by Tessa Bailey
* * *
Peggy rolled her forehead against the metal wall of the elevator as it took her to the third floor of the Embassy Suites, where she shared a room with Sage, Belmont right across the hall. She needed to get herself under control before she saw either of them, but the ride over—with windows rolled down to bring cold air streaming onto her face—hadn’t helped in the slightest. Even in the metal reflection, she could see puffy eyes and strain around her mouth. Good thing the turmoil taking place on the inside wasn’t visible to the other hotel guests or there’d be a mass exodus to the Holiday Inn.
Dammit. Dammit. Round two to Elliott. If it weren’t for his clear interest in her physically, she might have already been forced to accept her greatest fear: Time had made him indifferent to her. Had she been an idiot to come back to Cincinnati? Seeing him face-to-face after years and distance—and working toward closure—had seemed doable in theory. But she hadn’t counted on the effect he’d had on her as a college senior to be going strong at twenty-five. Tying him up in knots and leaving him reeling in her wake was only possible if she walked away intact.
The elevator doors rolled open and Peggy took a deep breath and stepped off, but instead of heading for the room, she plopped down on the bench, just to the left of the elevator bank.
He’d known. He’d known she was getting married and hadn’t tried to stop it.
Fucker hadn’t even sent a blender.
She muffled her somewhat hysterical laugh with both hands. Four kind, decent men, with dreams for the future, and she’d run roughshod through their lives. She’d tried to convince herself accepting the proposals was a way to force herself into Elliott-recovery, like some kind of penis immersion therapy that would finally blur the past and repair her heart. But until now, she’d never actually wanted to get over Elliott, had she? No. No, getting over him would mean shutting off her center of gravity. Pretending she’d never felt the organ race out of control in her chest, just hearing another person’s name. Who would want to forget that kind of insanity?
Now, she had no choice but to move on. It was a matter of survival at this advanced stage of her imprisonment.
Something far more troubling than heartache had blipped on the radar of her psyche today, though. She hadn’t corrected Elliott’s belief that she was married, and there was something hot and dangerous in her belly, simply thinking about his disapproval. His censure when she came on to him, even though she was “attached.” A part of her she’d been unaware of grew…excited, over the way he might punish her with his words and hands. All those times he’d referred to her as his downfall were mixed up with images of his body moving above her, sensations of pleasure. Her libido was just confused. That had to be all.
If nothing else, that confusion was another reminder that she’d come to Cincinnati to steal back the love she’d given Elliott. To bury the past and move on with a clear mind and heart.
Resolve firming up her shoulders, Peggy shoved to her feet, already digging the hotel key card from her purse. When she walked inside the room, she expected to find Sage reading or sneaking an episode of their shared Golden Girls marathon. But she skidded to a stop on the carpet when she found Belmont and Sage moments from a kiss.
Oh yeah, if she’d lingered near the elevators a minute longer, she would have walked in on a much different scene, because Belmont looked prepared to devour their darling Sage. And while they weren’t touching, Sage was clearly prepared to allow said devouring, if her shuddering breaths were any indication. Belmont didn’t even glance toward the door when Peggy barged in, merely continuing in his attempts to draw Sage’s essence from her body with the force of his will. Or that’s how it looked anyway.
Whoa. Just whoa.
Sage snapped out of her trance, bounding backward so fast, she disrupted everything sitting on their shared nightstand, mumbling apologies to no one in particular. “She doesn’t feel well,” Belmont shouted, still not looking at Peggy.
Peggy set down her purse on the closest bed and approached the situation with the caution of a hostage negotiator. “Okay, big guy.” She ran a quick look over her friend and deduced that, no, she didn’t look as healthful as usual. Her usual glow was subdued, her skin slightly ashen. It occurred to her that Belmont had been planning to heal Sage with a kiss, which was a little too heartbreaking to explore just yet. Maybe ever. “I’m sure she’s going to be fine, Bel. Right, Sage?”
“Yes,” Sage whispered, giving her that look best friends give each other. The one that said think about it. “It’s just a stomachache.”
Peggy did some quick math and remembered about this time last month, Sage had opted out of going into the gym Jacuzzi because of her period. Knowing modest Sage, however, she would rather die than have this information bandied about in front of Belmont. Or anyone with a pulse. “Uh, hey. Big bro? I’m going to fix her up. She’ll be back to herself in an hour tops.”
“What is it?” He stepped closer to Sage and she visibly braced herself. Not in fear, but out of necessity, it seemed. “I need to help.”
Sage sent Peggy a pleading look. “Some Tylenol, Bel. That would help. Maybe a bottle of ginger ale from the vending machine.”
“When I don’t feel like myself,” he murmured for Sage’s ears alone, but Peggy heard anyway, “it helps when I hold you. It could work for you, too, maybe.”
A wrench turned in Peggy’s gut and she honest-to-God wanted to sob her heart out. Just ached to drop into a fetal position and weep for mankind. It was how she felt ninety percent of the time when in Belmont’s company because the storm of emotions building inside of him wasn’t hidden anymore. Ever since this trip began and he’d revealed the search for his birth father, she could feel his turmoil every time she came within two feet of his gigantic presence.
