In there, fixating on an anonymous girl seemed senseless. Even dangerous. Prison was not a place to dream. So what if the kiss they shared, the tender way in which she had held his face, had touched something deep in his soul?
In prison, there was no hope. Wishes and wanting was for fools, so he did his best to suppress such things.
Except at night.
In the dark of his cell he would pull out all the good memories of the life he left behind on the outside. Invariably, the memory of the girl in the boathouse would find its way to him. Lying there with his hand tucked behind his head, he would stare blindly into the dark, recalling that night: her hands, her lips, her curves, the soft voice saying his name.
He never forgot.
When he’d been released from prison, he would look at women on the street and wonder if maybe one of them was the girl with the tender hands and sweet curves. Not that he was looking to get himself permanently attached even should he discover her. He wasn’t the relationship type and he certainly wasn’t looking to get married. He didn’t even want a girlfriend because that came with expectations. Expectations led to marriage.
But now the mystery was solved. He’d found her.
Now he knew.
Now he knew the girl he had kissed, the one he never forgot, the one he had thought about during all the long nights in his cell.
Gabriella Rossi. Bri. From art class. From . . . the boathouse.
Her memory had both driven him mad and helped him survive in that cell.
She stared at him with wide eyes. Something like fear shined bright in them.
“I found you,” he whispered, and her eyes just grew brighter.
He nodded, smiling slowly and with deep satisfaction.
Her lips had felt familiar but he hadn’t truly realized he was again kissing his mystery girl until she held his face in her hands, until her fingertips stroked his cheeks in that way of hers. As though he were something precious to be cherished.
In that moment the past collided with the present. It had been the same in the boathouse. Because it was the same girl. For one fleeting moment, he felt like he was eighteen again and had just graduated from high school, ready to combust if he didn’t get inside the girl wiggling against him.
And now she was here. Staring at him like she’d seen a ghost.
He’d let her slip away from him before. He wouldn’t let that happen again.
He had not been able to forget her when he was locked up. How could he expect to now? The fact that they were locked in this closet together was a lucky circumstance. She wouldn’t be running from him now.
Splotches of color broke out over her face. “I—I—”
“It’s you,” he repeated with total certainty.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand what you mean. I—”
“It’s you. From the boathouse.” He watched her closely. Her breath fell faster. “And you do understand,” he accused. “That’s why you’re so jittery. You remember, too.”
“What are you talking about?” She laughed nervously.
“Graduation night. Natalie’s boathouse. That was you in there. You were the girl I kissed . . .” He inhaled a breath and decided to use a little strategy to get her to admit he was right. “My friend, Dan, came in. You kissed him, too—”
“I did not!” Her body shot straight like a board. “I only kissed you!”
“Ah-ha!” He stabbed a finger in front of her face, smiling triumphantly. “You do remember.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You tricked me.”
“You were lying.” He shrugged.
“I remember,” she admitted grudgingly, the brightness in her eyes no longer fear but anger. “I remember everything.”
“So do I.”
She snorted. “I find that hard to believe. It’s been a long time.”
“You were memorable.” He lifted a wild lock of hair where it draped over her shoulder.
She didn’t look as put together as she had last night, but he liked her this way. Hair wild. Dark and loose and tangled. Whatever makeup she had on last night had long since worn off and her freckles were in stark relief against her olive skin. He could stare at her face and see something different, something new, every time. He felt his heart, a wild drum in his chest. He swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. God. He hadn’t felt this way since he was fifteen and fumbling in the dark with his first girl.
Even though the door was locked and they were trapped in here together, he had the irrational fear that she might disappear again. Go up in smoke.
“I thought about you a lot over the years.” He might as well admit it at this point.
She went still. “You can’t mean that.” This time her voice didn’t sound so angry. Rather, it sounded like a plea.
After high school he had gone straight to work. Grueling work. He had to in order to support himself and his sisters.
He worked landscaping at first, until he got hired on a construction crew. The pay was better than his landscaping gig, but it was grueling, backbreaking work beneath a brutal West Texas sun. For four years, he had worked in that punishing heat, his body young and strong enough to endure it. He remembered looking at the older men working alongside him. He’d taken in their bent backs and faces locked in grimaces of pain. That was his path. His bleak future. He knew it then. He didn’t expect anything else.
He hadn’t expected prison.
Following his thirty-year sentence, he certainly hadn’t expected freedom.
He hadn’t expected a day when he would be alone with Gabriella Rossi. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again.
He met her gaze. “Why did you run that night?”
“I wasn’t who you wanted. You were there for someone else. She showed up.” She shrugged. “I figured I should go.”
He shook his head. “You were scared. Just like you’re scared now.”
She made a scoffing sound. “No, I wasn’t. No, I’m not. You thought I was Natalie—”
“When she walked in the door, and I realized it wasn’t Natalie I was kissing, I didn’t give a damn. I only wanted to know who you were. Because I wanted you.”
Her throat worked. “It was just a kiss.”
