Shane took another drink, letting the alcohol burn down his throat. “Well, when you decide, let me know, I’ll send you guys.”
Sam grinned. “See, the single malt is paying off already.”
Shane laughed. Surprised he could with the anger burning hot in his gut.
And what really pissed him off was he was angry about the wrong goddamn thing. All his anger should be focused on Cecilia, where it belonged, but instead he was furious the women hadn’t shown up an hour later.
After he’d had Cecilia.
Because he sure as hell couldn’t touch her now that he knew. His fingers tightened on the glass, his grip way too tight.
“Wanna talk about it?” Sam asked. He picked up a rag and ran it under the faucet before wiping at a spot on the bar.
“Nope.” Shane downed the rest of the drink.
This time Sam refilled without asking. “You’re going to be shit-faced at this rate.”
“That’s the plan.” His head was already fuzzy.
The other lone patron put his bottle of beer on the bar and stood. “Later, Sam.”
Sam waved to the guy. “Later, Dave.”
A brief beam of sun fell on the open room, blinding Shane for a moment before the door closed. He rubbed his eyes. “You should start with some windows; this place is enough to turn you into a vampire. Besides, it’s depressing as hell to sit in the dark all the time.”
Sam nodded. “Where would you put them?”
Shane swung around and surveyed the place. The windows were too small and high to let in any real light. “Start by lengthening the existing one and then add windows on the side. He pointed at the empty dead space. “You should put a pool table there. Give people something to do besides drink.”
Sam continued to lazily wipe down the bar. “Sounds like a good place to start.”
Shane fell silent, shifting his attention to the Cubs game. “God, they suck.”
“Yeah, they do.”
“Never been a baseball fan,” he said, his words getting a bit slurry. “Too boring.”
Sam nodded. “Want me to turn on HGTV?”
Shane jerked his head toward Sam, his eyes narrowing. How did Sam know his dirty little secret? So he liked to watch do-it-yourself home shows. Big deal. But how did Sam know? He asked in overly careful, measured tones, “What did you say?”
Sam shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”
Shane took another drink and decided to pass it off as a coincidence.
Sam put his hands on the bar. “Wanna talk about it now?”
“What could have changed from a few minutes ago?” Although, he had to admit his tongue felt a lot looser.
“A couple more ounces of scotch,” Sam said.
It reminded Shane of his drink. He took another sip. The numbness crept through his body.
Sam moved down the bar, tossing the lone beer bottle in the recycling bin before coming back to stand in front of Shane. He didn’t say anything, but expectation hung in the air and finally Shane blurted, “I fucked around with Cecilia.”
Shane expected some sort of surprise but other than a grin, Sam’s expression didn’t change. “And this is a bad thing?”
“She’s getting married.”
Sam scratched his chin. “I guess that would put a damper on things.”
That was an understatement. He frowned into his drink. “Worse, I found out when Penny congratulated her on her engagement. It was in the damn paper.”
Sam tossed the towel over his shoulder. “That’s odd.”
Shane’s head was equivalent to a big ball of cotton, his brain too muddled to figure out what Sam meant, so he settled on an astute, “Huh?”
Sam poured more scotch. “What woman gets engaged and doesn’t say anything to anyone?”
“Cecilia, that’s who.” He took another slug he definitely didn’t need, but drank anyway. “She’s such a tight-ass.”
Sam’s lips quirked. “Not so tight-assed she couldn’t get under your skin.”
Shane’s mind filled with how she kissed. Like she was starving for him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right,” Sam said, leaning back against the bar and turning his attention to the Cubs game.
Shane tried to focus on the game too, but now that he started he couldn’t seem to shut the hell up. “She’s not even wearing an engagement ring.”
“Hmmm,” Sam said. “Maybe the guy didn’t give her one.”
Shane grit his teeth. “She’s marrying Miles Fletcher. Believe me, he gave her one.” Just the thought of that complete asshole made Shane want to punch something.
“I don’t know the name.”
“Old Chicago money. Slick as hell. I had to play golf with him once. He’s the kind of guy who miscounts his strokes.” Shane pointed at Sam. “Never trust anyone who cheats at golf.”
Sam chuckled. “I don’t play golf.”
“Well, if you do,” Shane said, his words sticking to the roof of his mouth like he’d eaten too much peanut butter, “remember that.”
“Who are you going to want me to call, in case you pass out? Mitch or Charlie?”
Shane took another swallow, which went down like water. He couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the house. Officially drunk, he didn’t trust himself with Cecilia so damn close. And he sure as hell didn’t want to explain to all the nosy women why he gave a shit if Cecilia got married or not.
If only he could reverse time and go back twenty-four hours and keep his hands to himself. Then he wouldn’t have any idea how good it was between them. How hot. He shook his head, trying to clear away the memories, but it didn’t work. How had it been only a day? She felt imprinted on him somehow. Or maybe that was the booze talking? “Can I pass out in the back?”
“Sure,” Sam said.
Shane downed the rest of his drink and his vision went blurry. Yep, he was shit-faced. “That last bit wasn’t a good idea.”
