by EC Sheedy
“I don’t remember mentioning marriage,” he said, sounding as dry and stiff as a dusty old book.
She made a soft huff. “Considering it’s definitely that ‘shortest distance’ you mentioned on the plane, I’d say that as a concept, it crossed your mind.” She cocked a brow, waited.
He considered his answer. “A lot of things crossed my mind when I met you, Camryn. Most of them inappropriate, considering the situation we were both dealing with.”
“Excellent non-answer,” she said, “which means we’ll need to talk later. We have to clear the air between us—for Kylie’s sake.” She stopped, seemed to think. “Actually, there’s something else we should do.” She straightened as if an idea had suddenly shaped to the right form. “Come for dinner tonight. Afterward, we’ll go over to Gina’s place. It’s time you met Adam face to face.” She smiled, a smile tinged with wickedness. “Like I told you, he doesn’t like complications, and as ‘complications’ go, you’re grade A.”
She walked into the house.
Dan watched her go, wondered when the sobbing woman who’d hugged him in the church had morphed into a one-woman assault brigade without his noticing. And a woman who laid all her cards on the table.
His kind of woman.
She’d seen through him as if his innards were wrapped in cellophane. And she wasn’t above using him in her game with Dunn. He smiled. Seemed it was a day for underestimating. Plus, she was right, he should meet Dunn.
All he had to do was keep himself from killing the bastard when he did.
Gina opened Adam’s bedroom door for about the hundredth time. It was well after lunch. He was there—finally!—lolling on the bed with a magazine. Relief nearly brought her to her knees.
“Where have you been?” Her voice was higher than she would have liked, and the intensity of her feelings at seeing him back where he belonged was too strong for her tired and confused mind. She hadn’t slept since he’d arrived, her brain in a constant frenzy of sex-dreams, love-dreams, and terror that he’d leave her.
She swallowed, stared at him. This morning, when she’d come to his room and discovered him gone, that terror had come alive.
She’d thought he’d left. Dear God, she’d thought he’d left her . . . again.
He tossed the magazine aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “I went for a run.”
He wasn’t lying; running shorts and a tee were on the floor at his feet. “I told you to stay here.”
“I needed some air, baby. This place is making me crazy.”
“Where? Where did you go for a run?”
“The lake path.”
“Did anyone see you?” Did you see anyone? Gina didn’t want that. Gina wanted him safe, close, and exclusive. She didn’t want other women looking at him, wanting him. She couldn’t trust them, couldn’t trust Adam . . . She was suddenly hot, and her vision blurred. I have to keep him here for me. Only for me.
He shrugged, dropped his glance. “A couple of other runners.” He got up from the bed. “Now you’re here, I’m going to take a shower.” He grinned at her, his even, white teeth a bright flash in the shadow of his unshaven jaw. “I was waiting for you. Hoping you’d help.” He started to strip off his jeans.
Gina’s lungs stilled, overwhelmed by the sound of his zipper going slowly down. Its metallic scrape filled the room—a hundred-piece orchestra playing the opening prelude for what she craved. She hadn’t dressed this morning—too rattled by Adam’s absence—so she was still wearing her robe and nightgown. No panties. Nothing to stop the warm rush between her legs. She tightened them. It was a sin, a sickness to want a man this much. To be ready, always ready—and needing his touch the way a newborn needed its mother’s breast.
She was ill . . . she was very, very ill. And the only time she felt right was when she was with Adam. “Promise me you won’t go out again,” she pleaded.
“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here until we get things sorted out on the custody thing.” He gave her a stunning gaze, his eyes hot and narrowed. “Anything yet?”
He was talking about Kylie. Jesus, when he got Kylie he’d be gone. She was sure of it. “I’ve got some ideas.” She lied. In some ways Adam was such a fool. He couldn’t see there was no incentive for Gina to settle his affairs. She did that, he’d be gone. And this time she wasn’t going to let him go. Ever.
