Her hand shoots across the table. “Oh Cal, I’m so sorry. When did this happen?” The worry in her eyes guts me. I’ve been telling this lie for so long, it’s become my life. But telling it to Libby is like cursing my own soul.
“Before I met you.” I shove the worry aside. “I could still serve in some capacity.”
Her hand slips away. “Yes. After you finished your last rotation is when you started working with Sam and Iris.”
I’ve been approved to tell her this truth. “Libby, I’ve always worked for Alliance, even when I met you…” Her head snaps up. I continue. “I was recruiting future employees while I was teaching, and I got called up.” The last part is a lie; Yarborough needed me on a top secret mission, but I can’t share that.
Her interest isn’t feigned. “What do you all do?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you a lot about it since the work we do is classified.”
Instead of being upset, she looks thoughtful. “I can appreciate that.”
I’m flabbergasted. “You can?”
She shrugs. “Sure. My grandfather, Nonna’s husband, was in the military. He took much of what he did to the grave. Can you answer general questions?”
If I ever thought Libby Akin was perfect for me before, now I know it for sure. “Some, yes.” I pick up my fork and begin eating.
She does as well. “Do you still work in recruiting?”
I shake my head. “I work more hands-on with our customers establishing projects. Some are quick turnaround; some are longer and take me away weeks at a time.”
She takes a drink of wine, swallows, before asking, “Are you able to have contact with people when you’re on a project?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because if I’m going to consider getting involved with a man who’s potentially all over the US working on a contract…”
“The world,” I correct her.
She accepts my correction with a nod. “I’d like to know I have some way of contacting him. Otherwise I’m going to feel like I’m involved with some black-ops guy who might disappear one day and no one will ever tell me why.” Giving me a sharp look, she asks, “That’s not going to happen, is it?”
I reassure her, “You’d be told if something odd ever happened to me.” I make a mental note to have Libby’s name listed to the people who need be notified in the event of an unfortunate event. Right now, only Sam’s name is on that list, and I sure as hell don’t want him to be the one to ever have to give her that news.
Not that I plan on that occurring.
She nods. Forking another bite of cassoulet, she chews before grinning. “Must suck for y’all. The government is riddled with paperwork. I imagine all your forms have to be completed in triplicate.”
Suddenly, I’m the one laughing—something I haven’t done in years. And I’m doing it with the only woman who’s ever made me do it. “Yes. And let me assure you, it is a bitch.”
She makes a tsking sound that makes me want to pull her up for a long kiss, something I promise myself I’m going to taste before the night’s over.
Though I really don’t want this night to end since I’ve waited for it for so many years.
14
Elizabeth
Twelve Years Ago from Present Day
“You can take me back to Deja Vu,” I tell Cal once we’re back in the car.
He frowns. “It’s late, Libby. Let me just take you home and I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
I let out a low laugh. “Cal, Deja Vu is home.” At his confused expression, I explain. “I own the whole building. My apartment is upstairs.”
He grins, something I notice he never did even around Sam. A happy tingle flows through me. “Makes it an easy commute, I guess.”
“You have no idea.” An easy silence falls between us.
We’re on the road a while before Cal reaches over, takes my hand, and squeezes. My heart thumps in my chest. I feel like tonight is one of those kinds of nights where life is spinning her wheel and anything can happen. Nothing will remain the same after.
I gently return the gesture.
“Deja Vu was what you were talking about in the bar that night,” he suddenly says once we’re back on Route 17 heading toward Charleston.
If anyone told me that all the walls I’ve built would fall away with one simple query, I’d have called them a damned liar. But Cal just managed to. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
We pass under a streetlamp just then. His jaw is clenched hard. “I probably remember more than you imagine I do.”
“Like?” I challenge.
Suddenly, Cal’s swung the car into the parking lot of Deja Vu. He’s twisted in his seat until he’s facing me. “When I’m out with colleagues having a drink, I remember what it was like to sit with you and drink bad wine. Every time I close my eyes, I can still hear your laughter. And I can’t see a damn sunflower without missing you.” His head lowers.
My lips part, my breath coming out heavy. “Three years,” I moan. My tongue comes out to dampen my lips.
“And every minute of them, I’ve cursed myself a fool for not doing this.” Cal leans forward and captures my lips with a hunger born of every moment we’ve been apart.
My lips part for him, my head tilting to the side. My arms snake around his shoulders, tugging him closer. I don’t just hear the growl that comes out of his mouth, I taste it. It pulls an answering groan from my own. There’s pure need communicating between the meeting of lips and tongues. It’s pleasure and hunger.
And through it all, Cal’s managing to ensure I’ll never be able to resist him ever again.
All through one kiss.
Pulling back, Cal cups my chin, nuzzling my cheek. “Thank you.”
I pull back confused. “You’re thanking me?”
“No, I’m thanking whomever I have to for finally letting the timing be right,” he says seriously before he lowers his head again.
Cal’s tongue slips past before I have a chance to pull back in surprise. Giving myself over to it, I lose my reason and my senses. If a kiss is a stone meant to disturb the sheen of life’s water, then the recovery of this one may wash me up on the shores.
