Exactly. He understood.
She nodded.
“That’s not going to work for me.” He sat back against the arm of the couch.
“Excuse me?”
“You can put things in little boxes, but people will find out we’re together. There will be overlap. That’s how it is.” His thumb stroked her fingertips.
She pulled her hand away. “That’s not what I want. I want things separate or this can’t happen. And once you’re officially my boss, we have to be done. As a couple.”
His jaw set hard. “You want temporary?”
“That’s all we can be, Will.”
“If I agree to your terms, you’ll relax and let us just be together?”
“Yes.” She’d never been more nervous in her life, but she wanted this for however long it would last.
“And if when the time comes, we both decide to stick together and make this work, you’ll give that a try, too?” His gaze met hers.
That wouldn’t happen, but she nodded anyway.
“Done. Now, are you going to tell me why your knee is all beat to hell?”
She glanced to her black and blue kneecap where she’d fallen on the gravel. “I had a story idea.”
“Why did your story idea end with you needing bandages?”
She told him. Everything. Simon and the boys. Her research into the Confluence school district. Everything.
“They formed a task force nearly a year ago to deal with the problem, but nothing has come of it. I’m going to do a story on the lack of progress.” The excitement practically bubbled out of her as she rambled.
His lips turned into a solid frown, the kind that she hadn’t seen since the day he left Florida. “You want to tell the story yourself?”
“Well…yeah.” Of course she wanted to take lead on this.
“I’m on board with you taking on some stories. But not with this one. You can’t do this story.”
Excuse me? “Why not?”
Mitzy sauntered from the bedroom, tail held high. She glared at Will and hissed.
Yeah, exactly what she’d said.
“You have to be unbiased, and this story is too close for you.” Will put his hand out toward Mitzy. She glowered and marched to the kitchen.
“This story is important to me.” Lucy’s synapses fired frantically. He couldn’t take this away from her. This was the kind of story that won awards. The kind that needed to be told. The kind that could actually make a difference.
He ran a hand over his hair, the lines in his forehead prominent. “You’re already going in ready to show the lack of progress without having conducted any interviews. Journalism ethics, Luce. You can’t go into a story because you want to see a change. You lose all objectivity. Then you compromise credibility—for you and the station.”
So much for keeping their work and personal lives separate. His rejection of her ability felt very personal. Her toes sunk into the carpet as she stood. Mitzy would be better company.
“Luce, look.” He rose and moved so she faced him. “I admire that you want to tell the story, but you can’t do this one. It’s too close. Have Anderson handle it. Make sure the story is told, but make sure it’s done objectively. I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me, too.”
Her chin high á la Mitzy, she said, “You’re wrong, Will. I can be objective.”
“Then do it with a story that you’re not so wrapped up in.”
Absolutely not.
This was her story and she could tell it best. No way was Will or Anderson or anyone taking it away.
Chapter Twenty-One
“See you tomorrow,” Reuben said to Lucy as they exited the elevator to the lobby.
She tossed him a grin. “Bright and early.”
Her research into the Confluence bullying story had netted her a load of information. She had no doubt once the specifics came out, the school district would have to make changes. She’d been careful to ask questions that didn’t lead her interviews. Still, the response was the same—nothing was being done even though the problem was well known.
Will hadn’t brought reporting up again, and she never mentioned anything more to him about her research. She also hadn’t reassigned the story. Not when it was her story to tell.
A twinge of guilt pricked at her conscience. Antacids were her new best friend these past few days. Once the story aired, Will would see she’d done a good job.
She stopped short as a petite Italian woman walked purposefully toward her. Right. Will’s stepmother. Lucy’s nerves strung tighter. In no universe was this good.
“You are Lucy?” she asked.
Teresa…yes, her name was Teresa, that’s what Will had said.
“William’s girlfriend?” Teresa reached to Lucy with a perfectly manicured hand.
Word sure traveled fast in this small town. “Kind of.” Lucy shook her hand. What was the protocol when one met the estranged stepmother of the man she was sleeping with? “Teresa, right?”
Teresa’s frown was nearly imperceptible. “He told you about me?”
“That morning, at the coffee shop when we saw you.” And during some games of Confessions that would be uncomfortable to mention. “It’s nice to meet you…officially.”
Teresa clasped her purse. “My husband, he told me when you are done with your work. I hoped I could buy you lunch?”
“Oh.” Lucy froze in place. Will’s father kept tabs on her?
“I’m sorry. You already have plans.” Teresa glanced uncertainly at the door. “Perhaps another time.”
A scheduled nap could hardly be considered plans. Yet, she could not have lunch with Teresa. Will’s family had hurt him too badly. When it came to parental problems, Lucy was an expert at avoidance.
Teresa glanced to the ground, clearly choosing her next words carefully. Whether it was a language barrier or nerves, Lucy couldn’t tell. “Next week is William’s birthday. We hoped you could convince him to celebrate with us,” she finally said.
Um…no. That would be a bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea. Horrible. “You’ll have to ask him,” Lucy said as gently as she could.
