by JM Stewart
She paused to draw in a shaky breath, but he remained silent behind her. She wanted to turn to see his eyes, to see something that said her words had penetrated his heart. Who was she kidding? She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around his waist, and bury her face in his chest. To see the familiar glimmer in his eyes and know their friendship remained intact. Somewhere over the past six months they’d lost it, and she couldn’t be certain where they’d gone wrong or even why. But here, now, the rift between them was no longer all in her imagination. It was most definitely there, and she had no idea what to do about it anymore.
Except she didn’t dare go to him or touch him. At this moment, she wasn’t sure he’d welcome her. He might as well be a stranger for as close as they were right then, and she hated it.
She folded her arms across her stomach, feeling more alone and more vulnerable than she had last night. “I don’t remember much before Gran and I moved in next door. I have bits and pieces of things, confusing snapshots that live in my mind. Faces of people I don’t know. A small two-story house. Everything else, the first seven years of my life, is just gone. I have no idea where I came from, what happened to my parents. Did they give me up? Did they leave? Were they killed? Am I an orphan or just unwanted? Gran always refused to tell me.”
The only thing her grandmother had ever told her was that she was her paternal grandparent and that she’d adopted Cecelia at seven. Gran always said love glued them together. Every time she brought up her parents, though, Gran changed the subject.
“I have no past. No family.” She rubbed a hand over her still-flat stomach, imagining the baby within. It was silly and selfish to discount the Morgans, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as having that flesh-and-blood tie, knowing where you came from and having a sense of roots. A past. All she had right then was a nagging emptiness she couldn’t fill. “Right or wrong, I need the answers. Now more than ever.”
“You may not have a past, Ceci, but you have me. And Evan and Malia and Becca. You and Gran have always been family. You know that.”
“It’s not the same.” She pivoted to face him, but everything she wanted to say to him flew out of her head as his expression caught her.
Kyle leaned against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge. Having set down the sponge and turned the water off, he now stared at the floor but lifted his head as she faced him. His eyes shone with a raw, aching pain, like a gaping wound left open and exposed.
The expression made her chest ache, and several seconds ticked out as they watched each other in strained silence. She yearned to go to him, to touch him, to bridge the chasm widening between them and regain what they’d so obviously lost. She’d never meant to make it sound as if he and his family didn’t mean the world to her, because they did. Without them, she’d be well and truly alone. They were family and had been for most of her life. Despite how alone she sometimes felt, when push came to shove, she knew the Morgans were there for her.
Just as quickly, Kyle averted his gaze to the floor and folded his arms. Before her eyes, his walls came up. His features hardened, and the muscles in his jaw ticked. She knew that look. Kyle could be damn stubborn sometimes, but now it just nagged at the ache in her gut. She wanted to believe he’d never lie to her, but her doubts still lingered. He pushed too hard trying to convince her not to pursue her past, and the look on his face now told her that nagging voice was right.
She took a step in his direction, but Kyle tensed, and she stopped several feet from him.
“You’re the one person I’ve always counted on. The one person I thought would understand. You’re my last hope. I’ve done all I know how to do myself. But time after time you tell me you can’t help me with this, and you won’t tell me why.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. Once she put this out there, she couldn’t take it back, and her gut told her voicing these thoughts would serve only to widen the chasm between them. “I can’t help but wonder if you know more than you’re letting on. From my viewpoint, it sure seems like you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” Frustration laced his tone and showed in the crease that formed between his brows. With a low growl, he dropped his arms and pushed away from the counter, crossing the kitchen to her in three long strides. He stopped a comfortable distance from her and seemed to hesitated, his gaze reaching, searching, then stepped into her personal space. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be the one to put that look back in your eyes.”
“What look?”
“The one you had on your face when you showed up here yesterday.” He shook his head, staring at her with eyes full of misery. “It kills me to see you like that.”
His hand came up slowly, caressing down her cheek. The simple stroke stole the breath from her lungs. Every instinct screamed at her to step away from him, but Cecelia’s feet rooted to the floor. Like this morning, he’d never touched her quite like this before, so light and tender. He touched her the way a man might touch a woman. The intensity in his eyes held her captive. Rendered speechless, she could do little more than gape at him. Now she knew what a deer felt like when faced with the bright lights of an oncoming car—bewildered, wanting to dash away to safety, yet mesmerized and drawn in at the same time.
He cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes, leaning her face into his palm. She told herself she intended the contact only to help ease the tension between them, to regain the connection they’d always had. But his warm breath brushed her lips, like the whisper-soft flutter of a bird’s wings, and the moment became something else. Shivers of awareness swept down her spine, and every hair on her body seemed to stand on end. The yearning she’d had last night while lying draped on his chest came again, strong and swift. To lift onto her toes, to capture his mouth and taste him.
Yet her heart slammed against her rib cage in blind panic. She froze, afraid to breathe, waiting on the edge of a precipice that threatened to turn her world upside down. Allowing this to continue would alter everything between them. They couldn’t ever go back from this. Every time they looked at each other, they’d know, they’d remember, and their entire relationship would change. How do you look at your best friend the same way again when you know the flavor of his mouth?
