Heat Up the Fall: New Adult Boxed Set (6 Book Bundle)

by Gennifer Albin

  “Oh my God, Romy,” says Jude, his eyes wide. “Who else knows about this?”

  “Caleb. And Heather knows, too. Alex hasn’t threatened me, but she and I looked it up together, and she says I could get this thing called a non-domestic stalking personal protection order.”

  “Yeah, Romy, I remember. That’s what Eric wanted you to get in January. Why haven’t you?”

  I unwrap my silverware from my napkin, grateful to have something to do with my hands. “I just want to ignore him. He’s going to get bored and leave me alone sooner or later. I’ve given him no reason to keep pushing.”

  “And yet he has,” Jude snaps, then rakes his fingers through his floppy hair. “Sorry. I’m worried about you.”

  “Caleb has said the same thing. He doesn’t understand why I don’t do it, but I guess I’m afraid it would be too much of a battle. I might have to go to court if he contests it. And he’s got some connections.”

  Jude leans forward. “So do you. Eric would eat him for breakfast, and he wouldn’t even charge you for the pleasure.”

  I chuckle drily, remembering how eager Eric was to do exactly that the night Alex hit me. He took pictures of my face and everything. But I wanted to forget about it, wanted to pretend it had never happened. Because admitting it had meant admitting I’d let it happen. For some reason, it’s easier to help other women going through domestic violence than to make sense of what happened to me. It feels like I should have known better. “If Alex keeps it up, we’ll talk about it, okay? I’m hoping I can freeze him out. I mean, it seemed to work last semester. I don’t know what happened.”

  Jude strokes his finger down his sweating water glass. “He saw you again. He got reminded of what he lost. Simple as that.”

  I shudder. Like I’m his property. “Let’s talk about something else.” I bury my nose in my menu and, for the millionth time, try to wish this situation away.

  Caleb shows up right at six, like he’s timed it to the second. I swing my door open and gape. Dark pants, a maroon button down, and a tie. He’s freshly shaven and his hair is pulled back neatly from his face. “You look beautiful,” I whisper.

  He grins. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

  “Only if that’s what you really think.”

  He gives me a rueful look. “I’m not sure I can say what I really think.” His finger slides along my cheek as he moves closer. “But I could draw you a picture.”

  Or we could feel our way together, I almost say, recalling the last time those words crossed my lips. It instantly kindles a fire low in my belly. “Would it be pretty?” I joke, trying for casual and failing.

  “So pretty,” he murmurs, bowing his head over mine. He smells so good, clean and masculine and perfect.

  Another few seconds and I’m going to ask him if he wants to skip the party. “We should go.”

  He takes my hand. “Let’s do it, then. Where is this place, exactly?”

  “On the north end of town. The Dexter mansion?”

  His happy, relaxed expression freezes. “Dexter? Like, Dexter Furniture?”

  “Yep, that’s them.”

  He clears his throat. “I didn’t know it was there. I thought it would be at … I don’t know…”

  I giggle. “At Sojourner House? We can’t exactly have a charity event in an old house that’s supposed to be at a confidential location.” I tug his hand and we head out to the parking lot. We’re going to take my car because it’s a little more reliable than his old truck. I’ve got the address programmed into my GPS and it seems like it’s going to take nearly half an hour from here.

  “Romy,” he says quietly as I put the car into gear. “I need to tell you something.”

  He sounds hollowed out, and I give him a sidelong glance. “Are you okay?” My stomach drops as something else occurs to me. “Is Catherine okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s fine. She’s babysitting for my sister Amy’s kids tonight, actually. She was pretty excited about it.” He fidgets in his seat, scooting it back to accommodate his long legs. “That’s not what I needed to tell you.” He crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s bracing for something. “You remember Claudia?”

  I clench my teeth to keep from wincing. “Yes.” She’s in my painting class, after all. I have to watch her and the other wealthy wives flirting with Caleb every Tuesday night, and some Wednesday nights as well. The only good thing about that is their sour faces when he spends time at my easel, which has been happening increasingly often. “I’m unlikely to forget her. Is she going to be there or something?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she is,” he says in a slightly strangled voice. “This party is at her house.”

