by Addison Fox
Louisa settled into the thick-cushioned chair in her bedroom and sifted through the images in the box, the photos worn with age. She didn’t have many and for the life of her she had no idea why she’d kept them at all, but the designer shoebox was the only thing she had left of her time with Kincade. A few scattered photos. Three playbills from shows long gone from Broadway. And a pressed rose wrapped in tissue paper.
Nearly a quarter century had passed since that time. Those days when she loved another woman’s husband. She’d ignored that fact when they were together, instead believing his words that he and his wife lived separate lives. They’d fallen out of love years before and only stayed together for the public pretense of it all.
And for their children.
She’d believed him, of course. The whole office knew of the shrew he’d married. Her legendary attitude that dripped with disdain at office parties or outings with clients. Her silver-spoon-fed existence that had rendered her cold and heartless.
Louisa had believed it all.
Only it had been fed to her with a plastic spoon that would snap in half all too quickly.
Ten months they were together.
Ten glorious months when she’d forgotten about her working-class roots and her single life and her lack of children. Ten months when her ambition was seen as a quality to be prized and her work ethic an asset rather than unfeminine. Ten months that would lead to the greatest ruin of her life.
The faded image of the two of them, captured forever on film, stared back at her from the box. She’d believed that time was over. That the events that had ultimately ruined her career and her life in Manhattan were well and truly behind her.
But Gretchen Reynolds seemed determined to dredge them up. Some sort of lingering payment for a debt that had never fully been repaid.
She’d moved on. Had come to understand in the years after her life imploded that what was waiting for her in her future was far more fulfilling—and far more wonderful—than anything she’d ever imagined for herself. Motherhood three times over. A community that prized her for exactly who she was and the skills she possessed. And a home that was warm and welcoming, a haven each and every time she closed the door at night.
How odd to discover all of it had been a mirage. An oasis in the desert, holding her captive and showing her what real love, commitment, and devotion were all about, only to vanish when she got too comfortable.
A mirage, because now that reality had shimmered to life, she had to pay for her sins. The bill for ten months that had happened a lifetime ago had now come due.
And she had no idea how she was going to pay the price.
Chapter Eight
Cool air wrapped around them as Nick walked Emma down one of the main streets of Park Heights. He was careful not to touch her, but his arm kept brushing against hers as they maneuvered down the sidewalk, stepping over concrete lifted by tree roots and dodging garbage cans set out for the morning pick up.
He felt clumsy. Oafish. And far too big to be walking down the street next to Emma.
He also still felt the crazy wash of heat and need that had pulsed between them in his office. Fender’s interruption had likely come at the right time, but it was frustrating to have to excuse himself from Emma’s arms to talk to cops. Again.
It came with the territory, of course. He owned a bar. No matter how much he watched out, in an effort to avoid trouble, people still found a way to get into it. And their drunk and high patron from Friday night fit that to a T. At least this time the local precinct had promised to put a few vice detectives in the area, monitoring to see if there was something bigger going on than a few bad customers.
What he hadn’t expected was for Emma to still be waiting when he finished up answering more questions and pulling a copy of Friday night’s security tapes.
“Making notes so you can convince your father not to sell?”
Hurt had clouded her eyes before she shot back. “Actually, I was waiting for a friend to finish up after a shitty evening.”
The comment hit its mark, and he offered up a small smile. “I’ve got brothers for that. You know. When I’m acting like an insufferable ass.”
She shot a wary gaze toward Fender and Landon, her tone softening. “Landon’s got an early presentation, and Fender seemed like a little boy who lost his balloon when Becky jumped at the chance to have Hector walk her home.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I suspect he will. Doesn’t mean he’s not feeling a bit pinched tonight. Which means you’re stuck with me.”
He’d hardly considered it stuck, but kept that to himself. He’d then dispatched Landon back to his apartment, left Fender to finish one final round with Tommy and his wife, and offered to walk Emma home.
The business district of Park Heights had given way to a more residential feel, and warm lights reflected from the faces of brownstones and the windows above scattered darkened storefronts that still lined this part of the street. Traffic—both auto and pedestrian—was steady, and they passed more than a few people one or both of them knew.
If those people were surprised to see Nick Kelley walking Emma Vandenburg along High Street, they didn’t say. But he’d hear it anyway, the gossip finding its way to Mrs. W., and then his mother, by morning.
“It’s a shame the boil was a bust. It’s a nice night. Neighborhood will empty out now that summer’s almost here.”
She glanced around, her gaze on the tree-lined street instead of him. “People still jet for the summer?”
“A good number of them. The weekends get really quiet.”
“Must be a nice change of pace. It’s a good time to learn the ropes at the Unity.”
“Look . . . about that.”
She did turn to him now. “About what?”
At the full pressure of her gaze, the words dried up in his mouth. What exactly was he about? An apology for kissing her? For wanting to do more? Or was it an apology for the way he was hell-bent to buy her family legacy?
