Summer Heat: A Steamy Romance Boxed Set

by Carly Phillips

  “Veronica told me you were taking your lunch hour to meet her,” he says fixing his blue gaze on me.

  “Yes,” I reply blinking rapidly.

  “Did you eat?” he asks.

  What’s up with this question? I look down at myself and awkwardly shake my head. You would think I look like a rail. “I’ll eat when I leave. I only have an hour.”

  He walks to the bar and signals me to follow. He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit. There are three Chinese take-out containers and two plastic plates.

  “I hope you like Chinese food,” he smirks.

  “Sure,” I say slowly. “I don’t think there are many foods I don’t like.”

  This is going very differently than last time. I serve my food, he serves his, and takes a seat on the opposite side.

  “Tell me, Blake. When did they start contacting you about the land?” he asks as he hands me my silverware.

  I look at him in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

  “They sent us a letter. The law firm is on the deed to your properties.”

  “Oh...I got the first letter a couple of months ago. Then I got a phone call.”

  He closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “What did they say when they called? What number did they call?”

  “They called my house line. They repeated what they said in the letter.”

  “What did the man sound like? Did you save the message? Do you own the apartment you’re living in?”

  “I deleted it,” I shrug. “I didn’t think it was important. And I don’t own it, we rent...why?”

  He exhales a deep breath. “Blake, save everything. Never delete anything before bringing it here, okay?”

  “Ooookay...do you know who wants the land?”

  “I have an idea, but I can’t be sure,” he answers, looking down at his plate.

  “They broke into my house last night,” I say as I watch his face.

  His puts his silverware down as his eyes snap back to mine. I explain to him what happened in detail.

  “Shit. You need to move. Hire security to be with you at all times. Tell your roommate to move out and get security for himself.”

  He gets up and starts to pace the room, running his hand through his combed blond hair. I gape at him as I stand up and put my hands on my hips.

  “What?” I sputter as I shake my head. “I can’t just tell my roommate to move. I can’t just get security to follow me around all day. I have a life.”

  “Blake…” he pauses, his eyes softening. “That’s why I’m telling you to do this. If you want to have a life—and you want your friends to live theirs freely—trust me on this.”

  I take a deep breath. “I had a dream last night,” I start as I look into his eyes. “I was on a farm with my dad and grandfather. There was a boy...the boy that was with me that night...and you were there, too.”

  He closes his eyes and sighs as he clasps his hands behind his neck.

  “I was playing tag with the boy,” I continue, my eyes watering at the memory. “I went up to you and said something. I think I called you my uncle.”

  He opens his blue eyes, and I can see the sorrow swimming in them before he blinks it away and takes a deep breath.

  “You have a vivid imagination, Blake. It sounds like a nice dream.”

  I purse my lips and narrow my eyes. “I liked being around you. I remember that.”

  He gives me a sad smile but gives away nothing else. For the next twenty minutes, we discuss how I can sell the land to those people without any trouble. He tells me he’ll have Veronica write up a sale contract. I would get market value for it, which is low, but I don’t care. I just want to rid myself of this.

  “Mark, can you tell me if my father is dead?” I ask quietly before opening the door.

  “Blake,” he sighs. “Your father died a long time ago. Are you happy now?”

  I tilt my head. “Yes…and no.”

  He gives me a baffled look.

  “Yes, because you just admitted that you know. No, because I would have liked it better if he was alive.”

  A slow smile appears on his face. “You’re going to make a great attorney, Blake.”

  I smile back. “Thanks for the food, Mark.”

  “Remember, security,” he calls out.

  Shit. How am I supposed to explain to Cole that my attorney thinks I need security to follow everyone I care about? I told him I’d call him when I left the meeting, but I decide to send him a text instead. I need time to think about this.

  Me: I’ll call you later. Back at work.

  Cole: Okay, baby. I love you.

