by Jill Shalvis
“Love you, too,” Rachel whispered to no one, not even sure which of them she was talking to.
NIGHT FELL with shocking swiftness. No simple dusk for this place. One moment the sun slowly sank in golds and yellows and reds behind the rocks, and then the next, utter and still blackness.
Rachel crossed her arms in front of her, watching as Ben resurrected the fire she’d managed to kill. On his knees, he poked at the embers with a stick and the flames leaped to life for him. He glanced at her and she rolled her eyes.
At that, he laughed. The sound made her stomach tingle.
They’d met their neighboring campers—Joe, Matt, Liz and Shel, a group of four twenty-somethings claiming to be camping their way across the States before settling down to “real” life. The two couples had seemed a little wary of them until Ben had introduced himself, and within five minutes had made everyone feel quite at home.
Later, when Emily expressed worry at their new friends’ lack of a home, lack of things and family, Ben told her that he suspected they were happy with the life they’d chosen, and could always change it if they wanted. Not everyone had to have a home or things. Or even family.
Rachel had watched him explain this to Emily and had to swallow hard. He was like that, happy without a home, things. Family.
She might have brooded over that, but Emily pulled out a deck of cards and challenged them to a gin rummy tournament. They played next to the fire, surrounded by wide-open vast space and a blanket of stars, with only their own laughter for company.
It was perfect. Rachel looked at Ben. Oh, yes, so perfect. She knew she should be sad, regretful, even resentful, that this would be it, their only foray into the whole family dynamic, the three of them, but suddenly she felt something else as well. Grateful.
Ben looked up, caught her looking at him. His hair had been long when he came, but it was longer now, and fell across his forehead. He shoved his fingers through it, shoving it out of his way. He looked tall, lean…beautiful. When he looked at her, she had to close her eyes.
He was leaving. Tuesday. Couldn’t wait to leave.
“Let’s hit the sack,” he said abruptly, putting the cards aside, as if his thoughts had turned as troubled as hers.
“Dad—”
“Storm’s blowing in.” He pointed to the dark cloud mass coming in from the north, slowly blotting out the stars. “Let’s get warm and cozy inside before it hits.”
Five minutes later Rachel was kneeling in the center of the miniscule tent, staring at the three overlapping sleeping bags.
“I want the door,” Emily said, having a good time whipping the beam from her flashlight over everything.
“I got the door, sweetness,” Ben said.
Rachel waited for the inevitable argument, as Emily never accepted anything less than her own way, but at Ben’s no-nonsense tone, she simply grabbed her sleeping bag. “Well, then I get the far wall beneath the window.”
“Fine,” Ben said.
Fine? That wasn’t fine. Emily by the wall would put her in the middle, where Ben’s hard, warm strength would be against her all night long. She couldn’t handle it, she—
“Get in, Mom.” Emily pointed to the bag that overlapped Ben’s by a good third. “Tonight, I tuck you in.”
Kneeling on his bag, Ben pulled off his flannel shirt, leaving just the T-shirt, and slid into his sleeping bag. He looked at Rachel, his brow raised in a silent, amused dare.
Rachel lay down, pulled the bag up to her chin. She shifted her body around, expecting rocks beneath her. “Hey, this is…soft.”
“Dad put a mat down for you.” Emily grinned. “Didn’t want you complaining.” She kissed Rachel’s cheek, then turned over, facing away from her and Ben with obvious delight. “I could sleep in the car, you know.”
“No,” Ben said in that dad tone, and once again Rachel was shocked when her daughter turned off the flashlight and stayed silent. Her breathing evened out, faked or otherwise.
In the dark Rachel could feel Ben looking at her, could feel the warmth of his body. Hard to miss it when they were practically pinned side to side.
“You doing okay?” he whispered.
Depended on his definition of okay. “I’m…good.”
“Warm enough?”
Hard not to be with his body acting as her personal furnace. “I’m good,” she repeated, and listened to his soft, sexy laugh.