Before she could think to push him away, his mouth finally touched hers. A fleeting, tentative kiss, the mere brush of his lips over hers, but then and there, she lost the battle. A soft whimper escaped, and God help her, she leaned into him.
As if sensing her surrender, he let out a quiet groan. His arms slid around her waist, tugging her full against him as he leaned down, claiming her mouth. She’d been in his arms a thousand times, but this time was different. He wasn’t just the boy next door, but a flesh and blood man. Hard muscle, and smooth, warm skin, and a tight, possessive grip. Every inch of her came alive with the press of him against her. Her sensitive breasts pushing into the solid wall of his chest left her breathless. His powerful thighs brushing hers made her tremble. Dizzy with the need firing through her, she curled her fingers, clutching his shirt to keep upright.
His kiss was better than anything she’d imagined. Sweet and gentle, patient and quiet. That’s how she’d have described Kyle if anyone asked. His kiss contradicted the man she knew. It was a bold declaration of heat and possession, as if he branded her as his, but with an undercurrent of raw hunger. His lips danced over hers, his hot tongue darting into her mouth to slide along hers. He kissed like a man dying from thirst who’d been given a glass of water—pulling, tugging, demanding satisfaction.
The flicker in her belly ignited into a full-blown inferno, and she couldn’t stop herself from lifting onto her tiptoes to deepen the contact. He tasted like heaven, so hot and heady it made her dizzy. No man had ever kissed her like this before, with so much passion. His body trembled against her as hard as her own, and every sweep of his tongue, every slide of his mouth over hers, pulled her farther into him, until the room disappeared completely. Until there was
only him and the blind newness of the passion swelling between them.
A knock on the door shattered the brief insanity.
They came apart with a gasp, though whether from her or him or both, she couldn’t be sure. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes to find him watching her. His splayed hands rested against the small of her back, still holding her close, singeing her flesh even through the material of the shirt she wore. His shirt.
In the blink of an eye, panic flitted across his face.
“Shit.” He stiffened and stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair as he spun and paced several steps away from her.
All she could do was watch, shell-shocked, as she attempted to gather herself. Her body mourned the loss of his warmth in the form of the shiver that raked through her. Without his strong arms around her, her every limb went limp and heavy. She half feared if she moved, her legs would no longer hold her up.
Except her feet had rooted to the floor, her body trembling as realization washed over her. She’d kissed her best friend. They’d gone and crossed that invisible line she’d sworn never to cross.
She waited on the edge of that precipice again, watching him pace, needing to see his eyes. She needed him to say . . . something. High emotions. Pregnancy hormones. Momentary insanity. Anything to explain what had happened. To explain how on earth they’d gotten to this point. At the same time, she didn’t know if she wanted to hear any of it. She didn’t want to contemplate what the kiss meant. What her reaction meant. Doing so would only cement the emotions she’d tried to squash for months. Their relationship had clearly changed, but how? When had her best friend stopped being only a friend?
But he turned, his gaze once again landing on hers, and regret took shape in the depths of his eyes. “Ceci, I’m sorry.” He shook his head, raking both hands through his hair as he took another step back. “God, I’m sorry. I should never have done that.”
She couldn’t stop herself from flinching at his words, couldn’t stop the sting from seeping into her soul, either. A whole slew of new emotions swamped her. They hit like a slap in the face, knocking the wind out of her—hurt and rejection. He regretted it. She could still taste him. His scent was embedded in her skin. Every time she dragged in a breath, she inhaled his essence. God, she hadn’t even had time to think about how she felt yet, and already he was sorry?
The very thought made her want to weep and had tears pricking at her eyes. The unbearable pain washed over her, settling in her chest. Out of all things she expected to feel the first time he kissed her, hurt and rejection hadn’t been one of them. He’d just turned her world upside down. Maybe they’d decide it was best not to pursue this attraction any further. She knew it wasn’t. But to hear him tell her he regretted kissing her took everything she felt for him, everything that kiss had been for her, and dismissed it. Not unlike the way Jimmy had so carelessly dismissed her pregnancy and their entire relationship.
Before she could think of what to say, to form a coherent response, his expression went blank. The shift in him was subtle, yet something she’d seen too much of in the last few months. He was shutting her out, as if nothing had happened. He dropped his arms to his sides, his jaw tightening, and sidestepped around her. At the door, he paused, his hand on the knob, and turned to her, his mouth opening.
She shook her head and held up a hand, halting the words before they could leave his mouth. “Don’t.”
She knew that look. He was going to explain it away, or apologize, and she couldn’t bear hearing it twice. She didn’t want to think about what it meant that his rejection hurt so much, but it did, and if he said it again, it would crush her.
“I need to get out of here.” Needing to be anywhere but in the same room with him, with the pain and confusion seated between them, she turned and marched down the hallway, back toward his bedroom.
***
As Ceci’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Kyle expelled a heavy breath. The hurt and shock on her face flashed before his mind’s eye, taunting him. Regret hung on him, tightening in his chest.
