McAllister didn’t seem placated, but he didn’t push it. Celie undid a six-pack of Diet Cokes and lined them up neatly beside the yogurts.
“I talked to Feenie,” he announced.
“So I heard.” She kept her voice cool. “Though I have no idea why you thought it necessary to drag Feenie and Marco up here with their newborn just so they could check on me. I was not in a funk or whatever it was you told Feenie.”
“That’s what she said, too. Apparently, you were just studying for finals.”
“That’s right.” She jerked open a cabinet door and plunked some soup cans on the shelf.
“Evidently, you weren’t upset about being in the media spotlight again either.”
Celie shrugged and stacked the cans, making sure the labels faced out.
“And apparently, being hounded by reporters like you were after the rape trial didn’t bother you at all.”
Her hands stilled on the cans. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. They never talked about the trial. Not ever. After that first time he’d told her how, as a fledgling news intern, he’d witnessed her testimony, they’d totally dropped the subject.
“It didn’t really bother me,” she said. The furor had died down over the past few days. Some aide in the governor’s office had committed suicide this week, and local media outlets had shifted their coverage and unending speculation to the latest big story.
She reached for another bag and began unloading fruits and vegetables into the refrigerator drawers.
“Feenie also told me you’re not depressed,” he continued. “She said that you never expected me to get you pregnant, and that you’re not really looking to have a baby right now.”
Her head snapped around. Feenie told him that ? No way. She found it impossible to believe on several levels, the first being that her best friend wouldn’t discuss something so personal about her behind her back.
“Feenie didn’t say that,” she stated.
He shrugged. “Not in so many words. Why? You don’t agree with her assessment?”
Celie hesitated, sensing a trap. If she agreed, she’d be admitting a lot of private stuff that wasn’t true. If she disagreed, she’d be admitting she was depressed.
She snagged another bag off the counter and unpacked some condiments into her fridge.
“Yeah, I don’t buy it either,” he said. “I think you’re totally on the edge.”
She glanced at him, which was a mistake, because now she realized he was watching her with one of those X-ray looks, one of those looks that cut straight through all her polite crapola and saw her, in all her screwed-up, emotionally damaged glory.
“I’m not on the edge, ” she told him.
She unloaded another bag and noticed only two more remained on the counter. As soon as they were empty, she’d be forced to give him her undivided attention. She popped open a plastic container of mini-muffins and decided to arrange them in a cookie tin. She took her time digging one out of a bottom cabinet.
McAllister didn’t say anything, but she could feel him watching her. She never should have let him up here.
“So you aren’t sad about the fact that your best friend, and your sister, and most of the women you know are having babies right now and you’re not? It doesn’t bother you at all?”
She lined up the mini-muffins in the tin, resenting him for making her feel like an interview subject. “Of course I’m not sad about it. It’s terrific. I’m happy for them.”
“Uh-huh. And although we had unprotected sex pretty much nonstop, for a whole weekend, you weren’t the slightest bit disappointed when you found out you weren’t pregnant?”
“I never thought I’d get pregnant,” she lied, “so, no, I wasn’t disappointed.”
“Good, because I have to tell you, I was relieved as hell when I got your message.”
Her chest tightened. Now why did that hurt her feelings? Of course he was relieved. What carefree single guy would not be relieved to find out he was off the hook?
“I mean, shit, here I was thinking we were honestly having some fun together, and I come to find out I’m just a sperm donor for you.”
She shot him a look. She hated the term sperm donor, always had. “I never thought of you that way.”
“Really?” His eyebrows arched. “That’s good, because my ego was taking a real beating. See, when you came over to my house and got naked, I was pretty sure you were hot for me.” He stroked his chin and pretended to think about it. “Yeah, you even felt like you were hot for me. And then I find out you had this hidden agenda—”
“I didn’t get naked at your house! You make it sound like I showed up in a trench coat or something, like some…some slut out to seduce you!”
He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “You mean you didn’t plan it?”
“Of course not!” Angry now, she snapped open another plastic carton of mini-muffins and added them to the cookie tin. This wasn’t going well. He was pushing her buttons, trying to get a rise out of her, and it was working.
“Whether you believe me or not, I didn’t plan it,” she said. “Just like all those messages you left me where you said you didn’t plan to write that article about me for the Herald.”
She met his gaze now and saw the faintest flicker of remorse. Good, now he was on the defensive. “You told me it just happened, because of Kate getting shot,” she said. “I don’t know if I believe you, but—”
“How can you not believe me?” His voice was pure exasperation. “What, you think I knew Kate was going to jump in front of a bullet? And what’s with you doubting everything I say, like I’m some kind of pathological liar or something? You’re the one who has a problem with honesty.”
“I do not have a problem with honesty!”
“Like hell! If I hadn’t opened your medicine cabinet, I’d never have known you were were on some high-tech single-mommy track! Did it ever occur to you that I might have a problem with the idea of women having illegitimate babies? Shit, thank God you can’t get knocked up, or I’d be wandering around ten years from now not even knowing I’m the father of some kid!”