“It was more than that, and as I recall, we were both really into it.”
She looked anywhere but at him right then. “I wasn’t exactly experienced then.”
He trailed a finger along the edge of her collar, not touching the sliver of skin peeping out of the V of her neckline. “And what about now? Are you experienced now?”
She cleared her throat. “I’ve lived a bit since then.”
“Have you?” His finger stalled at her collar. Holding her gaze, he decided her definition of living probably didn’t match up with his. Gabriella Rossi had good girl written all over her.
She nodded, her lips a tight, unsmiling line. “Of course, I have. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“That’s right,” he agreed. “It has been twelve years . . . so we have a lot of catching up to do.” He paused and took a steadying breath. He didn’t need to fall on her like some overeager youth. He might feel like doing that, but he wanted to treat her with more finesse. He’d dreamed of this. He wanted it to be good. “I know who you are now, Gabriella Rossi. And I want this to happen.”
That said, he tugged her closer again.
“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes fixed on him as he inched closer to her even as he simultaneously pulled her in.
Nine
He was going to kiss her again.
Only this time he knew she wasn’t Natalie.
He knew everything.
Incredibly, he had never forgotten her, if she was to believe him, and why would he lie about such a thing? He not only remembered that night, he recognized how she kissed him. She couldn’t have fathomed it.
The way he was looking at her now warned her he meant to do more than kiss her. He meant to do everything to her.
She trusted that he wo
uld stop if she told him to. He was not a bad man. She’d always known that, contrary to local opinion.
She just didn’t trust herself . . . and that was the larger problem. She felt naked, exposed before him. Stripped of everything. The years between them didn’t matter anymore. It’s like they were eighteen again and ready to continue, to pick right back up where they left off. Without fear of consequences. Without fear of tomorrow. Like most teenagers, living carefree in the moment.
Except they weren’t kids anymore.
She was thirty years old and very much concerned with all her tomorrows. As soon as Nana was well enough she would return to Austin and get her career on track. If she didn’t start getting better stories—maybe a feature now and then—she’d get her resume out there. She knew sometimes you had to leave a job to find a better one.
She’d get her own place again. Find a nice man. Not partake in some . . . meaningless tryst with someone who couldn’t offer anything more than a fling. That was not getting her life on track. He was only a further complication.
Easier said than done, of course.
His head descended. Her fingers curled into his shirt, digging, clinging, not pushing, not pulling. She watched his mouth, feeling dazed.
Who was she kidding? She couldn’t deny herself this. She lifted her face to him.
Faint music registered. She frowned, her ears perking up to the sound.
The song, “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing,” played from somewhere outside the closet. Disco? Really? The peppy beat and lyrics were incongruous to the moment.
She pressed a hand to his chest, putting a halt to his amorous intentions and pushing him away. “Wait. What is . . .”
She heard something else then. Not just the music. No. Squeaking wheels over tile. Right next to the closet door.
They weren’t alone in the building!
It was Saturday, but someone was here. Someone was here! They were saved. Or rather, she was saved. Just in time from making a mistake.
She squeezed away from Cruz and launched to her feet. She tossed back her hair, grimly acknowledging that it must look like it did every morning—a tangled nest. Later she would mourn the fact that he saw her this way. Later when she was free and could reflect on the crazy Friday night she spent locked in a closet with Cruz Walsh.
Now, however, she had a closet to escape.
She lifted a hand and pounded on the door. “Hello!” Behind her, it sounded like Cruz muttered an obscenity. She couldn’t be sure over the volume of her banging and shouting. She wanted to make sure she could be heard. “IS SOMEONE OUT THERE?”
The door opened.
A man stood there, wearing overalls. A cart was parked behind him where an old-school boom box circa 1990 played disco. She remembered the custodian from when she was in high school. She was pretty sure he wore the same overalls back then, too. She didn’t know his name but the kids had dubbed him Squeaky because of the way his shoes squeaked over the tile.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, his eyes large behind the coke-bottle lenses of his glasses. “No one’s supposed to be in here. The school is closed for the weekend.”
She decided not to even bother defending them. After all, did he actually think they wanted to be locked in a cramped closet? Over the weekend? With no restroom or food?
“You’re right, of course. No one should be here.” She nodded and stepped around Squeaky out into the hall. “Sorry about that. I’ll leave now.”
Her name rumbled behind her. “Gabriella.” There was a cautionary note to Cruz’s voice, and she knew that he knew. He knew her plan was to put as much distance between them as she could.
She glanced back, taking him in before she bolted.
He stood on the other side of the custodian, still stuck inside the closet. Squeaky looked back and forth between them, clearly indecisive. He settled on facing Cruz and demanding, “You there. What’s your name?” The man narrowed his eyes as he studied Cruz. “You’re familiar. I’ve seen you before.” After a moment, he shook his head as though that was of no account. “I’m turning you both in. You shouldn’t be here.”
Cruz blinked at the man, clearly caught off guard. Of course, the custodian had seen him before. All over TV and social media.
