Dangerously in Love

by Kimbrough, Michele

  She looked away reflectively. “You remind me of my little brother. Even now, as I look at you, I’m reminded of him. He had leukemia. He always wanted to be a lawyer but didn’t live to see that to fruition.” She looked at her watch then pushed back from the table and stood.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Hill said, now standing as well.

  She looked at him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “When I saw you in the courtroom, I saw Justin . . . my brother. I saw him in your eyes, in your smile, and in all of your mannerisms, even the not-so-good ones,” she said, smiling. She clipped his chin like a mother does a child. “You’re a good guy, Hill. You just didn’t know it. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She slipped her purse strap on her shoulder.

  “Thank you, Judge Sterling. For . . . everything.”

  “You’re welcome, Hill. I wish you all the best.” She smiled at him as she walked away.

  13

  Hill arrived home pretty late and saw Caitlin’s pearl Maserati parked in his space. He wondered how she got into the garage but then realized she must’ve taken his cardkey with her when she left this morning. He didn’t need it to get through the gate. He had a remote control in his truck.

  Once parked, he walked to Caitlin’s car. The hood was somewhat cool, which meant she’d been there a little while. She must have noticed that she wouldn’t need a key to enter the warehouse through the mudroom, which was the only way she could’ve gotten inside. With all the security features he had installed before getting anywhere near the warehouse, Hill normally left the mudroom unlocked.

  Inside the mudroom, he slipped out of his dirty work clothes and boots then walked into the kitchen to grab a beer. He peered into his living room, looking for Caitlin. Not there. He put his beer on the table and went to the bathroom. When he came out, he went into his bedroom. There she was, sprawled across his bed, sound asleep. He tiptoed into his walk-in closet, grabbed a change of clothes, and then hopped in the shower. When he came out, she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Hi honey, I’m home.” He grinned facetiously.

  She laughed, jumped up, and hugged him. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  He wrapped his arms around her and shook his head. “About which part? That you stole my cardkey or broke into my house?”

  She smirked.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Want to grab something to eat?”

  “Can we order in instead? I’m afraid we’d run into someone who knows my husband.”

  “In my neighborhood? I can’t imagine.”

  “Really,” she said sharply.

  “Okay,” he threw his hands up in surrender, “I’ll call for delivery.”

  He sat on the arm of the couch, staring at her hungrily as he sipped a beer.

  “You remind me so much of my uncle,” she said, cutting through the silence.

  “Your uncle? I hope that’s a good thing and not as sleazy and icky as it sounds.”

  “He was the father figure in my life. My mother never married. Anyway, you remind me of him.”

  “You said ‘was’. Is he—?”

  “He died. Three years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It must have been a terrible loss seeing as he was a father figure.”

  She shrugged and looked away, not sure she wanted to respond.

  Hill stared at the window—not even looking through it, just gazing at it pensively.

  “So what’s the deal with you and Adam? When I see you standing in that window, you never look happy. But I guess it really isn’t any of my business.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said with a grin.

  “I’m just making conversation. We could talk about the weather or something.”

  She looked away again. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it. What do you want to know?”

  “You married for love, but he treats you like some sort of trophy. Is that your story, Cate? Or, were you marrying for money?” He smirked. “What’s your story?” He sipped his beer.

  “My story?” she dropped her gaze. “Growing up, I never really knew what it felt like to be loved.”

  She stared ahead, reflectively. She hadn’t any idea of what love was—how it looked or smelled, what it sounded or tasted like. Was it something that sashayed into your life, or was it a more subtle entrance? Was it a scent that wafted aggressively, or did it float on the molecules of air that she breathed? Was it gentle, or would it take her by storm?

  She continued, “What I do know, however—what I can describe in graphic detail—is what it feels like to be alone.”