Adam pulled his sleeveless tee over his head, tossed it on the bed. “That’s good,” he said. “I knew you’d come through.” He stopped, put his hands on his hips. “Actually, I’ve got an idea or two of my own. That run did a lot to clear my head.”
Avid, Gina drank him in—no sucked him in: his tan chest with its fine dusting of hair, his open zipper. He was wearing black underwear. She liked black underwear. She liked all of Adam’s underwear. But she liked what was under it even more.
He watched her watch him, but she couldn’t stop what was in her eyes. When she raised her eyes from the bulge in his pants, he gave her a knowing gaze. “Poor baby,” he said, putting his hand out and making a come-here signal with his fingers. “You look as hot for me as I am for you.”
She touched herself, couldn’t help it. “I’m wet. I look at you and I get wet.” She walked to him, put her arms around him, and hugged him hard and close. “I love you, Adam. I’m crazy with it.” And that’s what she was—crazy, mad, and utterly insane to love this terrible, seductive man. She started to cry, didn’t want to lift her head, let him see the depth and despair of her need. “I don’t want you to leave. Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”
“I promise.”
“You have to love me, Adam . . . a little.” She was begging and she didn’t care. She had to hear it. Had to believe it.
He stroked her hair, kissed her head, and held her close. “I love you, baby. You know I do.”
Liar. “Do you, Adam? Do you really?” She wanted to hear the lie again.
He surged against her, his hardened penis jutting into her softness. “Sure I do. Can’t you tell?” He pushed against her again, and her breathing stopped. “And it’s a lot more than us being sensational in bed. You’re special to me, Gina. You have to believe that. Leaving you was the worst thing I ever did.”
His words washed over her, into her. Maybe everything would be all right. He’d stay. They’d get married. She’d look after him forever, be a mother to his daughter—everything as it was meant to be. They’d make love, morning, noon, and night… forever. She could make it work. She brushed at her tears.
Voices, shrill and insistent, cried from her mind. Foolish, foolish woman. He’s here because he needs you, not because he wants you.
It didn’t matter, as long as he stayed. She had to make him stay.
“I love you, Gina,” he repeated. “Come and take that shower with me, and I’ll show you how much.” He slid his hand between them, touched her wet heat through the silk of her nightgown. His hot breath seared her neck.
She gave him one last desperate embrace, forced herself back far enough to look into his beautiful face.
He smiled down at her; the smile was crooked, his eyes were filled with sex and seduction.
His mouth was smeared with lipstick.
Chapter 16
The night was black, enveloped in cloud, and threatening rain when Dan arrived at Camryn’s door. He was met by her father, Trent, who, as usual, looked none too happy to see him. So far, since their initial introduction when Trent had been board-stiff and cool as the northern country Dan had just come from, the two men had avoided each other. Now, with Camryn apparently not yet home, avoidance wasn’t in the cards.
Dan stood outside the door, holding a bottle of wine and a coloring book and crayons for Kylie. Trent, looking paler than usual, stood inside. He smoothed his thinning hair, stood there frowning, as if the decision regarding Dan’s entry was his to make.
“Come in,” he said finally, fully opening the door. “Camryn decided to take Kylie for a haircut, so she’s running late.”
Even having to offer that bit of explaining seemed to annoy him.
Dan stepped inside. “Where can I put these?” He lifted the wine and gift for his daughter.
Trent jerked his head to indicate the kitchen, then spied the cover of the book. “I got her one like that yesterday. So you know.”
Recognizing one-upmanship when he saw it, Dan said, “Then I guess she’ll have two.” He’d sensed the man’s proprietary attitude toward Kylie, but so far he’d let it go. The way he saw it, the more people who loved a kid, the better off they were. The safer they were. No reason those people had to love each other in the process, and getting bent about it served no purpose. Dan headed for the kitchen and was surprised when Trent followed. He set the stuff he’d brought on the table.
“What’s your game, anyway?” Trent asked.
Dan turned to see him standing near the counter, his expression hovering somewhere between anger and suspicion. “Game?”
