Made for Breaking

by Lauren Gilley

  “Take the rest of the day off,” Mark said. “Take as much time with her as you need.”

  She took a breath. “Okay. Where is she?”

  With a vase full of stalker-flowers in hand, Lisa was directed at the nurse’s station to Dani’s room. “Try not to look bodyguard-ish,” she said to Drew as she knocked on the indicated door.

  It eased open a fraction, and Lisa pushed it wide, Drew crowding in close behind her. There was a purse and a sweater in the chair by the bed, but the room was empty save Danielle. She was watching the TV, half-asleep, and her eyes sprang wide as they entered.

  Without hair and makeup help, she was pale and sallow, hair stringy across the pillow. The panic that streaked across her face was unmistakable. Her gaze went to Drew and stayed there. Her arm flopped out of bed, hand going for the nurse call button.

  “Whoa.” Lisa ditched the flowers on the dinky table and held out both hands in a slow down gesture. “Hold up, Dani. It’s fine. Drew” – she turned to him over her shoulder – “is stepping outside, right?”

  He nodded and backed out of the room fast. His shoulder appeared in front of the door’s window: he was setting up sentry.

  “Okay, he’s gone,” she said, turning back to Danielle. The girl was shaking all over, breath wheezing in her throat. Her covers slipped down and Lisa could see the angry dark marks a pair of hands had left around her neck. Shit. “See? He went out in the hall. It’s just you and me.”

  Dani blinked, and some of the scared-animal shock faded. She pushed herself up higher in bed. Her brows snapped together. “Lisa?” Her voice was a mangled, hoarse mess. “Lisa Russell?”

  “Yeah.” There was an empty chair over against the wall and she slumped down into it. “None other.”

  “Your dad was here last night,” Dani said, suspicion tightening her eyes. They were red with burst vessels from her near-strangulation. “He was asking me about what happened.”

  Lisa nodded. She had no idea how to play this. Did she act helpful? Or conspiratorial? A mixture of the two won out. “Yeah, he told me. His guys were working security last night at the Smyths’ party. They’re, like” – she applauded herself for remembering to use “like” – “freaking out that they missed somebody sneaking into the party.”

  Dani swallowed, throat working, making her wince as the bruised flesh constricted. A definite fright came into her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “They had a whole perimenter set up.” She drew a rough diagram of the Smyths’ yard through the air with a finger. “There was Dad, Sly, Drew, Eddie…Drew’s the one outside. Did you meet him last night?”

  Dani shook her head, but she chewed at the inside of her cheek.

  “Eddie, then? You met Eddie, right?” Lisa flashed a knowing smile for effect. “He’s always scoping out the ladies when he’s supposed to be working.”

  Her eyes made a fast, uncertain dart for the door and returned; a shudder moved through her.

  “Okay, look. I know you were supposed to meet Eddie in the bathroom. So sue him; he can’t keep his mouth shut about his conquests.” Dani’s meager color abandoned her. “But he’s not the Alpharetta Strangler. He didn’t do this to you.”

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  Lisa scooted her chair up closer to the bed. She had no idea how long she had, how long it would be before the owner of the purse and sweater in the other chair returned. Dani gathered her gown tight around her shoulders as Lisa neared: she was scared out of her mind. “I’m gonna be straight with you, Dani,” she said, putting on her sternest, most mom-like voice. “I know we’re not friends. I can’t stand any of those girls who were at the garden party last night. But someone, over the last couple of weeks, has been trying their best to scare the hell out of me.”

  That got her attention. Dani’s eyes came dangerously close to leaving their sockets. “What-what do you mean?”

  God, this was probably a mistake… “Someone’s been sending my mom and me flowers, with a creepy-ass note attached. Someone jumped me outside the bar one night. My dad’s on high alert, and that’s why the guys worked security at the party last night.”

  She digested that, and then a blush popped in her white cheeks. “Is this your fault?” She gestured to her throat. “Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “If this guy – whoever tried to choke you to death – was only after me, why waste time with you?”