“His father and I, we miss him. This separation, we hope to… I’m sorry, the words are hard when I get upset.” Teresa drew a deep breath. “We hope to heal. William and his father, they hurt so much when his mother died. You understand this?”
Well, kind of. That still didn’t make a birthday celebration with his estranged father a good idea.
“Teresa, I wish I could help,” Lucy said. The woman did seem kind, genuine. “But you should talk to Will about this. I can’t be in the middle.”
“You call him Will?” Teresa’s rounded eyes grew sentimental. “His mother and grandmother called him Will. He always insisted everyone else call him William. You are very special to him if he lets you call him this.”
Lucy’s belly fluttered with nervous uncertainty. You have special permission to call me Will… That’s what he’d said when they left for Twin Lakes. She’d never even considered the nickname meant anything.
“You convince him to come for his birthday.” Teresa’s hope-filled expression almost undid Lucy and her resolve. Nearly.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s not my place.” Lucy glanced to the exit.
“You care for him,” Teresa said, her expression earnest.
“Of course I care for him. He’s wonderful. That’s why I can’t do something to cause him more pain. He’s hurting. A lot. I’m sorry I can’t help you.” Lucy stepped to leave, but Teresa reached for her.
“If you care for him, really care for him, you will help me. He misunderstands. His father and I love him. We want to fix this. Please.” The pain in Teresa’s eyes eerily matched the distress Lucy saw earlier in Will. “Bring him back to his family. His father and I are moving away soon. I wish to heal this first.”
Damn on a donut. That was a really hard argument to fight.
“Luce, I thought you left?” Will’s words echoed in the vast
lobby.
She turned to him. “Will, I…”
He stopped mid-stride, a mixture of torment, anger, and disbelief flashing in his eyes. “What is this?” He glared at her and then Teresa.
This day kept getting better and better.
“Cucciolo Mio,” Teresa said to him. Something passed between them at her words. “Mi manchi.”
Will didn’t respond to Teresa. He held control of his emotion, but Lucy could tell he was barely tethered.
“Luce?”
Every cell of her body wanted to go to him, comfort him. This wasn’t the time. “Teresa asked me to talk to you about your birthday.”
“I asked your Lucy if she would convince you to come home for your birthday.” His Lucy… “Come for supper.” Teresa’s olive skin paled as she spoke.
He moved beside Lucy and grabbed her hand. “Who will be there?” he asked.
Lucy blinked hard. He hadn’t said no.
“Your father and I. Whoever you’d like to invite.” Tears pooled in Teresa’s eyes, but they didn’t spill. “Lucy could come?”
“I’m sorry. We have plans.” Will was actually talking to his stepmother. This could be good. He could find some peace with his family. Or this could be very, very bad. It could backfire. He could end up with deeper scars. He shifted his briefcase to the other hand. “How are you?”
“Well enough. Are you certain you cannot come?”
“Yeah.” He glanced down at the marble tile.
“I see,” Teresa said, very obviously not seeing. “Perhaps you two could talk about it? Then make your decision?”
“Sure.”
He hadn’t said no.
“Grazie, William.” Teresa stepped tentatively toward him. She raised a hand to his cheek but stopped short of touching him.
He squeezed Lucy’s hand so hard it hurt. “C’mon Luce. I’ll walk you out.”
Teresa locked her gaze on Will. “Addio mio cucciolo.”
“Teresa.” He gave a polite nod and tugged Lucy behind him to the exit.
He never let go of Lucy’s hand as they hurried to her car.
“Do you want to spend your birthday with your family?” Lucy asked.
“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with the effort of forcing the air into his lungs.
“Then let’s have dinner. Just us.” She reached to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “I can bake you a cake. I’m a decent baker.”
It was really hit or miss, but he didn’t need to know that. She’d figure something out if her cake was a bust.
He opened the door for her.
“It’ll probably be from a box. The cake, I mean.” She climbed inside.
“I can live with that.” His dimples flashed.
She buckled her seat belt. “It’ll still be good.”
Probably.
“I have no doubt.” He leaned down to kiss her a quick goodbye.
“Do you think I should just order you one from a bakery?” she asked when he broke the kiss.
He grinned. “No.”
“Okay, but you’ve been warned.”
He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She could sense him detaching. The exchange with Teresa had done damage, and there was nothing Lucy could do about it.
…
Will was early for his birthday party. Well, it was just her, a cake, and dinner reservations.
That counted as a party, though. Lucy was pretty sure. One final hurrah before the time on their relationship ended. One more night before they were only colleagues again.
She bit at her lip. She couldn’t think of that now. Not when they were celebrating his birthday.
Powdered sugar covered her kitchen. She glanced to the cake, leaning her head a bit to the right. The cake was almost level.
“Luce?” Will called from the living room.
“Hey, Will.” She stuck her head around the corner. Like always, her breath caught at the sight of him. “Happy birthday to you…” she sang, mostly off-key.
He grinned at her. “You’ve been busy.”
“Your cake’s finished.” She glanced at her frosting-smeared apron. “Had a little bit of a powdered sugar explosion.”
