Because of the List

by Amy Knupp

  “What time’s the wedding?”

  The curtain on the left wouldn’t fall quite right so she fought with it. “Six-thirty.”

  “I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, standing.

  Taylor whirled around to search his face and gauge his sincerity. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “I’ll clean up,” he said, acting insulted.

  “It’s a big formal to-do, Alex. You’d hate it.”

  “Pretty sure I have a suit in my closet. It should fit fine.”

  She ran out of arguments because, lord, the thought of him in a suit, and of being the lucky one holding on to his arm, was impossible to resist. Even knowing it would only be for one night.

  “Why would you do that?” She couldn’t help asking him.

  He studied her for several seconds, and her heart pounded so hard she swore he could hear it. “Because I know how much you want to go to a wedding with a date.”

  Taylor blinked. Forced a grin.

  She hadn’t truly thought it was because he’d wanted to be with her, and after the morning she’d already had, she figured this should just bounce right off her. It didn’t, though. It stung.

  That was okay, she told herself. She decided then and there she would take what he offered and pretend for one night she wasn’t someone’s obligation.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DANCING WITH TAYLOR all night had been hell.

  Touching her. Breathing her. Catching private glimpses of creamy skin beneath the neckline of her gown.

  He’d tried to tell himself he was only there to do Taylor a favor, tried to twist it into some way to honor Quinn, but he knew better. Quinn didn’t have a damn thing to do with the reason Alex had catered to her all night, spoiled her. Quinn did, however, have everything to do with why he was trying like the devil to keep her at arm’s length.

  Following her inside her house now at—he checked his watch—quarter after midnight was probably a dumb idea. But they’d ordered pizza within five minutes of driving away from the wedding reception, both of them starving after picking at strange, unidentifiable “gourmet” creations all evening. Alex was pretty adventurous when it came to food but he hadn’t seen anything quite like the stuff that had been served tonight. Some of the dishes had made him long for MREs, the military’s version of combat-ready TV dinners.

  At the back door, he held out his hand for her key and unlocked it. “Pizza should be here within five.”

  “I’m going to change clothes before I move the wrong way and split this thing open,” Taylor said.

  This thing was a long midnight-blue dress with thick straps and a modest neckline in front, but that dipped to the middle of her back and looked amazing on her. Hell yes, it was time for her to change, preferably into something frumpy and old.

  When she disappeared into her room, Alex removed his tie and tossed it on the counter.

  Taylor padded back into the kitchen a few minutes later, still in the dress but minus the stilts. “Good thing you came inside, otherwise I’d be stuck sleeping in this. Would you mind?”

  She turned her back to him and Alex’s mouth went dry. Holding her hair out of the way, she backed a step closer and waited. He pushed aside the material that hid the tiny zipper pull and fumbled around, his fingers suddenly clumsy. At last he managed to grasp the sliver of metal and ease it down. And down. His eyes widened and he wondered where the zipper was going to stop.

  Right in the middle of her ass, as it turned out. If he was a gentleman, he would’ve tried harder not to get a glimpse of the white silk with pink polka dots beneath. But he’d never once been accused of being a gentleman.

  “There.” His voice didn’t quite work right.

  “Thank you,” she said demurely as she walked away again. That was Taylor, prim and proper to the end, even after flashing him her panties.

  Alex had abstained from drinking all evening so Taylor could enjoy the wedding without worrying about driving home. Now, though, he went straight to the fridge and took out one of the beers he’d left there. He took the cap off and downed half of it at once.

  Pizza and home. That was the plan.

  TAYLOR HAD DRUNK ONLY enough wine and champagne to keep her confidence up throughout the evening. Her senses were fully functioning and the cool air that hit her backside when Alex unzipped her made her shiver, but not because of the lowered temperature. It was more due to the fantasies—delusions, really—she’d allowed herself all night. That Alex was hers. That he was with her because he wanted to be. That they would come home together and do more than eat pizza.

  Now that they were at her house, she felt like Cinderella after midnight. Back to her insecure self. Or perhaps she was even more insecure than usual because of the direction she’d allowed her thoughts to go throughout the evening.

  She brushed her hair, washed off the godforsaken makeup that made her feel slimy, and changed into yoga pants and a tank top. Comfy but not too revealing.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Alex was standing with his back to the counter, leaning against it. Shirt-sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone, he belonged in a magazine advertisement. He’d shaved tonight, and though she liked his often shadowed chin, she was transfixed by his smooth skin. Wondered what it would be like to touch it. His eyes were on her as she crossed the room to the pizza box on the counter. She tried to concentrate on serving herself but he kept staring.

  “What?” she asked, wondering if she’d missed a blotch of mascara or something.

  He shook his head, nearly smiled and took a swig of his beer. He’d been busy while she was changing—there was already an empty bottle by the sink. A drink seemed like an excellent idea to her, but likely for different reasons. God knew Alex wasn’t nervous around her. Wasn’t having the same R-rated thoughts she was.

  She pulled out the bottle of red wine he’d opened before her first date with Joel and poured herself a glass.

  They both helped themselves to slices of pizza. Taylor hoisted herself up onto the counter to eat. Maybe the evening’s alcohol was affecting her more than she’d thought because she’d always been the sit-at-the-table type.

  They ate without speaking at first, both of them shoving in the pizza as fast as possible, then they graduated to small talk about the wedding, the bride, a little about the dynamics of Taylor’s office. When she was done eating, she set her plate aside, knowing he’d be leaving soon. Wishing he wanted to stay. The idea of being in this empty house after a nearly perfect night in Alex’s company depressed her.

  “Alex,” she said, taking a sip of merlot. “Thank you.”

  He stuffed the last bite of pizza in his mouth and wrinkled his forehead. “For what?” he asked when he’d swallowed.

