Discreet: The Discreet Duet: Book I

by French, Nicole

  “Fuck, Maggie,” he groaned. “I missed you. You feel so good.”

  “Stop! What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “What?” Lucas spat, his upper lip curling as he slurred slightly. “You wanna tell me you don’t feel the connection between us? It’s still here, Mags, you know it is.”

  “No, I d-do n-not!!” I sputtered, the stutter returning just enough to make me spout like a tea kettle. “Just yesterday, I was spitting mad at you for calling me a slut!”

  “I didn’t call you a slut, Maggie,” Lucas protested. “I said your dress maybe suggested something like it. Honestly, I was just jealous. I didn’t like the idea of other guys seeing your pretty legs in something like that. Something like this skirt too, if you want to be real.” He looked me over again, and this time, the suggestion in his eyes was clear as they drifted over my bare legs. His mouth quirked with a smile that wasn’t nearly as shy as it used to be. “Chicken legs.”

  But now I didn’t find the silly nickname the slightest bit funny. Nothing about this was funny, especially not when Lucas leaned in again with the clear intent to kiss me, whether I wanted it or not. Like somehow I was asking for it.

  “Lucas,” I said, pressing against his chest.

  He didn’t move.

  “Lucas!”

  He stopped.

  “Let me make this very, very clear,” I said, pushing him back again. This time, he moved. “I am not interested in anything like that. Not with you. Not with anyone. If that means you don’t want to help Mama and me out on the property, I get it. We’ll figure out something else. But you and I cannot be anything more than friends. Do you understand?”

  Lucas didn’t answer for what seemed like an hour. Finally, he pulled his baseball hat off his head and put it on backwards before exhaling, long and heavy.

  “You really have changed,” he said, somewhat regretfully. “Yeah, I get it. And you don’t have to worry about the work. I’ll be there on Monday, bright and early. I don’t break my promises.”

  Leaving me to wonder exactly what he meant by that, he turned and loped back to the fire. I got into my car and started to drive, taking a left out of their driveway instead of a right, which would’ve been the shorter way back to my place. I didn’t feel like going back to the empty house just yet, knowing I would brood on the dock or in front of the television, waiting to see if Mama would show up or not. Instead I just drove, a little faster than I should have, asking all the questions out loud that I had wanted to say in the parking lot.

  “Promises?” I cried into the darkness. “What promises? Did you really think that just because we were high school sweethearts, I fucking owed you something? Did you think that I was supposed to promise you my entire fucking life just because we said words like love when we were fucking children?”

  The questions went on, shouted out the window to be lost in the speeding trees. They were questions I couldn’t answer, and yet the answers echoed back to me, known, if not spoken. Because this was a place where people had always thought they owned each other in their small lives. Lucas had been good to me once, but had always thought that he owned me too, in his small, kind way. In that way, he was no better than Theo. So that in the end, he could take what he wanted, and most of the time I’d feel like I had to give it to him. Both he and Lucas had wanted me for a life already set up for them. It hadn’t mattered that I didn’t want those lives myself. And neither man had ever forgiven me for it.

  “Will anyone here,” I wondered aloud for the thousandth time in my life, “ever just see me for what I am? What I want to be?”

  Just as the question flew past my lips, my car jolted heavily, and the loud flap of deflated rubber jogging on the pavement sounded. There was a screech as I pulled the car to a stop on the side of the dark, deserted road.

  “Shit!” I screeched. Some idiot had probably dropped a nail off their truck, and on this dark, unlit road, I had a flat.

  With my phone’s flashlight turned on, I crawled out of the car and got down to look at the damage. It was bad. Not only was the front driver’s side tire totally shredded, but the entire wheel seemed bent off kilter. I guessed that even if I could replace the tire, it wouldn’t be drivable. Ten miles from my house, and no ride in sight.

  I picked myself up off the ground and glared at the car. And then, I absolutely lost it.

