“Leo, I know you’re on the other side of the door. Open up.”
Crap, he saw me. While attempting to untangle the hair tie with one hand, I opened the door with the other. The outside light shed into his dazzling eyes. Spellbound, I lost my equilibrium. If it wasn’t for his excellent reflexes, I’d be sprawled on the floor.
Performing an inglorious back bend with Becket leaning over me, spectators would have thought he was seducing me, old fashion style. He smelled of leather and soap and, I felt like a total klutz. He lifted me upright, and steadied my stocking feet on the linoleum.
“So you’re falling for me pretty hard, eh?” He smiled.
Combined with the near-fall and his teasing wit, flaming heat bombarded every inch of my skin. One last yank, the hair tie ripped from my head, launching my insubordinate strands to my shoulders, shuttering my face. His fingers parted the mess like a curtain and hooked my hair over my ears.
“There, that’s better,” he said.
“Thanks, have a seat. I’ll be right back.” My intention of sneaking to the bathroom to right my wronged hair was halted by fingers confiscating my hand.
“You look fine,” he said in a guileless tone. “I like that tousled look.”
Instead of releasing my hand, his fingers laced mine nicely. I mocked, “And my ensemble meets with your approval?” Raising our conjoined hands in the air, I posed so he could get a gander at my sweats.
“Lovely.” But he wasn’t looking at my sweats, blue eyes drifted over my face like a titillating facial. Even though I felt like a bungling dope, I survived his suggestive eyebrow. And attempted to uncouple our fingers without luck, he held on tighter.
“Why are you here?” My voice sounded rather rude.
“I was worried. It’s not every day I see someone I like being carted away by the police.”
“How’d you know he was with the police?”
“I know.” He didn’t offer further details. “Mind if I take off my jacket?”
“My father should be home any minute.”
“I thought he was home.” Becket glanced around the kitchen for the first time. “Are you saying that to get rid of me?”
“Not really,” my voice pitched upward, worried about Dad staggering into the house like a buffoon. “He’s with friends, um…having a few drinks.”
A light snort echoed in his mouth. “You mean he might be toasted.”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll leave if you want me to.”
Leave. No. Never. “You’re here. You may as well come in.” His fingers loosened and slipped from my hand. Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he hung it on the back of the kitchen chair. While his head was turned, I inspected his artless windswept hair, and the fine knit sweater that impeccably molded to his body like a glove.
“What’s the verdict?”
Admiring his jeans, snug in all the right places my eyes snapped to his face. Caught in the act of ogling, a cocky grin stretched his lips.
“Your boyfriend will see my car in front of the house.” He slid one hand into his front pocket. “You sure he won’t take it out on my hide tomorrow?”
He didn’t buy the line that Henry and I were just friends. And I wasn’t about to beat a dead horse, besides Becket could wipe the floor with Henry. I wasn’t concerned and headed into the living room. “I can have a friend over if I want.”
Two hands came down my shoulders and twirled me into his chest. “Leo, I’m not your friend.”
Chapter 26
“Do you know how long I waited for you to get your shit together?” Becket’s dreamy eyes chased over me. “Do you even remember nine months ago when I drove you home from a party? You were so smashed. You passed out in my car.”
“No. I’d remember.” My brain searched into my druggy archives. Zilch.
“You didn’t remember a damn thing. A few days later I tried talking to you, and you snubbed me.”
In a surreal moment, I gawked. What did I say to him nine months ago, what did I do with him? “Nona would’ve told me,” I whispered like a ninny.
“Nona wasn’t there. It was a party over in Getzville and I was a little surprised to see you walk in with Skipper Townsend. One look at your face, and I knew I had to get you out of there. I never said a word to anyone.”
“What exactly happened?”
“I can never be just a friend.” His hands breezed up my shoulders to the column of my neck and guided my face upward to meet his mouth in a scorching kiss.
I wanted more, much more. My fingers traveled to his chest, feeling the strength beneath his sweater. Then gliding them around to his back, I closed the space between us.
