, anyway.” Digging the iPhone out of her bag, she slid it across the table to Gretchen, dismayed to realize her finger was bleeding. “Damn it.” She sucked on the little wound and found it impossible to raise her eyes.

Gretch bumped her knee against Grace’s leg. “We want to help.”

“I get that.” She blew out a breath. “I do. It’s just a little raw.” A second shiver wracked her. “I should probably have just taken the bus home.”

Ignoring the last sentiment, Gretchen asked, “You cold?” She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it around Grace’s shoulders, ever the maternal figure of the four of them.

Grace closed her eyes and took a deep breath before lifting her face and offering her friend a small smile. “A little, thanks.” She wrapped the jacket tight, closing her eyes for a second.

What hurt the most was the fact she’d believed, even momentarily, that she’d meant something to Justin, been someone more than a passing fascination. He’d disabused her of
that
notion, that was for sure.

Lynn leaned close and rubbed one hand up and down Grace’s arm. “You have to share details so we know whether to exalt him or duct tape him to a tree and deface any bare skin with permanent marker.”

Grace tried not to smile and lost the battle. “You scare me a little.”

“He’s a stripper. Going up on stage with ‘I suck in bed’ and ‘I smell like ass’ written all over him in broad, black pen strokes won’t make him any money.” She sniffed. “And if that’s not enough, just give me a few minutes. I’ll come up with worse.”

This time Grace did laugh. “No. Nothing worse.” Winding her hands together, she fought the urge to blurt everything out, to tell them how much she’d felt cherished when she was with him, that he’d made her feel sexy, powerful and desirable in a way she never had before, and how much that mean to her. Yet when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“Grace?”

She looked up to find Gretchen’s brows drawn. “Yeah?”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to say this, but humor me, anyway. You shouldn’t get involved with someone right now. Not seriously, anyway. You’ve got plans, sweetie. Dreams.
Big
dreams that don’t involve Seattle or your childhood house or your mother’s influence. You’ve fought so hard to be able to tell her to go to hell as you ride off into the sunset. Getting tied up with a stripper is going to mess that up”

“I know.” Two words, so raw they scraped at her throat. She reached over and took Gretchen’s hand. “You’re right. Thank you for caring enough to say it out loud.”

Lynn leaned her forearms on the table. “Okay, but he
is
a stripper. Surely you had some fun?”

Glancing at Lynn, she managed to smile. “Here’s the deal. I’ll give you one detail and then you let me sort out the rest before you grill me. Agreed?” She glanced from face to face.