“Probably not.”
“You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but she’s not all that straitlaced.”
Sam grinned. “Doesn’t surprise me at all.”
Shane experienced an unwelcome, and entirely inappropriate, stab of possession. “What do you mean by that?”
Sam held up his hands. “Chill out. I never touched her.”
“You better not have.” Shane’s drunken brain didn’t care that he didn’t have any right to make the claim.
Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. “When Mitch and Cecilia used to visit their grandparents in the summer, Cecilia would always show up in this little grown-up dress, hair all neat and tidy, and her shoes polished.”
The vision was one Gracie had already painted in his mind. Shane nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”
“But as summer wore on, she’d get a tiny bit messier every day. Until one day, her hair was full of tangles, her feet were bare, her knee skinned. By the end of summer there was never any sign of that miniature adult who’d shown up. She was a wild child just like the rest of us.”
When Gracie had said something similar he hadn’t been able to picture it, but now he found he had no problem. He’d seen it. Those flashes of abandon. Hell, he’d felt the wildness under his mouth and hands. “I wonder who’s the real girl.”
“Why don’t you find out?”
Jesus, he wanted to. “Because she’s getting married.”
Sam shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I’m sure you didn’t get where you are by letting a little obstacle stand in your way.”
No, he hadn’t. He bulldozed right over anything that stood in his way. The room swayed as he slid off the stool. “I’ve got to pass out now.”
Sam jerked his thumb toward the hallway. “You know where it is.”
He started walking—well, weaving—down the narrow corridor. “It’s hardly a little obstacle.”
“Time will tell,” Sam said.
It was the last thing Shane remembered.
Cecilia lay in
bed staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
The rest of the day had been a disaster.
At the notorious fitting, Maddie had been a vision of loveliness in white silk that skimmed over her small frame and somehow managed to make her look tall despite her petite stature. Her best friends had cried, fawning all over her, and Cecilia had stood back, ignoring the pang of jealousy she had no right to feel.
The women had done some not-so-subtle prying about the scene between Shane and her, but she’d been stubbornly tight-lipped and they’d finally given up. When the girls had traipsed over to Gracie’s house, full of happiness and joy, Cecilia had made her excuses. Gracie had cajoled, and Maddie had given her that disappointed frown she had, but Cecilia insisted she had work to do.
She wanted to join them but couldn’t stand pretending she was one of them.
So, she’d made herself the outsider.
It was this house, these people, casting a spell on her. Making her want things that didn’t matter to her in her regular life.
After she’d returned to the house, desperate to be alone, she’d had a run-in with her mother. Charlotte’s words had haunted her for the rest of the night.
“You’re fooling yourself. In the end, you’ll lose more than you can imagine. If you go through with this sham of a marriage, one day you’re going to realize what’s really important. And I promise you’ll regret it. It isn’t right.”
“How do you know it isn’t right?” Cecilia had asked, her throat tight and achy.
Charlotte looked at her with mournful amber eyes. “Because if it was, you’d be happier.”
When Gracie called about their plans to go to Big Red’s, Cecilia had pleaded a headache nobody believed and spent the night in her bedroom.
She glanced at the nightstand where her cell phone lay abandoned. There were fifteen missed calls, seven voice mails and a hundred and twenty-seven unanswered e-mails.
None of them were from Shane.
She’d tried to work. Had even opened a Word document to start the first stages of crafting a message, but instead stared at the blank page for an hour before giving up.
She couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say. Everything her father had said to her the other day was correct. She had no vision.
All those years of dreaming and she’d forgotten the most important thing: passion.
She hadn’t felt passion for anything in a long time. That was, until Shane had kissed her.
Restless, she shifted in bed, the covers tangled around her legs.
She was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t claim her.
Instead, she waited. Listened for Shane’s car pulling into the driveway. The fall of his boots on the stairs.
But he never returned.
Chapter Ten
The next morning Shane’s head pounded like a jackhammer and it was making his brain bleed.
He pressed his thumbs into his eye sockets and prayed for death. He felt every one of his thirty-five years.
Every muscle ached.
He had a kink in his neck.
A pain in his hip.
Someone was doing dropkicks at one-minute intervals in his stomach.
He was officially too damn old to sleep on a Dumpster couch.
And Cecilia was still marrying another man.
He glanced at the kitchen clock. He had a conference call with the mayor’s office in fifteen minutes that promised to be hell on earth.
Then he could die a slow death in a halfway decent bed.
A cup of coffee was set down in front of Shane and he peered into his sister’s concerned face.
“Rough night?” she asked, brow creased with worry.
“Don’t talk so loud.” Grateful, he wrapped a hand around the mug.
“If Sam hadn’t called and told us you were safe, I would have been worried sick.” She slid into the chair across from him looking like sunshine in a yellow halter top, her red hair in a ponytail and her cheeks a pretty pink. Ugh. She was too bright and healthy.
He glared at her. “Okay, Mom.”
“So,” Maddie said, propping her elbows on the table. “What exactly happened yesterday?”
“Nothing,” he said, the word a snarl. “Back. Off.”
