Shiver

by Suzanne Wright

  Shoving the photos back into the envelope, I slapped it on the counter. “I don’t know who I’m more pissed at. Blake, Ricky, or me.”

  “Why would you be pissed at yourself? That’s just dumb.”

  “You remember Gage, right?”

  “Your most recent ex? The tattooist who’s also in a band?”

  “Yes. What did I do when I found out he’d cheated on me?”

  “You rolled your eyes, grumbled that the guy needed a kick to the balls, and then dumped him by phone. The latter was cold, but he deserved it. And you didn’t care enough to confront him.”

  I nodded. “I was with him for four months. He was a nice guy right up until the end. But the only thing that was hurt was my pride.” I jabbed a finger at the envelope. “But this … This hurts. You know, I have to ask myself if what initially set off my alarms about Blake was that a subconscious part of me knew he had the ability to get under my skin—I never thought I’d use that expression, but that’s how it feels.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re under his skin. I just don’t think he knows it. Or maybe he does and that’s why he holds you at such a distance. The women in those photos … I don’t know who they are, but he’s not looking at them the way he looks at you. Like he’s fascinated, hungry, and charmed all at the same time.”

  I frowned. “He does not look at me that way.”

  “He does. He just doesn’t do it when you’re looking at him. Even Bastien said that Blake’s different with you than he was with other women he … well, not dated.”

  “Bedded.”

  She sighed. “I think you should talk to him. Give him a chance to explain. And, of course, give him a ration of shit for lying to you. If nothing else, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

  I nodded but, really, I wouldn’t feel better at all. I didn’t want to confront him. What would be the point of demanding answers when I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to believe those answers? Personally, I didn’t see any point at all in it. So when Blake called me the next afternoon just as I arrived at work, I let it go to voicemail. Maybe it was cowardly, but I preferred to think of it as avoiding an unpleasant conversation. There would be nothing constructive about arguing with him, would there?

  On my break, I took my phone from my locker to find that I had four missed calls from Blake. There was also a text message, but I didn’t read it. Just returned the phone to my locker. I slammed the door a little too loud, which made Sarah jump.

  “What did the fucker do now?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just that I was hoping Blake would give up after a couple of calls if I ignored him.”

  Sarah snorted. “One of two things will happen. He’ll turn up at your place later and demand to know what your problem is, or he’ll leave a ‘fuck you’ voicemail to soothe his ego. I’m leaning toward the first.”

  But she was wrong. He didn’t turn up at my place. He didn’t leave a voicemail either. No, he turned up at the bar only an hour after Sarah had made her prediction. I was in the middle of taking an order from a group of bikers. I felt him before I saw him. Felt the way the air charged. I was just about to turn when a hand curved around my nape. The hold was firm, possessive, and tight enough to be a little punishing.

  “Hey, baby,” he said, voice cold and hard as ice. When I looked into his eyes, I saw that they were just as hard. His brow slowly lifted. “Something wrong with your phone?”

  “Hi, Blake,” greeted Sarah, sidling up to me. Her chirpy tone didn’t match the cool look she gave him. “Kensey, I’ll take care of this order for you.”

  I gave her a nod of thanks and turned back to Blake. “We’ll talk outside.”

  He swept a hand toward the open doors that led to the outdoor seating area, mockingly gallant. “Lead the way.”

  “Everything all right, Kensey?” Sherry called out from behind the bar.

  I shot her what I hoped was a reassuring smile and said, “Fine.” With that, I walked through the open doors, glad to see that no one was out there.

  As I faced Blake, he folded his arms across his chest and watched me. Waiting. Expecting an explanation. And then I got pissed, because the lying bastard owed me an explanation. The anger hadn’t been there at first. I’d felt hurt, betrayed, and even sad. I hadn’t been able to find my mad, too caught up in my panic at just how hurt I felt.

  “You going to tell me why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder?” he clipped.