Peggy eased closer to the pair, intending to intercept the laser-like intensity Belmont was laying on her best friend, but Sage moved faster, sliding her arms around Belmont’s waist, laying her head on his chest and holding. Tight. Belmont rocked back on his heels, eyelids falling like metal garages to conceal his blue eyes, so different from the rest of the Clarkson siblings. He made a sound that could only be described as utter, broken bliss, before wrapping his brawny arms around Sage.
“Please feel better,” Belmont said quietly. “Please stop hurting.”
“I will. This is already helping,” Sage whispered back, her breath hitching when Belmont lifted her off the ground, burying his face in her neck, his back expanding with deep inhales.
Too much. It was all too much. Purse in hand, Peggy backed from the room before she’d even made the conscious decision to leave. As she jogged down the hallway toward the elevator, tripping a little on the plush rug, she’d never felt so alone in her entire life.
No, that wasn’t true. Flying home from Cincinnati to California with a shattered heart had been her lowest point. And she hated herself for craving the same coping mechanism as that disillusioned twenty-two-year-old girl. Men. But bad habits couldn’t be broken overnight, could they?
The opposite sex was like a drug, even if she rarely partook of them fully. Just a fully clothed taste usually did the trick. Just a flirtation. Enough to make her forget that the one time she’d laid it all on the line, she’d been found lacking. Before the night was over, though, she would feel anything but. Come tomorrow, the game would be back on.
Chapter Five
It was unusual for Elliott to attend evening mass, since his nights were almost always spent in his office, reviewing the playbook or watching that day’s practice film. With the arrival of a certain blond siren that afternoon, however, he’d been compelled to leave his den television paused mid-play to seek refuge from thoughts that continued to harass him. The fact that he’d strayed from his productivity had Elliott’s jaw bunching as he parked in the church lot.
Schedules. He lived for the known. Having no confusion over what would happen each calendar day at a specific time. Meals were uncomplicated in his house,
but they were nutritious. He cooked, Alice loaded the dishwasher, and they went their separate ways without any fanfare.
Their home wasn’t a warm, loving environment, and in truth, Elliott had no clue what that kind of place would look like. His marriage had been a tense, quiet affair that had ended in the same manner. The relationship between him and Judith had been an almost identical reflection of his parents’ marriage. Respectful, but not romantic. Being that they were both devout Catholics, it would have remained that way, too, indefinitely.
He could still remember getting the phone call that Judith had been found unconscious in the driveway and taken to the hospital. Receiver pressed to his ear, he’d sat there trying to remember the last time he and Judith had actually spoken. He’d been horrified to realize he couldn’t. It might have been a full week of nothing more than brisk nods on his way out the door, football already infiltrating his mind. That’s the way it had been since the beginning, but he’d only acknowledged the unfairness of their noncommunicative relationship when speaking was no longer possible.
He’d been a terrible husband. Hell, he hadn’t been one at all.
The months that followed had been a blur of trips to the neurology unit at the hospital, where Judith lay in a coma, team meetings, discussions with doctors, interviewing babysitters for Alice, and practice, practice, practice. One afternoon, he’d stood on the field, his neck so tight, he could barely move it in any direction. Then this voice, throaty and musical all at once, forced him to turn around and everything in his world had burst into vivid color as Peggy passed.
From that day forward, he’d lived for the single glances they would trade, even though wanting anything from another woman made him a certified bastard. His only salvation was they’d never exchanged a word. Not until weeks after Judith’s inevitable departure.
Now, church served as a reminder not to allow failure again. To keep his focus forward on realistic goals. For him, those goals didn’t include relationships with women. One woman, in particular. The structure of mass, the ceremony of it, kept him centered in a way that had gone missing when a certain student had graduated and left, at his urging. With a married Peggy flitting around his town tonight, he needed concentrated routine more than ever, or guilt and regret would worm their way into his consciousness.
So Elliott had taken himself to church. Alice had been closeted in her room since Peggy left, refusing to open the door for dinner, so he’d further hoped she would eat if alone in the house, with no chance of running into him.
The church was located near campus, at the end of a street with several restaurants and small shops geared toward students. Even in the darkness, Elliott could make out a stuffed likeness of himself in the window of a Bearcats gift shop and cringed. Why couldn’t the church be in a quieter section of town?
A group of people piling out of a restaurant punctuated the evening with their boisterousness, one of them pointing at him and lifting a cell phone to snap a picture. Elliott put his head down and trudged toward the church steps before they could get brave enough to engage him. Over the last three years, people had begun approaching him less and less. At one time, he hadn’t scared everyone quite so much. Had he? No, he recalled shaking hands and suffering through selfies on a daily basis. High-fiving kids. Something about his demeanor now appeared to…put them off. He could see it in the way people looked at his face and backed away, as if an emotion he refused to name was etched there. The solitude suited him, though. If he engaged with others, their reactions would only confirm what he’d decided to believe. That he was better off alone.
Already pulling the rosary beads from his jeans pocket, a familiar laugh reached Elliott from across the street.