Mitch walked in, wearing a charcoal-gray suit.
“Control your woman,” Shane said with a growl.
Mitch cocked a brow. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Fuck off.”
Mitch grinned.
That’s one thing Shane appreciated about his soon-to-be brother-in-law; they spoke the same language.
Mitch poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned back against the counter, taking a sip before he said, “I should so give you shit right now.”
The statement confirmed that everyone in this godforsaken house knew something was going on between him and Cecilia. Correction: had gone on. She was off-limits now. “What are you complaining about? I took it easy on you.” He’d barely given Mitch a hard time about Maddie.
Maddie scoffed.
Shane shot her a menacing glare. “If I remember correctly, he tried to choke me and I didn’t even kick his ass.”
Mitch shrugged. “Your sister’s honor was at stake. I had good reason. What’s your excuse?”
Shane shook his head and immediately regretted it as his brain beat at his skull. He didn’t have an excuse. He’d wanted her and had intended to have her.
Penelope walked in, followed by Sophie, and Shane wished he had a gun to put him out of his misery.
Penelope took one look at him and clucked her tongue. “Oh dear,” she said like she was an eighty-year-old woman. “Maddie, do you have some Advil?”
Maddie jumped up and ran out of the room while Sophie flopped, way too loudly, into the chair next to him. A minute later, Penelope put a glass of orange juice in front of him. “Drink it.”
Shane looked up at her. “You’re fired.”
She patted his cheek. “You couldn’t last five minutes without me.” She pointed to the glass. “Drink.”
Shane did what he was told because when Penelope ordered, people obeyed. He downed the whole glass in three gulps, and felt marginally fresher, but still not remotely human.
Sophie jabbed him in the shoulder, making his temples throb.
“What the fuck, Soph?” he yelled. There were too many women here. They were going to drive him crazy.
“Damn, Shane, how much did you drink last night?” Sophie asked, ignoring his surly behavior. “I haven’t seen you this hungover since the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup.”
“Why are you screaming?” he asked, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.
Maddie came back in and handed him three pills. Right behind her, Penelope placed a glass of water on the table. “Take them, and I’ll make you some toast.”
The three of them clucked around him like mother hens and Shane said to Mitch, “Just fucking shoot me.”
Mitch raised his coffee cup in a toast. “Cheers.”
Five minutes later, when he didn’t think he could take another second of their yammering, Penelope put two pieces of toast in front of him. “Eat. And hurry, we’ve got the call with the mayor’s office in five.”
Shane groaned. “Can’t we reschedule?”
Penelope shook her head. “No.”
Shane glared at her. “Who’s the boss here?”
Penelope smiled sweetly. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
He ate his toast and thought about all the different ways he’d torture her, before letting her drag him away for an hour of hell with the mayor’s office.
Cecilia cautiously knocked on Gracie’s door, looking over her shoulder to irrationally check if anyone had seen her sneak out of the house.
Yes, she’d taken the coward’s way out.
That hadn’t been her intention. She’d been about to go into the kitchen and confront this thing with Shane head-on, but then she’d overheard them. Shane had been an absolute bear. He
’d grumbled and barked and generally made himself impossible, but they’d all clustered around him.
They loved him. Respected him. Cared enough to make sure he’d eaten breakfast.
The loneliness crushed her.
Surrounded by people, she was alone. The people in her life didn’t care if she was okay. Nobody inquired after her well-being. Hell, she’d relented and checked her voice mails this morning, but no one had even asked how she was. No, they all just wanted something from her. The advisers wanted her to check out a rumor floating around the Internet. Paul, from the communications team, wanted her advice on how to handle a tricky PR situation. The senator wanted her to talk sense into her mom. Miles wanted her to pose for some corporate thing on the thirtieth.
She didn’t blame them. It was her fault. After all, she was cold. She didn’t invite connection, so why should it disappoint her?
But it did.
So she’d slunk over to Gracie’s in hopes of a refuge she didn’t deserve. Through the glass, she saw her childhood friend walking down the hallway and Cecilia smoothed down her T-shirt.
The younger woman opened the door and smiled, her blue eyes warm with welcome.
Cecilia’s throat tightened unexpectedly and she cleared it, but when she spoke her voice quavered. “Can I help you again today?”
She needed to be wrapped up in Gracie’s cozy, lemon-cream-pie kitchen.
She braced herself for the no, half expecting Gracie to slam the door in her face.
Instead, her lips curved down and she stood back, hand on the door handle to let her in. “That bad, huh?”
And to Cecilia’s shock, she burst into tears, right there on Gracie’s doorstep in broad daylight.
Gracie, God bless her, didn’t bat an eye. She wrapped an arm around Cecilia’s shoulder and ushered her inside, murmuring, “There, there.”
Cecilia wiped frantically at her eyes, more embarrassed than she’d ever been in her whole life. She sniffed. “I’m so sorry. This is humiliating.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Gracie pushed her toward the kitchen and plopped her down on one of the chairs at her large farmhouse table.
More tears slid down her cheeks. “I haven’t cried since I was fifteen.”
The Winner Takes It All Page 11