  When I sit back in my cubicle, I check my email and see Veronica’s name. The title of the email is Security. I open it and see a list of names. When your attorney—one that knows more about your life than you do—sends you a list of people to hire as your bodyguards, you know things are serious. I replay last night’s dream in my head. I can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something in that dream.

  I end up working on a case until 7:00, and I’m thankful that I ate at Mark’s office. I say goodbye to Gina and the receptionist before heading out. The floor isn’t completely empty; I see lights still on in various offices. In the elevator, I rummage through my purse for my keys and phone. I find them both as I reach the floor of the underground parking garage. Unlike the offices, the lot is drastically empty.

  I walk over to my car, dropping my keys twice as I try to unlock my phone with my other hand. I hear shuffling behind me, but I reach for the handle before I look back, and lock the doors as soon as I get in.

  As I drive away, I notice a figure of a man in the corner of the garage, and it startles me so much that I slam on the brakes, making my car jerk forward. I let go of the brake slowly and continue driving up the curve toward the exit, leaving the dark figure behind. I’m watching my rearview mirror—just in case the figure moves into the light. Please walk into the light. My heart is pounding rapidly with adrenaline as I bite down on the tip of my thumb. I don’t care how late it is—when I get home, I’m hiring security.

  I call Cole on my way home and tell him about my meeting with Mark and about what happened in the parking garage.

  “Jesus, Blake, you’re freaking me out over here,” he says.

  “I’m sorry. I had to tell you, though. I’m getting you security, too. You need it more than we do since you’re in the public eye.”

  “Baby, I need it least because of that. Besides, don’t you think it’s a little awkward to have someone my weight and height shadow me?” he asks.

  A bubbled laughter escapes me. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess it is weird, but they’ll be trained and have a weapon, so I’m getting you one regardless.”

  He chuckles. “I’ll get my own if it makes you feel better.”

  “It does, but we have a list of people, so I’d feel safer if we choose from these.”

  “Why are you trusting that Mark guy so much anyway?” he asks curiously.

  This is a foreign concept—me trusting anybody outside of my circle.

  I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “A gut feeling, I guess.”

  “Hmmm, that’s fine. Just call the guys, but I’m paying for them.”

  “Cole,” I groan. “It’s my fault we’re in this mess. Let Shelley’s money pay for them.”

  “Baby,” he warns.

  “Whatever, we’ll figure that out later,” I say quickly. I really don’t need this to turn into an argument.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Present

  After bath time, Mommy always reads me a story. I’m in my pajamas, sitting in bed and waiting for her to pick one out. My mommy is the prettiest mommy ever. She has yellow hair and gray eyes that look like mine. She looks like a princess. Or a fairy. Everyone says I look just like Mommy. I hope so. I hope when I grow up I look pretty like my mommy.

  “Tonight, we’ll read Love You Forever,” she says, smiling at me and showing me the b
ook with the messy kid by a potty.

  I giggle and crinkle my nose. “That boy is silly.”

  Mommy laughs and touches my nose. “Yes, boys are silly. Let’s read the book, so you can go to sleep. Tomorrow is a very important day. Do you know what day it is?”

  “My birthday,” I squeal as I clap my hands together.

  “Yes, your birthday,” she says, giggling. “You’ll be four. A big girl.”

  I see water in Mommy’s gray eyes, and I kiss her cheek. I don’t want Mommy to be sad. She smiles at me and reads me the story. I feel my eyes getting heavy.

  The last thing I hear Mommy say before I go to sleep is “As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

  “I love you, Mommy,” I mumble as I drift into sleep.

  I wake up with tears streaming down my face. I look at the clock. 3:15. Of course it is. I roll my eyes and get up and wash my face. When I step back in my room, I look at the envelopes on top of my desk and take a deep breath as I walk to them. I sit in my chair and spin around a few times before deciding to open the one I opened the other day. I take out a Ziplock with pictures. The first picture takes my breath away. It’s her. My mom. I just saw her in my dream. She looks much more beautiful in the photo than in my dream, though. She has long dirty-blonde hair and soulful gray eyes. She’s wearing a maxi dress with big flowers on it. Her face is beaming as she looks down at the smiling little girl. The little girl has dirty-blonde hair and big happy gray eyes. Her long eyelashes match my mother’s and she’s wearing a white tank-top dress and silver sandals. In the photo, I look like a miniature version of my mother. Behind us, there’s a handsome man with brown hair and brown eyes. He’s dressed in a short-sleeve polo and khaki pants and he’s smiling as he watches us.

