“You’ve been here that long, and you never looked me up?” he said.
“I see your face too often to miss you.”
His brow creased in question.
“The billboard on Highway 59. It’s on my way to work.” She crossed her arms over her chest. It was so much easier to project anger, or even disinterest, on a 14-foot sheet of vinyl than the six foot hunk of man standing in front of her.
“You must love that.”
“Not especially, but it gives me something to aim my cold coffee at.”
His laugh was infectious and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Want to grab a cup of hot coffee?” he asked.
He had asked if she wanted join him. Not assumed. He didn’t even look certain she’d accept. Maybe he’d changed. Or maybe he was just afraid she’d throw her hot coffee at him too.
The options weren’t in her favor. Call a cab that she didn’t have enough cash left to pay for without finding an ATM first. Walk back home and sit outside her condo all night. Or go in begging at the front desk of one of the beachfront high-rises for an overpriced room. Coffee sounded like the least of the evils.
“Nothing’s open but the IHOP,” she said.
“What about your place?”
She blew her breath through her nose and dug her fingernails into her arms. “I’m locked out.”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” His eyes danced with victory. He thought he had her, but he had another thought coming.
“I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” she said. “But lucky me. Here you are offering to keep me up with caffeine all night so I don’t have to worry about where I’m going to lay my head.”
He grinned. “There’s always my place.”
“I’m more in the mood for blueberry pancakes.” A familiar tune played in her purse. She snatched her phone out of her bag. “You forgot to leave the key under the mat,” she said without preamble.
“I just ran out for a minute.” Laughter trailed Grady’s words. “The door’s unlocked now.” He laughed again, a lazy laugh that made her wonder how much he’d smoked in the few hours since she’d last seen him. It wouldn’t do any good to tear into him or lecture him now.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she said goodbye and dropped the phone back into her purse. She shook another stubborn shell fragment out of her shoe while she considered the two mile walk back to her condo. Obviously she couldn’t ask Grady to come get her. He shouldn’t be driving anywhere.
“You mind giving me a ride home?” she asked Blake.
“Sure. Right after pancakes and coffee.”
She sighed. She wanted to go home to… To what? To pretend she didn’t want to tear into Grady, or to get visual proof of his newfound penchant for partying so she could worry herself sick over it.
“Come on,” he said. “Looks like you could use some pancakes.”
“Extra syrup and whipped cream,” she said.
“You sure we can’t do this at my place?” A grin shot across his face, his arm slid around her waist and liquid fire surged through her every vein.
* * * *
“Why is it there’s always one waitress at every IHOP with warts on her face?” Blake whispered as their server carried a steaming coffee pot away from their table.
“Those are beauty marks.” Haylie poured half the dispenser of maple syrup over her blueberry pancakes. “Witches have warts and moles. Women have beauty marks. Cindy Crawford made a fortune off hers.”
“Our waitress has warts.” The self-assured way he rested his arm across the table kept her on edge. He could touch her if he had a mind to, and she wanted him to more than she wanted to admit.
Haylie shrugged. “Maybe she’s kissed a lot of frogs.”
“Did you just concede an argument to me?” His fingers grazed her forearm. Her wrist jumped just enough to send the fork clattering onto the rim of her plate.
“I’ve never liked to argue with you.” She picked up her fork as if throwing silverware around during a meal didn’t warrant a single thought.
His smirk made it clear he could see right through her, but damned if she’d admit what being around him did to her. Her body needed to get a handle on itself. The big girl upstairs was in charge now, and the little hussy downtown wasn’t getting any action tonight, or any other night when Blake was around. She crossed her legs, closing down the red light district between her thighs.
“So why haven’t you ever called?”
“Why would I?” She had to uncross her legs. The hussy didn’t like being squeezed half to death.
“Because you see my smiling face every time you throw your coffee at it, and my phone number’s as big as a house across the bottom of the sign.”
“Am I supposed to dial every billboard number I see?”
“Truce.” He speared his fork into her pancakes. “I’m glad I ran into you tonight. I still think about us.”
Haylie’s throat closed so tight, she almost choked. She needed to make it clear, here and now, that they weren’t starting things up again. Her life moved along just fine without him in it. Even their careers pitted them against one another.
She dragged her eyes away as his lips settled around the fork and those lucky pancakes landed on that supremely talented tongue. She had to strike now, and strike hard or she’d be slathering syrup over herself and begging him to lap it off. “So how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How do you appease your conscience when you help a guilty person walk off scot-free? I mean you do realize their victims have to serve a life sentence, right?” Just saying the words was like spitting on a friend in hell. The hussy between her legs wasn’t out of the fire, but there were hotter flames to put out now.
“Whoa …” He held a strip of bacon in mid-air. “Where did that come from?”
“Your billboard. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Defend criminals.” Oh, now that was like spit-balling ice cubes. Girlfriend downstairs was getting a breather, and the brainiac in the penthouse was feeling pretty smug.
“Not everyone accused of a crime is a criminal.”