He stopped short, his gaze zeroing in on Peggy where she leaned against the brick wall of an establishment. Surrounded by men. Just…crowded by them on all sides in a way that built a roar in Elliott’s throat. His vision seemed to zoom out and in, screwing with his depth perception, so he attempted to focus on the church doors and ignore the compelling instinct to cross the street and extricate the little vixen from her group of adoring fans.
Don’t do it.
He didn’t have the luxury of walking around Cincinnati without being recognized. They would wonder about his connection to Peggy and that could only lead to uncomfortable questions, including the timeline of their relationship. Furthermore, he’d sent Peggy away with a firm rejection earlier that evening. If he approached the situation now, she would know he’d been full of shit.
Elliott ascended the church stairs—one more, two—and stopped once again, cell phone flashes going off in his periphery.
Closing his eyes, he prayed for patience. Wisdom. But all he could see was Peggy with someone else later tonight. Hands all over her thighs, a stranger’s lips kissing her mouth, getting the eye contact she’d once reserved for him.
No. Dammit.
He turned on a heel, hitting the street before common sense could kick in. Satisfaction burned in his gut when Peggy saw him coming and her smile disappeared. And yeah, normally Elliott didn’t give a rat’s ass about his ridiculous, local legend status, but when the men around her backed away and started hooting at his approach, even more satisfaction found the mark. Having no choice but to shake their hands—even though he sorely wanted to break them all—Elliott kept his focus trained on Peggy.
“You’re late for church,” he said hoarsely, noting the way her nipples turned to points when he spoke. “The service is about to start.”
Her smoky laughter turned every one of her admirers’ heads back in her direction. “I’ve already had enough wine for one night.” That dimple appeared. “It was blessed by a bartender, instead of a priest, but I’m not picky. Especially when I can get my version of spirits for free.”
The harem of men laughed, one of them having enough nerve to rest his hand above Peggy’s head on the brick, bringing them far too close. “Where have you been hiding, beautiful?” the fucker asked, making Elliott’s molars gnash together.
“She’s been hiding with a husband in California,” Elliott ground out, splitting the scene in half. “Let’s go, Peggy. You’ve got a lot to pray about.”
Elliott refused to regret the harsh words. He took Peggy’s hand and pulled her from the stunned group, crossing the street toward the church as people stopped and stared. She moved at a sedate pace beside him, stumbling along with his strides with an expression of shock frozen on her face. “Wow. You are the king asshole.”
“It was for your own good.” They moved up the stairs one at a time, organ music beginning to drift from inside. Peggy’s hand was icy cold inside his own, but he steeled himself against sympathy. She’d always been good at providing that, while he’d been made of stone. Stone only Peggy had ever succeeded in crumbling, but he’d built it back stronger when she’d left. “Whatever you were planning on doing, you would have regretted it later. When you got home. You’re better than that.”
At the big double doors, Peggy tugged out of his grip. “Better than what? Someone who hurts the people who love them?” She laughed. “I’m not better than that, actually. I’ve become the master.”
Lord, she looked lost and gorgeous and exhausted. His mind sought a way to play defense against the bad parts, but they all involved touching her and he couldn’t. Couldn’t. “You’re not the master. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She didn’t look convinced and he mourned the ability to reach her, even though he no longer had the right. Someone else did, dammit. The reality made him nauseous, but he pushed through because he hated the lack of animation in her eyes. “Come with me. We’ll light a candle for your mother.”
A sound puffed past her lips. Her hand lifted, rubbing at something beneath the collar of her shirt. Her heart? “Do you ever wish you were a million miles away…and then a second later, you can’t stand the thought of being anywhere else, but right where you’re standing?”
Countless times. He’d just never allow
ed himself to articulate the sense that he should be somewhere else. Namely, in California, fighting to get Peggy back. He’d slammed that notion in a box and sealed the lid long ago, pretending it didn’t exist. Pretending was how he survived.
The connection between them snapped as it had those years ago before they’d ever formally met. The desire to hold her, touch her, whisper his secrets in her ear was getting too powerful. So he took a pair of mental scissors and tried to cut the connection. “You’re talking nonsense, Peggy, and it’s making us late for mass.”
Relief wrapped around him when Peggy’s claws came out, her eyes brightening with temper. She sauntered closer, eliminating the scant distance between them, and tilted her head back to keep their gazes locked. “You know, I wouldn’t have regretted anything that happened tonight. Not even a little. Because at least I’d be living, instead of preparing for my own funeral.” Her words tagged him like darts, but nothing compared to the lust that swam in his stomach at having her so close, all that vitality crackling in his blood like it was contagious. “Ten Our Fathers and seven Hail Mary’s. That ought to make up for how many times you’ve thought of fucking me today.”
She was gone from his sight in a flash, her curls whipping against his cheeks in the wind, leaving him paralyzed on the church steps. Hurt and rage and need rose up in his throat and expanded, making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t enter the church in that state, would never be able to sit still. Which had to be the reason he went after Peggy, following her where she’d disappeared around the side of the church. As soon as he rounded the corner, he caught sight of her on the stone pathway, arms wrapped around her body as if to stave off the chill.