  It was taking an effort, it looked like, for Dani to maintain a semblance of anger. The wild fear was shivering through, breaking to the surface.

  “You know who did it,” Lisa pressed. “And I know you’re scared. But I need to know – my Dad needs to know – so we can make him stop.”

  “S-stop?” Dani stammered. “You guys aren’t the police.”

  “No we’re not.”

  “So what are you…what, are you just going to….bump him off or something? Oh my God. Like in some old gangster movie?”

  Lisa frowned. “Dani, you got strangled. Doesn’t that scare you?”

  “It terrifies me.” Her lips trembled. “And so do you.”

  And wasn’t that a resounding slap to the face?

  Lisa dug a pen and old napkin out of her purse and wrote down her cell number. She set it on the nightstand. “If you change your mind, call me.” She made meaningful eye contact. “I’m serious. When you’re ready to talk, give me a ring.”

  Dani’s gaze was mistrustful, and quivering with fright. But she took the napkin, balling it into her hand. Lisa didn’t know if she meant to trash it or keep it; either way, there was no sense staying any longer.

  Drew was standing so close she hit him with the door on her way out. He spun around, face so concerned she had to bite back a smile. “What’d she say?”

  Lisa eased the door shut and started down the hall; he fell into step beside her. “Nothing. She’s freaked out of her mind about whoever it is, and doesn’t want to tell me.”

  “So she knows who it was.”

  “For sure.”

  “And she wouldn’t think twice about sending someone like Shilling back to prison.”

  “For sure, also,” she agreed. “No, this is someone closer to home for her than that.”

  They rode down the elevator in silence, and the closer they came to the ground floor, the further Lisa’s mind drifted from Dani and this new twist in their “case.” Alone together in the small car, both of them smelling like day-old sex, her muscles sore in a long-unused way, her thoughts attached themselves to Drew.

  When they left the hospital for the parking deck, she said, “So after I left the room this morning…”

  Drew tensed; she could feel the energy shift between them as they walked.

  “Did my dad say anything to you?”

  He was scanning the surrounding cars, power coiled in his arms. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  He slanted her a sideways look without turning his head. It struck her, for a moment, as a very Sly-like thing to do. She didn’t know if that comparison was cute, or disturbing. “I can handle your dad,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”

  Before she could catch herself, her fingers curled lightly around his wrist. He glanced down at her hand, then at her face. “I have the rest of the afternoon – I vote we go home and snag showers.”

  He smiled.

  Cheryl suppressed a shiver as she shut off her engine and glanced up at the brick façade of the shopping center in front of her. The purple marquis for the florist’s shop was a logo she’d become more than accustomed to over the past couple of weeks. The place – one of the most popular in the area – was the same that had been sending her flowers at work. All the pretty colors for a pretty girl…

  It wasn’t Tansy’s, she knew: the shop wasn’t responsible for what was happening to them. In fact, it had been featured in both Southern Living and Better Homes & Gardens as being one of the chicest places to buy arrangements in the Deep South. But sitting in front of the shop left her clammy nonetheless.
So much for conquering her fears.

  With one last deep breath, she climbed from her car and went in.

  At the chime of the bell, the two employees working behind the counter called, “Hello!” and the heady scent of gardenia assaulted her. The shop was dressed like an old-fashioned apothecary – lots of dark wood and heavy secretaries full of drawers along the walls; they contained seeds and ribbon and florist foam and other trappings for sale. Display arrangements of apricot roses in heavy urns flanked the counter and Enya floated from overhead speakers. It was a narrow little space, with just enough room for two patrons to navigate around one another at the register. Cheryl settled in behind the girl at the counter, and it was then that she recognized her.

  Missy Albright’s voice – “I need four of those, not five” – was unmistakable.

  “Missy?”