Becket buried lean fingers into my hair and with his other hand skimmed along my backbone pressing me into him. Our lips mingled, and then parted. Unfathomed sensations erupted like a geyser as he gently teased my mouth. While he taught me the method of seduction, I responded, timid at first. My shirt had ridden up at the waistline and when his palm touched my bare skin, somewhere deep inside, my blood boiled like molten lava. I quivered. He lifted me up, and I teetered on my tip toes until our hips met.
Following his lead, my hands traveled down his back and dipped under his sweater. My fingertips played over muscle and sinew, he groaned, intensifying his kiss. Succumbing to meet his need, I willed to throw all inhibitions to the wind. My ferocious pulse throbbed as I greedily held onto a bit of heaven.
Suddenly, Becket thrust me off. His chest heaved in quick short breaths, and his eyes darkened to limpid pools of desire. Camouflaging his obvious hunger like an expert, and in a sultry inflection he said, “That’s why we can’t be just friends.”
My unfulfilled craving sputtered and sizzled with unspent emotions. No cool retort came to mind.
“You’re back to the silent treatment again?” His biceps bulged as he raised his arm and stabbed fingers through his golden hair. “I should go,” he said, looking out of his element.
“No,” I uttered.
“Ah…she speaks.”
“You just got here. Um…sit down.” I turned toward the couch, then choose the recliner.
“Smart move,” he said. “But, if I really wanted to ravage your body, I’d take you into the bedroom without the picture window there for all to watch.”
The curtains were drawn to their outer edges, Becket and I had been on display, making out for the neighbors. Hurdling from the recliner, I sailed to close the curtains. Across the street, prehistoric Mr. Jankowiak was probably wetting his pants, and then there was Henry. He hadn’t called since coming home from the police station.
Our small living room shrunk when Becket walked in. Now seated on the couch, he slanted forward draping his arms on his parted legs. “I am going to the dance with Marcy. I thought you should know.”
“She already informed me.”
He nodded, unenthused. “Marcy said she talked it over with you.”
“Talked what over with me?”
“Marcy thought we had a thing.” Hesitant, his eyes fixed on my face waiting for a reaction. “You told her to take me ‘cause you were with Henry James.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I confirmed it with Henry.”
Compressing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, I growled. “Let’s not talk about the dance or Henry. I already told you how I feel about him.”
“Okay.” He straightened, and eased his back into the couch lengthening his arms on top of the cushions. “You’ll be at the game on Friday?”
He attempted small talk, and since I didn’t want him to leave, I obliged. “Mrs. Zwielger will kick me off the squad if I miss another game.” Thoughts of mauling his bod made it hard to think. I prayed I wasn’t staring at him like a piece of succulent beefcake. I said any old thing, “Do you think you’ll beat Kensington?”
Becket’s fingertips kept smoothing the couch material, frisking me with his attractively wicked eyes. I watched his fingers and wished they w
ere touching my face. Could he sense my feelings, was I obvious?
“It’ll be tough.” He cleared a thickening voice and his long fingers flexed. “We’re tied for games won and lost.”
I’d been in the process of memorizing his mouth and the feel of his lips on mine. My mind worked for a conversation. “Have you gotten an offer like Reggie to play football for college?”
He reflected for a moment. “A couple, yes.”
I didn’t like thinking about him going away to college. Not yet, not now. “Since Mom died my grades have been in the dumps. I’m trying to rectify that.” Referring to my mother his eyelids twitched. He’s probably remembering my asinine blubbering at Earl’s and cringing on the inside.
He remedied by switching topics. “Is it true that you and Henry are putting together this Halloween party at the Lucien Estate?”
“Who said that?”
“Henry did at Earl’s. And I heard he’s recruiting people to help.”
“What? I told Henry the police would find out. It’s a bad idea.”
“It’d be brilliant in that haunted house. Don’t you think?”
“It’s beyond a doubt haunted.”