She could barely breathe. Thank God you can’t get knocked up… Thank God ? Thank God for the worst thing that ever happened to her? Thank God she’d never be able to be happy?
“You jerk, ” she whispered.
He frowned, obviously not even realizing what he’d said that had been so cruel.
He didn’t understand her. Just like Robert. Just like her mom, and her sisters, and Feenie, and Dax, and even her doctors. No one understood. Everyone who knew her pitied her because she was the victim of rape, the victim of violence, the victim of a lying, conniving husband. But it was much harder to accept being the victim of her own body. It was like being a victim of God. It was like being punished.
“Get out,” she said.
“What, we can’t even talk about this?”
“No, we can’t. I need you to leave.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not until we talk this out.” He crossed his arms, and he got that expression on his face, that bulldog expression. The one that meant he intended to hang on, relentlessly, until he got his way.
“I really hate you,” she muttered. She picked up a mini-muffin and threw it at him. It bounced right off his nose, and the look of shock on his face was priceless. “Are you listening? I hate you!”
She grabbed another muffin and hummed it at him. And another and another and another. He batted them away, staring at her the whole time like she’d lost her mind.
“I wish you’d never come here!” she screamed. “I wish you’d leave me alone !”
She lunged at him and shoved him, hard, with both fists. “I want you out !” He stumbled back against the counter. “Do you hear me? Get out of my house!”
“Hey, hey, hey—”
“Out!” She pounded on his chest.
“Cool it, Celie—”
�
��I will not cool it!” She pounded again. “I’m sick of cooling it! Do you have any idea what it’s like to want a child so bad you’re willing to stick needles in your body every day? To go to dozens and dozens of doctor appointments? To get fat? To spend your life waiting around for pee sticks to turn blue? To have everyone always ask you, ‘Why’s a nice girl like you not married with kids?’ I’m sick of it! And it’s none of your damn business if I’m depressed, or upset, or on the edge, or just plain crazy, so get out !”
She pounded and pounded, and then her fist hit his chin, and his head snapped back.
“Ouch!” Scowling, he stepped around her and went to the sink.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen, breathless and horrified. I’ve totally lost it, she told herself. I actually hit another person.
“Shit, Celie.” He dabbed his jaw with a dishrag and eyed his reflection in the microwave. “Are you wearing a ring or something?”
She looked down at her hands. She was wearing the silly friendship ring Feenie had given her in high school. She’d worn it for luck to her final exam yesterday. It had a silver rose on the top, and a tiny piece of red flesh was stuck on one of the petals.
“Oh my gosh.” She rushed to the sink and looked at his face, pulling the towel away so she could see the wound.
“Oh my gosh, I cut you!”
He glared down at her. Then he yanked her hand up and examined her ring finger. “Since when do you wear jewelry?”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Forget it.”
She reached up to wipe the trickle of blood running down his chin. “I can’t forget it. I—”
“It’s fine. Quit fussing.” He swatted her hand away and stared down at her, probably finally realizing she was a complete mental case. She bit her lip and wanted to sink through the floor.
“I’m really sorry.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“I don’t know what got into me. You must think I’m crazy. I—”
“Jesus, shut up !” He pulled her against him. “I’m not hurt. Just surprised. I didn’t know you were so physical.”
His arms were warm and strong around her, and suddenly she was so bone tired she couldn’t summon the energy to do anything but slump against him. A hot tear slid down her cheek. She blotted it away, but it was followed by another, and another, and, before she knew it, she was sniveling against his chest. Everything came gushing out—tears, hiccups, snot—she couldn’t hold anything in. His arms tightened even more, and that only made it worse.
“I’m sorry.” She grabbed a fistful of his damp T-shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
She felt him smooth her hair. “I’m fine, okay? It’s just a scratch.”
“Not that, ” she choked. “I’m sorry about that, too, but”—hiccup—“I’m sorry I lied to you. About something so important. I don’t know why I did it. I never should have used you that way.”
He held her tightly, his heart thudding next to her ear.
“Hey, let’s forget it, okay?” He pulled back and looked down into her face. She took a deep breath and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and tried to get control of her emotions.
“Okay?”
She nodded.
“Good. Shit.” He squeezed her again and stroked a hand down her back. “I mean, I shouldn’t be complaining, right? Having a beautiful woman use me as her stud? There’re probably worse forms of torture.”
She choked again, half laughter, half despair.
He circled his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the counter. They were at eye level now, and she reached for a dish towel to dry her face.
“Listen,” he said. “You keep saying something, and I want to make sure we understand each other. I do not think you’re crazy.”
She blew out a wobbly sigh. Of course he did.
“I mean it. You’re not crazy.”
“Fine,” she said. “Then at least admit you think I’m neurotic.”
He was so close she could see tiny silver flecks in his blue irises. His eyes were so intelligent and gentle, and she couldn’t believe she’d hit him.
“You’re not neurotic,” he said. “You’re a perfectly normal person who’s been through a shitload of stress.”
He stroked his hands down her arms. “I think you’re completely normal. Better than normal. Hell, my sister’s more neurotic than you, and she’s pretty much had it easy.” The side of his mouth quirked up. “Although, don’t tell her I said that or she’ll beat me up for real.”
