Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1

by Audra North

  He’d change his mind, then.

  “I’ll get dressed.”

  “Nothing fancy. Nate would get intimidated.”

  She laughed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that said Nantucket. She brushed out her hair and stuck it into a high ponytail, beaming at him. “Is this good? Or too un-fancy?”

  “No. Very cute.” He leaned forward to kiss her, which turned into a long minute of roaming hands and soft sighs.

  She could get used to this.

  When he stepped away, he still didn’t completely release her, holding on to her hand as they left her apartment and headed out to his car.

  “Wow, this is the first time I’ve ever ridden in a police car,” she practically squeaked.

  “That’s probably a good thing,” he assured her, opening the passenger’s side door for her and making sure she was settled in before taking himself around to the driver’s side.

  He pulled out from the curb and started driving east, toward an older part of town that had become almost like a suburb as the city had expanded, talking as he navigated the streets with ease. “I’ll warn you beforehand that we live in a decent neighborhood, but the house isn’t that nice. I try to keep up the outside, anyway, so the neighbors don’t suffer from our neglect, but the inside is in need of a renovation and—”

  “It’s okay, you know. It’s not like I should care about your house.” She’d meant it to say that she cared about him, not where he lived, but he scowled even as he nodded. Oh no, did I offend him? “I meant that I care about where you live because you live there, but not for its financial value.”

  His scowl only deepened, though, and she decided to simply keep quiet, rather than potentially make things worse by saying anything else. Still, she couldn’t figure out what she’d said to make him look so upset.

  She decided to change the subject, and after about twenty minutes of easy conversation, they pulled up in front of a two-story house painted a clean white on the outside, with blue shutters and a dark green door. It was a lovely American Foursquare style house with a deep front porch, a steep-pitched roof and two chimneys.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, smiling. “This is where you grew up?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It looks okay, I guess. I-I don’t know. I guess I’ve been looking at it for three decades and it’s not really mine…”

  He trailed off, and she didn’t push him. She knew the feeling. Even in college, living in the dorms, she hadn’t quite felt like she had a space of her own. Only when she’d finished school and gotten her own apartment—her tiny, shabbily-furnished apartment with the radiator that clanged in the winter and peeling ceiling paint—had she felt a real pride in where she lived.

  He parked in the driveway and again opened the door for her, putting out a hand to assist her out. Beatrice used the opportunity to slip her arms around Warren’s waist, tipping her head up to kiss his chin. “Shall we go inside? It’s pretty early. I don’t want to wake anyone.”

  “Kelly will already have gone. Nate might wake up in another hour, but if Mom is awake then I’ll have to relieve her for a bit. She’ll probably be sitting up with Dad, whether he’s awake or not.”

  “Your mother sounds incredibly dedicated. A lot like someone else I know.”

  He gave a half smile at that. “I’m not sure that’s anything to be proud of. Mom is running herself ragged. She’s only fifty-five years old, but she looks about ten years older.” He paused and looked up at one of the dormers on each of the four sides of the roof. “I’m glad we were able to hang on to the house.”

  She heard the real words behind that statement. But I wish I hadn’t had to be the one to sacrifice for it.

  He stepped back from her and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  No one was in the kitchen when they entered through the back door. The house was silent with the peaceful calm of sleep. Warren pulled out a tall chair at the kitchen island and gestured for her to sit.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go check in on Dad and see if Mom needs any help.”

  He disappeared through a doorway and Beatrice looked around the kitchen. He was right about the house needing updating. The kitchen was wallpapered in a blue and white floral print, with oak-stained trim and one small window that looked out onto the backyard. The cabinets had wrought-iron hardware and the countertops looked like Nana’s Formica table. The linoleum was scuffed and scratched, making it look dingier than it really was.

  There was a small dining table crammed into a nook just behind the island. Beyond that, through another doorway, Beatrice could see a formal dining room, though the lovely table in there had been pushed along a wall, and the section she could see was piled with books and papers.

  But despite all of those superficial flaws, the house at least felt like a home. She could feel the togetherness of the people who lived in it.

  It made her want to be a part of that feeling.

  Warren returned then and shook his head. “Mom and Dad are both sleeping. I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed for this,” he whispered.

  “I don’t mind. I offered. Besides, the bed wouldn’t be the same if you were gone anyway.”

  Heat flared in Warren’s eyes, and he reached for her, making her slide off the chair and arch into him as he kissed her deeply, caressing her neck, fingers running through the soft hairs at the nape that had escaped her ponytail. She ran her hands up his abdomen, playing over his body, until he broke off, panting.

  “I wish I had a place that was halfway private,” he murmured, dropping one last kiss on her lips before pulling away and walking to the counter. “Coffee?”

  Beatrice nodded, sitting back down, and he set to work brewing a pot. He moved about like a man accustomed to working in silence, careful steps and measured movements.

  It fit, given how his family must live. Besides, his expertise was in disarming explosives. He would certainly need to be cautious and tread carefully, lest he trigger a bomb that took a limb, or even his life.