  Having grown up in a hard-fisted, emotionally void patriarchal family with her grandfather at the helm and her mother in fear, she knew the loathsome glare of rejection and the prickly touch of loneliness. She knew the coldness of aloofness. Those things she knew. Those things she could identify.

  She went on, “But love? That’s a mystery to me.” She looked at Hill who just sat there dumbstruck, sipping his beer.

  She continued. “I lost my virginity at seven because my uncle paid attention to me in a way I’d never experienced. He told me I was special. Nobody had ever told me that before. He said I was beautiful. Never heard that before, either. He gave me candy, he said, because I was sweet. All he wanted in return was to touch me. I’d never been touched like that before. So between the ages of seven and fifteen, my mother’s brother molested me—right in my own house. From then on, I thought that any man who wanted to touch me like that loved me. That was the warped mind of someone who’d never known what love really was.”

  She watched Hill lean back a little. She went on, “As I grew older, I realized there was an imbalance in my life—something off-kilter. It kept me tilted slightly in the wrong direction. It shifted my life’s trajectory.

  “When I met Adam, he was sort of like my uncle—charming and sweet with his words. Slick with his touch. I bought it all—hook, line, and sinker. So I guess my answer to your question is, I married what was familiar. I’m not sure love had anything to do with it.”

  Hill hadn’t anticipated such openness, especially as a response to a question he’d hardly expected an honest answer to. He was making conversation as he always had—his foreplay to his foreplay . . . the preface to the prequel. This was something new. No one had opened up to him like this. Not even Samantha.

  Now he was afraid to touch her—not for lack of wanting, but for compassion. He wanted to hug her, hold her, and comfort her. But he felt like a bull in a china shop—like his slightest move would bring all the fragile dishes to a shattering end.

  He watched her fidget with her wedding ring and noticed how she avoided looking at him as she spoke. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to respond? He had no idea.

  He got up and stood by the window, staring at the passing train through the pouring rain. After a long silence, he turned to look at her, making sure she was okay. She sighed loudly.

  “I don’t know why I said so much,” she said. “Maybe it’s because you remind me of them. Mostly, my uncle.”

  I remind you of a child molester?” Her words stung. He’d been called a lot of things and compared to many people. But never had he been relegated to a class of degenerates like incestuous molesters.

  “You remind me of how disarming he was.”

  He stared toward the window, shaking his head.

  “I didn’t mean it in an offensive way,” she said apologetically.

  “Is there any other way to take it other than offensively?” he scowled as he returned to the arm of the couch.

  “I just meant that he had a way of making me feel safe. You make me feel safe, Hill.”

  “But your uncle’s sense of safety was a lure to harm you, Cate. I don’t want to harm you. I have no intentions of hurting you. I’m not like him at all.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have simply said that I feel safe with you—because I do,” she sa
id softly as she watched him guzzle the rest of his beer.

  Their food arrived, and they spent the rest of the evening in near silence, with the exception of a few courtesies—like pass the kung pao, please and thank you—not much else was said.

  She got up and went to the bathroom, and he put on a movie, A Perfect Murder starring Michael Douglas and Gwyneth Paltrow. He collected the beer bottles and the cartons of Chinese food and took them into the kitchen, discarding the bottles and stowing the leftover food in the refrigerator.

  When he returned to the den, Caitlin was lying on the sofa in a camisole and silk shorts. He stood there staring at her until she caught him.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I wanted to get comfortable.”

  He rubbed his head with his hand and took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to seduce him, or if she was genuinely just getting comfy. He sat in a chair that was angled away from the sofa and turned up the movie.

  “This is one of my favorite movies!” she exclaimed. “My favorite part is when he sees her walking down the street, and he steps out of the car. She’s totally shocked to see him and he says. . .”

  “That doesn’t look like happiness to see me,” Hill said, quoting the movie.

  “Try surprise,” Caitlin said, quoting the response. She laughed. “I love that part. Great movie. What’s your favorite?”

