Forsaken Trail

by Devney Perry

  She ignored me and kept working on the arrangement.

  Plastic industrial buckets dotted the floor. Some had flowers. Most held discarded stems and leaves. The walls were lined with shelves, each crammed with empty vases in varying shapes and sizes. The long counter that ran the length of the room was littered with scissors and knives and twine and ribbon. Behind Aria, there was an opening to the cool room. The doorway didn’t have an actual door, just strips of thick plastic that draped from the frame to the concrete floor.

  It was as messy and unorganized as it had been when I’d come down to finalize the purchase with the Backers. We’d sat at that very table, Clara at my side, and signed papers for this shop.

  An hour later, while they’d probably been planning their retirement in Hawaii, my lawyer had been busy drawing up a different set of papers. An agreement between Aria and me, one that would ensure she’d never know exactly how much I’d paid for this shop.

  “What are you doing here?” She took the scissors in her hand and cut the stem of a rose. The snap rang through the workroom like a sharp bite.

  “You’ve been avoiding me for three days.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  I frowned. “I thought you wanted to have dinners together.”

  “Then you bought me a car without asking.”

  A car that had been in the exact same place since Monday. The Cadillac, red and gleaming, was what she’d been driving. It was currently parked diagonally on the street outside the shop beside my Jaguar.

  Yesterday, I’d asked Clara what it would take to just buy the Cadillac. She’d informed me that their friend Londyn owned it and Londyn would never sell. Not everything has a price, Brody.

  The car was a lot like Aria in that regard.

  “I wanted you to have a vehicle. Something safe.” The BMW I’d bought her came with one of the highest safety ratings available for SUVs.

  “People don’t just buy other people cars without asking.”

  “You’re right. I should have asked.” That way she could have picked the color and style.

  “And?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “And, what?”

  Her nostrils flared. “You suck at apologies.”

  “I’m sorry.” I meant it.

  “And?”

  “And . . . you can have a different car if you want.”

  Her mouth pursed in a thin line. “And you won’t do it again.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh,” she mimicked. “No more buying me stuff.”

  “Define stuff.”

  “Anything with a price tag.”

  I frowned. “That seems extreme.”

  “You’re an extreme sort of man. I trust you can figure this out.”

  For the sake of ending her cold war, I let it go. Would I stop buying her things? Absolutely not. Especially when the baby came. But for today, I’d change the subject.

  I took the envelope from under my arm and set it on the table. “I wanted to bring this by.”

  “What is it?” She stood, walking closer to flip open the folder.

  “It’s the deed to the flower shop and the executed contract.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She picked up the papers, running a hand over the first page. “This makes it official.”

  “It is official.”

  She stared at the page, not speaking, as a crease formed between her eyebrows.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve never owned anything before. Nothing like this.” The fear in her voice pierced my heart. “What if I screw it up?”

  “You won’t.” I put a hand on her shoulder, nudging her to turn. When her eyes tipped up to meet mine, the worry in her gaze made it hard to breathe.

  She shouldn’t worry. She shouldn’t have fears. Aria deserved an easy life. I’d make sure of it, if she’d just let me.

  “I won’t let you fall.”

  “You say that and it’s sweet. But you don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “I need to do this on my own.”

  “Understandable. Think of me as the safety net.”

  “I’ve never had a safety net.”

  “You do now.”

  Without thinking, I brushed a stray hair away from her temple. One touch and my heart galloped. Aria had said on Monday that she wanted to know me. I wanted to know her too, inside and out. Again and again.

  Her eyes searched mine. Her breaths shortened.

  It was her lips that drew me in. Before I could rationalize what I was doing, my mouth was on hers and my arms banded around her back.

  She let out a small whimper, a mewl, as I dragged my tongue across her lower lip. Then her mouth opened, and I swept inside, savoring the heat of her mouth. Aria gripped the lapels of my jacket, clutching me as her tongue tangled with mine.

  Fuck, but she tasted good. Sweet and warm like melted honey.

  She molded to my body as I held her close, soaking her in. My pulse pounded and I slid my hands down, fitting my palms to the curve of her ass as I pulled her into my arousal.

  Aria moaned, holding me closer, as I swallowed the sound down my throat.

  The distant sound of a bell chimed. The front door. The flower shop.

  Marty’s voice carried to the back room as he greeted the customer. “Hello there. What can I help you with today?”

  We snapped to reality and tore our lips apart. Aria blinked rapidly, clearing the fog. I ran a hand over my damp lips.

  Then she was gone, stepping away and retreating to the other side of the table. She palmed her forehead, her eyes wide. “That was . . .”

  “Sorry.”

  She waved it off. “It’s fine.”

  Was it fine? Because it felt right. So fucking right. Like we should have been kissing all along. Every day.

  “Aria.” Marty poked his head around the corner. “Miss Julia from the diner is here. She was hoping to meet you.”

  “Okay.” Aria put on a smile. “Be right there.”

