Whole Latte Love (The Jewells)

by Ayala, Rachelle

  He unlocked the car. “He’s wanted by the FBI, but it wasn’t his fault.”

  She caught her breath while snapping on the seatbelt. “What did he do?”

  “He was scrounging around and picked up a backpack with an unexploded bomb.” Dylan gunned the engine and tore out of the parking space.

  Carina hung onto the ‘oh-shit’ handle. “That’s not good.”

  “Yeah, well, he dropped it and ran, but someone recognized him and called it in.” Dylan ran a red light on Shattuck and turned up Dwight.

  “Then we can’t let them catch him. Gordie hates being confined. He told me he has to always see the stars so he’ll know his way home.”

  Dylan white knuckled the steering wheel. She could be so compassionate to Gordie, but at the same time use him to scheme her way up the corporate ladder.

  “I hope he’s not hurt badly.” Carina touched his shoulder, then jerked her hand as if he were made of toxic sludge.

  “Me too.” Dylan’s phone rang and he held it to his ear. “We’re on our way. Yes, I have a car. Are the police there?”

  She reached out and almost touched him again, but let her hand down onto the dashboard.

  His shoulder itched, missing her touch. How could he still want her when she was so two-faced? She’d fooled him with her innocence and kindness when all she cared about was her career.

  After passing several traffic lights, they arrived at the side of the park. The usual crowd of street people were lounging around, some still lying on bedrolls while others formed a circle within a thicket of trees.

  Dylan and Carina jumped out of the car and ran toward the milling onlookers. Betsy, the former mortgage banker, waved and shuffled over. “He shot himself in the leg when he was getting off the tree.”

  “I know a doctor who can help,” Dylan said. “Let’s not have a commotion and give the neighbors an excuse to call the police.”

  “Don’t worry, no one here’s calling any cops, and the neighbors probably thought it was a backfiring car,” Betsy drawled as she dragged her fingers through her streaked gray hair. She patted her backpack. “I have the gun. It’s an antique and we wouldn’t want it confiscated.”

  “Good job,” Dylan said. He parted the crowd and bent to examine Gordie.

  “Aye, Sassenach.” Gordie writhed on a patch of grass, his pants bloody below the knee. “Got caught by a musketball. Hurts like the dickens.”

  “We’ll get you to a doctor.” Dylan grabbed a plastic trash bag from one of the bins and dumped the contents into another bin. “Carina, take this to the car. We can’t get blood on the seats.”

  She shook it out, keeping it at arm’s length and headed toward the car. At least she was good for something.

  “Don’t let them nasty Sassenachs capture me,” Gordie whined. “Send me through the stones and let me go back to the loch where I left me lassie.”

  Gordie grimaced as he struggled to stand, helped by Dylan and another man. They dragged him, limping and moaning to the car.

  “Aye, the princess is back.” He graced Carina with a half-smile as she smoothed the plastic bag on the seat and helped him in.

  “You’ll be okay, your Highness.” She cradled his head in her lap. “We’ll take you back to the castle.”

  “It’s not the castle I’ll be wanting. It’s the moors and the highlands.” Gordie groaned. “I’ll rot in a Sassenach jail. Princess, you must help me.”

  “I will, your Highness. But first, we get you to a doctor.”

  Dylan’s jaw tightened at her cloying voice. He’d have to hand it to her, playing the sweet, kind princess to Gordie when all she cared about was sucking in a six-figure salary.

  ~ ~ ~

  Carina rang the bell in front of a weathered clapboard bungalow. Purple paint peeled from the doorframe and the screen door was torn. A black and white cat leaped off the porch swing and rubbed against her leg, purring.

  An elderly woman with straight white hair opened the door. She blinked at Carina through the screen and pursed her lips. “I’m not buying anything.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Carina asked.

  “Yes, I’m Dr. Bird.” The woman frowned and eyed her up and down, then looked over at the car. “Cash only.”

  Dylan had managed to extricate Gordie from the subcompact, but was having difficulty getting him to walk.

  “Sure, not a problem,” Carina said. “Do you have any crutches?”