  “I’d have to say Absolute Power with Clint Eastwood. Actually, any movie with Clint Eastwood is among my favorites.”

  “Absolute Power . . . hmm. Is that what you want, Hill? Absolute power?”

  “No more than you’d want a perfect murder,” he smirked.

  Caitlin patted the sofa, motioning for him to sit beside her. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the movie.

  “I don’t bite. I just want to sit beside you,” she said.

  This woman had no idea the tremendous amount of restraint and control it took for him to not do naughty things to her. And naughty wasn’t exactly the right word—more like dirty, kinky. Still, he was trying like hell to be respectful.

  He sat beside her, and she cuddled next to him. But not too long before the movie had ended, she’d fallen asleep. He realized then that she just needed the comfort of a warm body to help her relax—to help her sleep.

  He picked her up, sliding one arm under her knees and using the other to support her back, and headed toward the bedroom.

  “Wait,” she whispered, awakened by the motion. “Let’s stay in here, on the sofa.”

  “Let’s? As in you and me?”

  She nodded as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He lay her on the sofa and squeezed behind her. She turned over with her face against his chest, their bodies pressed tightly together. They didn’t make love. They didn’t say a word. They just held each other until the aroma of coffee awakened Hill at five-thirty.

  He had never slept with anybody like Caitlin before—beautiful, desirable, sexy—and not tried to make a move at some point. It had never happened before. Until now. A few times he had awakened in the middle of the night and curled around her. She’d take his arm and wrap it around her, holding his hand to her heart. It felt good . . . she felt good.

  14

  Samantha expected the morning sun to break through and wake her from her deep slumber. For the first night in a week, she’d finally gotten a good night’s rest. She looked at the bedside clock. It was flashing 12:00. She sighed and reached for Bill’s cell phone which lay on his bedside table. Hers was in her purse, probably downstairs. The time read seven-thirty. She hurriedly threw back the covers and rushed into the bathroom. Hugging the commode, she retched and gagged. This was the third day in a row that she had woken up queasy. She couldn’t figure out what she’d eaten that had made her so sick, but she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t about to eat anything now.

  “Honey? You okay?” Bill shouted from the bed. He had told her before that she needed to see a doctor. He was worried she’d become dehydrated, but Samantha was more concerned that it was too close to her wedding day. She didn’t want to be sick or hospitalized or anything of that sort. So she juiced and cleansed and came up with all sorts of home remedies. Yet, upon waking, she still had to race to the bathroom, heaving and retching.

  She had a few more dry heaves before she was able to say, “Yeah, just more of the same.”

  She flushed the toilet, stood up and gargled, then hopped into the shower, basking in the feel of the hot water on her skin, relaxing and soothing. She stood directly under the flow, saturating her hair, then shampooed and conditioned. Out of the shower, she flossed, brushed her teeth, and moisturized. When she walked into the bedroom, Bill wasn’t there. She found her purse on the floor and pulled out her cell phone to check the time. Eight-fifteen.

  She looked out the window. Rain. Again. She pulled on her boy shorts, Levi’s and black V-neck T-shirt and slipped on her flip flops—not the plastic beach type, but the bedazzled ones. Hurrying down the stairs, her braless jiggle was apparent.

  “Bill?” She rushed past the dining room. “Honey?” She sped through the kitchen. “Bill?” Into the living room. “Honey!”

  Bill emerged from the basement with his phone in hand, still in his robe and slippers. She kissed him on the mouth, leaving a glossy residue. She wiped it with her thumb, then leaned against the wall, watching Bill type a message on his phone.

  “It’s the warehouse,” Bill explained. “We’re short again.”

  “Not today, Bill. You can’t fly out there today.”

  “I’d be back before Mom and Dad’s plane touches down . . . tomorrow.”

  “No, Bill. You know what always happens. Once you’re out there, you’ll get pulled for who-knows-what. It’s just two days before our wedding. No, you can’t go.”