  “I’ll see you at home,” I said after Marty disappeared.

  Aria nodded, her eyes fixed on a rose. She didn’t look up as I turned to leave. The color had drained from her face. Her hand rested on the swell of her belly. She looked . . . petrified.

  Damn it.

  What the actual fuck had I been thinking?

  “Oh my God.” Aria gasped as light flooded the kitchen. Her hand was pressed to her heart. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry,” I said from my seat at the island.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You asked for dinner together.”

  “On Monday.” She walked into the room, wrapping her arms around her middle. “That was three days ago. And it’s nine o’clock.”

  I shrugged. The stool was hard and my ass had gone numb hours ago. As darkness had settled outside, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to move.

  “You didn’t eat?”

  “I was waiting.” And thinking. And kicking myself in the ass for kissing her earlier.

  Aria’s shoulders fell and her arms dropped to her sides. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt that hit her midthigh. Her toned legs were encased in black leggings. Her feet were bare and her toes painted a sexy hot pink.

  Maybe waiting, hoping she’d show, had been a bad idea. I’d wanted to apologize and work this out. But now, seeing her relaxed and at home here, well . . . now I wanted to kiss her again.

  “I’m sorry about the kiss,” I said. “When it comes to you, I can’t seem to help myself.”

  She padded to the seat beside mine.

  I pulled it out for her, waiting until she sat. Then I twisted, leaning an elbow on the counter. I’d discarded my navy pinstripe jacket in my bedroom. I’d rolled up my baby-blue shirtsleeves and undone the top two buttons. Even my tie was gone.

  “What are we doing, Brody?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

  “No idea.”

  “What do you
want?”

  You. To be a good father. “A healthy baby.”

  “Then that’s our common ground. It has to be our common ground.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  “But—”

  “Please, don’t leave,” I blurted. That was all I could think about tonight. That my kiss in the shop earlier would drive her away.

  She put her hand on my arm. “I’m not going to leave over a kiss.”

  The air rushed from my lungs. “Okay.”

  “I’m starving. I came in to scrounge for a snack.” She hopped off her stool and went to the fridge, opening the door. “Did you eat?”

  “No.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Because you were waiting.”

  “I was waiting.”

  “I’ll make us something.”

  “Ron has leftovers. Enchiladas. Pasta pomodoro. Roasted chicken and vegetables.”

  “Wow.” She whistled. “Go Ron. What do you feel like?”

  “Food.”

  Aria laughed and pulled out the container on the middle shelf. Then she went about warming up our plates. Enchiladas. When she settled in beside me, we both tore into the meal.

  “Didn’t you eat dinner?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did. But I get hungry at night.” She put her hand on her belly. “This kid is going to be a night owl.”

  “I’m excited,” I admitted. “I get more anxious every day to meet him or her. To learn what he or she will be like.”

  “So do I.” Aria’s eyes softened. “I’m really excited.”

  The giddiness on her face was a rush. A comfort. Who else could I share that with but her?

  “I haven’t told anyone,” I admitted. “Except Ron.”

  “I didn’t have many people to tell but Clara and the girls from the junkyard.”

  “What did they say?”

  She smiled. “They’re happy for me. Gemma just had a baby. Katherine is pregnant. Londyn has a little girl and a baby too. Clara has August. It’s been fun to share this with them. To have that in common.”

  “I’m glad.”

  She ate a few bites, then set her fork down. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

  I sighed. “Because my family has a way of ruining the good things in my life. I won’t let them ruin this.”

  “That’s understandable. I can’t see your grandmother doing cartwheels over the fact that this stray is pregnant.” Aria rolled her eyes. “But eventually, you’ll have to tell them.”

  “Eventually. Like when he or she graduates from high school.”

  Aria giggled. “Do you want to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Do you?”

  “No.” She grinned. “I like surprises.”

  “Then a surprise it is.” I nodded and took another bite. “This is good.”

  “Ron is quite the chef.”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I meant. This, the conversation, is good. I almost enjoy your presence when you’re not snapping at me,” I teased.

  She huffed. “Well, you haven’t tried to buy me anything in the past fifteen minutes, so it makes me less snappy.”

  I chuckled. “Then we’ll avoid all discussion of material things.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “You rarely talk about your parents. What happened to them? I only ask because I’d like to know. One day, this kid is going to ask the same question. It would be nice to know the answer before then.”

  “Fair enough.” I set my fork down and wiped my mouth with a cloth napkin. “My mother is Coreen’s daughter. She got pregnant with me when she was seventeen. Needless to say, that didn’t go over well.”

  Aria cringed. “I can’t see your grandmother happy. Ever. But especially with a teen pregnancy.”

  “Mom didn’t go to college like her parents had planned. She didn’t go to work for Carmichael Communications like they’d planned. She didn’t give me up for adoption like they’d insisted.”

  “How do you even know that? It seems cruel.”