  I take a few deep breaths and continue to sort through pictures. They’re more of the same—until they’re not. There’s a batch of pictures of me running in a large plain of grass. Most are me by myself. Some are me and a boy. The boy from my dreams; Nathan. I squint my eyes to study him, but the pictures were taken from a far angle. After looking through those, I put everything away and beg sleep to take me when I lie back down. I wake up again at 8:00 and get ready for class.

  “Hey,” Aimee says when I walk into the kitchen.

  She’s been staying here a lot recently. I greet her and Bruce, my security guard, or shadow as he calls himself. Bruce is a kind, older man. We’re only going to have him around until the deal for the land is signed on the other end. Then I want life to go back to normal—whatever that is.

  Aimee and I arrive at school, and she’s still talking to me about Thanksgiving. I tell her that I’m going to spend it with Cole at Maggie’s this year. She tells me to invite Maggie to her house, but I refuse. I know how Maggie is—she won’t want to burden Aimee’s family. Aimee asks me to go with her to her parents’ house after class, so she can pick up some things that she needs. I’d been wanting her to invite me for a long time but only because I wanted more information about Mark. Now that I have access to him I don’t really care to go. I agree to go with her anyway. I’m curious to see the place and figure out why she hates going home so much.

  Her father is the mayor, and I assume that he’s personable, but who knows. Maybe he’s so busy and stressed that he’s an asshole. I also think her mom is probably one of those snobs that spends her husband’s money and goes to charity events to show off her new wardrobe. I can’t imagine why else she’d hate her parents so much if they were nice people.

  Aimee’s parents’ house is in Winnekta, which is only a twenty-minute ride from school—in slight traffic. We drive through an affluent neighborhood, where the kids are outside riding bikes and older folk are watering their garden—all without a care in the world. We pull up to a huge brick house and my eyes widen at the sight of it. This is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen in real life.

  I turn in my seat to face Aimee. “This is your parents’ house?”

  “Yup,” she draws out. “Trust me, it’s as dead as it is lavish.”

  I purse my lips but continue to look around as she makes the drive toward it. There are topiaries on both sides, lining the long circular driveway. When I get out of the car, I look at the house across the street and do a triple-take as I slap my hand over my mouth.

  “Wait a minute...is that...do you live in front of Kevin?” I ask shriek.

  Aimee laughs loudly. “Kevin?” she asks in amusement.

  “Yeah, is that the Home Alone house? It looks just like it,” I squeal.

  Home Alone is one of my favorite movies. I used to be obsessed with Kevin when I was little. When I moved in with Maggie, she rented it for me one night, and we all watched it together. I knew every line. Cole was so impressed that he bought it for me for Christmas that year.

  Aimee laughs and shakes her head. “Yes, that is the house. But if you’re looking for Kevin, you may find that his real name is George, and he’s an eighty-year-old man who likes to wear his underwear when he fetches the newspaper.”

  I grimace at the mental image, before laughing along with her. When we walk into her house, I gape at my surroundings. It looks like a museum where you’re not allowed to touch anything. It makes me feel like a child, and I hope she doesn’t ask me to sit down because I wouldn’t know where to sit. None of the couches have plastic over them, and they’re all light colors. The first room we pass is red, the second room is blue, and the third is dark purple.

  “Your mom has a thing for colors, huh?” I say, following her up the stairs. Our boots clink against the creaky hardwood floor with each step.

  “You have no idea,” she replies.

  There are five doors upstairs. She leads me to the first one, which is her room. Her room is completely pink.