  I narrowed my eyes. “You said you were in Chicago the weekend that you didn’t call me. Said you left on the Friday. Is that true?” If I hadn’t been watching him so carefully, I might not have noticed the way he imperceptibly stiffened. “Is it?” I repeated—it was a challenge; a dare for him to deny it.

  A muscle in his cheek ticked. “No.”

  I clenched my fists. “Why lie? Why come up with some bullshit story about a trip?”

  “There was a trip to Chicago. I just wasn’t there that weekend.”

  “Because you had a date at a carnival with a blonde.”

  Shock flashed in his eyes, and his arms slipped to his sides. “What the fuck?”

  “You said we’d be exclusive.”

  “We are,” he gritted out.

  “Really?” I gave a derisive snort. “What else have you lied to me about?” He didn’t respond, just looked at me, as if expecting me to drop it. Exasperated, I waved a hand. “Just fucking go, Blake.” I headed for the bar, cheeks flaming with hurt and—

  “She’s my stepsister. The blonde. Her name is Emma.”

  I slowly turned back to face him. “Why not just say you were with your stepsister, if it’s all so innocent?”

  “I don’t like talking about my family.”

  “That’s a piss-poor excuse, Blake. And let’s be honest, you don’t like talking about anything personal.”

  “There are things I can’t tell you.” He covered the space between us in two long strides. “How did you find out that I wasn’t in Chicago?”

  “There are things I can’t tell you.”

  He swore under his breath. “Kensey.”

  I raised my hands. “Look, I think we should just end this now.”

  His eyes blazed. “What?”

  “I’m tired, Blake.” I sounded it, too. “Tired of sleeping with a guy who holds me at such a distance that I feel like I could be anyone to him. Tired of having to guess what you’re thinking when your gaze goes inward. Tired of wondering what I said that made you switch from hot to cold. Tired of being mentally drained from all that guessing and thinking and my imagination running wild. And that’s not your fault. You are who you are, and you were clear what our arrangement would and wouldn’t be. But I can only be who I am. And this … I’m tired.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Kensey, baby, you of all people know what it’s like to have something dark in your life that you can never escape. I don’t want my shit touching you.”

  That took me off-guard. “And you don’t want to share it.”

  “Just like you wouldn’t want to share the ins and outs of your relationship with Bale. I respect that.”

  Oh, that pissed me off. “You don’t avoid the subject out of respect for me. You avoid it purely because it doesn’t interest you. I don’t interest you. Not as a person. And you have no desire to know me. Hey, that’s fine. Just don’t pretend differently.”

  His nostrils flared, and I could almost feel his anger. “Everything you do interests me. And fuck if that doesn’t annoy the shit out of me. I don’t like not knowing where you are or who you’re with. I don’t like how close you are to Cade or that the outside world doesn’t know that you belong to me. It all drives me fucking insane. As for me having no desire to know you? I do know you.”

  “Blake—”

  “I know you’re highly self-sufficient, slow to trust, and despise attention. I know you’re curious as a cat, a total neat freak, and you don’t draw energy from being around other people; that energy comes
from inside you. I know you’ve got shit time management skills—don’t even deny it—and you don’t need the approval of others to feel good about yourself. I might not know every little detail about your past and personal life, Kensey, but I know you.” He put his face close to mine. “And you know me.”

  I understood what he was getting at. Even though he was terribly evasive and had built a wall around his deeper emotions, I knew him in some ways just from the interactions we’d had. Knew he was a study in control. Knew he could be side tracked but never distracted. Knew he was the kind of person who acknowledged his weaknesses while playing to his strengths. Blake was self-focused but not selfish. He moved at his own pace and to the beat of his own drum. He knew exactly what he wanted and took control of his own destiny. But that was really just a profile, wasn’t it? Just his social persona. I still didn’t know him.

  He gripped my chin. “Look at me, Kensey. I lied to you about Chicago, yes. But I haven’t touched another woman since I first met you.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Then who was the redhead at the art gallery? Another stepsister?”

  More shock rippled across his face. “What the fuck is this, Kensey? Where are you getting all this?”