“I’m sorry. About before.”
“Want to run that by me again?”
“I didn’t . . . I mean . . .” That oafish sense that hadn’t fully left him seemed to affect his tongue, and he finally stopped moving, willing a deep breath into his lungs. “I’m sorry I jumped at you. On you. In my office. You were trying to be nice and I was—”
He broke off at the sheer affront that covered her face, pink heating her cheeks to a vibrant shade visible beneath the streetlamps. “What?”
“You can’t seriously be that big an ass? You pulled the caveman routine in your office when I knocked on the door. Then you added a layer of wounded bear over the caveman routine after the cops left. But right now? Right this very minute? You’re square in asshole territory.”
Asshole? What the hell? “I’m trying to apologize for acting like a caveman.”
“You didn’t want to kiss me?”
“I—” He stopped and dragged in another lungful of air. “I wanted to kiss you.”
“So why the apology?”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Emma stilled at that, whatever she was about to say clinging to her lips, unspoken. He watched, fascinated as any number of emotions played through the depths of her eyes before something like courage straightened her shoulders. “Because you’re not attracted to me?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“I saw how you looked at me. Before. In the park. I was out of line and you were shocked and disgusted by my behavior.”
“I wasn’t—”
Nick held up a hand. “That bastard wife beater needed to be dealt with, and I happened to be the one near enough to do it. I know it was offensive, but I’d do it again.”
“Offensive?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “What is it you think you saw on my face?”
“Before. At the park. I attacked that guy and it bothered you.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I acted like an ape, right there in the middle of the fucking great lawn.” And I saw your face. That mix of disgust and shock as I attacked someone else.
Her head did the slightest snap at his expletive, but she recovered admirably. “It didn’t bother me. In fact, if you had any idea how not bothered I was by the ape routine, you’d be surprised.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m just sorry you got to him first. Becky and I were more than willing to take a few swipes at his sorry ass.”
“Yeah, well, now his sorry ass is in jail.” At the jingle of a bicycle bell, Nick moved back, allowing enough distance for the rider to pass. On a dark mutter he blurted out his real concern. “Until he gets out and it all starts again.”
They stood there for a moment, the distance between them on the sidewalk seemingly endless before Emma moved up and closed the gap. “Until he gets out?”
“No. Yes.” Damn it, when had he lost all ability to put together a coherent thought? “Guys like that, they don’t learn. Bringing the cops just makes them madder.”
“Cops seemed pretty serious about punishment. A punishment he deserved.”
“Until there’s something else that takes their attention. He’s an addict, and he’s got a violent streak. At the end of the day there’s not much the cops can do about it.”
“You speak from experience?”
A light breeze whipped up, wrapping around them both. The light scent of her—something fresh like lemons, but softer—hit his senses as he tried to process her words. “It’s just the way things are.”
“I see.”
He didn’t think she did, but now wasn’t the time to press it. Because to press it was to explain his own past and all the reasons he was so sure in his knowledge.
Pushing off his heels, he extended a hand to get them moving again. That light breeze continued to blow and he fought the urge to lean over and bury his nose in her hair to inhale that amazing scent.
“This is my stop. Thanks for walking me home.” Emma came to a halt at the stoop of her building, the large brick edifice rising up behind her. He’d been inside a few times and remembered the units as clean, if somewhat shabby.
“Sure.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the Unity, and we’ll meet up with Seth then. We’ll do the morning sales call, and after that he’ll take us out on his day’s meetings.”
“That sounds like—” The comment vanished as she launched herself into his arms, her mouth finding his with impressive precision. Like a wave crashing to shore, he wrapped his arms around her and held on.
The heated kisses they’d shared in his office had come on just as fast, only this time they were layered with something else.
Something more.
The melancholy of the evening, coupled with the heated taste he’d already had, had mellowed into a dark, raw yearning he hadn’t ever felt before. But when she pulled back, her lips tracing a path over his jaw, Nick knew what it was to burn with a greedy, desperate desire.
Her lips feathered over his ear, a husky whisper sending shivers down his spine. “Thank you for walking me home.”
“You’re welcome.” Nick gave himself one final moment to indulge that crazy desire to breathe her in before stepping back and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
It was only when the front door of her building closed firmly that Nick removed his hands from his pockets.
And found they were shaking once again.
Emma pressed her hand to her stomach as she sifted through a few early morning e-mails in the small office she’d taken for herself at the Unity. She’d gotten an early start, finally throwing in the towel around five A.M., when sleep had proven elusive. The broken snatches she did manage had been filled with restless dreams of Nick.
Hot, wicked dreams that played out their moments in his office into a carnal finale that, even now, still lingered in her memories. An alternative ending that didn’t include cops or Fender’s solid knock on the door. In her version, their hands finally unlinked, giving them free rein over each other’s body.
Clothing vanished.
Time stood still.