  “Let me get them.” The doctor retreated into the dingy house. Carina wrinkled her nose at the odor of weed lingering in the musty air. Bet she was the kind of doctor who prescribed medical marijuana, it being legal in California.

  The cat slipped into the house when the doctor opened the screen door. Carina took the offered crutches and rushed to Gordie’s side.

  Gordie propped himself up while complaining of the blasted pain. By the time he climbed the few steps to the stoop of the porch, he was sweating profusely.

  “What do we have here?” Dr. Bird led the way into the bungalow.

  “Gunshot wound,” Dylan said.

  “Let’s see how bad it is. I might not be able to treat him.” Dr. Bird shuffled to the den which had been converted into an examination room. “Help him onto the table.”

  As Dylan helped Gordie, Carina settled in the hallway on a rickety metal folding chair. Her stomach flipped with nausea at Gordie’s howls of pain.

  Dylan returned from the examination room and hovered close to her. “The bullet grazed his calf, but fortunately it didn’t hit a bone.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It’ll heal, but he’s going to need care. He can’t live on the streets in this condition.”

  “He can stay in my old room, it’s paid to the end of summer.”

  “I know.” Dylan lowered himself onto the chair next to her. He grimaced and his gaze, laden with regret, flickered over her. “Thanks for caring about Gordie.”

  “Sure.” Carina looked down. This was the first positive thing he’d said to her all morning. Once again, her eyes swelled with moisture, and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

  Blinking hard, she checked her phone for messages. Nothing. Had something happened to Rebecca?

  She tapped a message: Are we still practicing the preso today?

  Minutes passed by. Dylan played with his smartphone and made no effort to talk to her. Strangely, Rebecca did not return her text. She texted Van: Do we have work today? Please call.

  Meanwhile Dylan’s phone vibrated and he kept his fingers busy texting while letting several missed calls go to voicemail.

  “Do you have to work today?” Carina asked Dylan when he tucked his phone into his pocket.

  “Huh? Oh. I begged off because of Gordie.”

  “It’s strange. No one’s returning my texts or calling me.”

  Dylan stared at the wall in front of him. “You work hard enough. Don’t you deserve a day off?”

  He drew out the word ‘deserve’ with a long sneer.

  “I might deserve a day off” Carina glared at him. “But I don’t deserve to be treated like crap.”

  “Only if you stop dishing it out,” Dylan grumbled and shot her a scowl.

  Geez, why was he so hostile? She could sling it back as good as she got. “Just because we had lousy sex doesn’t mean you have to be so shitty.”

  “Oh yeah? The way you were exploding, I thought you swallowed gunpowder.”

  “You think giving someone lots of orgasms gives you the right to stomp on their feelings? I can’t believe I thought you were one of the good guys.”

  “I can’t believe I thought you were honest,” he hissed under his breath, his arms crossed tightly.

  Shockwaves bounced off Carina’s chest. He questioned her honesty? When had she ever lied to him? When she told him how she felt about him, it was all true, at the time. If anyone was dishonest, it was Duping Dylan Jewell who sweet talked her and stole her virginity. Bastard.

  The door to the examination
room clattered.

  “We’re done,” Dr. Bird said, wiping her hands with a paper towel. “I’ve cleaned and dressed the wound, but someone’s going to have to clean and check it for him every day. His state of mind is not there to take care of it himself.”

  “I’ll do it,” Dylan said, sounding like a fake boy scout, all resolute and hero-like.

  The doctor wrote on a prescription pad. “Good, he’ll need painkillers and antibiotics. Again, you’ll need to dole it out for him, or he’d end up selling the pills on the street.”

  Dylan took the prescription and pulled out his wallet. “I can’t thank you enough. How much do I owe you?”

  The doctor tugged on a single strand of hair growing out of a mole on the side of her chin. “Covering up for a gunshot wound and a suspected terrorist wanted by Homeland Security could get me in federal prison. I’ll need a thousand.”