“I figured as much.” He didn’t appear stunned by what I said, though, most people in the Hallow knew the stories. “It’s Star Hallow’s claimed a fame. I’m just surprised after all these years the village hasn’t made the Estate into a tourist attraction.”
“I remember hearing my parents talk about whether the village was going to demolish the sight since they couldn’t find a developer. Then rumors spread about it becoming a draw for out-of-towners. Possibly Star Hallow would prefer to be known as a quaint village in rural American, rather than a grisly place that housed insane people.”
“Or the tills have run dry,” he added. “More than likely the mansion needs lots of work to pass state inspection codes.”
“I wish they’d tear it down.” I gazed into my lap. My hands ached from my ceaseless squeezing.
“It sounds like you and Henry have been in there quite a bit. Have you seen things?” He toned in a friendly manner, though I heard an edge to his voice.
“Seen a couple of unexplainable things.” I rubbed hands over my arms. “I really don’t want to party there.” Where’d Becket receive his information? Had Henry been spreading tales in school?
“I understand, being so close to your old house and all.”
An arcane aroma of a lily passed under my nose like a reminder of Mom’s picture hanging in the Lucien attic. Exactly like in Earl’s, I had this strange urge to unload my worst nightmares on Becket. “I visited my mom on Sunday and cut through the Estate because it started to pour. I saw a light in the mansion. I figured it was Henry…so I went in…”
Becket sloped forward, intrigued. Void of emotion, he never flinched even when citing the ghostly figure, until I came to the part of my mom’s picture hanging on the wall. His back uncurled.
Just then my cell started vibrating on the kitchen table. I’d forgotten to unmute it. “I’d better get that, it might be my dad.” Leaving the recliner, I snagged the cell from the table to see it was Henry calling. I pressed the mute button, then felt Becket looming over me like a sheltering angel.
“I’d better be going,” he grumbled, brow crimped. In one swoop his jacket was off the chair and over his shoulders. “We never did talk about the police dragging you and Henry in.”
“Long story.”
“I have time. If you want to talk about it.”
Unwillingly, I recounted, “I told you that I was on the railroad tracks when I heard that God awful scream when Skipper was murdered—” His lips pursed. “I lied to the police. I said I was alone. Somehow they figured out that Henry and I were in the cemetery together.” I could almost feel the steam building inside of him. “It’s a great place to down a few beers and …” Clamping my mouth, I didn’t want to refer to the weed. “Detective Dyl is concerned that Henry might be in danger.”
“In what way? Why would Henry be in danger?”
“He was there,” I said through a scratchy throat. “Right there when a guy slaughtered Dave. As soon as the guy knifed him, Henry ran away.”
“I knew Dave and Skipper from school. Got into dealing some pretty lethal junk.” His eyes studied my face. “You knew them, right?”
“Kind of,”— wincing, he knew my drug rep—“after Mom—”
His hands gripped the high-backed chair. “How’d you end up on the tracks, alone, with Henry still in the graveyard? Was he making a deal for the two of you?”
“No—Not at all…I don’t use…I haven’t…just a little weed, that’s all.” Becket’s inquisition felt like a stab to the heart. I struggled for truth, and wanted to keep secret about Henry’s botched make-out session and his erratic anger. “Henry saw some people and…and he told me to run. By the time I got to the tracks I felt bad leaving him behind. I went back and saw—”
Becket broke in, “Why’d he want you to run? Your story’s not meshing.”
I read the agitation in his eyes. “Because—” My temperature bubbled. “Henry knew who they were, and he didn’t want me there.” I combed fingers into my knotty hair. “Stop hassling me, Becket. You’re worse than the police.” Tears sprang to the surface.
“Henry was meeting them, wasn’t he?” Rolling back his shoulders, he gaze guarded.
Offering a weak nod, I verified his accusation.
“Henry could be the murderer.”
Chapter 27
“Not Henry.” I sounded breathless. “He told me what happened.”