“What’s all this?” He gestured to the three boxes delivered by courier a few hours ago.
“They came for you. I figured you were expecting them.”
He frowned at the packages. “No.”
Every day they did exactly the same thing when he came home from work. Will would kiss her, and she’d do lots of fun things to him.
He didn’t come straight to her today. Instead, he pulled the tape from the first box and opened it up. He removed a worn football and tossed it in the air before setting it gently on the sofa. “My stuff from when I was a kid.”
Lucy came behind him, ran a hand around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his back. “Teresa?”
“I guess so. Probably.”
“She mentioned moving. Maybe she’s clearing stuff out. You okay?”
He moved so his arms were around her. “Yeah. I am.”
Together they unpacked the boxes of knickknacks and memories. She laughed at the stories he told about each object, learning more of the enigma of Will, uncovering truths about his past.
Lucy caught sight of a young Will in a stack of photos near the bottom of one of the boxes. She ran her finger along the edge. In the image, a teenage Will with an earsplitting grin stood next to a woman with the same expression. His mother? He had her eyes.
His father stood behind them. Will looked exactly like his father—minus the gray hair and the lines around his eyes. It was like a glimpse into Will’s future. His father leaned against Will’s truck. It was much newer back then, but still hadn’t come straight from the Ford showroom floor.
“Is this your mom?” Lucy asked.
He glanced to the photo, and his expression gentled. “Yeah, that’s Mom, right after Dad and I fixed up the truck. I saved up for it. It was the first thing I ever bought for myself.”
Lucy squeezed his hand. He went back to unpacking the box in front of him.
“Your mom’s beautiful.”
His throat worked. “Yeah.”
Lucy set the picture aside with the other photos so they could be framed.
“Whose is this?” She tugged a blue lace bra from under the stack of photos.
He had the decency to blush when he snatched it out of her hand.
“Let’s not talk about that.” He rose to toss it in the trash bin.
She should’ve been jealous. Should’ve gotten angry. Surprising herself, she laughed. “Do you keep trophies from all your conquests?”
“No.” He kissed her forehead. “Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea where that came from?”
“No.” She giggled again.
Before she could process what happened, his body covered hers. “I don’t want to think about who that belonged to. The only thing I want to think about is this.” He ran a hand up her shirt, over the cup of her own lacy bra. Her whole body buzzed with arousal. “And who it belongs to.” Desire flared in his eyes.
They fooled around on the couch like teenagers, kissing, groping. Everything she’d wanted to do with him when she was seventeen. When things heated past the point of no return, he carried her to the bedroom.
…
Thirty was a spectacular age. William couldn’t help the smirk forming on his lips. For the second time that day, he was inside Lucy. Astride him on her knees, she moved, giving him the birthday present she promised.
Her.
Naked.
He ran a hand down her belly to where they were joined. Eyes glassy, she fell to her elbows, panting against his mouth.
If today was any indication of the future, his thirties would be a fantastic decade.
He stroked her hips and buried himself deeper.
She closed her eyes, leaned back, and smiled. He groaned.
In one smooth motion, he twisted her to
her back, thoroughly enjoying the little O of surprise her mouth made before he drove home. She hitched a leg over his hip, pushing into him farther—moving with him harder, faster.
“So beautiful.” He slipped his thumb between them, tracing the line of her belly to the soft spot between her legs.
Her breaths quickened, then her muscles clenched around him, pulsing rhythmically as she arched. He relished the intensity as she finished. And then he followed. He dropped his forehead to the pillow beside her and let himself go.
They were both breathing heavily when he lifted up on an arm.
“Hey.” He ran his fingers through her hair.
“Hey to you, too.” She snuggled into him, wrapping her arms around his back and tracing little circles there. “Happy birthday.”
He smiled. “Best birthday ever.” Sometime during the past week he’d fallen ass over elbow for her. The lens on the camera of his life unexpectedly focused, as though he’d been seeing the world through a filter. Now, with her there, he didn’t need the filter any longer. Sharp reality wasn’t quite so cutting with her around.
“I didn’t even give you your gift,” she murmured.
“Thought you just did.”
Between the bedroom activities and the lopsided cake in the kitchen, she had her bases covered. Speaking of bases… He ran a palm over her breast. She swatted it and leaned across the bed to the nightstand. He ran a hand over her ass. If she showed it off, the least he could do was appreciate it.
She tossed him a small box wrapped with shiny brown paper and grinned huge. “Here it is.”
“You got me a box.”
“Open it.” She snuggled against his chest.
How could he say no to that?
The brown ribbon slipped off easily.
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Keep going.” She bit at her lip the way he adored so much. “They’re kind of from Mitzy, too, but mostly from me because I paid for them and shopped for them.” She leaned in, her full attention on the box as he lifted the lid.
Settled in the box were two gunmetal silver cufflinks, embellished with smiling cats. They had yellow gemstone eyes.
He chuckled. “You bought me cufflinks…shaped like cats. You shouldn’t have.”
She punched his shoulder. “They’re sentimental.”
The Honeymoon Trap Page 17