  “Oh, I have some idea,” I deadpan.

  As Aimee goes to her walk-in closet, I look around her room, she has pictures of herself with her parents on a couple of frames. Her mom has short brown hair and sad green eyes and her dad has brown hair and dead brown eyes. I remember seeing him on television a couple of times, and him looking animated. They look like a happy family in the pictures. They’re both smiling at the camera, but their eyes say otherwise. As I look at the pictures, a thought strikes me like a thunderbolt embedding into my brain.

  “Aimee, you’re an only child?” I ask curiously.

  I hear her rattle and drop some things in the closet. When she steps out, her eyes look pained.

  “I am now,” she says as she drops her sad gaze to the hardwood floor.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say with regret.

  “No, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. I guess you might as well know. It’ll make more sense if you meet my family and you realize how crazy they are. Hell, maybe you can even warn Aubry before he meets them during Thanksgiving,” she says as she sits down on the edge of the bed.

  I sit on the other side and wait for her to continue.

  “I had a brother—a twin. He looked nothing like me. He was older by two minutes. He died when we were little.”

  I give her an empathetic look. “I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugs. “I have some pictures of him in that album,” she says, pointing to her desk. “I just can’t bear to look at them. I looked at them every day for years, wishing he was alive. When I realized he wasn’t, I stopped looking.”

  Aimee gets up and goes back to the closet and I get up and sit in her chair to leaf through the album. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. That’s the noise I hear in my clogged ears. I clutch on to my heart with both hands, willing it to slow down. Willing it to be quiet.

  “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Aimee coos when she walks out of the closet.

  I shake my head vigorously and look at her through blurred eyes for a long moment.

  “Aimee, what is your mother’s maiden name?” I ask shakily.

  She crinkles her eyebrows and looks at me like I’m crazy. “Murphy.”

  I gasp and shoot up out of the chair, hitting
my knees against the desk and knocking over the cup of pencils. “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask desperately.

  She points at the next door down the hallway. I run to it, close and lock the door, and spew the tuna salad I had for lunch in the toilet.

  “Are you okay?” Aimee calls from the other side of the door.

  I grip on to the toilet seat. “Yes,” I reply weakly. “I think the tuna I had for lunch was bad. Keep packing or whatever. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” she calls out unconvinced.

  When I’m sure she’s left, I get off the floor, splash my face and rinse my mouth a few times and open the door very quietly to look out. I can hear Aimee in her closet, so I tiptoe to the room next door and open it. It’s a storage room. I open the one next to it—master bedroom. I open the one beside that-it’s completely blue.

  I step in and switch the light on. I feel my body shaking as I close the door quietly behind me and lean against it. I don’t know if the tuna salad really upset my stomach or if it’s my nerves. I’m going to have to go with the latter, though. I look around the room and see wooden shelves on both sides of the room that have baseball collectibles on them. There’s also a lower shelf by the bed that has all kinds of G.I. Joes. I spot something peeking out from the closet and it’s almost as if it’s calling me to free it. I can’t stop my wobbly legs from slowly walking toward it. The door creaks as I push it open slowly—as soon as I see it, I fall to my knees with a loud thump. I stare at it as water wells in my eyes and affliction courses through my veins. I grab it and stuff it in my oversized purse. I get up shakily, my heart still drumming in my ears, but and quickly walk back to Aimee’s room. She comes out of her closet with a bag in her hand and looks at my with furrowed eyebrows.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “No,” I reply as I grab on to the strap of my purse to calm my shaky hands. I’m not okay at all.

  On the ride back to my apartment, I debate whether or not I should ask her any questions. I decide not to. She tells me that her parents are in DC for the week. She explains that she thinks she remembers a time when they were a happy family—before her brother died—but it’s been hell living with them most of her life. I listen quietly and send Aubry a text message, asking him to please stay at Aimee’s house tonight. Cole’s flight gets in at 8:00, and I want us to be alone for the night.