by Addison Fox
Landon shoved his phone into his pocket, absurdly happy in spite of the hard-on that had tortured him every step of the way home. Daphne was in for brunch tomorrow.
He’d deliberately walked from her place, determined to work off the heat and need that still pounded his system in torrents. The distance hadn’t done much in the way of cooling him off, but it minimized the time he’d climb the walls in his own place.
And because he’d done the right thing, he walked the steps of the self-righteous as he headed for home.
Whether or not it felt like it at the moment.
Daphne’s friend was obviously miserable, and there was no way he could have played the jerk and shoved the woman on her not-so-merry way. He was a stand-up guy and after thirty-three years of living, he was hard pressed to give it up.
Which sucked donkey balls when it meant walking away from a beautiful—and willing—woman.
He was tempted to text Fender, but all he’d get was a bunch of trash talk and no one to say yes to a few beers, since his brother was up at Watkins Glen. And Fender, that perceptive bastard, would quickly read between what would no doubt be grumpy lines of texts anyway, only adding teeth to the inevitable trash talk.
Nick was out, too. Based on the looks he was always giving Emma, interrupting there would be akin to what had just taken place on Daphne’s front porch.
Only he’d be the bedraggled princess, desperate for a friend.
Nope. Only thing for it was a cold shower and a cold beer—maybe both at the same time—and a big fantasy of what might happen Sunday afternoon after brunch.
Because she’d said yes.
He turned into the entrance to his building, where a bright glow emanated from the foyer. Soft sconces bounced light off the marble entryway and he hopped the few steps to the interior door, pulling it open and narrowly missing his foot as it swung.
Slow down, McGee. Or when you do finally get your shot you’ll be fumbling over yourself like a fucking teenager.
The internal reprimand—and the image of fumbling over Daphne—was enough to slow him down, and he visualized the cold beer that was in his very near future.
He nearly breezed by the woman who blocked his path from the entry door to the elevator, when he stopped, his body rigid with recognition.
And as every thought drained from his mind save one, a wave of blistering cold enveloped him like a wave.
Amber McGee had returned.
Ten
Time. Air. Anger. Hurt.
Landon whirled through his disparate thoughts, unable to make a single one stick.
Nothing would fucking land.
Except that she was here.
After all this time. And there was no air. Not one single breath would take root in his goddamned lungs. Not one single thought could get past the wall of anger and the shocking wellspring of hurt that bore through his chest with all the finesse of a jackhammer.
She was here.
“Do you know who I am?” The question was quiet—low and breathy and barely audible—and yet she might as well have announced it with a megaphone.
Did he know who she was?
Every bit of shock and anger coalesced into action at her question. He bit off the curse that sprang to his lips, even as a litany of fuck yous ricocheted through his mind.
Did he know her?
He pushed past her and right on past the elevator, veering into a small alcove that housed the steps to his apartment. The emotional work of nearly a quarter century vanished in the reality of her.
Gone in a heartbeat, up in smoke thicker than the haze from a joint.
His mother.
The root of everything he was, everything he’d become, and everything he hated about himself pounded in tempo with his racing pulse. Footsteps echoed behind him, the noise daring him to turn around, but he headed for the stairs, his legs already clearing the first two when she spoke.
“Landon. Please.”
It was the please that stopped him. Along with the consideration, understanding, and compassion that had been invested in him in the previous twenty-five years.
He stilled but didn’t turn around.
“Please talk to me. For just a moment. All I want is a moment.”
The pleasant, sexy buzz that had hummed in his veins had vanished, replaced with a wash of anger, frustration, and rage. Like an animal in high frenzy, it clawed at him from the inside, desperate to get out. Anxious to attack her and make her feel as horrible as he did.
“Why are you here?”
“I understand you had some trouble recently.”
He did turn at that, that rocking frenzy struggling with the change in topic and a new direction for some of the anger.
Had Daphne brought his mother to his door? Was that why Amber was here, blindsiding him?
He remained on the stairs, looking down at her. “What do you understand?”
“Your business. I’ve followed it. Online. The news story Brooklyn Today did on you. You’re doing some amazing work. The Clues and Jewels game is one of my favorites.”
She followed his business? Him? She knew his work?
“And?”
“And I understand you had a break-in the other night. I just thought—” She stopped, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t involved.”
“Right. Sure.”
“And I’m sorry if I’ve surprised you.”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Landon.” She moved a few steps closer, then took one back as if she’d thought better of it. “I’m sorry if I’ve surprised you. I’ve been thinking about you, and I got off work and walked this way. I didn’t expect to run into you, but once I saw you I thought—” She stopped again, her voice hitching. “I wanted to say hello.”
“Fine. You did that.”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned to leave and as she moved he caught the lightest scent. Strawberry shampoo. Their bathroom had perpetually smelled of it, and it was the one thing that never failed to remind him of her.