  The blonde turned, hair settling prettily over her shoulders. She was in a loose white sundress cinched over the highest point of her baby bump with a red leather belt. She was as stunning as always, mouth curled in a frown as per the norm. Cheryl didn’t think the girl cruel – not the way Lisa did – but it riled her maternal side to see a young woman so dissatisfied. And that’s what it was, that attitude – it was all dissatisfaction and unhappiness, masked with bitchery.

  Her face was blank a moment before she blinked and said, “Mrs. Russell,” in an emotionless voice.

  Cheryl recovered first. “How are you doing? After last night, are you – ”

  “Disturbed? Yes.” She lifted her slender nose and gave a little sniff. “I can’t believe what happened.”

  “How’s your friend?”

  Missy coughed a tight laugh. “Um, not good. Tristan and I are on our way to the hospital to see her.”

  Tristan: now there was a name she could do without hearing for the rest of her life. “You’re on your way there now?”

  Missy looked at her like she couldn’t believe she’d dared to ask it. “Yes.”

  “I was actually picking some flowers out for her. Would you mind taking mine with you? If you can wait just a second, I’ll have them ordered.” She gestured to the display case of pre-arranged bouquets.

  Missy pretended to think long and hard about it. She accepted her credit card back, signed the receipt, and finally said, “I guess so. Let me check with Tristan. He’s waiting in the car.” She whipped her cell from her purse and dialed.

  30

  The ceiling fan twirled in lazy arcs overhead, blowing the wispy, drying tendrils of hair down the sides of her head. The sheets were cool beneath her warm, still-damp body. She smelled shampoo, and soap, the clean cut of fabric softener from the pillowcase. She wanted a smoke, a sandwich, and a nap; but more than that, she wanted to stare at the ceiling fan.

  “So,” Drew said. He was stretched out beside her, good arm propped under his head. “This is what it’s like to sleep in the big house.”

  In the shower, his cast held out of the spray, she’d passed her soapy hands across all the hard, lean contours of his body: the wide shoulders, the narrow waist, the landscape of muscle between. Up the back of his neck and through his hair, nails scratching shampoo against his scalp. He’d leaned into the attention like a starved, grateful dog, eyes closed, not shy about enjoying the rub down. When she’d finally curled her fingers around his cock, he’d been all too ready to return the favor. Her body still hummed. She could still taste soap on her tongue. Her pulse was sluggish and satisfied…and waiting, dormant for the moment, ready to leap again. He was young and strong, and she was fast realizing she might not be able to get enough of him.

  “Aren’t you impressed?” she asked with a low laugh.

  “Yeah.”

  She kept waiting for it to feel awkward, but so far, that sensation hadn’t arrived. She rolled onto her side and rested her head on her fist. “What did my dad say this morning?”

  “You already asked me that.”

  “You didn’t answer, though.”

  Drew sighed. “The usual angry dad crap,” he said to the ceiling. “I don’t – ” he started, and then sighed. “Nevermind.”

  “No. Tell me. You don’t what?”

  He frowned; she saw lines form at the corners of his eyes as they crinkled. “I don’t like the way he treats you.”

  A note of something like pure delight chimed inside her ribs. She pushed up on an elbow so she could see his face better. “You know you’re going to have to explain that, right?”

  His eyes slid over and attached themselves to hers. The brown irises were amber in the flood of afternoon sunlight. “You’re twenty-four, not ten,” he said. “And you work hard. I mean…I get him being protective. But the rest of it…” He shrugged. “Not like I have experience with good dads or anything. Forget I said that.”

  “You been on the wrong side of a father’s shotgun a time or two?” she asked, smiling. The smile faded, though, when he didn’t answer. “Or,” she said carefully, “you’re talking about your own dad.”

  He swallowed.

  “What’s he like?”

  His expression was so serious. “Like no one you’d ever want to meet.”

  He was such a good guy. The thought slammed into her and she reached to lay her hand along the side of his face. His jaw clenched under her palm. “It’s safe to say you’re nothing like him.”

  She withdrew her hand and his lifted; he tapped at the swinging heart pendant around her neck.

