“I have a full slip under here that comes down to my knees. It’s no more revealing than some cocktail dresses I’ve seen, so don’t worry. I won’t get us arrested.”
The emotionless resignation in her tone made him want to go back into the hall and treat Marty Clemson to the uppercut that had earned him the nickname Whalin’ Galen. One shot, right to the fucker’s nonexistent chin. But then he saw the tremble. It wasn’t much, just a little shiver of uncertainty that snaked through her and left her readable. And what he read spelled sadness. The deep, I don’t even know what to do with myself kind of pain. Damn.
At that moment, if she’d asked him to dance a jig, he’d have considered it if it meant cheering her up even a little. He stalked up behind her to push her hands out of the way. “I’ll do it. We’re going to have to take it really slow riding. If we took a spill, your legs would be a mess.”
The slender line of neck teased him, and he vowed to make quick work of it. He’d gotten through the first trillion buttons and was about halfway done when her shoulders started to shake.
He froze. “Are you crying?”
“Can you hurry?” She loosed a pathetic sniffle. “I just want to go.”
He eyed the long line of pearls dubiously. Making an executive decision, he grasped both sides in his hands and yanked. The dress split in two down to the middle of her thighs. He let it drop into a pool at her feet and she didn’t even blink when she stepped out of it.
“Thanks,” she said with a brave, watery smile.
He nodded but opted not to speak. She was right. The slip did cover her, much in the way a coat of candy-apple-red paint covered a Mustang. It didn’t so much hide the car as it enhanced exactly how badass it was. Spaghetti straps of white silk lay in stark relief against the darker, golden skin of her shoulders. Her full breasts strained at the material binding them. If he looked a little harder he’d just be able to make out the contour of her nipples—
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Her sad eyes went wide. “Is there a bug on me? Is it a spider?” She screeched the last word and began frantically swiping at her slip.
“No, you’re fine. Stop it. I was thinking what a douche bag Marty is.” It was as close to the truth as he could manage, given the circumstances.
She stopped all her fussing and stared at him. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now get me out of here before people start coming out, would you?”
“Where to, squirt?”
“Not home.”
He waited for further instructions, but that was clearly all he was getting out of her. “Not home it is.” He yanked his helmet off the handlebar and plunked it on her head. “Tighten the chin strap.”
He took the bottle from her and stowed it in his pack, then climbed on. When she straddled the seat behind him, he had to steel himself. Her slip rode up high enough to reveal slim, toned legs encased in silk stockings. A thin, lace garter in blue and white hugged one thigh. She snuggled in close, molding her front to his back, and he said a silent little prayer.
Dear Satan. I don’t know why you’re testing me, but I don’t like it. No love, Galen.
Chapter Two
Lacey shuddered, pressing her face against the warmth of Galen’s broad back. What had started off as a balmy afternoon had turned into a crisp evening. She seriously regretted stripping off her dress and regretted leaving it in the parking lot even more.
Not just a dress, she reminded herself. Her wedding gown. With its delicate row of seed-pearl buttons meant for the eager fingers of a man who loved her more than anything else in the world. Instead, it had been torn off by a guy who couldn’t give two craps about her, aside from some ingrained but reluctant sense of responsibility. She sniffled and shoved the thought away. Marty wasn’t worthy of that dress anyway.
“Are we almost there?” she shouted, suppressing another shiver. Galen had offered his jacket more than once, but she’d put him out enough for one day.
He nodded. She wrapped her arms tighter around his middle and closed her eyes, breathing in the comforting smell of Irish Spring soap that had been the Thomas family’s preference for as long as she’d known them. She tried not to think about the past few hours or the difficult days to come, but she was a planner down to her very marrow and the latter went against the grain. Fact was, she had no clue what the hell she was going to do now. All her neatly laid-out plans had been soundly obliterated with one bang. Literally.
Actually, that might be putting too much of a shine on it. It could’ve been multiple bangs. With multiple women. She thought she’d known Marty better than that, but now? Blech. Anything was possible. Thank God on the rare occasions they’d actually done anything in bed, she’d insisted he use a condom despite his complaints. And to think, tonight was the night she’d planned to tell him she’d gone on the Pill in hopes of ramping up their love life. She’d thought her wedding night would be the night she finally got to see what all the fuss was about. And now this.
Bastard.
In an effort to keep the anger burning hot enough to distract her from the sting of her wounded pride, fear of the unknown, and depressing thoughts about Becca, she spent the remainder of the ride concocting wild revenge schemes, most of which involved red ants, honey, and Marty’s testicles. She’d finally settled on a winner when the deafening rumble of the bike stopped abruptly.
She opened her eyes and saw the Thomas family’s lake cottage. The saltbox house was painted a faded china blue and had been for as long as she could remember. She’d loved this place growing up, and the memories of long summer days filled with ice-cream sandwiches and catching fireflies wrapped around her wounded soul like a quilt. Grateful tears clogged her throat, and she bit her lip.
“This is our stop. Okay for you?” Galen said, and flipped out the kickstand with the heel of his boot. “We can at least get you some clothes and a glass of that bubbly until you figure out where to go next.”