  Thankfully, there weren’t many bombs in the city.

  Or were there? Suddenly, she felt fear rise.

  “Warren?” she whispered his name, pitching her voice slightly louder than the percolating coffee.

  He turned and approached her, kissing her before whispering against her lips, “Yes?”

  “How often do you have to deal with explosives, like what happened on Wednesday?”

  He was quiet for a minute, studying her. “Do you want to know how safe you are?”

  She shook her head. “No. I want to know how safe you are.”

  His expression shifted, but before he could answer, the sound of a heavy tread on a stairwell somewhere filled the kitchen.

  “That’ll be Nate,” Warren said, pulling back and speaking in a level tone. “Now that he’s up, we at least don’t have to whisper ourselves hoarse. Mom and Dad’s room is at the back of the house, but Nate’s is at the top of the stairs.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, the boy whom Beatrice had seen at the batting cages shuffled in, wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt, and rubbing at his eyes. “G’morning, Uncle Quinn,” Nate said sleepily, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of Beatrice sitting at the island.

  “Hey, I know you,” he croaked, and she couldn’t contain an amused laugh.

  Warren cleared his throat. “Nate, this is Miss Lawrence. She’s a friend of mine who is going to hang out with us today.”

  Nathan seemed to wake up a bit at that, because his expression changed, his face becoming more adult-looking as he came closer and put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lawrence.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Warren nod in approval. She supposed he was proud of Nate’s maturity, and she decided to treat him like the young adult he was obviously becoming. She smiled, shook hi
s hand and told him, “Please, call me Beatrice.”

  He blushed a little at that, but nodded. “Cool.”

  But then he seemed to run out of things to say next and started looking a little uncomfortable until Warren walked over and gave his nephew a strong side-hug, squeezing the boy’s shoulders briefly before dropping his arm.

  Beatrice’s heart squeezed too at the sweet gesture. For all that Warren had seemed so intimidating for so long, he was a good, gentle man who really cared about others.

  “What are we going to do today?” Nathan asked, opening the refrigerator and pulling out some milk.

  “If you’re interested in learning how to take photos, Beatrice brought her camera along. She’s a photojournalist for the paper, you know.”

  Nate snorted as he poured out some milk into a glass. “Of course I know. You have all those—”

  “She was also the photographer at Ben’s wedding.” Warren broke in, cutting off Nathan and distracting him.

  Beatrice wondered at the strange interruption. Usually Warren was so respectful of his young nephew. But Nate didn’t seem to notice, just turned and said, “Oh yeah. Grandma said you were a hot ticket.”

  Warren groaned.

  She couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t sure how to interact with a thirteen-year-old. He spoke and sort of acted like an adult, but he still had that baby-faced look about him, and there were no worry lines in his forehead. Not like his uncle’s. But he was open and sweet and she found herself really liking him. “Well, I don’t know about that,” she told him, glancing at Warren, “but like your uncle said, I’m happy to show you a couple of tricks for getting good pictures. Sound good?”

  He looked at her over the rim of his glass of milk. “Seriously?”

  She nodded, biting back a smile. “Seriously.”

  He shrugged. “Then yeah. Cool. What should we take pictures of?”

  Nathan moved as though he was going to leave the kitchen, but Warren’s big hand on the boy’s shoulder stopped him. “Before you run off, you need to eat some breakfast. Beatrice and I still need to drink our coffee, anyway.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes, but he acquiesced quickly enough, grabbing some cereal and a bowl before settling at the small table near the kitchen island. Warren poured a cup of coffee and slid it over the island to Beatrice. She took it from him and stroked his hand when she did, and he flashed her a sexy grin.

  “Cream?” he asked, and Beatrice blushed. How did he make everything sound suggestive?

  Or maybe it was all in her mind, because he saw her reaction and gave a low laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes, now and later.” Beatrice flushed even hotter. “Sugar too?”

  “You’re killing me,” she whispered, but nodded. “Both, please.”

  He set them out for her and she fixed her coffee, then picked up the cup and moved to the chair next to where his nephew was sitting, crunching on his cereal.

  “When did you start learning to be a photographer?” Nate asked.

  Beatrice smiled. “When I was eight, my grandmother—I call her Nana—gave me a nice film camera for my birthday. You really can’t waste film, you know, not like you can delete pictures on digital ones, so you really have to think about what you want to photograph. And when the first set of photos came back, Nana told me I had a good eye and she bought me some books on photography so I could learn more.”

  “Your Nana sounds cool. What did your parents say?”

  She hesitated for a moment. They’d been reluctant because they hadn’t been sure whether photography was an appropriate hobby for a girl, but in the end they’d let her continue learning. They’d even let her take a photography class as one of her high school electives.

  Her parents weren’t bad people. She had to remind herself of that regularly, but it was true. They were just different. Though they’d let her pursue her photography, they’d never really been interested in seeing her work or encouraging her to make a living at it.

  How could she explain all that to someone as young as Nate? She wasn’t sure what was appropriate.

  Luckily, Warren seemed to see her distress, because he joined them at the table and told Nathan, “Everyone likes Beatrice’s pictures.”