  Bill pulled her into a hug and kissed her lips softly. “I have to go, Samantha. I promise I’ll come directly home, and I’ll make sure I’m not available for emergency fill-ins. Besides, your day is so full, you won’t even notice I’m gone,” he said, trying to reassure her.

  Samantha sighed and pushed past him. Bill shook his head, looking at her scornfully. “Samantha, I’m not trying to fight with you today. It’s my division. If they can’t count on me, then who?”

  “You took time off for your wedding. They shouldn’t even be calling you. Why can’t they get someone else?”

  “Because there is no one else. I have to do this, Samantha. And, as much as I want you to be okay with this, I’m going whether you support my decision or not.” He walked away.

  What was the use in arguing with him or getting angry? She had come to understand that his job was stressful and demanding. Whether she liked it or not, he was going.

  “Fine. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  “Love you.” He managed a tight-lipped grin as he continued toward the bedroom.

  15

  Hill didn’t know what was going on, but he knew better than to ask any questions. He pushed his wheelbarrow to the pile of heavy stones he needed to move and loaded them into it one by one. He looked up at the window, but Caitlin wasn’t there. As he moved about, trying to finish his checklist of tasks before the rain came, he noticed the harried activity around the house.

  Adam was walking toward Hill, who looked around to make sure none of his tools were laying nearby. After his first encounter with the man, he’d told Gabe and Ty to make sure the tool trailer was always locked. He didn’t want to give Adam another opportunity to ambush him. Not again. He wanted to be always ready for him.

  Hill stood tall as Adam approached. At nearly six feet tall and two hundred twenty pounds of solid muscle, most people were intimidated by his stature alone. Most people. Adam Church wasn’t one of them.

  “Can you help us out?” Adam asked. It wasn’t a question, but more of a command because he walked away before Hill had an opportunity to respond.

  Hill followed Adam into the basement through an outside door.
There were two other men already down there. A foul odor hit Hill in the face the moment he entered the basement. He gagged, barely able to stave off vomiting. But he managed. He saw several large trunks lined up. The two men picked up one of them and hauled it upstairs and out to the U-Haul truck. He and Adam picked up another. It was heavier than Hill had expected. Luckily, he still wore his work gloves, so he was able to grip the trunk steadily.

  After the last trunk was loaded onto the truck, Adam invited them all into his study for a cigar and a drink. Hill seriously considered declining, but curiosity got the best of him. As they walked through the rambling home, Caitlin walked down the stairs, gliding as if someone were carrying her. Adam awaited her at the bottom of the staircase and kissed her as she took the last step. Hill looked away. As they continued on, Hill snatched a glance. Caitlin did the same, brushing her arm against his as they passed.

  Hill stood in the doorway, leaning against its frame. Adam noticed and walked toward him, putting his arm around Hill’s shoulder and ushering him into the study. He patted Hill’s shoulder as he introduced him to the rest of his crew. Adam clipped a cigar and handed it to Hill then lit it.

  There were lots of things Hill didn’t like about this day—moving the trunks that clearly served as caskets, watching Adam kiss Caitlin, and fraternizing with criminals who, three years ago, he might have defended. But what he did seem to enjoy was the cigar. It had a sweet aroma and left a grapelike taste on his lips. He really enjoyed it far better than the first time he and Adam had had a cigar together. This time there wasn’t any pain and blood involved.

  Through the plumes of smoke, Hill noticed Adam’s full bookcases. He wondered if Adam read any of those books. He walked closer to look at the titles on the spine. There were a lot of the classics, bound in leather. He knew that was mostly a decorative touch. He bent down to look at the books on the lower shelves.

  “Looking for something?” Adam asked.

  Hill shook his head. “I appreciate the cigar and the liquor,” he said then threw back the cognac. It went down quite smoothly. He set the snifter on the desk. “But you have me on a tight deadline, so I should get back to it. I’m sure I can find my way out.”