Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel)

by Novak, Brenda

  “Dean?” the guy yelled.

  “There’s plenty, Mo. Be gone.”

  Mo was gone. Trina took a sip of beer. And then another.

  Dean went to hide the cake in the fridge and came right back.

  “How have you been?” Dean asked, his dark eyes bright. “How is law school?”

  “Good. Busy. It’s hard, you know. Sometimes harder than I thought. And sometimes harder than I think I can handle, but I just keep going.”

  “You’re not thinking about quitting, are you?”

  She laughed. “No, I never think about quitting law school. Instead I’ve quit sleeping and eating.”

  “I thought you said you had a boyfriend,” Dean said. “How do you have time for him?”

  “He’s pre-med and busier than I am.”

  “Did you bring him?” Dean asked, like he couldn’t wait to meet Trevor. And he meant it, totally genuine.

  “Yes!” she said, standing on her tiptoes, trying to see over the sea of heads. “He’s around here somewhere.” She didn’t see Trevor’s blond curls anywhere and stepped out a little from the small corner so he had a better chance of finding them. “How are you doing?”

  “Same. I mean, not law-school busy, but I graduated—”

  “With honors. Your mom told me. I don’t know why you skip over that part.”

  “Right, well.” He was blushing. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but she knew. “I graduated and now I’m working a few jobs in the area.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  They grinned at each other like fools, and Trina honestly didn’t understand where this tidal wave of affection came from.

  “What about your girlfriend?” she asked.

  “We broke up,” he said. “She was not cool with my busy schedule.”

  She winced.

  “It’s tough,” he said. “But there’s a lot of competition for good jobs. Operations are shrinking in this part of the state, and a lot of guys that have graduated end up working part time in some office somewhere.”

  “Oh you’d die!” she said.

  “Exactly. She did not understand that it was life and death, and she split.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  “I will survive.” He flashed that easygoing grin and glanced out at the crowd.

  “I’m sure someone here will ease your pain,” she said with a laugh.

  From nowhere there was a pang in her chest. Not jealousy, not really.

  She had Trevor, after all. And Trevor was perfect.

  But Trevor never looked so happy to see me. Trevor barely looked up from his laptop when I walked in his door.

  Stop, she thought. That’s not fair.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Dean said. She looked up and met his eyes, and for a second it was like the party was gone. The years were gone.

  And that pang in her chest got worse.

  This is ridiculous, she thought. It’s just the reaction to seeing him again. Memories of some happy times.

  Some bleak awful times, too. But they did not seem to matter in this hot party.

  He leaned in closer and his breath touched her neck, the side of her cheek, and despite the heat the hair stood up on her arms. “I think about you every year at Christmas.”

  “You mean you worry about me every year at Christmas.”

  “That too,” he said.

  His smile was gone and all that remained were those memories of theirs. And something different. Something sharp.

  “There you are,” Trevor said, pushing his way through the crowd into their corner. He smiled at her and then up at Dean. “This is some kind of party, man,” he said.

  “I know,” Dean laughed. “I had no idea so many people would be free on Christmas Eve. I’m Dean.” He and Trevor shook hands and made a little small talk. Trina handed Trevor her beer.

  “I’ll get another one,” she said. She left Trevor and Dean, because she was in a weird place in her head and she didn’t want to compare the two. Because there was no comparing the two.

  Trevor was her supportive, amazing boyfriend, and Dean was a very old friend she hadn’t talked to in years who happened to make her feel…silly, somehow.

  She pumped the keg and sprayed beer into a blue cup.

  There was a sudden pounding on the door, and there was something about that pounding that made Trina’s head come up and look over at Dean.

  Trina had a dog when she was a little girl. King was insane about squirrels. Even when King got old and blind and was allowed to sleep in the house, he’d stand up from his spot at the bottom of Trina’s bed and bark with wild, predatory delight, every time there was a scuttle across the roof or past Trina’s window.

  Dean had a similar look in his eye right now, that for some reason made her think of his father.

  “Is that the cops?” someone asked, and the music was shut down.

  “Nope,” Dean said as he made his way toward the front door.

  Trina put the cup down and followed.

  “What’s up?” Trevor asked.

  She didn’t know. Not for sure. But there was that ‘squirrel’ look in Dean’s eyes.

  The party had shifted, everyone crowding toward the wall, into the corners, and she was able to follow Dean without a problem into the living room.

  Don’t be him, she thought. Don’t be him.

  Dean opened his front door. A big man with silver hair and a blue cashmere coat stood there, giving off enough raging disapproval that half the party was blown right into the bathroom.

  “Who is that?” Trevor asked, coming up beside her.

  Eugene McKenzie.

  “Dean’s dad.”

  “Looks pissed,” Trevor said, finishing his beer. “You want one?”

  Trina shook her head, unable to look away from the train wreck about to happen.

  “It's time to come home," Eugene said, stepping into the room. He nearly had to duck under the door frame. “Your mother is beside herself.”

  “My mother is fine,” Dean said. “And you’re not invited to this party, Dad.”

  People were throwing on coats and streaming past Eugene in a single file line, their heads down, eyes averted.