She felt the totally inappropriate urge to laugh. Turn them in? Like they were still in high school. A couple of kids caught making out in a closet.
“Shouldn’t you be asking if we’re okay? We were locked in here overnight.” She motioned to the door. “That’s a hazard. What if we were students? What if I had a health condition? This school could face one hell of a lawsuit.”
The custodian blanched and started to stammer.
She continued, “I’m sure you’re going to want to fix this and change out the doorknob for one that doesn’t lock.”
“So sorry, ma’am.” He bobbed his head, looking back and forth between them both.
Satisfied that he had ceased his ridiculous threats, she turned and marched away, walking briskly and hoping to put as much distance between her and Cruz as possible. It stung knowing he knew the truth. He knew how pathetic she had been. That she had used anonymity to kiss him.
She didn’t need to lose any more of her pride. She just needed to put some space between her and Cruz Walsh. Distance to lick her wounds. Eventually the embarrassment wouldn’t feel so acute.
Once she was alone in her bedroom, she could reflect on exactly how the past and present had collided . . . and how to make certain it didn’t happen again.
That shouldn’t be too difficult. They wouldn’t come into contact again . . . as long as she avoided events at the high school. She winced. Yeah. So she had a niece and nephew who attended Sweet Hill High alongside his sister. That didn’t mean she would have to talk to him at those events.
She had not forgotten the layout of the school. It was imprinted in her mind. She knew the quick getaways. She’d mastered those routes. Never knew when you needed to get away from a bully.
She walked swiftly, exiting the back of the building. It slammed loudly after her. She blinked against the sudden sunshine.
Ten seconds later she heard the door open and slam again.
She whirled around. Cruz stood there in the full morning light, looking not in the least rumpled from spending a restless night on the hard floor. No, that dark shadow of scruff on his face only made him look sexier. He slipped one hand into his front jeans pocket as he stared at her, early morning cicadas a loud purr on the air.
“Bri,” he said, and she tensed. No one called her that anymore and the fact that he did smacked of a familiarity that both warmed and alarmed her. He lowered his hand from his pocket. “Where are you going?”
It seemed a loaded question. Innocent on the surface but so much more was being said with his dark eyes . . . in the way his chest lifted deeply on a breath. Her gaze dropped to the hands hanging at his sides. His long fingers twitched as though itching to make a move.
“Home.” She motioned behind her.
“Do you need a ride?”
She shook her head vehemently. “I can walk.” It struck her as funny then. What a strange turn of events. Here she was standing outside her former high school and Cruz Walsh was asking if she needed a ride home. She’d had this fantasy on repeat in her mind between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. “I’m not far.”
“Okay then.” Still, he hesitated.
And so did she. As though she were waiting for something, and that was just wrong of her. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to do.
She finally moved. Turning, she started walking. She looked over her shoulder several times to assure herself that Cruz wasn’t following. No sight of him. He wasn’t following her. She was free.
She sighed again even as her chest twisted in discomfort.
She didn’t dare examine the sensation. It couldn’t possibly be disappointment. As far as she was concerned, the custodian had arrived at just the right time. Who knew what
would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted?
Okay. She had a pretty good idea of what would have happened. She would have been reckless and irresponsible. She would have let things happen that had only happened in her fantasies.
And she would have regretted it as soon as it was over.
Lucky for her, Nana only lived four blocks from the high school. Keeping a fast pace, she took the winding sidewalk that roped behind the school, recalling the years before she could drive. She had used this sidewalk to bike to Nana’s house after school freshman and sophomore year. She spent more time hanging out at Nana’s than she did at her own house. Mom and Dad didn’t seem to mind.
Once Tess graduated from high school, Gabriella was the only one left at home, and her mom and dad didn’t make too much effort anymore. Mom quit cooking altogether. She joined a knitting club, and Dad spent every spare moment he had working on his trains or golfing. Nana was always happy to have her. Happy to bake cookies and watch TV together, asking about her day as though Gabriella’s life was important to her.
Unlucky for Gabriella, however . . . she couldn’t get into her garage apartment without her key. Which meant she had to knock on Nana’s front door at eight o’clock in the morning looking like she had been rolling around in bed all night with someone. A fact that wasn’t too far off from the truth.
She knocked three times and sent a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain Cruz still hadn’t followed. She knew she was being paranoid at this point. Once he got out of that closet, she was sure he just got in his car and went home.
She could hear the television through the door. Nana’s hearing wasn’t great and she refused to wear a hearing aid, so that meant the TV volume was set to eardrum-shattering decibels at all times of the day—because Nana never turned the TV off. The only time it was off was when Nana went to bed. She said she couldn’t stomach an empty house. Ever since her children left and her husband died, the place was too quiet. When Gabriella returned home, Nana asked her to move in to the house with her. She’d declined. She wouldn’t have functioning hearing if she lived in Nana’s house full-time. Instead she had moved into the garage apartment. Still close enough to be helpful, but far enough away that her ears were spared.
Beautiful Sinner Page 8