“Perfect.” She slipped off the bike and stretched, surprised at the stiffness in her thighs. She must have been holding on more tightly than she realized. Tugging off the helmet, she met Galen’s gaze.
Their relationship over the years had been mostly snide banter with the occasional big-brother warning mixed in, but he’d gone above and beyond today and it was imperative he knew how much she appreciated it. On a day like this one, that kind of loyalty meant something. She hadn’t just lost her husband. She’d lost one of her closest friends. Cat and Galen coming through for her was one of the few things she had to cling to.
“You’re a saint for rescuing me. I can’t thank you enough.” She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then turned to jog up the stairs before he could react.
She knew from experience what had happened today was all going to somehow come down on her. Her mother was the queen of assigning blame. Lacey made a decision in that second. She wasn’t talking to any of them about the merger or anything else until she had some time to lick her wounds and repair her armor. It was going to get ugly, and the accusations would fly, mostly in her direction. “Not your fault, Lace,” she muttered.
“Most definitely not,” Galen agreed. He climbed onto the porch and gave her shoulder an awkward rub. “I don’t care how annoying you are; no one deserves that.”
She gaped at him for a second before catching the mirth in his eyes in the moonlight. Taking comfort in the familiar, she snorted. “Me, annoying? This from the guy who used to let the air out of my bike tires on a regular basis.”
He bent his head, squinted at the lock, and slipped in the key. “I only did that when you guys would use my Airsoft guns to play Powerpuff Girls.”
The laugh that escaped was genuine. “How did you know it was me? Maybe it was Cat.”
“Seriously? You labeled them ‘Blossom,’ ‘Bubbles,’ and ‘Buttercup.’ With a label maker.”
The door swung open and she followed him in, smiling at the memory. She’d loved that label maker. “You know your sister. If I didn’t lab
el everything, we’d fight and she’d take the good one every time and swear it was hers.”
“You were a little label-Gestapo back then.”
“Still am,” she said proudly.
She smelled it when he opened the door: the scent of linseed oil and old linens. For some reason, it soothed her. He flipped on the lights and she peered around. She hadn’t been here since high school, but it still looked the same as it had ten years ago. Warm, comfy, lived in. A worn brown sofa took up the center of the room, and in front of it lay a braided rug that covered natural hardwood floors shot with amber and gold. A hulking wood-burning stove took up half of the back wall.
The cottage was the antithesis of every home she’d ever lived in with her own family, which was half the appeal. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from straightening the rug with the toe of her pearly slipper.
“It’s not the Ritz, but—”
She waved a hand to stop him. “It’s home. I couldn’t be happier with the choice.”
He looked at her for a long moment and nodded. “I’m glad. I’m going to get some of Cat’s clothes for you so you can change. You know where everything is. Make yourself comfy.”
“Thanks.” She stared after him as he went, vowing to stand up for him the next time Cat bitched about what a pain he was. He’d saved her bacon tonight, allowing her to keep at least a shred of dignity by getting her out of there before she resorted to plate flinging and spittle-filled rants. Part of her wished Cat were there, but in a way, Galen was the perfect person for the job. She didn’t want to talk about her feelings or share her gruesome revenge plots. Not yet. Right now it hurt to breathe and she needed to just…be.
She crossed the living room and puttered around the perimeter, reminiscing over the pictures that riddled the walls. Although most were of the Thomas children, she was in quite a few herself. Her gaze fell on one in particular that had her sucking in a sharp breath. Three little girls: one brunette, one blonde, and one with hair that was too orange to be called red mugged for the camera. Cat had her nose pulled up like a pig while she and Becca made fish faces around her, crossing their eyes for good measure.
Damn it, Becs.
She waited for the fury to come, but that emotion seemed to be reserved for Marty. When she thought of Becca, all that came was bone-deep sadness. Twenty years of friendship—no, sisterhood—gone in a flash. Over a man who turned out to be less than a man. Over Marty.
“I was thinking they’d be a little musty because she hasn’t been up this season yet.”
Lacey swiped the tears away and pasted a smile on her face before turning to face Galen. Saved by the bell again, right before she was about to dissolve into a puddle of sad.
“But she kept them in the cedar chest, so they’re not bad at all.” He crossed the room, holding up a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie. “These okay?”
She took them with a grateful smile. “Perfect. I’ll be back in a second.”
It wasn’t a second, but it was close. When she got into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, wedding updo and makeup still half in effect, far less modestly dressed than she’d realized, she wanted to hide there forever. How mortifying. Always gorgeous Galen had seen her at her worst today, both literally and figuratively. And the slip that hadn’t seemed all that revealing when she’d been alone in her bedroom that morning now looked obscene. Thank God The Admiral hadn’t seen her get onto Galen’s bike like this.
Her thoughts spiraled and suddenly, in spite of her embarrassment over Galen having seen her half naked, she couldn’t wait to get back into the living room. The thought of being alone right now made her whole body tense. She tore off the slip and stockings and stuffed them into the trash can before tugging on Cat’s laze-around-the-house clothes. After scrubbing her face clean, she yanked the pins from her hair and combed it with her fingers.