He dragged a hand through his hair. What in God’s name had he been thinking? Unfortunately, the answer came all too quickly. That was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking. He had no willpower when it came to her, and she’d backed him into a corner. She’d nailed him with her acute observation. He was hiding things from her, and the betrayal written all over her face had gotten to him. He made her feel alone, and he hated himself for it. For a moment, he’d become caught in the need to remind her that no matter what happened between them, he’d always be there for her.
But he couldn’t resist touching her. He never could. He’d reached out to soothe the ache he’d caused. Then she’d leaned her head into his hand. God, he hadn’t anticipated her reacting. When she actually lifted onto her toes to kiss him back, he’d lost his mind.
His bedroom door slammed, and he flinched. The pictures on the wall between the living room and his bedroom swung side to side. A couple slid sideways and now hung off-kilter. One, which had already been dangling precariously on the tip of its nail, gave up the fight and crashed to the floor behind the couch. He didn’t need to see it to know which one it was. He’d long since memorized its place on the wall. It just so happened to be his favorite. It was a picture of him and Ceci, seated on the front porch steps of the old house she lived in. Ceci sat almost intimately between his knees, her face lit up with her smile. Becca had taken it a couple of years ago on the Fourth of July.
Another knock sounded behind him, louder and harder this time. Kyle sighed. Dealing with Ceci and somehow fixing his screwup would have to wait. He turned back to the door, drew a cleansing breath in a vain attempt not to look as frazzled as he felt, and pulled it open.
Becca and his five-year-old niece, Allie, waited on his doorstep. Although Becca wasn’t soaked, her expression reminded him of Ceci’s yesterday. The pleading in her blue eyes and the fatigue that hung on her, rounding her shoulders, said her world was ending and she wanted him to save it.
She offered a tired smile. “Morning, Ky.”
“Morning.” Disregarding his little sister for the moment, he dropped his gaze to his niece. Allie clutched a naked plastic baby doll in her left arm and smiled up at him. With big blue eyes and long sandy hair pulled up into pigtails, she looked like a smaller version of her mother. He ruffled her hair. “Hey, munchkin.”
“Hi, Uncle Kyle.” Allie’s mouth curled into a sweet smile as wide as the state of Washington right before she shoved past him into the apartment.
He couldn’t help but laugh. As cute as his niece might be, she was every bit as headstrong as her mother. Becca wouldn’t have to worry about beating the boys off when Allie was older. He’d bet money Allie would do it herself.
He turned his attention to Becca and smiled. Wearing her white karate uniform, her black sash tied neatly around her waist, the reason she’d come was obvious. She had a class and she needed him to babysit. She knew darn well he usually had the weekends off. This time, however, he wanted to hear her actually ask.
“Please?” Becca clasped her hands together and playfully batted her eyelashes. “One of my instructors quit on me yesterday, and I have to cover his classes plus mine.”
“Jackson can’t take her, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Jackson’s at the office. Again. God forbid the man should make time in his busy schedule for his daughter.”
Becca and her now ex-husband, Jackson, had signed the papers on their divorce barely two months before. She’d married Jackson five and a half years ago, already three months pregnant with Allie. The two couldn’t have been more different, oil and water desperate to mix. Jackson was an advertising executive from a wealthy Southern family. He was the class clown, the guy with a smile and a joke for everyone, who made friends easily and often but who kept his cards close to his chest.
Becca was always a serious person, more of a loner and more down-to-earth. Her karate had become her life. Being a
tomboy, she’d never dated much, and until she’d met Jackson, she’d never been serious about any one man before. Both were entirely too headstrong. The fireworks that once fueled their relationship, though, apparently burned out. Over time, Becca became sure he’d married her out of obligation, because she was pregnant with Allie. She said he worked. All the time, often at the expense of their relationship. Right before she left him, she told Kyle she loved Jackson, but staying in a loveless marriage was breaking her heart.
Kyle wasn’t convinced the marriage was loveless. He’d seen the way Jackson looked at her. He’d felt that yearning for Ceci enough times over the last few years to know the man was in love with his wife. But Jackson hadn’t contested the divorce, and Becca was sure it meant she was right.
All Kyle knew was they were miserable with or without each other. Becca wasn’t any happier now. Malia had told him something similar at their weekly Sunday dinner two weeks ago. Not that it was his place to point that out to Becca. These days, he saw it as his role to be the supportive big brother, which meant being there to babysit when she needed him to.
He stepped back, pulling the door open wider, and Becca followed Allie into the house. Three steps in, however, she halted and cocked her head to the side. “What happened to your pictures?”
He followed her stare and sighed. He hated having to lie to yet another person he cared about. In their family, they didn’t keep secrets. They told each other everything and always had. But if he knew Becca, once she found out he’d kissed Ceci, their entire family would know by lunch. His coworkers weren’t the only ones who teased him about his relationship with Ceci. Evan insisted men and women couldn’t be “just friends.” He’d begun to think his brother was right.
He was pretty sure if his family found out, though, Ceci wouldn’t ever speak to him again. So, he shrugged, halfhearted and dismissive. “Earthquake.”