  Terrorist? The hairs on the back of Carina’s scalp froze. How could Gordie be a terrorist, unless they took all his blathering about King George and freeing Scotland seriously?

  Dylan extracted several twenties. “I don’t have all the money on me, but I swear you’ll be paid.”

  “I have some money.” Carina stepped toward them, opening her purse.

  Dr. Bird touched her handbag. “Marc Jacobs quilted Baroque. I like it.”

  “Whoa, wait,” Dylan said. “She’s not in this. I’m paying.”

  “I like the bag. May I see how worn it is?” Dr. Bird extended her liver-spotted hand.

  “Sure. It’s almost new. I bought it about a month ago.” Carina let the doctor unhook her purse and open it.

  “About a thousand dollars retail,” the doctor murmured. “I’d say street value is half.”

  “This is the extra large, with genuine lambskin and hammered gold hardware,” Carina countered. “Please take it.”

  “No. This isn’t right,” Dylan said. “I’ll give you my guitar. It’s worth a grand.”

  “Really?” Dr. Bird made a clucking sound. “What would I do with a guitar? Every woman can use a purse.”

  “I’ll buy you another one,” Dylan stammered.

  “I like this one. Besides, how do I know you’ll be back?” The doctor held the purse to her chest. “You can buy her another one.”

  She pointed to Carina with her chin in a gesture signifying discussion was closed.

  “It’s yours, Dr. Bird,” Carina said. “Just let me have the stuff inside.”

  “Sure.” The doctor poured the contents onto her desk. A wallet, keys, pepper spray, lipstick, powder blush, mascara, the hippie heart Dylan gave her, and a couple of tampons rolled out.

  Hoping Dylan hadn’t spied the tampons, Carina scrambled to shove everything into a paper bag the doctor gave her.

  After Dylan helped Gordie to the car, Carina jumped in and rode with them back to the apartment. Even though Dylan was a jerk, she wasn’t so stupid to walk by herself in a sketchy neighborhood.

  Once inside, Dylan gave Gordie a painkiller and Carina made the bed. No one said a word. Even Gordie had been subdued during the ride, his eyes closed, humming to himself.

  Time to go. Carina surveyed the ethnically decorated apartment with the vibrant, joyful colors. Maybe someday she’d pick up a pair of bright orange kente cloth lamps, but she could do without the tribal masks. The shiny espresso machine stood silent in the kitchen and the aroma of happier caffeinated times lingered. Carina swallowed and turned toward the door.

  “Wait.” Dylan stepped in front of her, looking pale. “I’ll buy you another purse. I’m sorry about this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Carina said. “It’s for Gordie.”

  “Yeah, Gordie,” Dylan repeated. “I appreciate it.”

  “I have to go.” Carina twisted the doorknob. “Bye.”

  It would be forever. She couldn’t look in his eyes, or ever face her humiliation at his hands. All she could do now was salvage the rest of her summer and put her heart into getting the return offer.

  “Not yet.” He stopped the door from opening. “We have to talk.”

  Carina closed her eyes and knocked her forehead to the door. “So you can gloat? You hate me now that you slept with me.”

  “You’re wrong about that.” Dylan swung her around, his eyes blazing. “Let’s go down to the parking garage so we don’t disturb Gordie.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Dylan grabbed Carina by the arm, marched her into the elevator, and hit the button for the garage. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook, have her think he was the bad guy when she was the one who’d betrayed him. Ripping pain tore through his heart. He’d never trust another woman again. And here he thought he was falling in love with her.

  “You’re acting crazy. Let me go.” She struggled toward the control panel, but he pulled her to his side.

  “You … You can go when I say you can.” He held her tightly.

  He’d been an idiot, bringing her upstairs for coffee and giving her a chance to confess. Instead, she’d gone on the offensive and accused him of being lame in bed. Even worse, if he hadn’t intercepted her messages, she’d be telling Rebecca everything.

  Carina shuddered in his grip, breathing raggedly, whimpering, trying to make him feel sorry for her. No way was he going to let her walk away as some kind of suffering angel.