And the top of Nick’s desk held a special sort of magic that had nothing to do with nostalgia and everything to do with the electricity that flowed between the two of them like snapping wires.
Chugging down more coffee, she willed her pulse to slow down. Those moments weren’t real. She and Nick hadn’t made love. Nor had she made any improvement in clarifying things between them.
Nope. Things were as clear as mud, which meant she had to figure out a way to navigate the rest of the time they would spend together. Because no matter how tempting, there was no freaking way she was making that dream a reality.
Even if she was the one to plant a goodnight kiss squarely on his lips. And then whisper in his ear like some sultry siren of days gone by.
Had she really done that?
When the shape of Nick’s ear weighed heavy on her lips, a powerful sense memory she couldn’t forget if she tried, Emma knew it was true.
Which took her right back to square one and the reality of her life. She wasn’t some siren from days of old, but a confused thirtysomething on the verge of losing her job and her family business, sporting a coffee buzz layered over a sleepless night and a case of arousal that would give a teenage boy a run for his money.
“An insult to teenage boys the world over,” she muttered to herself as she downed the last swallow of coffee.
Since there was nothing to be done for it, she pushed the discomfort aside and focused her thoughts on the other item that had kept her awake: that quiet comment she knew hadn’t been meant for her.
Until he gets out and it all starts again.
While she didn’t fully know his background, the Park Heights grapevine had always produced fruit. And Nick, Landon, and Fender had become known around the neighborhood as the boys Louisa Mills adopted. All had come from broken homes.
How broken, was the real question.
The intercom system they used throughout the brewery echoed from the ceiling, alerting her to a call. When she picked up, Seth’s muted voice quavered from the other end.
“I’m not going to make it in, Em. I ate something really bad last night.”
“At the boil?”
“Nah. Tracy didn’t want to go so we ordered in sushi. I’ve been paying for it ever since.”
Since he still sounded like the sushi was having its revenge, she quickly jotted down the details of his meetings and promised an update later. Emma hit the coffeemaker on her way out and headed for the conference room. It looked like she was running the sales meeting solo today.
Becky twisted the thin sweatshirt in her hands and wondered what the hell she was doing standing out front of the End Zone on a bright Tuesday morning. She’d begged off an hour of work claiming an appointment, even as she knew the call was unnecessary. She’d make the time up on the back end. She always did.
The design firm she worked for kept loose hours and a basic expectation you’d get your work done by the time it was due. Which hours you worked to get there was up to you.
She knocked on the door, the thick wood hard beneath her knuckles. As she waited for an answer, she took a moment to take in the front entrance. She was rarely here during the day, but it was nice to see how well kept the property was.
She still remembered the days when Chili was running it. The bar had been something of a shabby eyesore—but to be fair, most of Park Heights was back then. It was funny how the neighborhood had changed. Transformed, really.
Sort of like her.
And damn, there it was.
Again.
She’d considered herself past her old memories, but they’d come back with a vengeance last night. Whether it was the incident in the park or meeting Hector, she wasn’t sure. But those memories had risen up with all the force of hot lava spewing from a volcano.
“We’re clos—” His comment faded as Hect
or opened the door, pulling it wide. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to bring your sweatshirt back.”
“Sure.”
“I’m . . . um . . . I’m sorry I ran off so fast last night. I wasn’t expecting . . . Well, I didn’t know.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Becky had already figured him as a man of few words, but the lack of response bordered on insulting. “Did you know?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She handed over the sweatshirt, but ended up standing there, her arm extended when he didn’t take it.
“I said you could keep it. You didn’t need to come find me.”
“Well, it’s yours and I’m here. So good-bye.”
She shook the sweatshirt at him, pleased when he finally took it. Without waiting for any more delightfully stilted conversation, she turned to go.
And was stopped by a large hand on her shoulder.
Her gaze drifted over the wide expanse of the back of his hand, the olive skin dark against the paler tones of her shoulder, exposed by her summer tank dress. She stilled, the heat of his fingers penetrating her with a warmth that sizzled through her body with all the subtlety of an avalanche.
But oh, how she wished it didn’t.
She wished she didn’t understand that funny way attraction had of warming you up, heating you from the inside out, creating a blaze that had little to do with body heat and everything to do with the heat generated between two bodies.
And oh, how she wished even more that the moment she’d prayed for—waited for—for nearly a decade would wait just a bit longer.
Another day. Month. Year. With anyone besides Hector Rodriguez.
Slipping out from his hold, she turned to face him once again. A million thoughts remained unspoken as she stared at that face, some elements so familiar even as the lines and planes and angles were decidedly different.
“I didn’t know.” The husky timbre of his voice ran shivers down her spine. “Honest.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not any more than I am.”
Before she could make an even bigger mess of it, Becky took off, cursing herself with each step. She could have mailed the sweatshirt. Or given it to Emma to pass off to Nick. Or she could have kept it as he’d offered.