“You have a job?” The question slipped out. He wasn’t interested, and he didn’t want to know, but damn it, the words had taken over, the question spilling like a runaway avalanche from his brain to his lips.
The question was enough to stop her, and she stared up at him. It struck him that the last time he’d seen her, he’d been the one looking up. Confused. Angry. And strangely desolate that she was giving him up.
And now he stared down at her, a grown man staring directly into his past.
“Yes. I’ve been a waitress at Moe’s for a few years now. Before that I was in Richmond for about twenty years. I went there after—” She took a deep breath. “I moved there a few years after you were adopted. After I got clean.”
Vague memories assailed him of her mentions of growing up in Richmond before running from Virginia to New York the summer between her freshman and sophomore years of high school. It was curious that she’d gone back, but he refused to ask any more questions.
It was even more curious, though, that she was back in Brooklyn. And clean, too?
He knew Moe’s. It was a small place known for its quiet alcoves and dark lighting. The locals usually dubbed it a good date place but he’d occasionally gotten Moe’s take out, too.
Yet he’d never seen her.
Hell, he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he had.
“So you’ve seen me. And you’re not responsible for breaking into my office. And you’re clean. I guess that sums it up.”
Subtle lines stamped her face, a departure from the youthful visage he’d remembered, but light enough to suggest her story of getting off drugs was a reality. If she had done the hard work she claimed, she’d have been off drugs and alcohol before the age of thirty. Enough time to stave off the worst ravages, if she’d stayed clean.
“I guess it does.” When he said nothing further, she gave him a small nod. The movement was slight, but it was enough t
o send another cloud of strawberry shampoo floating his way. “I’d better get going.”
She slipped from the alcove, moving out of view in the work of a few steps.
Unable to stand any longer, Landon sank down to the steps just as his knees buckled.
Daphne floated around the apartment, dusting, changing her sheets, and primping all at the same time. She had the energy of a manic fairy and just enough vision to see what might happen in the small space later that afternoon.
If she was lucky.
She grinned to herself and confirmed on a quick pass by the mirror that she was channeling that manic fairy to a T, her eyes alight with some serious joy.
Talking to her reflection, she added a little boogie step. “If he’s lucky, you mean.”
She boogied on, working her way around her bed as she smoothed the top sheet over the fitted. She hummed a small, mindless tune as she tucked in the corners of her sheets, the folds military-crisp. Freeing her inner crazy Tinker Bell or not, she still took pride in her chores.
And was curious to see just how far those folds could come undone later this afternoon.
After, of course, she met his mother. And Mrs. W. And anyone else they considered a close friend of the family.
With the onslaught of that realization, she dropped onto the edge of the bed, reality crashing in.
She’d been dating Landon McGee less than a week and he was taking her home to meet his mother.
Was he insane? Or was she?
The hard knock at the door had her glancing at the clock. She still had an hour, Landon’s last text the night before said he’d arrive around eleven. Tightening the sash on her robe, she went to her front door and prayed one of her brothers hadn’t decided to make a surprise drop-in for coffee.
The mental prayer faded as she opened the door to find Landon on the other side. He wore a gray T-shirt over old jeans, and while he looked good enough to eat, she was a bit surprised that this was what he wore to Sunday family dinner. Perhaps the summer sundress and heels she’d agonized over were too much?
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
Lines framed his face, cut into a day’s worth of stubble. Although he’d looked tired the first day they’d met, a product of little sleep with his work project, something else was at play here. He didn’t simply look tired.
He looked weary.
Worry over her outfit faded in the face of that exhaustion. “What’s the matter? Are you feeling bad?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you call me? We could have canceled brunch.” The words spilled out, a ready admonition she was so focused on giving that it took a moment to register the way his large body moved into hers, his fingers toying with the sash of her robe.
“Didn’t want to call you.” His mouth made a beeline to the crook of her neck, and tingles rose where his lips met her flesh.
Sensation flooded her in warm, syrupy waves, even as her heart kicked into high gear. She tilted, giving him easier access, and was rewarded with a series of delicious shivers that seemed to echo through her body, increasing in intensity with each tilt of his mouth against her skin.
His fingers grew more insistent on the knot at her waist, and while she wanted him beyond imagining, the moment felt off.
Was off, she realized as she lifted her head, only to find his eyes half-lidded, his hands pulling her back against him. “Where are you going?”
“Are you alright?”
“Are you?”
She wasn’t afraid—even out of sorts he wasn’t threatening or scary—but her sense that something had upset him grew more urgent by the moment.
“Landon?”
“Clearly I’m doing something wrong.”
“Or I am, if I can’t get through to you.”
He stilled then, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
Daphne grabbed for him before he could move out of range, capturing his hands in hers and squeezing tight. “Talk to me. Please.”
“I thought—” He squeezed back before shaking her hands loose. She half expected him to turn back around and leave as fast as he’d arrived, but he shifted gears, striding across her small foyer and into the living room.