  “FUUUUUUUUUUCK!” I screamed, suddenly letting loose at the car with my feet, kicking wildly at the tires and hubcaps. I picked up sticks, pine cones, needles, anything within easy grabbing distance and threw them at my car. “Stupid hunk of junk! What the fuck!”

  Just as I was picking up a rock to hurl at the hood, no longer caring what kind of dents would come of my assault, the flash of headlights coming down the street broke through my tirade. I froze, suddenly very aware that I was a brown-skinned woman alone at night on the side of a rural road in a county with a less than stellar reputation with people of color. I’d never had anything that terrible happen to me when I was younger besides a few pullovers and some name calling at school, but I’d heard stories of cops harassing black kids in Spokane Valley. And in this day and age, with tensions as high as they were everywhere, I couldn’t help but be a little scared.

  The car slowed as it approached, but it wasn’t until it was almost next to me that I recognized the orange pickup. The fear subsided, but my irritation rose.

  Of. Fucking. Course.

  Anger and frustration boiled up all over again as the truck pulled over. The window rolled down, and Will’s face, etched with sharp annoyance, appeared.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.

  I kicked my foot at the ground, refusing to look up. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Will just glared. “It looks like you just happened to break down in front of my property. Again. It’s two in the fucking morning, Maggie. Don’t you think this is a little desperate?”

  I flared. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think I deliberately ruined both the tire and axle of my car just to lure you out of your creepy Unabomber cabin at two in the morning? Do I look like I have a death wish? How self-absorbed do you have to be?”

  Will leaned out of the cab, examined the maimed tire, and had the decency to appear more contrite. He looked at me, and even through my fury, I had to work to ignore the way his gaze seared over my cheeks, my lips, my neck, even my cleavage. But unlike Lucas’s gaze, it didn’t feel dirty. This was something else completely.

  “What are you even doing out here at this time of night?” I asked, hating that my voice had grown small.

  “I went hiking for the day, and I’m just getting back into town. Were you driving drunk?” Will asked bluntly.

  I crossed my arms. “Who the hell are you, the police?”

  He frowned. “No. I’m just wondering if I need to put on some coffee while I see if I can get your shitty car working again.”

  I opened my mouth to launch another insult at him, but instead I just shook my head. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and it was either accept this asshole’s help or spend the night in the car. “I don’t drink. Water is fine. Or nothing at all.”

  At that, Will’s anger broke, and he looked genuinely surprised. “Really?”

  “My mother drinks enough for both of us.” I looked away. Tears were rising now, and I was losing the fight against them. Fuck. I just wanted to be…fuck. I really didn’t know. And that was the worst part of all of it.

  Will examined me for a few more seconds, then sighed. “Get in,” he said. “You can come inside while I take a look.”

  9

  Will pulled the truck down the long, winding driveway in front of his old wood cabin. In the dark, it looked even creepier than during the day, since unlike most houses, Will’s had no porch lights to give some aura of welcome. The whole thing was basically swathed in black. The woods were pretty much opaque at night, and you really couldn’t see anything except for the glimmer of moonlight on the lake down bel
ow. That, combined with the general decrepit state of the property, with its peeling, faded shingles and sagging roof, made me walk a little closer to Will than I might have otherwise.

  He was a shadow in front of me, somehow even taller and more solid in the dark. His hair was tied up on the top of his head, but in the darkness, all that was really visible were the long lines of his silhouette—the breadth of his shoulders, the taper of his waist. And if I hadn’t been so close, I might not have been able to smell that clean, fresh scent of his. That wasn’t helping me clear my head at all.

  He unlocked the door and flipped a switch, which immediately flooded a large, comfortable room with light. We stepped inside, and as the screen door slammed shut behind me, I swallowed my surprise at what lay before me.

  First of all, it was big—bigger than you’d imagine a cabin that didn’t look like it was more than a thousand square feet. It made sense, of course. If this was a remodeled lodge, it was going to be spacious, but you certainly wouldn’t expect it from the outside.