  “Oh.” I keep both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road as I think about that. I’ve worked very hard not to imagine Caleb with her, touching her and kissing her … but it hasn’t been easy. I can be a grown up about this, though. “Okay. So can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “When we’re there tonight, we’re together, right? I want to make sure I understand.”

  He laughs, and it sounds relieved. “Are you asking if I’m going to run off with Claudia while you’re drinking punch and socializing?”

  I shrug.

  He mutters something under his breath, then shudders, chasing the words away. “You don’t have to worry about that at all. Trust me.”

  It’s easier than it should be. I reach for his hand and don’t let go until I pull up to the huge estate. I give my keys to the valet, and Caleb and I stride up the steps together, into the glittering mansion. There are a few hundred people in the massive marble entryway, which doubles as a cocktail party space. Justine told me that this has become a big social event, and draws people from Grand Rapids, even Detroit. A healthy sprinkling of politicians, all the local gallery owners, a lot of business people, and a few collectors here and there. Waiters are circulating with drinks and canapés.

  Caleb looks a little spooked. “I think I’m underdressed,” he whispers to me, eyeing the men in tuxedos all around us.

  I look him up and down. He’s right, but I suspect one of the reasons he’s turning heads is that he is extremely pleasant to look at. Most of the people paying attention are women, whose gazes stroke over his body before zoning in on his face. Possessiveness stirs inside me, along with desire. I touch his chest, and he immediately leans closer. “I think you look amazing.”

  His mouth quirks up on one side. “Good enough for me. Can we go look at the auction pieces?”

  I grin at his eagerness. I was hoping that this experience would make him more willing to contribute pieces of his own in the future, because it’s a great opportunity for him to get his work seen by a lot of people. “Sure.”

  I take his arm and we follow signs to the auction space, which is apparently in the gallery room. Caleb stiffens as we approach, and I follow the line of his gaze and see Claudia standing at the arched entrance to the room, with a man I assume is her husband. Her highlighted blond hair is in an immaculate updo, and her diamond earrings shimmer in the light. When she spots Caleb, her eyes flash with a hunger that makes me tense. Caleb puts his hand over mine, holding my fingers to his arm as we reach the couple.

  “Caleb, it’s such a treat to see you here,” says Claudia, ignoring me completely. “I was wondering if you’d come.”

  “Romy works at Sojourner House,” he replies. “She invited me.”

  The lines around Claudia’s mouth deepen for a moment. “Well, you didn’t need to use her ticket. You have every right to be here on your own.”

  “I know,” he says, making me blink at him in confusion. “But we decided to come together.” He gives her a charming smile as he emphasizes that last word.

  Her gaze rakes over the tattoo on my arm, and she smirks. “Lovely. Good luck tonight.”

  I glance up at him as he thanks her. What the hell does that mean? Does she think he’s actually got enough money to bid on something? Bi
zarre.

  “I’m Romy Foerster,” I say to her husband, seeing as Claudia’s clearly not going to introduce us. He’s a bald, bull of a man, with a pitted round nose and a friendly smile.

  “Melvin Dexter. So glad you could come.” He slaps Caleb’s shoulder as we pass. “And I’m excited to see what happens,” he says to Caleb, who looks pretty damn excited himself.

  I pull Caleb aside as soon as we’re in the gallery room, where the auction pieces are lined up for display along one wall, with chairs set up in rows before them. There’s a podium at the front of the room, where the auctioneer will preside. People are milling around in front of the auction items, holding numbered paddles, drinks in their other hands. “Can you please translate what just happened? Is she after you again?”

  He shrugs. “I told her I’d be happy to accept a commission at any time, as long as it was just for a painting.”

  I squeeze his arm. “And?”

  He gives me a resigned smile. “I haven’t heard from her.”