“So you only represent the innocent ones?” She sat back, arrogant in her ability to turn things around so quickly. The hussy had just walked into a spa and sat down in a sauna.
He narrowed his eyes at her. His lips tightened then settled into a smirk. “Everyone has a right to a fair trial and legal representation.”
“Men who molest little girls deserve a man with your education and quick mind to navigate legal loopholes for them? A technicality should be enough of a reason to allow them to wander the streets until they hurt another child?”
He set his cup down on the table hard enough to rattle the silverware. “Hold on just a damn minute! I’m not out to fill the streets with violent criminals or sexual predators.”
Oh, now that stung. She’d hit him where it hurt. Out of the sauna and onto the beach. “So why don’t you represent the victims?”
Picking a fight might be a ploy to cool the sexual heat between them, but deep down she wanted to know what motivated him to root for the wrong team. She wanted to know that somewhere inside him was the Blake she had fallen in love with.
“I represent a lot of victims. Victims of injustice, bad judgment, and mental illness. Most people who commit a crime deserve a second chance.”
“I don’t agree with that.” Ah, like an aloe bath. They were fundamentally different, nothing between them could ever amount to anything. So why did her heart sink a little deeper in her chest?
Blake sat back against the cushioned booth and studied her. “How many of your friends have climbed behind the wheel after one too many?”
Grady. She fiddled with her plate, but didn’t answer. He slowly turned the fork between his fingers, and just the movement of his wrist heated her blood. She wished she could take it all back, and rewind her whole night. She shouldn’t be sitting here with him now. Even if she won this argument, he’d
still come out ahead. Love him or hate him, every moment they spent together became another memory she wouldn’t be able to shake.
“If one of your friends got caught,” he continued, “would you want to see them sent to jail? Or would you want to have enough sense scared into them that they have the wits to call a cab next time? What about us, when we were younger? How many bad judgment calls did we make? How many times did we break a little law in the name of a good time?”
“Point taken, but where do you draw the line? Who would you refuse to represent?”
“Violent criminals and sexual predators.” He grinned like he’d just scored, or knew damn well he might.
Haylie sat back in the booth and crossed her arms over her chest. Ok, so Satan had some integrity, but that didn’t change things between them. Being with Blake was like sunburn. Even after aloe cooled it down, the pain would slip back up on you and sting worse than it did before.
Through the window, sea spray blurred the red taillights of a car headed toward Mandido Beach. “I see a lot of victims. People…children…whose lives are screwed up forever. And too many times I’ve seen the monsters that hurt these kids get off with a slap on the hand.” She took a deep breath. “When the State takes a child out of an unsafe home, who do you think suffers most?”
“The child.”
“Not just the child. The adult that child becomes because as soon as these children turn eighteen the State wipes its hands of them. They’re supposed to support themselves, find their place in a world where they’ve never quite fit in. In most cases, these ‘adults’ don’t have a single person they can count on. No one to answer to. No one to pat them on the back when they need it. No one to lend them gas money to get to work or school. No one. Period.” She leaned forward and gripped the edge of the table with her fingertips. “And what did these ‘adults’ do to deserve this? They were born into the wrong house, to the wrong people. People who probably never spent a week in jail for what they did.”
She caught her breath and eased her grip on the table. Heat had risen to the top of her ears and sweat pricked beneath her arms. She had spent years speaking for children in court, explaining a system that would inevitably let them down. Grady had been one of those children, her first case as a child advocate. He had been thirteen when she met him. Fourteen when he had the courage to stand up by her side and tell the judge he was safer in foster care than in a home with his mother. At sixteen he battled the system again when his mother petitioned for custody. He bounced from foster home to foster home, riding his bicycle seven miles each way his senior year of high school to keep from transferring schools again. A month before he turned eighteen, he graduated at the top of his class and entered college. Now, less than a year later, he was crashing at her house high as a kite and drunk on beer from her fridge. With a B in English. The first B he’d ever made.
“Grady’s one of those adults?” Blake asked.
She nodded and released a hot breath from her lungs. “He doesn’t deserve the cards he got dealt. None of them do.”
“Would it help you to know I specialize in DUI, bar fights and general stupidity?” He cut a piece of pancake and dipped it in a swirl of whipped cream before offering it to her. “I don’t like criminals any more than you do,” he said, coaxing her to take the bite.
Yes, it helped to know that. It helped a lot. She tried to act irritated, but then licked the sweetness from her lips, the way she would have teased him years ago when they were lovers, letting her tongue carve a slow route over her top lip before dipping down to the bottom.
“I do like that though,” he said with a glimmer in his eye. “You sure I can’t drag you through Hell again, just for old time’s sake?”
She laughed. At least he knew he was a devil.
* * * *
Blake pulled into a parking spot in front of Haylie’s condo and reached for his door handle.
“You don’t need to walk me in,” she said, fighting back the sudden bout of butterflies that sprang up in her stomach. She knew better than to argue the point. This devil had manners, and he wasn’t about to drop her at the curb.