  Dean didn't seem to notice.

  “You’ve had your fun, your rebellion, but it’s time to grow up, Dean,” Eugene said, pulling off elegant leather driving gloves, one finger at time. “If we leave now, we’ll be back before the Rosemonts get there. They’ve offered you a job. A good one—a better one than you probably deserve.”

  Trina’s hands clenched into fists.

  “I don’t give a shit about the Rosemonts, Dad. Or their job. Or you—”

  Eugene cuffed Dean across the mouth, a sharp, hard openhanded slap that turned Dean’s face sideways.

  Everyone in the party gasped and looked away, embarrassed and freaked out.

  Trina stepped forward, compelled to do something.

  “I think you should leave, Mr. McKenzie,” she said.

  Eugene glanced her way, and did what would have been a comical double-take if the air in the room didn’t have the potential of starting on fire.

  “Trina,” he said, utterly neutral. “I’m surprised to see you here. I would have thought you’d have grown out of your friendship with my son.”

  Before Trina could say anything, Dean was there, stepping up to his father’s chest. “Go, Dad.”

  Eugene didn’t move, and the two of them stared at each other for a long, awful moment.

  Finally Dean shoved him with all his might, and Eugene staggered back against the wall. “I said get out,” Dean yelled. “You’re not welcome here, Dad!”

  Eugene shoved off the wall and looked like he was about to punch Dean, and she got right in the way.

  “Jesus,” she heard Trevor mutter.

  “I think you should leave, Mr. McKenzie,” she said, looking up into his eyes, so much like Dean’s. “Before something you both regret happens.”


  Eugene chuckled and straightened the lapels of his fancy coat. “You’re a disappointment, son,” he said to Dean over her shoulder. “I don’t know why I expect anything different.”

  And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him sounding like a slam. Trina turned, braced for the worst from her friend.

  But Dean was just still, and quiet. Blood beading on his lip.

  “Dean?”

  “You shouldn’t have gotten in the middle.”

  “I should have let you two fight?”

  “Yeah.” Dean nodded. “You could have been hurt.”

  “I’m fine. You’re…you’re bleeding.”

  His eyes were dilated and he was clearly ramped up. She wanted to get him out of there, into fresh air where he could walk and yell and get rid of this adrenaline. Somebody came up to him, the Mo guy from earlier, and handed him a shot and a plastic cup of beer.

  “Parents suck, dude,” he said as he gave Dean the drinks.

  Dean sucked back the shot and the beer.

  Trevor was there suddenly. “Everything okay?” he asked, looking anxiously between Trina and Dean.

  “Same as it ever was, man,” Dean said. He took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s a party. So let’s party.”

  Someone cranked the music back up, and now that half the guests had left, there was room to dance and move around. All of which Dean did, with a wild-eyed fervor. He made out with two girls. Disappeared for a while with one of them.

  “I think he’s recovered from that scene with his dad,” Trevor said into her ear when Dean walked back into the living room, clothes disheveled, lips red and swollen.

  He looked like walking sex.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  But he wasn’t recovered.

  And in a room full of friends and people he worked with, she had the feeling she was the only one who knew it.

  Chapter Three

  December 24, 2011

  6:43 AM

  For a minute, before opening her eyes, Trina Crawford allowed herself to believe she was in her own bed.

  But there was someone else in this one.

  And there had not been a someone else in her bed for a very long time.

  Oh no, what have I done?

  Trina turned her head on the pillow and nearly bumped noses with Dean.

  Dean McKenzie. I did Dean McKenzie.

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, squelching a delighted squeak.

  Maybe this is a dream… just some strange stress-and-coming-back-to-Dusk-Falls-induced dream.

  But when she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, Dean was still there. So was the headache pounding behind her eyeballs.

  I slept with Dean.

  His long, angular face was relaxed in sleep, his black hair like great sweeps of ink across the white pillowcase. His mouth, those wide lips—she curled her fingers against the urge to touch them, trace their edges—they’d been soft, softer even than she’d dreamt.

  And she’d dreamt about Dean McKenzie’s lips a lot.

  The second half of her senior year, after that night on her porch. Her first year of college. After breaking up with Trevor after the party, she’d spent several long months counting every opportunity she’d missed with her once-best friend.

  That all ended last night.

  Needing a shot of courage before facing her future—which, oddly enough, looked a lot like her past—she’d stopped at Holly’s on the edge of town, and there was Dean, sitting alone, nursing a beer. Blinking Christmas lights from the mirror over the bar had been reflected in his dark hair.

  Like a Christmas sex fantasy come true.

  After that, all of it—every moment, every breath and touch—had seemed inevitable.

  As if, since their birth, they’d been working their way to this.

  I blame Christmas. And our fathers. I blame Christmas and fathers for everything. Romeo and Juliet have nothing on us.

  Head pounding, she held her breath and slid backward beneath the quilt, the cold air of Dean’s apartment chilling her body inch by inch. Tomorrow she’d analyze every minute of last night: the beers, then the shots, the flirtation, his hand on her hip, her fingers in his hair. That kiss in the hallway near the bathroom.