  The elevator doors opened to the underground garage. He pushed her into the laundry room and shut the door. He wanted to rip that smug cloak of victimhood from her shoulders. The pain she inflicted on him would never be healed. How could he have opened himself to her, thinking she was different? Even now, his heart twinged at the intimacy they’d shared the night before.

  Carina shrank into the corner next to the washing machines, her fists tight against her chest in a defensive posture. “What have I ever done to you?”

  He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the forwarded text messages. “Read.”

  Her body jerked and her eyes bulged, color flooding her face. “Shit, oh, shit. Where did you get these?”

  “I forwarded them from your phone. What the hell’s wrong with you? I trusted you. I thought you were my friend. I opened my apartment and my life to you, and all this time, you were setting me up.”

  She collapsed to her knees. “Dylan, this isn’t what it looks like.”

  “Sure it is. First, she told you to withhold, so you played hard to get. Then she ordered you to jump my bones and boy did you jump. You even fucking bled. You sacrificed your virginity for a stupid job.”

  “No, that’s not true.” She beat her palms on his legs.

  “I bet they promised you a return offer, didn’t they? Get Dylan to sign and you’re set for life. He goes on the tour, you’re toast.”

  “I always wanted you to be happy. Honest. I figured if you decided to go with your father, I’d take the credit, but I never tried to make you go against your dreams. I’m sorry, Dylan.”

  How could she act so stricken? Her face scrunched as if she were in agony, artfully trailing a teardrop down the side of her nose. Even now, she looked so cute, like a lost, abandoned kitten.

  He swallowed, but the lump pressing his throat grew larger and his gut wrenched. While she’d been laughing about him with Rebecca, he was mooning over her and writing stupid love songs.

  “You’re sorry you got caught.” He extracted her cell phone from the paper bag. “I’m going to turn off call and text forwarding. You deal with Rebecca.”

  Carina doubled over and threw her arms around his legs. “I was wrong. Please forgive me, please.”

  Arrogant women. Always begging for forgiveness. It hadn’t been any different with Rebecca. She’d only been mortified once she was caught with another man between her legs.

  Well, he wasn’t going to take it anymore—be the chump who bent over while they drove their spiked heels through his heart.

  “Let go of me.” He pried Carina’s hands from his legs. “I never want to see or hear from you again.”

  He slamme
d her phone on the washing machine and tore himself away. Her anguished wails followed him, and he fought the urge to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

  Only nothing would ever be right again.

  Game over. The woman who played for keeps had lost.

  Chapter 27

  “No!” Carina screamed, pounding her forehead on the concrete floor. The laundry room door shut with a resounding bang. Dylan was gone. The man who made her heart sing and her hopes soar never wanted to hear from her again.

  All of this was her fault. She should have stopped the game long ago. She had no one to blame but her own pathetic self.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. Her head rang from the vibrations as pain spread from the center of her forehead. Last night had been perfect. She’d successfully pitched an idea to two CEOs, been praised by her Managing Director, and was serenaded by the man of her dreams, not to mention the love they’d made throughout the night.

  Now, all was lost. Pain threaded its way through her heart to the tips of her toes.

  Her phone rang. It was Rebecca.

  Fuck this. She couldn’t deal with it now.

  Carina slammed the phone onto the concrete floor and kicked it under the washing machine. She grabbed the paper bag with her belongings and stumbled onto the street.

  Dragging herself aimlessly down the sidewalk, she muttered, “Dylan, I’m sorry. Dylan, I love you. I’m sorry. Forgive me, Dylan.”

  The sun was already high in the sky when she wandered into The Brewed Force and stared at the espresso machine. This was where she’d first met him. If only she could turn back the clock to that day in June … She could almost picture him grinning and flirting with the women.

  Joanne caught her looking and stepped over. “How’s everything going?”

  “I don’t know.” Carina twisted the top of the paper bag and blinked back tears.

  “What happened to you?” Joanne’s gaze settled on Carina’s forehead. “Did you get mugged?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “You have a bruise on your head.” Joanne placed an arm around Carina’s shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, I have to go.” Carina backed toward the door.