Celie smiled.
“Seriously,” he said, getting somber, “it takes a lot of guts to go through everything you have and not get bitter. To still be so caring toward other people. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”
“Thanks,” she said, wiping her cheeks. Maybe he meant what he was saying. Maybe not. Her mind was all jumbled, but she knew it felt good to be with him like this, just talking and knowing he was listening.
He was also staring at her. His gaze kept dropping to her mouth like he intended to kiss her.
She gently pushed him back and hopped down from the counter, then walked over to her refrigerator and searched the vegetable drawer until she found a cucumber. She had the puffy eye gene. Just a few minutes of crying, and her eyes would swell up like a boxer’s. She took a knife from her chopping block and sliced off two cucumber rounds.
“Are you making a salad?” he asked, incredulous.
“No. But whenever I have a crying jag, I need at least five minutes with a cucumber or I can’t leave the house.”
She walked into the living room with the cucumber slices.
“My mind is reeling now. You know that, right?”
She glanced over her shoulder and scowled at him. “You have a dirty mind.”
“Honey, you have no idea.”
She laid down on the couch and closed her eyes, then placed the chilled cucumber slices on her eyelids. “You’re welcome to stay if you want, but this is pretty boring.”
She expected him to either make an excuse to leave or sink down into her armchair. Instead, he picked up her feet and sat down on the end of the sofa, resting her heels on his thigh. She felt him slide off her sandals and brush a finger over her toes.
She lifted one of the cucumbers and peeked out at him. “What are you doing?”
“I love your feet.”
“My feet.”
“Yep.”
He stroked a finger over the arch of her foot and started massaging it with the pads of his thumbs. If she’d known she’d be getting her feet rubbed today, she would have touched up her polish. Oh well. At least they were clean.
Celie replaced the cucumber slice and nestled her head against the sofa arm. What was going on here? She’d just clobbered the heck out of this man in her kitchen, and now he was giving her a foot massage. He was too weird. Or maybe she was.
“Aren’t you mad at me?” she asked.
“I told you, no. ”
“Is this something you normally do after someone pitches a fit in front of you?”
“No. But I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”
“It feels good,” she murmured. His hands were warm and strong, and he used just enough pressure so that it didn’t tickle. At least not her feet. Other parts of her body were definitely feeling ticklish.
She cleared her throat. “Do you do this for all your girlfriends?”
His hands paused for a barely perceptible instant, and then kept moving. “No.”
Great. She’d gone out on a limb, and he hadn’t given her what she wanted. Did he think of her as a girlfriend? A weekend distraction? Or now that she’d shattered his trust in the area of sex, was he going to stick with friendship?
The way his hands were touching her said no.
Friendship wouldn’t have worked anyway. This man was like a magnet for her. She couldn’t stand to be around him without completely invading his personal space. She’d handled it fairly wel
l back in Mayfield, back before they’d crossed the line into sleeping together. But now that she knew how he could make her feel, anything resembling a platonic relationship was doomed.
Which was probably the reason he’d built such a reputation with women. He was amazing. Magic. He made her feel like she was the only women in the universe.
And when the next woman came along, whoever she was, Celie was going to get her heart broken.
CHAPTER
20
Celie sighed.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to do this,” she told him.
“Do what?”
“Have this…this closeness with you and then just forget about it and move on.”
She held her breath while she waited for him to say something, glad to have cucumbers covering her eyes.
But then he plucked them off her face and stared down at her. “Who said you have to forget it?”
“I don’t know.” She averted her gaze. “I get the impression you try to avoid long-term relationships.”
He moved over on the sofa and scooped her into his lap, making her sit up and look at him. She dabbed her eyes with her shirtsleeve. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
“Why don’t we stop analyzing everything so much and just have fun together?” he suggested.
Fun. Now there was a novel concept. She couldn’t suppress the beginnings of a smile. “I guess we could do that.”
“Good.” He dropped a kiss on her head and wrapped his arms around her. She felt his hand moving softly over her back, brushing aside her hair and tracing patterns over her spine until she felt tingly. Then he slid his other hand under her shirt, and she shivered.
It felt so good to be touched like this again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closer.
“Celie,” he whispered in her ear. “Are we done talking?”
She nodded.
“Good, because I need to take your clothes off now.”
Her nerves jumped, and she made a throaty sound that he obviously took for agreement. His breath was hot against her skin as he kissed a line down her neck, lingering just above her collarbone, where he knew she was sensitive. He lifted her arms and pulled her shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. She watched him, amazed that they were here, in this place again, when for weeks there had been this gulf between them. He leaned her back against the sofa arm and slid his big, warm hands down her sides, and her pulse raced as all that wanting she’d been trying to ignore started surging through her body. He kept his eyes on hers as he unsnapped her jeans and eased down the zipper. She lifted her hips so he could tug the jeans off, and then she lay back against the cushions, watching his eyes heat as he looked at her in her bra and panties, which unfortunately were ho-hum white lace.
One Wrong Step (Borderline Book 2) Page 22