  “The redhead?” I pushed.

  His jaw tightened. “A friend.”

  “Really?” I drawled, doubtful. “So if the blonde is your stepsister and the redhead is simply a friend, neither of them is the mother of your son?”

  His face scrunched up. “I don’t have a son. What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Sandy colored hair. Chubby cheeks. Approximately five or six.”

  He exhaled a heavy breath. “Kyle is my nephew. Step-nephew. Whatever. He’s Emma’s son. And yes, really, Tara’s just a friend. If you want to be specific, she’s also my best friend’s sister. Or was. He’s dead. Committed suicide when he was seventeen.”

  The grief in his tone took the wind out of my sails. “I’m sorry,” I said stiffly, though the words were genuine.

  He let out a long sigh and wiped a hand down his face. “Kensey,” he began, voice softer now, “I know how it might seem, especially since I lied to you about Chicago, but there’s nothing between me and Tara. Nothing at all. She, Bastien, and I are working on a project together. He was with us that night at the gallery. Who went to you with tales about me?”

  I gave a little shake of the head. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’m tired—”

  Blake’s strong hands captured my face and cradled it gently. “Baby,” he whispered. “I didn’t want or mean to hurt you. Didn’t know that I could.”

  “I don’t like that you can.”

  “I don’t like how much my gut’s twisting at the hurt on your face. You’re not supposed to matter, but you do.” He slid his hand around my nape and drew me against him. I didn’t melt into him, but I didn’t fight him either. Just stood there as he held me, breathing in his cologne and silently berating myself for not pushing him away.

  He trailed soft kisses down the side of my face. “I want to see you tonight.”

  The guy had some front. “Blake—”

  “I haven’t seen you in almost a week, which is bad enough. Now I’m hearing that someone filled your head with shit that would make you think I’ve betrayed you, and I’m seeing that you’re hurting and pissed because I lied to you. If you want to end this, I can’t stop you. But at least talk to me before you do.” He tugged on my ponytail so that my head fell back. “Come to the Vault tonight,” he coaxed, rubbing his nose against mine. “We don’t have to play. We can just have a drink, a meal, talk—whatever you want. I just want to see you.”

  God, was I really caving? Yes, yes, I was. “I don’t think—” And then his mouth was on mine, hungry and seeking. His tongue swept away my objections as he took and demanded. But there was a new softness there … an apology? An effort to soothe?

  He ended the kiss with a gentle nip to my lower lip. “Missed this mouth. Always do.” He curled his hand around my chin. “You want some truth? It’s been one hell of a shitty week. I’m not kidding when I say that knowing I’d see you this weekend was the only thing that kept me from going nuclear. Finding you like this, hurting because of me … it’s a kick to the gut. Let me fix it.”

  Oh, did he really have to say that? I was trying to stay pissed, but he was making it hard.

  “Come to me tonight, baby.”

  “I’m—”

  “Tired, I know. But you can give me an hour just to hear me out. Right?”

  I looked to the ground, as if there would be some inspiration there. But, no, there wasn’t. I lifted my head and, even as I called myself all kinds of names from ‘stupid’ to ‘doormat’, said, “Okay.”

  A slow smile curved his mouth. “That’s my girl.” He kissed me again, softer this time but no less hungry or demanding. “Rossi will pick you up at six.”

  “I can drive—”

  “I know that, baby. I’d pick you up myself if I didn’t have a ton of shit to do at the club.” He gave my nape a squeeze. “I’ll meet you in the basement. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Face soft and lazy with approval, he planted a gentle kiss on my mouth. “See you later.”

  I watched him stride to his car with that confident, dignified gait, wondering if giving him a chance to explain made me weak. “You can come out now,” I said as he drove off, knowing Sarah would be within earshot. There was no way the girl wouldn’t have eavesdropped.

  She walked outside, her expression surprisingly soft. “Did you hear him say that seeing you hurting because of him was like a kick to the gut? That was so sweet. And he said you mattered.”