“Then why are you holding your breath?”
Yes. Yes, she was. She let it out slowly. Outside, the storm moved in, the wind howled, the tent walls flapped noisily. Inside was like their own personal cocoon. A sinewy arm snaked out, gripped her waist and tugged her against a hard chest. “You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured, his mouth to her ear. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m…” His fingers were playing lightly over her ribs, stealing her thoughts.
“Good?” he tested softly. “You’re good?”
Lord, she was trying to be. “Go to sleep, Ben.”
Another soft laugh escaped him, and he snuggled his face close to hers. “I will if you will, babe.”
Babe. “Ben—”
“Dream of me.”
Not surprisingly, she did.
From: Emily Wellers
To: Alicia Jones
Subject: We’re back!
Camping was so cool! A storm came in the middle of the night and knocked our tent down, LOL. And then when we crawled out from beneath it, it started to snow. Snow! In May, can you believe it? And then while my dad helped my mom and I into the car, the tent blew away, just went rolling across the desert like a toy. You should have seen my mom’s face, it was pretty funny. Dad laughed like crazy when he saw her.
Then, before we left, my dad gave all our leftovers to these two couples we met. I think they were homeless. I thought that was so cool of him. Mom did, too, though she didn’t say so. She just looked at him with a sort of mushy look.
And oh! The best part of the weekend! I got an e-mail from Van, that cute guy from my history class I told you about? He said he wants to keep in touch over the summer! scream!
Anyway, I got your letter. I’d love to meet you this week. If Mom will let me get a bus into Los Angeles, it’s on. I’ll let you know which day.
Emily.
From: Alicia Jones
To: Emily Wellers
Subject: Best friends forever
Dear Emily,
Your camping trip sounded like fun, maybe next time your parents would let you bring a friend. Like me!
Cool about Van, but don’t forget me, okay?
Beg your mom to let you take the bus to LA. Can’t wait to see you.
Your best friend,
Alicia.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MELANIE HIT the freeway, enjoying the sun and wind in her face courtesy of eighty miles an hour in the Miata, a car she could no longer afford since she’d lost her job this morning.
Talk about lousy Monday mornings. Worries started to creep in past the numbness, so she sped up.
A girl had to do what a girl had to do. And what she had to do was ignore the fact that she had no job, no rich husband and her thirty-fourth birthday looming around the corner.
How had she gotten so damn old? Craning her neck, she stared at her face in the rearview mirror. Great hair, artfully wild. Makeup emphasizing her still fab mouth and eyes. Clothes designed to make a grown man stand up and beg. She looked downright amazing, if she said so herself.
And she would have stayed home and proven that, if she’d had anywhere to go or someone to do it with, but the sorry truth was, most of her friends had long ago settled down, and the few that hadn’t were going barhopping, “slumming” as they called it, and quite frankly, she’d felt exhausted at the thought.
“Oh, God,” she muttered, gripping the wheel. “I am old!” Maybe she should turn around and do the barhopping thing, just to show she could still flaunt it. Maybe…ah, hell, she was already here.
Getti
ng off the freeway at the first South Village exit, she ran into midmorning traffic. Then she had to circle Rachel’s block twice before she got a parking spot, so by the time she got out of her car, she was good and ready to rumble.
Halfway up the walk, someone called her name, and not just any someone, but a tall, dark and handsome someone with a voice that had haunted her dreams ever since New Year’s Eve. Garrett.
She could still hear his last words to her whenever she closed her eyes. A one-night stand isn’t going to be enough for me, Melanie. Not with you. If you ever want more, you know where I live.
She bared her teeth at him in the closest thing to a smile she had at the moment. “I don’t want more, in case you’re asking.”
He’d been raking his small front yard, wearing soft jeans and a T-shirt—both of which emphasized his long, muscled form—looking nothing like what she’d have pictured a stodgy dentist looking like on his day off.