  My heart aches for him. “Someday, Caleb, people are going to recognize how talented you are.”

  “It means a lot to know that you believe that,” he says quietly. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Caleb takes my hand from his arm and holds it between both of his. “I wanted this to be a surprise. Come on.”

  He leads me up the aisle and tugs me to the right when we reach the front. His hand is trembling. He stops at a spot where a small knot of people have gathered. Gently, he takes my shoulders and guides me in front of him. “I’m wondering if you see anything you recognize.”

  As my eyes scan the paintings and sculptures, a few people move aside, and my breath catches as I see the large canvas, prominently displayed. It’s a painting, done with palette knife and oils, a style I recognize as easily as if it were my own. Black squares, threaded with yellow and red, layer upon layer of darkness. But in the center, where there used to be a red, raw gash, an open wound, now there is light. Brilliant white, yellow, pearlescent pink, bubbling up from the darkness, bold and strong. The light squares knit together the darkness, and the very center is still tender, more pink than white, like scar tissue. The edges of the painting are smaller squares of light, like it’s gradually chipping away at the deep darkness. A work in progress. I blink away tears. “It’s your painting,” I say, unable to conceal the rasp of emotion in my voice. Caleb’s arms wind around me, and he speaks in my ear. “It’s what you’ve done to me.”

  My throat is so tight I can barely speak, so I simply squeeze his hands, pressing them hard against my ribs. I can’t handle this. It’s so much that I’m going to start sobbing if I don’t get away. Mascara’s going to run down my cheeks. It won’t be pretty. “I need to go to the ladies’ room. I’ll be back.”

  He lets me go as soon as he feels me trying to get loose. I lower my head and clumsily brush my lips over his wrist, the only way I can communicate that it’s okay, that it’s not him.

  It is, though. It’s him, only him.

  If I stay here another moment, I’m going to tell him that I’ve fallen in love with him, and that’s crazy. Wobbling on my high heels, I move toward the side exit, which I’m hoping leads to a bathroom. I weave my way through the crowd and suck in a shuddering breath as I reach the corridor outside.

  There’s more art here, gorgeous paintings in all sorts of styles. I wander down the hall, searching for the bathroom but getting distracted by the framed pieces. Three of them are bold, in primary colors, and the plates next to them say Daniel Van Vliet. I find myself smiling as I admire them, letting their brazen cheerfulness siphon some of my overwhelm away. Daniel paints like he is, big and unapologetic, and I see why Caleb thinks so much of him as both an artist and a friend. I still owe him a thank you for that night he waited in the rain to tell me I needed to give Caleb a chance.

  “You look beautiful,” says a low voice right behind me.

  Fear streaks up my spine, and I whirl around, nearly wrenching my ankle. He’s right there, too close. Tuxedo, slick blond hair, square jaw, cold blue eyes.

  “Alex,” I choke out, stepping backward as he advances on me. I should have thought of this. Why didn’t I think of this? His family is local. They’re probably friends with the Dexters.

  “You haven’t returned any of my calls, Romy,” he says in a deceptively gentle voice. “Imagine how I feel, seeing you here with another guy?”

  I hold my hands up, needing him to stay back. My fingers twitch in front of me. My eyes scan the hall. It’s so long, and though I can see people coming in and out of the gallery room, I know they won’t hear me unless I scream. “I’m going to go back to the auction,” I say, fighting to keep my voice level as I inch away from him.

  “It won’t start for a few minutes. You can stay here and talk to me.” He takes a step closer, and my shoulder blades hit the wall. I’ve backtracked all the way to the end of the hall, rooms on either side of me. My terror nearly chokes me as his fingers close around my upper arm and he pushes me into a sparsely furnished room with a grand piano occupying most of one corner. “Tell me why you didn’t call me back.”

  He’s between me and the doorway.

  “Alex, I’ve been really busy lately,” I say, needing him to let me get back into the hallway, needing other people around.

  “Busy fucking another guy?” he asks, deadly soft. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind, and you’re screwing someone else? Do you know what that does to me?”