  I worried my lower lip. “Do you think I’m being stupid by agreeing to see him tonight, considering I don’t know if I can even believe a word that comes out of his mouth?”

  Sarah pursed her lips. “There’s nothing stupid or wrong about hearing him out before you decide to walk away. You’re due an explanation.”

  I nodded, taking a deep breath.

  “I also think that if you don’t go, he’ll just come looking for you anyway.”

  Yeah, so did I. The click-clack of heels was swiftly followed by the appearance of Sherry. I groaned, anticipating what was coming.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she glared at me. “You going to tell me what the hell that was about? You said you’re not dating Blake. Your mother—”

  “When you’re ready to tell me about the riding crop and handcuffs I saw in your locker, I’ll tell you about Blake,” I said.

  Sherry spluttered, cheeks flushing. “They were gag gifts.”

  Sarah’s eyes twinkled. “Ooh, she lies, Kensey. How shall we break her?”

  “I’m willing to forget what I saw if your mom is willing to forget that Blake just showed up here,” I said. “I’ll even do her the added kindness of telling her who started the rumor that your dad wore her panties to work.”

  Sherry’s eyes bulged. “Dodger did nothing of the sort. And there’s no such rumor.”

  “There soon will be if you don’t agree to hush up.”

  Her mouth tightened. “Fine. But other people saw Blake come here and make a beeline for you. It’ll get back to your mother somehow. Good luck with that.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As I rode the elevator down to the basement, I smoothed my trembling hand down my silk teal dress. I didn’t know why I was nervous, but my heart pounded, and my stomach kept rolling. Maybe it wasn’t so much nervousness as anticipation. I was anxious for answers. No, I was anxious for forgivable answers. I wanted there to be a good reason why he’d lied to me. I wanted to hear something that would make me trust his earlier claim that he hadn’t betrayed me with those women. And I wanted to believe that he’d meant it when he said I mattered to him.

  Didn’t want much, did I?

  The elevator doors slid open. And there was Blake, just a few feet away, standing proudly erect, broad sho
ulders back, feet wide apart. He looked self-assured. Strong. Powerful. And I was hit hard by the raw magnetism that seemed part of his basic character.

  As our eyes locked, one side of his mouth curled. I pasted on a half-smile as I stepped out of the elevator. He glided toward me, moving slowly and deliberately, and let his gaze—heated and possessive—sweep over every inch of me. I cursed the flush that crept up my neck and face.

  Without hesitation, he stepped right into my personal space. And, shockingly, my system seemed to … steady. Calm. As if soothed by him. I had to admit—even if only to myself—that although I was pissed at him, I didn’t want to be anywhere else at that moment.

  He softly brushed his mouth over mine. “Beautiful, as always. I wasn’t sure if you’d come, but you did.” There was no missing the note of satisfaction in his tone.

  “I did.” But he needn’t count his chickens yet. If I didn’t like his answers, I’d walk right on out of here.

  His eyes gleamed briefly as he thumbed one of my dangly earrings. “Red.”

  I told myself I’d worn the red diamond hoops because I didn’t want to be approached by others, but that was a lie. I cast a glance at his tie. “Red.” Well, it was more of a deep, dark burgundy. I seriously liked it.

  He slid his hand down my arm and took my hand. “Come.” He kept me close as he led me away, exchanging nods with the people seated around the lounge. He moved at an easy, unhurried pace, like no tension existed between us.

  He stopped when we reached a booth where a waiter hovered. I didn’t have much of an appetite, thanks to the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I ordered the steak. Blake ordered the lobster and a bottle of a wine I’d never heard of, but I was pretty sure it would be good. He’d proven he had good taste in wine.

  The waiter then disappeared, and I turned my attention to Blake. Opposite me, he hooked his arm over the back of his booth and just stared at me. His posture was surprisingly relaxed. He looked … pleased. Mellow. I was strung tighter than a bow. I clasped my fingers in my lap to stop myself from fidgeting.