But then again, there wasn’t a stodgy inch on Garrett, not a one. Setting the rake in front of him, he leaned on it and studied her. “I wasn’t asking.”
“Why not?” she let out before she could stop herself. Damn it, that question had come out sounding far too needy. Terrific. Well, chalk it up to a spectacularly bad day.
And why was she attracted to a man who’d called her a bad sister anyway? But attracted she was, and knew by the quiet heat in his eyes that she wasn’t the only one feeling it.
“I wasn’t asking,” he said, “because this is something you have to decide on for yourself.”
Her breath caught at the calm certainty in his voice. “Decide what?”
He tossed aside the rake and moved close. His big body should have intimidated her; instead, the way he stood so near felt…protective, even lightly possessive, and her knees wobbled.
“Decide when it’s time for the games to be over,” he said quietly. “So there can be an us.”
“Us?”
“Oh, yeah.” His fingers swept a strand of hair out of her face, and the touch to her cheek made her shiver. “There could be such a perfect us, Melanie. If you’d let it happen.”
Baffled, confused and extremely, humiliatingly close to tears, she ripped her sunglasses off and stared up at him. “Don’t mess with me, Garrett. Not today, it’s been a pisser.”
“I’m not messing with you.”
“But…you don’t even know me.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in lust at first sight, but not love?”
“Love.” The word choked her, she had no experience with it, none at all. “You’re insane, you know that?”
With another gentle, tender touch that made those burning tears spring to her eyes, he lifted her chin. “Tell me you don’t feel it, Melanie. That you haven’t felt it since that night.”
“That night we both agreed what we’d done was stupid.”
“I never thought anything of the sort. Never,” he added firmly when she bit her lower lip. “I only wished we’d waited until you’d been ready for what really happened between us that night.”
“Which was?”
“The emotional connection. Look me in the eyes and tell me, and I’ll believe you.”
“I…” His eyes were deep, intense…and sincere. Oh, God, he meant it. And because he did, she couldn’t muster up a bravado smile or a lie, not to save her sorry soul.
“Say it. Say the word and I’ll walk away.”
“I…can’t,” she whispered, shocked.
He rewarded her by lowering his mouth to hers in a kiss that didn’t involve instant ravaging. No tongue, no teeth, no dirty words. Just firm, warm lips with so much emotion behind it, she found herself clinging.
And then he pulled away. “I only ask one thing,” he said a little huskily. “But it’s a deal-breaker if you can’t give it.”
Dazed, she looked up at him. Didn’t he know she’d give him anything? It shocked her to the very core, but it was the truth.
“I trust you. But in return, Melanie, you have to trust me implicitly.”
“What does trust have to do with anything?”
He smiled, and the sadness in it surprised her. “Everything. Take, for instance, the way you do everything in your power to make sure Ben and Rachel don’t get back together, even though you know in your heart that’s where they belong.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t—”
“Don’t you? Come on, Melanie. You must know in your heart they belong together, and yet you can’t quite handle the thought of Rachel being happy before you.”
“No, I—”
“You’ve purposely sabotaged her happiness because you’re not happy.”
My God, that was insane. She wouldn’t do that to her sister, she—
She’d done that to her sister.
Staggering back, she sat on the front step, ignoring the silk of her dress and how she couldn’t afford to replace it. “My God. I’m a bitch.”
“No.” Hunkering down before her, he took her hand in his. “You’re passionate and willful and a free spirit. I trust you to fix this. So, I guess the question is, do you trust me in return? To be there for you?”
In her book, trust was a dirtier word than love, and finding her pride, she yanked her hand free. “You’re right, that’s a deal-breaker.” She stood up. Her heart cried out at the prospect of walking away, but that’s what she was doing.
She’d hauled open the front door of Rachel’s house when he spoke again, his voice low and hoarse with regret. “Goodbye, Melanie.”