“Kylie’s not even your natural daughter, for God’s sake. So why do you keep coming around, making trouble about things?”
“Things? Like custody, you mean?”
Trent’s pale face turned stubborn. “Kylie’s where she belongs, with my daughter. You should stop messing with that. Cammie will be a good mom.”
Dan took a second to get himself under control. “I never said she wouldn’t.”
“So, why the hell don’t you hoof it on out of here and leave things as they are? The way your wife wanted them. Holly and Camryn were friends since grade school. Hell, I’ve known from the get-go how she wanted Cammie to look after her girl.”
“That right?”
“I knew about her keeping it a secret from her father, too. No surprise there—if you know anything about Grantman.” He closed his lips, moved them tight over his teeth as if to keep them closed.
“I know enough, but it seems you know more. About him, and about something that doesn’t concern you.”
For the first time since Dan had met him, real color tinged his face. Fusing to his normally gray pallor, it was falsely bright, almost feverish. “It concerns me, Lambert, because Camryn loves that little girl. Any fool can see that. She wants that child more than anything, and I want her to have what she wants. I might not have been much of a father, but I won’t stand by and let you take Kylie away from her. Kylie is where she’s meant to be.”
“It sounds to me,” Dan said, “as if you care about your daughter, and if that’s true, you shouldn’t have a problem understanding how I feel about mine.”
“Kylie’s not your daughter, not your blood. It’s not the same. Not even close.”
“Have it your way.” He didn’t bother to remind him Kylie wasn’t Camryn’s blood either.
Enough said, as far as Dan was concerned. He headed to the sink, intending to get a glass of water and drop this conversation in cold storage. More words weren’t going to change anything.
None of them—not Trent, not Paul, and not Camryn—were ever going to understand what Kylie meant to him. To them he was an inconvenient stepdad who, if he’d go along with the stereotype, should have been long gone by now and be relieved when some new “daddy” took his place—a thought that hit Dan’s heart like a blunt bullet. The thing none of them got was that he loved Kylie, and she loved him. And that love was a promise.
He took a drink of water, turned, and leaned against the counter. Trent’s brow furrowed, and his mouth was working overtime. He rubbed at his temple and pulled his lower lip under his top teeth. “You’re too damned sure of yourself, Lambert. You think everything’s going to go your way.” He wagged his head. “Take it from one who knows, life doesn’t work that way.”
“How does it work?” Dan crossed his arms, one hand still holding the glass.
“When your luck’s running, life’s a feast. Nothing too much. Nothing too good. Nothing out of reach. You feel like a god.”
“And what about life when that luck changes?”
Trent took a breath. “It’s a goddamn battering ram. And it doesn’t let up. Pound, pound, pound.” He dropped the hand he’d been rubbing his temple with to his side, his expression flattened. It was as if he’d had an energy drain or a sudden mood shift. “You don’t always get what you want, Lambert. Remember that. You goddamn don’t.”
“Maybe not, but by and large, I think we get what we deserve.”
“Yeah? Well, if that’s true, my Cammie deserves a run of luck, deserves to have the child she wants. You interfere with that, and I—”
“Sorry, I’m late. The traffic was awful.” Camryn and Kylie entered the room, Camryn laden with grocery bags and both wet from the rain now pounding outside. Kylie, wearing a yellow rain slicker so bright it made her red hair pale by comparison, trailed behind Camryn, but when she spotted Dan, she went straight for him.
“I got my hair cut, Daddy. In a big-lady place. Look.” She bent her head awkwardly to show him the back, where its curly copper length had been trimmed to somewhere below her ears.
“It looks beautiful.” He stretched out his arms to her, and she didn’t waste a heartbeat before rushing into them.
“Aunt Cammie says you’re eating with us. Are you?” she asked.
He swung her up and settled her against his chest. She was so tiny, so perfect, she always made him think of porcelain, fine and precious. “That’s right, princess.” He glanced at Camryn, caught her eye. “Aunt Cammie was very nice to invite me.” She looked hurried, but happy. They’d had a good time, Camryn and his Kylie.