  As I looked around, it seemed as if the house had been completely gutted. All of the walls had been removed so that, as I turned around in a circle, parts of a kitchen, living room, and study all flowed seamlessly into one another, more like a loft space than an enclosed cabin. In the front of the wide-open room was a large couch and loveseat set up around a rustic wood coffee table, all facing a picture window that looked through the trees to the lake. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, framing a large desk in the middle. In between the living area and the kitchen was a dining set—a giant carved table surrounded by ten matching chairs.

  “Where do you sleep?” I wondered before I realized I had said it out loud. And just like that, I was imagining Will in a bed, his long, lean frame stretched out atop rumpled linens. Maybe they’d be white, setting off his tanned skin, draped just so across an otherwise unclothed, sculpted middle…

  And then, of course, I was blushing. Dammit.

  Will raised a brow and pointed to one corner where a set of stairs disappeared down to a lower floor. Wow. This house really was bigger than it looked from the outside.

  It was also a lot nicer. As I followed Will farther inside, I noticed that the furniture and decorating, while not particularly flashy, had the quiet elegance that you could only attain with real money. Fabrics that you knew didn’t have a thread of polyester in them. Furniture that was obviously solid wood—no particleboard crap for this guy. Whatever “advertising” Will had done before he came out here, he’d obviously cleaned up. This place was nice. Really nice.

  “Give me a second, and I’ll take a look at your car,” Will said as he moved into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some tea.”

  Was that an offer? Without waiting for my response, Will turned next to the center island and set a kettle to boil on the wide Viking stove. Not knowing what to do, I slid onto one of the bar stools at the island and watched him work.

  He was…competent. I wasn’t sure how else to say it. Even with tasks so minor, Will moved with the kind of surety a lot of people lacked. Especially men in the kitchen. Especially in this part of the world. All my life, I’d grown up around men and boys who could barely butter toast on their own. I honestly would have been shocked if Lucas or his father had the first idea about how to boil water or make something simple, like boxed pasta.

  Will was clearly self-sufficient. At first glance, I would have taken him for someone who at the very least spent his life outdoors, probably working with his hands, and with the smears of dirt and residue of dried sweat that stained his shirt, maybe even homeless. But in close proximity and in the comfort of his home, it was hard to ignore the natural, somewhat animal magnetism and confidence emanating from his body. Transfixed, I watched the lines of muscle moving under his thin t-shirt. He was built like a swimmer, with shoulders that managed to be broad, not bulky, over an otherwise lean torso, and legs that went for days. And yeah, it was hard not to notice the perfectly shaped ass that filled out his carpenter pants indecently well.

  Still, between the hair and the clothes, Will seemed to be working really hard to mask his natural looks. I couldn’t help wondering why.

  He turned around as the thought echoed again and again through my mind, and caught me staring directly at his ass. I flushed. The right side of his mouth quirked under his beard.

  “What’s on your mind, Lily pad?” he asked as he passed me a mug of tea. “Peppermint all right?”

  “Who are you hiding from?” I blurted out.

  Will’s green eyes darkened, and three rows of worry lines appeared over his brow. He took a sip of his tea, then set it on the counter.

  “I’m going to take a look at your car,” he said, ignoring my question. “Stay here.”

  Shit. I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could, he’d already abandoned his mug on the counter and was gone. So much for making amends.

  I studied the big open room again while I waited, sipping my tea. It was really good tea, actually—maybe some of the best I’d ever had. And the rest of the room, as far as I could tell, had the same kind of quality. The sofa and loveseat had that look of soft, supple leather that probably cost a fortune. Every appliance in this kitchen was state of the art, immaculate stainless steel. The counters were a brilliant, polished granite, and the wood floors gleamed. This wasn’t just a cabin in the woods. It was a sanctuary.