By the time she got back to Galen, he’d taken off his jacket and started the stove. He looked up from his perch on a stool by the island in the kitchen. “You hungry? I can make some soup or something.”
“Not really.”
“Are you just planning to stay one night or did you want me to go to the store and get some groceries to last you a few days?”
“I—” She frowned. In her efforts to not think about her now demolished future, she’d been focused on putting one foot in front of the other. For the first time in her well-ordered life, she had no idea what her plans were. “If I need anything, I’ll walk down to the general store tomorrow.” He stood, and her stomach pitched. “W-where are you going?”
“Home. You don’t need me here watching you cry or whatever it is you planned on spending the night doing.”
His smooth baritone took on an edge of nervousness that almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost. But the thought of him leaving her by herself squashed it dead, and she prepared to beg if need be.
“I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to think. Tomorrow, when it’s a little less fresh, I’ll do my thinking and crying until I decide how to pick up the pieces. But for right now, what I’d like to do is get piss drunk and forget for a few hours.” She took a deep breath and wrung her hands together. “And I’d rather not do it alone.”
He hesitated for a long second, but when he nodded and faced her, his dark gaze was warm. “Getting drunk and embracing denial?” His lips quirked into a half grin. “Well then, I’m your man.”
…
Twenty minutes later they faced off across the coffee table, Lacey on the floor close to the wood-burning stove with her feet curled under her bottom, and Galen on the couch. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat between them, surrounded by eight shot glasses, some full and some half full.
“Are you sure about this? I’ve only ever played with beer. Maybe we should use the champagne instead?” Lacey asked, turning a dubious eye to the shooters.
“Are you chickening out?” he asked, making sure his tone was chock full of scorn. He chuckled when her expression clearly indicated she was thinking about it. “Champagne seems a little highbrow for this game. Plus, between the two of us, it ain’t gonna get the job done. I can offer you some cooking sherry. It’s from last spring, but I’m sure it’s fine. Probably.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s okay, I’ll pass. We’ll stick with the Jack.”
He held his fist out for a bump, and she obliged him with a roll of her eyes. Perfect. So long as he was annoying her, she wouldn’t cry. It had been more than a decade since he’d hit someone outside the ring, but for some reason, he didn’t think he could take even one more tear coming from those haunted eyes without driving back to the reception hall and popping Marty Clemson right in the chops.
Repeatedly.
“So what are the rules of this game?” he asked.
Lacey had taken her hair down from the fussy wedding ’do, and gold curls tumbled over her shoulders, making her wan skin look even more so by contrast. It was priority number one to put some color in those cheeks.
“The game is called I Never. The boys used to beg us to play back in college so they could try and take advantage of us later.”
He held up a hand as if to warn her to stay on her side of the table. “I’m flattered. Really. But I’m going to need some time to think it over.” That got a chuckle from her, which sent a bolt of satisfaction coursing through him.
“I’ll try to control myself. So here’s how it works. I’m going to say something that I’ve never done. If you’ve never done it, either, it’s your turn. If you have done it, you drink one of the small shots. If you want to plead the fifth and not answer, you have to drink one of the full shots. Get it?”
“Sounds pretty simple. I’ll start,” he said.
“Wait, why you?”
“My house, my liquor.”
She curled her lip and shook her head. “Geez, what happened to ladies first?”
“I save that mentality for the bedroom. Outside the bedroom, it’s an even playing field, so man up.”
Her cheeks went pink at that and the fist gripping his gut eased a little. She didn’t realize it yet, but she would get through this fine and come out the other side better for it. He’d always felt like her relationship with Marty had been based more on her feelings of friendship and a responsibility toward her parents than anything else. Not exactly the recipe for a knock-your-socks-off love affair. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her this was the best thing that could’ve happened to her. Clemson wasn’t even close to man enough for Lacey. Maybe once she was ready to talk about it, he would lecture her on finding a man who could take care of her right.
Not that it was any of his business.
She cleared her throat and finally responded to his teasing. “The bedroom, very funny.”
What was funny was that she’d honed in on that particular phrase. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing a little further. “Oh, I’m dead serious, squirt. Just ask around.”
Her gaze traveled to his mouth, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Before he could think on that development too hard, she picked up a handful of the cashews they’d commandeered from the kitchen cabinet and lobbed one at him. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”
He caught the nut and popped it into his mouth. “Sorry, but you’re such an easy mark. Okay, so me first. Let’s see. Here’s one. I’ve never…been skydiving before.”
Pursing her lips, she thought about that for a second. “I have. On my twenty-first birthday. Craziest thing I’ve ever done.”
He knew that, which was the reason he’d chosen it. If she was determined to get drunk, they might as well get started. He tipped his chin toward the table. “Drink up.”
She selected one of the half-filled glasses and tossed back the contents. Her eyes watered as she chased it with a deep pull from a bottle of water. “My turn,” she croaked. “I’ve never…eaten sushi.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Me neither. And why would I? Seems like a slap in the face to those poor cavemen who worked long and hard to create fire. Guess that means no drink for me. My turn again. I’ve never…” He racked his brain for something else he knew about her that might be a little wild. “I’ve never…gone skinny-dipping.”
Down for the Count (Dare Me 1) Page 2