He pushed his door open then came around to open hers. The breeze off the gulf played in his hair and the salt air blended with his cologne the same way it had at Banana Bob’s. The intoxicating scent and the fire that danced in his eyes reminded her exactly how irresistible and persuasive he could be. She straightened her back and stepped past him. She was only feet from the safety of Grady, her CB.
This time the doorknob turned with ease. Inside, Grady’s arm hung off the sofa. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He had picked up most of the mess she’d seen through the sliders. His shoes lay toppled beneath the coffee table and an MTV reality show blared from the television.
Blake surveyed the scene over her shoulder. “This is Grady?”
“The one and only.” The sweet heady scent of marijuana mingled with an aromatherapy candle that burned on the coffee table.
“Think he’ll share?” He smoothed his hand along her shoulder when she stiffened at his suggestion. “I’m kidding,” he said with a soft laugh. “How long’s it been since we could end a night like that?”
“Passed out on the couch?”
His fingers traced the curve of her elbow. “We usually made it to the bedroom.” His low, suggestive voice took her instantly back to nights they’d spent together, his body hovering near hers with nothing between them but heat and need. A flurry of burning desire took flight in her stomach.
She jerked away as if a tongue of flame had actually seared her. “Thanks for giving me a ride home. And for the coffee.” She held the door open and looked past him into the dark night.
He unloaded a heavy breath. “Don’t thank me. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what happened between us. I don’t know if I ever convinced you of that.”
“You didn’t,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter now. I’ve got more important things to worry about.” She looked back at the lanky figure collapsed over the length of her couch.
“He’s a kid.”
“He’s an adult according to the State, and if he gets caught doing any of this he’s an adult according to the courts. He’s not old enough to drink, but he’s old enough to go to jail for drinking and driving.” Grady’s socks hung inches below his toes. His jeans had twisted around his legs and he had balled his shirt under his head like a pillow. Dense curls of dark hair sprouted in the pits of his arms and he was taller than Blake by at least a head. In so many ways he had become a man, but he was only a freshman in college. His childhood had all but been robbed. Didn’t he deserve this last chance to have a little normalcy in his life?
“He can’t afford to screw up,” she said. “There’s no one to bail him out.”
“What about you?”
Her shoulders fell and her stomach clenched. “He’s got me, but I don’t know how much he wants me butting into his life.”
“You love him. He’d be a fool to piss that away.” And with that he retreated into the darkness. “Goodnight, Haylie.”
She closed the door and pressed her forehead to the wood. She squeezed her eyes shut to take some of the pressure off her heart, like stubbing a toe to forget about a headache. Diversion didn’t help, being around Blake cut her to the bone. She couldn’t see him again. She would have to put her foot down. Hard and fast. And avoid him at all costs. No coffee. No conversation. One slip, one vulnerable moment and she’d fall right back into the devil’s clutches, and she knew better than to let that happen.
Chapter 3
Ashlyn adjusted the pale green jog shorts that precisely matched the band of green on the sides of her sports bra. One of her heels rested almost waist high on the wooden walkway that led to the beach. She had the other foot planted in the sand below.
“You went for coffee. He drove you home and left without losing a stitch of clothes?” Her perfectly toned muscles danced beneath golden skin and her gray eyes were
none too convinced as she bent in a stretch.
“I told you, Grady was passed out on the couch. And even if he wasn’t …” Haylie stretched her hamstrings and tried to tell herself again that nothing would have happened. But the remembered heat of his touch still twisted her belly and filled her with desire that made her ache. Hopefully the morning run would tamp down her sexual appetite. She raised her arms over her head and twisted at the waist.
Several yards away, four dark furry legs and a tail stood out against a patch of sea oats. The dog watched them, its head tucked low. Its owner would probably be close behind, hopefully with a leash in hand.
“Uh huh.” Ashlyn switched legs and continued to stretch. “When have you ever said goodnight to Blake Sheridan with your clothes on?”
“A million years ago you’d have a point. I wouldn’t sleep with him now if he was the last man standing.” She had little hope the false bravado in her voice would get past her best friend.
Ashlyn raised a brow. “You trying to convince me or yourself?”
She raised her arms over her head again and stifled a yawn. Monday morning had come early, especially after two sleepless nights with a man from her past haunting her every thought. “Even if I hadn’t run into Blake, I’m not getting distracted by anyone until after this first fundraiser is over.”
“You look pretty distracted to me. He’s really got your head spinning, hasn’t he?” In one smooth motion Ashlyn swung her foot to the ground and trotted off toward the dunes chirping a dog call. “Here, boy! It’s ok, fella. Where’s your collar?”
Relieved to be off the hook, Haylie kept an eye on her friend. If animals were Ashlyn’s passion, animals in need were her purpose. The scraggly Labrador mix eyed her approach. His lip peeled back exposing a row of long white teeth and a growl rumbled through his thin body.
“He’s going to bite you!” Even as Haylie tried to warn her, Ashlyn fished a thin leash from the pocket of her shorts. Always prepared. She should have been a Boy Scout. They would have let her in, even without the prerequisite appendage. Her to die for beauty and daddy’s influence had always gotten Ashlyn anything she wanted.
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