  I have a sick sense of what it does to him, judging by the eager, cruel glint in his eyes. “Alex, please get out of my way. I’m going back to the auction,” I say in a loud voice.

  “Not until you explain a few things to me.”

  “If you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to scream,” I snap, grimly triumphant as I finally speak up for myself. “I’m going to scream my head off. And you could maybe hurt me before people make it down here, but you’ll still be in a lot of trouble.”

  His jaw clenches, and his eyes flick over to the throw pillows on the couch. Just like that, I can see the plan forming in his mind, and the terror is back. “Romy,” he says, his cool confidence chilling me to the bone, “if I don’t want you to scream, you won’t scream.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Caleb

  I walk down the hallway, which is longer than any normal hallway should be. It’s lined with paintings, some of which are by people I know. I’d stop to look, but I need to find Romy. She freaked out when she saw my painting, and it wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

  I don’t know what I was hoping for, really. Maybe that she would throw her arms around my neck and kiss me. Maybe that she would tilt her head up and whisper that I’ve done the same thing for her. Every time I’ve worked on that piece, I’ve thought of her, how she came to me that night when everything went to hell, how she walked right into my apartment when she could have walked away, how she held me tight when I was disintegrating. How she’s strong, so fucking strong, and it’s deceptive because it’s delicate and subtle, but it’s unbreakable all the same.

  I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with her.

  It’s written all over that painting, and I figured she would see it. Maybe she did, and that’s what made her run away. My chest starts to ache as I stride past Daniel’s paintings. She said she needed a bathroom, and there’s one off to the right, but it’s empty …

  A muffled sob comes from the room at the end of the hall, off to the left. No. She’s crying? Fuck. I hit the doorway, planning to say or do whatever it takes to make it better.

  I pull up short at the scene in front of me.

  Romy’s cowering on the couch, her hands over her mouth, her eyes glittering with tears. There’s a blond guy standing over her, his back to me. He’s got a throw pillow clenched in one hand.

  My fingers grip the doorframe. “The auction’s starting,” I say loudly.

  The guy spins around, dropping the pillow. He’s not t
hat tall, but he’s built, broad and thick-necked, like he works out. “You’re the fag she came here with,” he sneers. “We’re talking. Leave us alone.”

  I step into the room. “You’re Alex, aren’t you?” I ask quietly, raw hatred running toxic in my veins. “You’re Alex.” It has to be. My hands ball into fists.

  Romy moves unsteadily off the couch. “Caleb,” she rasps, and I hold my hand out to her.

  Alex steps between us. “We. Were. Talking.”

  “She doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you.” I’m fighting to control my voice. Every muscle in my body is burning with the desire to lash out.

  Behind him, Romy’s fingers close around a small metal sculpture sitting on an end table. Her green eyes are wide, and her expression is determined.

  “I don’t care what she wants,” Alex snarls. “She—”

  “You don’t care what she wants?” I shout. “I’d say that’s the fucking problem right there in a nutshell.”

  That’s all it takes for him to crack. He lowers his head and lunges, and I’m not quick enough to sidestep him before he barrels into me. My shoulders and head hit the wall, but I raise my elbow drive it down into his back. He lets out a strangled roar and punches me in the stomach, doubling me over. I wrap my arms around his waist and throw all my weight on top of him, thinking only of stopping him from hurting Romy. He crashes to the floor with me on his back, his arms swinging and his legs kicking. I slam my fist into his side and he nearly smashes his heel into my face.

  Which is when Romy marches over to Alex’s head and straight-up kicks him in the face.

  He yowls and I get to my feet quickly, ready to put him down if he grabs for her. She’s staring at Alex, her fingers still wrapped around that metal sculpture, which probably cost more than a few month’s rent. I swear, it looks like she’s considering caving in his head with it. And I wouldn’t blame her, but I think she’d regret it tomorrow. I touch her shoulder, and she looks over at me, her expression fierce. She looks back down at him and kicks him in the ribs. He grunts.