  “That’s my family.” I lifted a shoulder. “My grandfather was brutally forthcoming. When I was ten, he sat me down, and instead of telling me about the birds and the bees, he laid out exactly what my mother had done to disappoint him. And he did it in a way that I knew I had no choice but to fall in line. He assumed the role of my father that day.”

  “And that didn’t bother your dad?”

  “No, because my father would never argue or go against Grandfather’s wishes. My father married my mother and ditched his own last name for Carmichael. He saw my grandparents as his meal ticket, and if that meant giving up a kid, so be it.”

  “You were only ten.” She gave me a sad smile. “I guess both of our lives changed at ten.”

  “I guess they did.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I look at Alastair and think I got the better end of the deal. My grandparents, despite all their threats, never cut my mother off. They bought her a house and provided a life for her and my father. Neither of my parents ever had a job. They never had responsibility. They remained teenagers in a sense because my grandparents enabled them. I went to live with my grandparents at ten, Alastair was only five. He stayed with our parents. And they spoiled him rotten.”

  “That’s . . . sad.” She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like Alastair and you’re making me feel bad for him.”

  “Don’t.” I chuckled. “Maybe as a kid he couldn’t help himself, but he’s an adult and his choices are his own. He’s a dick because he wants to be a dick.”

  “You said it.” She picked up her water and raised it to her lips. I stared, blatantly, as she drank, jealous of a glass because it got to touch her mouth. “So you moved in with your grandparents.”

  “Technically. Though they sent me away to private schools, so I was rarely in their home. Only on school breaks and holidays.”

  “And your parents? Did you see them?”

  “At times. It became harder and harder to be around them as I got older. They were never going to grow up. They were never going to stop spending money and feeding bad habits. Especially Dad.”

  “What habits?”

  “The wrong ones.” Drugs. Booze. Women. “My parents died in a car accident.”

  “You told me.”

  “Dad was driving. He was high and drunk on their way to a casino. He veered off the road, lost control and slammed their vehicle into a tree going seventy miles per hour.”

  Aria winced and closed her eyes. “God.”

  “At least they didn’t hit another car.” Like a car carrying parents. “That was seven years ago.”

  “Brody.” She stretched her hand out and covered my wrist. “I’m sorry.”

  I put my palm over her knuckles. “I’m sorry too.”

  It had taken me a long time not to feel like the cause of my mother’s downfall. It had taken me well into adulthood to realize that she’d made her own choices. Still, at a young age, I’d seen the mess that was her life. I’d recognized the difference in my mother’s lifestyle compared to mothers of friends from school. And I’d felt responsible. My birth had been the trigger.

  But I hadn’t been the one holding the gun.

  She’d made her choices. She’d died because of them.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Aria said.

  “You’re welcome. One day, I’d like to know your story too. If you’ll share it with me.”

  Aria dipped her chin. “I will. But not tonight.”

  “There’s no rush. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” I stood and took our empty dishes to the sink, rinsing them out and putting them in the dishwasher.

  When I was done, I turned, just as Aria’s gaze flicked up. She’d been staring at my ass. And the lust in her eyes was unmistakable.

  “You can’t look at me like that,” I pleaded.

  She swallowed hard. “I can’t help it.”<
br />
  I knew the feeling.

  My feet carried me across the kitchen, right to her space. I stood above her, staring down into those beautiful brown eyes, and let myself drown.

  “I told myself earlier I wasn’t going to make this a habit. That I couldn’t let you kiss me again.” Her hand snaked up my stomach, her palm rising to where my heart was beating out of my chest. “But what if we did?”

  A pained groan escaped my throat. “I want you. I fucking crave you, Aria.”

  She flipped open a button on my shirt. “Then you’d better kiss me again.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Aria

  Holy sweet Jesus, this man could kiss.

  Brody swept me off the stool the moment his lips seared mine. The energy, the anticipation, the longing was like climbing to the top of a peak and jumping off into the abyss.

  Was this a mistake? Was this reckless? Yes, on both counts, but I wasn’t going to stop, and as Brody carried me from the kitchen, I knew he wasn’t going to either.

  “God, you taste good.” He latched on to my pulse, licking and sucking the skin at my throat.

  I held on to his shoulders and closed my eyes, savoring the wet heat of his tongue as his strides hastened toward the staircase. Since moving in, I hadn’t ventured to the second floor much. I’d done my best not to snoop more than once or twice on his side of the house, deciding it was best to stay away from that invisible boundary.

  Brody crashed right through it and, much like the night of the wedding, carried me toward his bedroom.

  His hands held me tight with a grip under my ass. He peppered my jaw with a trail of kisses before breaking away to climb the steps. His green eyes were dark with hunger. His face was like granite, nearly unreadable. Except I’d seen this look before. The last time he’d carted me to his bed.

  This was Brody on a mission. He was all business. Serious. Stoic. I grinned, because I also knew how quickly he’d flip the switch and become the sensual lover. Last time, it had happened before my dress had pooled to the floor.

  Brody took the stairs two at a time, even with my legs wrapped tightly around his hips.