“Did you call my mother?”
“This morning? About brunch?”
“No, about the break-in.”
“I haven’t spoken to your mother. I’m looking forward to meeting her this morning.”
“I meant the other one. Amber McGee.”
The name tore from his throat, and when he uttered those two words, all the air seemed to evaporate from the room.
“Did you call her?” he asked again.
Something cratered deep inside of her, both rooting her to the spot while simultaneously setting her free. She’d been honest from the get-go that she would do her job. Now she’d see if his agreement with her on that point was nothing more than lip service.
More to the point, she’d known this confrontation was coming the moment she left a message for Landon’s mother. Although she hadn’t heard back from her initial outreach, she’d left a follow-up call Friday before leaving work and had already set her plans for a visit on Monday, should there be no callback.
Interesting that his mother sought him out before making a return call to the police.
“I did. As a normal part of my investigation. I’ve yet to hear back from her, and my next step was to go pay her a visit.” She was honor bound to follow up on his birth mother as a lead, as well as Gretchen Reynolds. While she strongly suspected the answer sat in one of those two camps, she had to follow the threads even if for no other reason than to show thoroughness before she closed the file.
And once she did, it would be another tick mark in the box of annual robberies counted against the city’s statistics.
“She was waiting for me last night. Standing plain as day in my apartment lobby.”
“After you left here?”
Daphne did the math, estimating the time he sent his texts for brunch as well as the arrival of his mother. He must have set up plans with her on his way home, then arrived to the blast from his past.
“Is that the first time you’ve seen her? Since you were a child?”
“Yes. Claims she went away after she gave me up. Home to Richmond to stay clean.”
“Good for her.”
“Sure. Yippee fucking yay.”
“Landon—”
His body was tight, those long arms seeming locked against his sides, his limited strides in her small living area telegraphing the very essence of a caged animal looking to get free.
“I was doing fine! Better than fine! I’ve got a life. A damn good one. A business. A family. A future. Hell, the last few days I even thought I might have a woman I wasn’t going to get bored with in under two months, because she’s so goddamned fascinating. I was doing fine!”
Her heart hitched at the prospect of a future, but she sidestepped it, too focused on his needs to even consider the reality that he was speaking in probabilities instead of absolutes.
Or that he’d given thought to a future together.
“You still have all those things.”
“Tainted things. She’s here. She’s back!” Each word ripped from him, along with what could only be endless years of pent-up anger and pain. “Everything I’ve worked for, and she’s back and able to smear it with her shitty existence.”
“She’s never been gone, Landon. Avoiding her or attempting to forget her or relegating her to some corner of your memory doesn’t mean she’s dead. Nor does her existence mar any of those things you described. You still have a family. You still have a business. And, you big stupid ass, you still have me if you want me!”
Her own fear slipped out on that last one. The sudden desperation that made it so important he understood she wasn’t going anywhere.
She was here.
And the fact she’d done her job wasn’t a betr
ayal of them. Of what they were so tentatively building.
“You don’t understand.”
The words were so tortured—so freighted with pain and anger and desolation—that she could think of no other answer than to go to him. To make some attempt—even if it was the fleeting ephemerality of the physical—to take it away.
Daphne moved up against him, taking his hands once more in hers and drawing them behind her back so that he wrapped around her. She pressed a line of kisses along his neck, just above the collar of his T-shirt, whispering along the way.
“This isn’t tainted. Nothing is, but this certainly isn’t.”
“I can’t.” He held still, the muscles of his throat working around her sensual assault. “I shouldn’t have come over—”
“Take what’s here. Between us.” She slipped her hands down over his chest, past the firm lines of his stomach before flipping the button of his jeans. One hand snaked beneath the waistband. “Please.”
His head fell forward, his forehead resting against hers as the long length of him leaped against her palm. “This isn’t—”
She kept her hand firmly in place before lifting her gaze to his. The heat of sexual need fired in those depths, but the power of what was between them couldn’t fully erase the pain and misery that shadowed even the most raw, carnal desire.
“Let’s give each other this. Now.”
When his arms tightened around her, his mouth coming down over hers with all the force of a hurricane gathering strength over the ocean, Daphne leaned in and took it all.
Landon knew he’d lost the battle before he’d even gotten on the field. Edgy and urgent and raw, he’d deliberately reversed his walk from the night before. Deliberately come to find her in an attempt to stave off the wild that clawed at him from the inside.
And now he was here. With Daphne.
He devoured her with his mouth, hard and open on hers, their tongues already mimicking the frenzied joining of their bodies. Daphne took him thrust for thrust, well able to match his pace. He cupped her through the thin silk of her robe, the heavy fullness of her breasts and the hard tips of her nipples filling his palms. She pressed into him, a soft moan in her throat with each stroke of his tongue and each teasing flick of his thumbs against that pointed flesh.