  “You wanna talk about it?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  A beat passed. “Parents are tough,” she said, at last. “Dads, especially. In a lot of ways, I admire the hell out of mine.” The way Drew watched her made her brave. “But I don’t know how to make him proud. Honestly, I’m sick to death of trying.” She shrugged. “But I owe him – him and Mom both. And as long as I do…”

  “You’ll do what they want.”

  She shrugged again. “It’s not such a bad deal.”

  “You’re not happy, though.”

  She searched his eyes, wondering how a damn prize fighter could read her so well. “That has nothing to do with them.”

  His hand ghosted up the side of her neck, around to her nape, fingers spearing through her hair. It was exactly the kind of moment that terrified her. That moment, before he pulled her down and kissed her – not the forbidden dark of the garage, not stealing into his bed the night before: It was the daylight, and this slow, deliberate slice of afternoon that frightened her breathless.

  He brought her face in close to his, until her lips hovered over his, and then he waited. He made her close the distance. And she did, pressing her open mouth over his as a shiver stole through her. His fingers curled in her hair. His tongue slid between her lips, between her teeth.

  Without breaking the kiss, Lisa shifted, straddling his waist, palms flattening against the hard expanse of his chest. His hand traveled down the curve of her spine, to the small of her back, holding her to him.

  She could have stayed like that, kissing him, for the rest of the afternoon. But it was still too soon, this was still too fresh, and her patience was no match for the clawing need shredding her insides. She was wearing nothing but an ancient t-shirt that hung past her knees and she pulled away from him, breaking their kiss, so she could gather it up and pull it over her head. His casted hand settled on her hip. His eyes raked up her, leaving her flushed. And his good hand skated up her stomach and closed over her breast.

  She pressed her lips together against a happy sigh as he lifted her, his thumb passing across her nipple again and again until it was hard and straining. Her hips rolled. He gave her nipple a light pinch – her breath caught – and moved to her other breast, fingers kneading, palm cupping.

  When he started to move away, she pressed her hand to the back of his, holding him to her. She squeezed his warm, rough fingers around her breast, chest surging against the contact.

  “What?” he asked with a chuckle. “You like it slow all of a sudden?”
>
  “Sometimes.” Her voice was a soft purring sound she didn’t recognize. She guided the tip of his index finger to her nipple. He complied, circling the tight bud. “You in a rush?”

  “Not especially.”

  She closed her eyes and basked in the sensation a moment. She’d gone so long without…and even then, it hadn’t been good. This was good. Everywhere he touched came alive, heat shimmering deep in the pit of her belly.

  He stroked her breasts – alternating squeezes with feather light touches of fingertips – until her hand fell away from his. Then he moved south, fingers trailing down the flat of her belly. Around her navel. Between her legs. He just teased her, flirting along her most sensitive skin until she was grinding lightly against his hand, hungry for more.

  “You’re a tease,” she finally muttered, and moved backward on her knees, away from his hand, until she straddled his naked hips. He was hard, erection reaching proudly toward her. She watched his abs leap when she wrapped her hand around him, and she grinned. A fast, fleeting grin, that faded as she lowered herself onto him, taking his cock inside her, and the intensity of the sensation demanded all her attention.

  His hands locked on her hips, his cast rough against her skin. His eyes went to the action where she lifted…and then eased down again.

  She did want it slow, for whatever reason. Her hips circled in easy, deliberate swirls, almost lazy, like a dance. The incoming, warm sun on her back and the feel of his taut stomach beneath her palms grounded her as the slow rotations did amazing things to her building pleasure. Her eyes closed; she leaned back, spine arching. She was barely moving now, gently grinding. She reached between them and found her clit, stroked herself. Settled in for the gradual onslaught of orgasm.

  Drew murmured wordlessly. She cracked her eyes a fraction and watched him watch her touch herself, his cock sheathed to the hilt. His face was harsh with restraint, all hard planes and angles.

  With her free hand, she reached and cupped her breast, lifting and kneading it, tight nipple thrusting forward. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this turned on. And yet…