  “Come home with me, Trina,” he’d whispered. “Haven’t you always wanted to find out what it would be like between us?”

  Because it was Christmas, and Christmas made her crazy. And because yes, she had always wondered, like a million times she’d wondered—she’d kissed him back and she’d said yes.

  And she got her answer—oh boy, did she get her answer. Well, sort of. Some of the details were a little hazy. But between what she remembered and the way her body ached in all the right places in all the right ways, she could jump to some pretty logical conclusions.

  Hot. Together they’d been hot. Incendiary. She was amazed the sheets weren’t scorched from their bodies. But that was another thing she would analyze in the days and weeks ahead. For now she just needed to get out. Get her head together. Find some coffee.

  She got one foot on the ground and forced herself not to recoil back under the warm covers with warm Dean.

  Winter in Dusk Falls, Wyoming was no joke. She’d forgotten in California. It had been nice to forget. She looked up at Dean, sleeping on his side. He had one foot poking out of the bottom of the blankets.

  She’d forgotten a lot. Too much, maybe.

  Naked and shivering, she got up off the mattress Dean had on the floor and looked around for her clothes. She found her jeans. Her sweater. One sock. The cold plank floor creaked under her feet and she paused every time, holding her breath, glancing over her shoulder at Dean, who only sighed and rolled over, revealing his long, pale torso, ridged with muscles. He looked like a marble sculpture.

  But he’d felt like fire.

  She shoved her feet into her boots, ready to sacrifice her new bra and underwear, her other sock. All in order to get out of there before she made more mistakes.

  “I didn’t peg you as the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”

  Dean was awake.

  Crap.

  And his voice was gruff and warm, with—as usual—a laugh, buried somewhere inside.

  “I didn’t want to wake you up.” She looked down at her boots, like getting them perfectly tight was all that mattered.

  “Right.”

  The tone of his voice made her head snap toward him. Still laughing, but now there was an edge to it. He was sitting up on his mattress, blankets pooled around his waist. His bright blue eyes were lined with dark lashes, and they saw right through her crap.

  They always saw right through her crap. From the minute she discovered her own crap—he was seeing through it.

  “If you’re going to run away, at least have the guts to say it.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  He quirked his eyebrow, and there was no point in trying to lie to him.

  “Okay, I was running away.”

  He leaned back against the wall, shoving his hair off his face. It was long. Longer than she remembered. It made him look like a pirate.

  A sexy, sexy cowboy pirate.

  “It’s all right,” he said, forgiving her rudeness. “You can go if you want.”

  “No,” she sighed. “I…I want to stay. I’m sorry. I just...don't want things to be awkward.”

  "I'm not awkward."

  "Of course you’re not. But the rest of humanity gets a little awkward the morning after drunk monkey sex with a childhood friend."

  "It was pretty hot drunk monkey sex, so I figure there's not much to feel awkward about. But you go right ahead, if it makes you feel better. You want some coffee?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. So much for awkward.

  “Sure,” she said. “Where is it?”

  But he stood up, shameless and naked. Long and lean and perfect. He pulled on his jeans and the dark long-sleeved henley he’d been wearing last night and stepped over to t
he little galley kitchen on one wall of the small apartment. The window was still dark and the wind howled outside.

  Outside really didn’t seem like a good idea anymore.

  “Good God, is that the time?” he asked, staring at the clock on the microwave. “Why are you even awake?”

  “Habit,” she said. “I always wake up early.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “A little rough. You?”

  “I have some experience down at Holly’s,” he joked. “I know my way around a hangover.”

  He brought her a glass of water and a couple of aspirin.

  “Thank you.”

  Dean’s apartment, conveniently located above Holly’s Bar, for all its bareness was cozy. Kind of library-chic meets lumberjack couture. It was basically one large room. The floors were wide planks of pine. A kitchen with white cabinets on one end, a beat-up brown leather couch and TV on the other and a bed right in the middle. He had a bunch of bookshelves crammed with paperbacks.

  His old guitar sat on a stand, a beat up Gibson acoustic with the pretty mother-of-pearl inlay. “You still play?” she asked. He'd gotten it for his tenth birthday. She'd been there, wearing a Star Wars party hat, when he opened it.

  “When I get a chance. How about you?” he asked, stirring sugar into her mug. The way she liked.

  It took a far tougher woman than her not to melt at that.

  “No. No time for piano.”

  “The party is ruined,” he joked.

  It had been years, but the memories were entirely fresh. Like brand new and crisp. That was how this…crush on him had started. Playing music with him. It was, and probably always would be, one of the most intimate things in her life. Timing, breath, that thin layer of expectation from their parents that had sort of trapped them inside a bubble of shared experience. The creation of something beautiful, even if it was only a slightly offbeat “Silent Night”.

  Honestly, what did it say about her that those were her best childhood memories?

  The mug he handed her said Laramie Tech in yellow letters.

  “Last time I saw you was that Christmas Eve,” she said, shoving her thoughts away from those intimate memories. “That party at your apartment in Laramie.”

  He winced. “When Dad showed up?”

  I have to tell him. This secret, the longer she spent with him, was feeling like a lie.