  “Especially you, Uncle Quinn,” Nathan replied, laughing, and Warren gave him a slight shake of the head. A silencing motion.

  Again with the strange censure. What was that about?

  Nathan rushed through his cereal and Warren let him run upstairs to get dressed, and by seven thirty, they were outside, Beatrice showing Nathan the basics of operating her Nikon. Warren hung out in the background, but she noticed his hands involuntarily tensing every time Nathan fumbled the equipment.

  Beatrice reached out and touched his hip, a reassuring gesture, and Warren came closer, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. The boy grinned, pointing the camera up at them a second before the shutter clicked, and belatedly, Beatrice pulled away from Warren. When she’d been on the receiving end of that lens while thinking about Warren, she’d felt fine. But with Warren?

  Suddenly, her hands were shaking.

  She leaned over and pressed a couple of buttons on the back of the camera, ostensibly to demonstrate some of the settings to Nathan, but really to get some distance between her and Warren.

  “Here, take a look at this. The white balance is important when you’re taking pictures of things that are white. I saw you practicing at the cages. You’re really good. Do you also play on a baseball team?”

  “Yeah. The Rockets. We’re pretty good. Three for three so far this season.”

  “Nice. What color are your uniforms?”

  “White with red letters.”

  “Well, the white balance function would really come in handy when photographing you in your uniform to make sure it doesn’t disappear into a big blob of white.”

  “Huh, that’s cool. You know a lot about this stuff. Maybe you can come take pictures of my team someday.”

  Before she could answer, she heard the back door open and looked up to see an older woman wearing a thick robe and slippers, standing on the landing. “Good morning,” the woman called, but quietly, mindful of the stillness of an early Sunday morning.

  Warren raised a hand. “Morning, Mom. This is Beatrice. She’s teaching Nathan how to take photos.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Beatrice said, smiling and waving.

  Mrs. Davis smiled back. “Hi, Beatrice. I saw you at Ben’s wedding. I’m glad to have an opportunity to meet you again. But first, I’ll go change quickly and come out again.”

  Warren waved his hand. “It’s okay, we’ll head in for a bit. We’ll be there by the time you’re changed.”

  Warren’s mom nodded and slipped back inside, and Warren turned to Nate. “Hey, man. Go on in and wash up. Beatrice and I will follow you in a second.”

  Nathan immediately obeyed.

  “He really looks up to you,” she remarked, watching him walk away.

  Warren shrugged. “I’m the only dad the kid has ever known.”

  As soon as Nathan disappeared into the house, Warren pulled Beatrice to him and kissed her, long and deep. She could feel his arousal rising between them, which made her hum in satisfaction.

  The door swung open again, and they jumped apart, but Warren kept one arm around Beatrice, holding her next to him.

  “You guys coming?” Nate called.

  Warren sighed. She could feel his reluctance as well as the tension in his muscles, like he was eager to spring to the rescue.

  But he simply nodded, and before they walked back inside, he kissed her again. She couldn’t help but think it meant something.

  * * * * *

  Beatrice was the most amazing woman he’d ever known.

  It was nearly two o’clock, and they had all finished eating the lunch she had helped Warren make. For the fir
st time in years, he had someone working alongside him who hadn’t been helping out of agonizing obligation, traded off between the adults of the household and only out of necessity. Having her next to him, humming and occasionally pausing to look at him with a smile, or to laugh at something Nathan was saying, was like stepping into a completely different life.

  A happy life.

  He tried not to think about it too much, though. No use dreaming about what he couldn’t have. It was fun for a day, but if Beatrice had to do this all the time, just to get time with him? It would get old, fast. Like it had for Jen.

  “That was a lovely meal,” Dad said again, smiling at Beatrice as Mom nodded in agreement. “And you make a lovely addition to our family.”

  Warren scowled at his father. “Dad.”

  “What? She is beautiful. And talented and nice and a good girl, clearly.”

  Nice and good? Warren had to force his thoughts away from an image of Beatrice, clad in leather and fishnets, before he scooped her up and ran out the door and back to her apartment. Talented, definitely. He’d had a hard time keeping his hands off of her all day, even though he hadn’t been able to resist a few kisses. But he’d wanted to take her upstairs to his boyhood room, uncomfortable bed be damned, and push into her over and over, making their bodies slap together in a way that would tell her how much he liked her.

  Warren snorted at the thought, and Mom raised an eyebrow. What? Why—oh shit. His eyes were probably glazed over from the images that had rocketed through his mind. He felt a blush on his cheeks and forced himself to calm down.

  “She is all of those things, Dad. I don’t disagree. I’m just saying maybe it’s a bit much…”

  Beatrice laughed. “I am sitting right here, you know.” Then she sighed and pushed back from the table. “Actually, I shouldn’t be sitting here. I have a few things to catch up on before work tomorrow. I’d better head out.” She picked up her plate and brought it to the sink and started washing it, but Warren stood up and stopped her.

  “Leave it, really. You’ve already done so much around here today.”