Camryn shifted her gaze to the bags, started removing groceries. “It’s going to be rushed,” she said. “A quick chicken-and-pasta”—she looked at Dan—“if that’s okay.”
“Sounds great.” This time when their gazes met over Kylie’s fiery little head, they held. For the briefest of moments, it felt as if they were seeing each other for the first time. A good feeling, he thought. A very good feeling. But Camryn was right, they did need to talk. They needed to sort this Adam Dunn thing out. Before Dan called the Boston cops, he wanted every bit of information on Dunn he could get. And he wanted Camryn to see things his way. He smiled, shifted Kylie higher in his arms. “Can I give you a hand with anything?”
“No. It’ll be faster if I do it. But you can pour some of that.” She gestured to the wine he’d brought, which still sat on the kitchen table. “A glass of that would be perfect right now.” Her gaze settled on him, then on Kylie, who’d put her head on his shoulder, and a shadow drifted between them. “Kylie, why don’t you go with Grandpa Trent for a while, your da— Dan and I need to talk for a bit.”
“I want to help. I can cook. I can.” The little girl pushed back from Dan’s chest to stare him down and make her case. “Tell her, Dadd—”
A blast . . . sharp, clear, deadly. The ear getting it, the brain not comprehending. Yet.
Time coalesced, a second into an eternity.
A shattering . . . the window blown out, pieces flying like crystal through the bright kitchen light.
A searing . . . a branding iron at full heat drawn fast and hard across his bicep.
Dan instantly dropped to the floor, taking Kylie with him, Tucking her under him, he put his hand on her head.
She didn’t make a sound.
“Down! Everybody down!” he shouted.
“What the hell?” Trent lunged backward into the hall.
Camryn dropped instantly and curled into a ball, her hands over her head. She was in the open, the easiest target from the window the shots were coming from. Lakeside. Whoever the hell it was had to be standing on or near the porch.
The second shot hit the open fridge door, where a split second earlier Camryn had been about to put away a quart of milk. The milk hadn’t made it and pooled on the floor near her head.
The third shot shattered a jar sitting on the counter above.
A grocery bag fell to the floor, splitting on impact. Three apples rolled across the floor.
“Kylie!” Camryn screamed. “Whe
re’s Kylie!” She started scrambling toward Dan.
“She’s okay. I’ve got her. Stay down. For God’s sake, stay down!”
The next shot came from the hall.
Dan looked up. Trent stood in the doorway, holding a gun with both hands. He fired twice more into the blackness outside the shattered window.
Silence. Then the sound of rain slamming on the porch roof.
Trent leaned against the door jamb, looking as spent as the gun in his hand. His eyes were closed in a tight grimace.
“Dad, are you all right?” Camryn’s words came in an uneven whisper.
He was panting, rubbing his chest. “I’m okay.” His voice was weak, hoarse. “I think I scared them off.”
Camryn pulled herself by her forearms to where Dan, still sheltering Kylie, was starting to get up.
“Take her,” he said. “But stay low.”
Kylie dug her fingers into Dan’s shoulder as if she’d never let go. No tears, but her eyes were wide as saucers.
“It’s okay, princess. Everything’s okay.” He stroked her hair. “Be a good girl now, and go with Aunt Cammie.” When Camryn took her from Dan’s arms, Kylie clung to her with the same ferocity. She started to cry.
“Stay down and head for the hall,” Dan said to Camryn. She did as he said, and crawling with Kylie tucked under her, she disappeared into the hall.
Trent, pale as a sheet, still stood in the doorway, an easy target from the kitchen window. Dan moved toward him, grabbed his hand and pulled him down, prodded him to follow Camryn.
“Give me that.” He took the Smith and Wesson from his limp hand. “You okay?”
Trent nodded, but he looked anything but okay.
“Stay close to them.” Dan jerked his head toward Camryn and Kylie.