She opened her mouth, but her goodbye wouldn’t come. So she simply let herself inside and shut the door.
Then leaned against it and took a deep, shaky breath. A very small part of her feared she’d just ruined the best thing that might have ever happened to her.
The bigger part of her said screw the big jerk. She stormed the stairs and found Rachel in her studio. “Am I selfish?” she demanded.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Rachel said.
“Yeah, yeah, hello. Hugs and kisses.” Melanie put her hands on her hips and studied her sister critically. She wore nothing over her head today, and the soft fuzz had indeed grown into hair, albeit short, short hair. But somehow the way it fell against her face suited her. So did the peach lip gloss, which happened to be the only makeup she had on. Though she was still too thin, the cutoff jeans and tank top emphasized her small frame and the few curves she had. Rachel was, Melanie had to admit, still beautiful. “So am I? Selfish?”
Rachel studied her for a long moment. “You can be,” she said honestly.
Yeah. Damn it. She’d known it. “Did you do Ben yet?”
Rachel blinked. “I thought you wanted me to do Adam.”
Melanie stalked the rest of the way into the studio, a little put out to realize how right Garrett had been. She’d always thrived off Rachel needing her—her and no one else. With Ben around, and Rachel glowing…she’d indeed felt threatened.
God, she hated that about herself. “Okay, look. The truth is, the sexual tension between you and Ben is hot enough to boil water, so maybe you should get it over with.”
Rachel put down her pencil. “What are you up to?”
It was automatic to deny, and she opened her mouth to do just that, but then shut it and sighed. “Oh, Rach. I’ve screwed up good this time.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Rachel immediately came toward her, arms out, offering a hug. “What’s happened? It’s Monday. Shouldn’t you be at work?”
Melanie soaked up the affection she didn’t deserve, then pulled back. “Forget that for now. I have to tell you something. And I don’t really have a gentle way to say it.”
“You don’t have a gentle bone in your body. Why start now? Just spill whatever it is. You’ll feel better.”
She doubted that. “Well… I lost my job.”
“Oh, Mel.”
She lifted her hands, shook her head. “Wait. No. That’s not what I meant to say. For once, this is about you, not me.”
She dragged in a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. I discouraged you from Ben because I didn’t want you to be happy.”
Rachel blinked. “What?”
“I mean, I wanted you to be happy, which is why I was into the whole Adam thing, but to be really, really, really happy you need Ben, and I discouraged that because I didn’t want you to be really, really, really happy until I was.”
Rachel let out a little laugh. “I thought you gave up smoking dope.”
“I did. Damn it, I haven’t been smoking. And I mean it. I encouraged the wrong man, Rach, and I’m trying like hell here to fix that. Ben floats your boat, feeds your soul, is your other half, however you want to say it, and we both know it.”
Rachel stared at her for a long beat, then turned away. “Yeah. Well, it’s too late. He’s leaving. Tomorrow, in fact.”
“And you’re going to let him?”
“Let him?” Rachel laughed again, though there was no mirth in the sound. “Melanie, no one stops that man when he’s got an idea in his head.”
“You could.”
“And have him regret it? No way. He was meant to go.”
“And you’re just going to watch him do it. Again.”
“That’s right.”
Melanie nodded. Fine. She’d done what she could. Anymore and she’d have to be a saint. There was no doubt she was not a saint.
Goodbye, Ben.
Goodbye, Garrett.
She grabbed her purse. Yes, it was early, but this was South Village. She could shop till she dropped around the clock, and she needed that desperately now.
Thank God for credit cards…
BEN HAD GOTTEN UP early to take his last photos of the people in South Village. Midmorning, he stepped back inside the foyer of Rachel’s house and smelled burned eggs, which meant Emily was cooking again. She had the morning off school for teacher conferences. A smile tugged at his lips that she’d cooked rather than sleep in, before he remembered this would be his last day enjoying his daughter’s attempts at cooking.