“He could be lying to save his criminal ass.”
“The police would’ve found some kind of evidence and arrested him by now,” I rattled and thought of Henry’s temper. “Detective Dyl said there might be a connection between my mother and these murders and Henry didn’t live here a year ago. Besides, why would the detective tell me Henry might be in danger?”
“How are the murders connected, did he say?”
“The murder weapon.” I threw my promise to the detective out the window. “Don’t repeat that, please. I wasn’t supposed to tell.”
“The police are probably tailing Henry.” Becket turned toward to door, then looked over his shoulder. “So if you’re with him, be careful of what you’re smoking and drinking.”
“What’s that supposed to imply? You take me for some kind of junkie?”
“I never said that.” He twisted the door knob. “I don’t want you to get hurt in the crossfire, that’s all.” He left lacking a backward glance.
Eliciting a shuttering breath, the thought of Henry murdering Dave and Skip hadn’t crossed my mind—until now. Henry didn’t have a motive for killing them, did he? I glanced at the clock before heading into my bedroom. Dad had yet to return home, and I was getting paranoid.
My bedroom was black as I searched for the light switch. A hand manacled my right arm, winging me around into a hard body, and another hand slapped over my mouth. Widening my eyes I couldn’t make out my attacker. My muffled screams rang sharply in my ears. On impulse, I swirled and jabbed my knee upward hoping to maim.
“Ar-rgh! Son-of-a-bitch. You caved in my balls.”
The intruder shoved me onto my bed. A hunching dark figure seemed to be massaging between his legs. Catching an exterior glow from the open window, his lenses shone white. “My God, Henry! Why are you always so frickin’ off the wall? Why’d you do that?” I barreled over the mattress, and clicked on my bedside lamp.
“Because I saw you with that jock. Making out for the whole neighborhood.” He sounded furious. “Why the hell was Becket here anyway? I told him we were going out, to back off.”
“Why’d you tell him that?” I had to nip his thinking pronto. “We are not going out.” Then I noted an angry black and blue lump somewhat concealed beneath the frame of his glasses.
“Leo,” his voice shivered, “I love you.” He slunk to the floor and knelt in front of my knees and g
rasped my shins. “I love you.”
“Henry, don’t say that. You hardly know me.” I covered his hands, wanting him to stop. “Are you alright?”
“Not really.” He leaned his forehead on my knee. “I know you better than you think. In just one short month. You and I are good together. We’re the same.”
“I don’t love you, Henry.” He weirded me out. “Can’t we be friends?” His fingers dug through my sweats into my shins.
“You don’t have to love me.” He loosened his hold. “I’m such a whiner, a real loser.”
“Stop acting like that. Did you know Grace Huffington likes you? Are you sure you wouldn’t like to ask her to the dance?”
His head jerked, reading him through the lenses was hard. “I’d rather take you. But if you force me, I’ll ask Grace.”
“What happened to your face?” I couldn’t stop staring at his newly acquired shiner which thawed my heart.
His fingertips patted the black and blue swelling. “I…I walked into a door?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
Henry mumbled, “It’s nothing.”
“Did your dad hit you again?”
“Pretend you don’t see it, okay?”
“He was mad about us breaking into the Lucien place, wasn’t he?” I said. “And then Detective Dyl taking us in?”
“I’m not talking about it,” he uttered under his breath. “Let’s get back to the Homecoming Dance. Go with me.”
Probably too late for him to ask Grace, and feeling like a hurtful human being, I said, “I promised to go with you. But stop telling people that we’re going out, or whatever it is that you’re saying.”
“You like Becket Kane, don’t you?”
Was it sane to tell him how I felt about Becket? Opting to stray from the present discourse, I asked, “Exactly why were you meeting with Dave and Skip that night in the cemetery?”
“You know why.” He climbed from the floor and sat next to me on the bed. Crutching his arms behind him, he angled back on the mattress.
Don't Forget to Breathe Page 13