  A sanctuary that was pretty much devoid of life, I also noticed. There wasn’t even a plant in here to keep alive, much less a cat or a gerbil or any sign of social connections. No birthday cards pinned to a bulletin board or stuck on the fridge. No family photos on the walls or shelves. There wasn’t even a trace of mail left anywhere—magazine subscriptions, bills, nothing. If you were to walk into this house, you would have absolutely no idea who lived here.

  The front door opened with a loud squeak and Will strode back in, retying his hair on top of his head. I liked it when he did that—not just because the man could rock a man bun way better than should be legal, but also because it allowed me to see at least some of his face. I wondered when the last time was that he’d shaved. If he’d ever shaved, by the looks of that beard.

  Suddenly, I was desperate to know what he looked like underneath it.

  “Your axle is toast,” he announced. “After we’re done here, I’ll drive you home. I doubt you’ll be able to get AAA out here at this time of night.”

  I nodded and faced him across the counter, still unsure of what to say. I was still mad at him about this morning. The way he’d stood me up and then treated me like a stranger.

  “So what were you up to before you just ‘happened’ to crash in front of my driveway?” Will asked. His voice was awkward, like he was trying to be nice, but couldn’t quite manage it. I knew that sound. That sound was all guilt, couched in a passive-aggressive mask.

  I set my mug down on the counter. “I know what you’re thinking, and you can get off your egotistical high horse. I’m not stalking you.”

  Will pressed his mouth together and raised a brow in a way that told me he didn’t totally believe me.

  I scowled. “I’m not.”

  “All right, all right,” he said, almost like he wanted to laugh. “So what were you up to?”

  “I met up with some old friends for a bonfire. They actually showed up.”

  Will’s jaw tightened, and he set his mug down. “Okay. Okay, sure. I guess I owe you an apology.”

  “You guess?”

  He frowned. “It was just a suggestion to meet up for a ride. I told you, I decided to go hiking around Pend d’Oreille instead. You saw me on my way out, and I didn’t get back until just now. I couldn’t call you because I don’t have your number. Or a phone, for that matter.”

  I shook my head. “How do you not have a phone?”

  Will shrugged, but I could see him withdraw. Jeez, the guy really didn’t like questions about himself.

  “I don’t need one,” was all he said. “Listen, I’m�
�I’m sorry, okay? I am. I don’t have friends, Maggie, and to be honest, I wasn’t really looking for any. I didn’t think you would really care.”

  “You…” I trailed off. The guy was so much more than frustrating. “You are so full of shit.”

  “Come again?”

  We stared at each other for a minute over the counter, neither of us blinking. I didn’t believe him. Not that he didn’t have friends—that much was completely obvious. But he didn’t care? There had been moments with Will where I could have sworn he was dying for me to touch him. He had stopped traffic in the middle of the street just to stare at me for a full minute.

  The question wasn’t if he cared. It was how much. Because the guy certainly wasn’t indifferent.

  “What happened to you before you came here, Maggie?”

  I looked up, surprised. I thought I was the one doing the interrogating here. “What do you mean?”

  Will passed his mug back and forth between his big hands for a minute, then took a long drink. “That day we met,” he said. “You seemed really freaked out.”

  “You mean the day you were a complete asshole to the girl with the twisted ankle?”

  Will blushed. Full-on, red-faced blushed. It was adorable and made me want to hug him. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Will had made it very clear that we weren’t friends. That we were nothing.

  It would just be a lot easier to believe if he weren’t looking at me like we were a lot more than nothing.

  He chewed on his upper lip for a second. “No, it was something else. The biking, the swimming. You’re running from something. I recognize the signs.” His green eyes flickered. “Takes one to know one.”

  Again, that curious energy, an unnamable understanding, flamed between us.

  I swallowed and stared at my mug. “I…something happened in New York.”

  “I figured. What was it?”

  I turned the handle of the mug to the right, then to the left. “Bad breakup.”