Dragging me over the console, Cal arranges my legs so I’m straddling his lap. I rip my mouth away to whimper, “Oh, God.”
Cal trails his lips down my neck. “Jesus, Libby, how did I ever walk away?” he groans.
And like ice water being dropped on me, I freeze up. Those words suddenly throw my shields back into place. This is a man who might walk away, and I’m not a woman to leave. “I don’t know, but you did.” Extracting myself from his lap, I climb back over the console. I lean down to pick up my purse from where I dropped it.
When I straighten, Cal’s there. His lips capture mine again. After another devastating kiss that begins to melt the frost around my heart, he whispers, “I’m not walking away again. I promise you that. If anyone does any leaving, it’s going to be you.”
My lips quirk. “Do you mean for tonight or longer than that?”
Without hesitation, he says, “Both.”
More of the frost melts. “Well, for tonight, I am going to say good night.”
Cal nods before opening his door. “Don’t move. I’ll be right around,” he warns.
Another shot of warmth steals through me. I wait patiently for him to open my door. Holding my hand, he escorts me to the back entrance of the building. “Do you have your keys?”
I pull them out. “Right here.” I jingle them for good measure.
He holds out his hand. “For my peace of mind, let me do a quick walk-through?”
“Why?”
“Because of what happened earlier. For me? I need to know you’re safe.” His explanation is sweet, even if a little overprotective. I hand him my keys. Dropping a quick kiss on my nose, he whispers, “Stay here for just a second,” before disappearing inside my apartment.
Within moments, he’s back. “
All clear.”
“I didn’t think he’d be that stupid.” I start to move past him, but he hooks an arm around my waist. It reminds me of the way he stopped me all those years ago, and I stiffen.
“If a man has an opportunity to resurrect something he stupidly burned to the ground, he’ll go to any length to do it,” Cal rasps out. And I know he’s not talking about Kyle.
He’s talking about himself.
Unable to tear my eyes away, I don’t avoid when he leans down and presses a gentle kiss against my lips before whispering, “Lock up behind me.” Cal lets me go to stride to the door.
Suddenly, I can’t help but ask, “Was tonight just about making up for our missed date?”
Cal freezes in place before turning around and facing me. We’re feet apart, and yet the visual caress his eyes give me causes my nipples to tighten. “No.”
“Then what was it?”
“It was just the beginning.” Then he turns and walks out.
15
Present Day
Elizabeth
“And it was?” Dr. Powell asks me.
“Yes,” I sigh in remembrance of the early days of Cal’s and my relationship. “Cal would randomly show up to drop off a coffee, lunch, or even randomly swoop in before work for a kiss. And the nights?” I let out a dreamy sigh.
“How would you describe it?”
I think about it hard. “Stirring? No, that’s not quite strong enough of a word. Heady? Stimulating? The more I was with Cal, the more I felt like we were always meant to be. It’s hard to describe the connection between us.”
“Was it love?” Dr. Powell asks me.
I bite my lip and then answer, “I was in this odd place where I was falling in love with the ridiculous things about him that I never knew existed. Yes, for me it was, though I hadn’t said so yet to Cal, nor he to me.”
“Why hadn’t you said it?”
“Self-preservation?” I respond dryly. After the laughter dies down, I answer seriously, “To be honest, I was terrified of letting Cal in. I’d already had one broken engagement, and frankly there was still so much I was afraid of.”
“Like what?”
“Like giving up the part of me that knew how to stand on my own. I knew I could survive as Elizabeth Akin.”
“But would you be happy?”
“Ahh, now you’re asking me the questions I was asking myself.” Another low chuckle that quickly subsides when I continue. “And the answer is simple. I’ll never be truly happy without Cal in my life. Even when I left him, I knew that. After all, how can you be happy when your biggest heartache isn’t dying but believing you have to let the person you love go to be with someone else?”
16
Calhoun
Twelve Years Ago from Present Day
“Big plans tonight, Cal?” Sam slams the door on his locker next to me. We just finished a ten-mile run after going over some intel that came in this morning. I was really hoping it didn’t pan out to be anything and said as much to Sam a few minutes ago.
“Yeah.” Reaching into my locker, I pull out my wallet and flip it open. Pulling out two tickets, I hand them over.
“How in the hell did you pull that off?” The awe in Sam’s voice makes the amount I spent on those tickets worth it.
“It wasn’t easy,” I admit. “Tickets for Small Town Nights are next to impossible, but with Brendan Blake opening for them? I had to cash in a few favors.”
“And sell your soul to the devil,” Sam snickers.
“I did that a long time ago, buddy. But if it puts the kind of smile I suspect is going to be on Libby’s face when we get to the arena, I’ll do it twice.” Instead of sliding into my normal dress slacks which I’d do before heading to pick up Libby, I tug on a pair of jeans with my dark dress shirt. Frowning, I growl at Sam, who looks like he’s contemplating knocking me out to steal the tickets, “Hand ’em over.”
“Iris is going to take my head off.” Unfortunately for him, he’s not wrong. What sucks for the rest of us is we’ll all hear about it from the time Libby tells her best friend to the moment Iris forgives her boyfriend.
Sometimes the lack of a no-fraternization policy at Alliance has sucked over the years.
“Sounds like a personal problem,” I tell him.
Sam doesn’t hesitate to throw his middle finger up at me. “You’re a dick,” he informs me.
My lips twitch. It’s still not a smile; the only one who can pull that from me is Libby, but since she’s come into my life, even I notice I joke more with the team of people I work with.
Kind of helps to be in the good graces of the people who literally stand between your life and death.
Quickly, I run a comb through my wet hair and pull my socks and boots out of my locker before slamming it shut. “Hey.” I get Sam’s attention away from my wallet which is sitting on the bench next to me.
“What’s up?”
“Can I get away with these boots at a country concert?” I lift my brown steel-toe boots. “You know I’m not going to be able to slip in any kind of weapon other than this.” I hold up the tiny Swiss Army knife that dangles from the end of my key chain as more of a joke than anything.
Sam gives me a thorough perusal before throwing my words back at me. “Sounds like a personal problem. Why don’t you think on it while I go try to find a florist to get some flowers for Iris to head off her eruption?” With that, he starts to saunter away, calling over his shoulder, “I hope Libby has a great time.”
“That’s the idea, you asshole!” I yell back. Contemplating my boots once more, I decide they’ll have to do. I have to get to Libby. Lord only knows how much time she’ll need to change when I tell her what our real plans for tonight are.
* * *
Hours later, I am positive I made a tactical error. I should have just brought Libby to the show without telling her where we were going. Then maybe I could have enjoyed it without having to glare pair after pair of admiring eyes into submission over the way my woman sways to the music.
I sure as shit appreciated the way Libby’s whole body thanked me, her long legs wrapped around my waist as she peppered my face with kisses. Even as her lips pressed against mine, they were smiling. Her cheeks were flushed with the kind of happiness I want to give her every day. I boosted her up so I could continue to stare at her, absorbing even more of her essence when she clasped her hands on either side of her face and screeched, “I can’t go backstage looking like this. Goodness gracious, that would be so embarrassing!”
While I thought the jeans and T-shirt she had on were fine, what did I know? Libby squirmed in my arms, giving me a whole new set of ideas, before pleading, “Give me fifteen minutes. I know just what to wear.”
Figuring it’ll take her at least thirty, I meander into her kitchen to see if there’s anything quick to chow down on. Even though we’ll be grabbing something quick on our way to the North Charleston Coliseum & Performing Arts Center, I’d only managed to down a protein shake once I was done with my run. Frankly, I could have eaten half of the contents of her fridge, chow down on dinner, and still be hungry. Finding leftover fried chicken from dinner the other night, I yank out a leg and shove it in my mouth before closing the container and pulling my head out of Libby’s fridge.
The chicken falls to the floor unheeded as I catch sight of my girlfriend.
Holy shit.
I about come just from the sight of her in a halter-top sundress that hugs every inch of her luscious curves that she paired with a pair of boots on her delicate feet. I almost swallow my tongue as I notice since her long hair is pulled over to one shoulder, her entire back, down to the waist, is bare.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
“If you’re lucky,” she teases. But I’m not kidding when I spin her around and press her body up against the entry to the kitchen. Backing her against the jamb, I drop my head down to her bare shoulder.
Libby lets out a sigh.
“Tonight’s going to
suck,” I say tragically.
Her head jerks back in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m going to be too busy ready to kill every man there, and I won’t have anything to do it with,” I tell her truthfully.
Her sweet laugh smooths out the rough edges of my emotions. I trail my lips up her neck, then capture her lips in a quick kiss. “If we hurry, we can get a bite to eat before the show.”
“Then let’s go. You must be starved having come here directly from work.”
Mournfully, I eye the chicken leg lying on the floor. Releasing Libby, I scoop it up and throw it in the trash. “You have no idea.”
But as we stand in front of our seats close to the stage, even the energy of the concert can’t eclipse that emanating from Libby. I grin as Libby sings along with every Brendan Blake song, like he’s a megastar or something. It’s not that he’s not good—he is. He just may end up being another name people sit on their tailgates and go, “Oh, yeah. I remember that song.” It happens to so many who toss their cowboy hat into the sound booth. Then again—my eyes narrow as he winks down at Libby singing his third song that hit number one on the country music charts—he did land the spot on the Small Town Nights tour.
I slide up behind Libby and slide my arms around her waist. I begin swaying back and forth with her as she’s being serenaded from the stage. Whether it’s because he saw his death on my face or just respects another woman’s man, Blake tips his hat at me before strolling to the other side of the stage. “Having fun?” I yell into her ear.
Twisting back, she grins and tugs my head close. “I would have been happy just dancing with you to this at home.” Rising up on her toes, she presses a quick kiss on my lips. But before her head turns away, she’s already picked up singing the lyrics in time with the rest of the crowd.
And there, right there is the reason I used my connection to Wildcard Music—the label that represents Small Town Nights and Brendan Blake—to get the tickets and backstage passes. Because Libby doesn’t expect it.
Ripple Effect Page 7