  “For going tonight. Dancing with me, even the goofy songs. Being okay with being stuck with me when there were plenty of pretty single girls around.”

  He wiped his hands on a napkin and tossed it in the trash. “I wasn’t stuck with you, Scarlet.”

  She stared at her hands as she folded and unfolded them repeatedly. “I know it wasn’t the way you wanted to spend your Saturday night.”

  He set his bottle down hard on the counter. “Why do you do that?”

  The harshness in his voice made her snap her head up and look at him. “Do what?”

  “You’re so damn hard on yourself.”

  “I like to think of it as being realistic.”

  “No.” He pushed himself away from the counter. “Realistic is that you’re a hell of a person.”

  Taylor inhaled deeply. Her throat felt as if a tennis ball was stuck in it. “Thanks. Tell that to Joel.”

  “I wouldn’t waste my breath. He may be intelligent but the guy’s dumber than a Marine. How can I get you to see his opinion is worthless?”

  “Maybe if it was just him you could, but it’s been kind of ingrained for most of my life.” She lowered herself from the counter and set her plate in the sink. “I’m going outside to get some air.”


  THE SADNESS IN TAYLOR’S EYES as she slid down from the counter fueled the storm inside Alex. He’d like nothing better than to track down the loser who’d screwed her over and shove his fist down the guy’s throat. The only thing the jerk was good for was proving her list completely useless.

  Battling with the violent urge was his soft spot for the woman who’d just walked out the back door with her shoulders sagging. He knew without a doubt she didn’t believe what he’d said, but what the hell could he do to change her mind? And he was in no position to do so even if he did know how.

  He put the leftover pizza in the refrigerator and cleaned the rest of their mess. Turned out the overhead kitchen light. Thought about starting the walk home.

  Shaking his head, he went out the back door to find Taylor.

  The deck was empty. He checked to see that her car was still in the garage and it was. Then he saw motion at the far end of the yard. Without hesitation, he headed down the steps toward the bench swing on the lawn.

  Taylor was lying on it on her back, her knees pointing to the sky. The swing rocked slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if the breeze carried it. Alex lowered himself to the grass and stretched out. Stared through the dark tree branches above to the few stars visible from the middle of the city.

  “You’ll get grass stains on your white shirt,” she said.

  “If that’s the worst thing that happens today, I’ll count myself lucky.” He silently swore at himself, remembering she’d had an all-around shitty morning when she’d found her guy with another woman.

  Minutes passed and neither of them spoke. The swing rocked, the crickets chirped. Alex began to wonder if she’d drifted off to sleep.

  “I know you think I’m hypersensitive,” she said out of nowhere. “It’s kind of a thing with me. Feeling like I’ve never been good enough.”

  “You’ve always been the best of the best. Brains. A list of achievements a mile long. You have a killer career—”

  “I’m not talking about that stuff,” she interrupted. “I love my job. Know I have a decent brain. It’s…I don’t know…overall, I guess. Whole person.”

  Her use of decent to describe her mind made him smile in spite of the seriousness of the conversation. She had a decent brain like Africa had a decent desert.

  “You know my dad left us when I was little. Yours did, too, didn’t he?” she asked.

  “When I was eleven.”

  “Did you ever wonder if it was because you weren’t good enough? Like, if you’d been a little smarter or a little more helpful around the house, he would’ve liked it enough to stick around?”

  He nodded even though she couldn’t see him, her words hitting an insecurity he’d buried deep.

  “Between that and the way I was treated at school…I would’ve done anything to have a less super brain and be a more normal kid.”

  “Kids are harsh.” That was an understatement for the teasing and bullying she’d undergone. Kids had been downright ugly.

  “Maybe I should’ve been smart enough to know things would be okay but I never once in my childhood felt okay.”

  He sat up and rested his arms on his bent knees. “You’re an adult now. A damn successful one.”

  “In some ways.”

  It was what she left unsaid that hung powerfully between them. Taylor believed everything she was saying, regardless of what he or others thought of her.

  She sat up, too, the swing creaking softly with her movement.

  “I’ve never told anybody this…” she hesitated “…not even Quinn. Every time our mom left on one of her research trips, I went through this horrible anxiety thing. I knew there was always some danger involved, and it scared me to death that she’d be like my dad and never come back.”

  He’d been well aware that Mrs. McCabe’s, a professor at the university, frequently traveled out of the country, usually to South America, to do research in the field of women’s studies. She’d usually go for a couple of weeks at a time, leaving Quinn and Taylor with a random college-aged babysitter. When he and Quinn had been in their early teens, their only interest was whether the sitter was a female, and if so, how good-looking she was. There’d never been a hint that Taylor had so much awful stuff going on inside her.

  “That was proven a legitimate fear, I’d say.” Judy McCabe, had been killed in Colombia or Brazil or some tension-filled place down there. It’d been after he and Quinn joined the military, after Taylor had been at MIT for a couple of years. After she’d turned eighteen, he remembered, because Quinn had been concerned about her and she’d reassured him she was legally an adult and could take care of herself.

  “I always wondered how I could be enough to her to make her stay home.”

  He moved up to the swing next to her, took her hand in his. “Your mom loved you. There’s no question in my mind.”

  “Oh, I know. Now, anyway.”

  It killed him to imagine what she must have gone through all those years. The bullying and the school thing had been bad enough, and he and Quinn had made it their mission to shield her from it as much as they could.

  He and Quinn had met in seventh grade, when they’d hit junior high. Every day after school, Quinn had beaten a path to the elementary school to walk his sister home. Being a typical preteen jerk, Alex had ribbed Quinn about it. Once. Quinn had hauled off and punched him. In Alex’s warped twelve-year-old existence, that had generated respect and they’d been best friends ever after. Instead of razzing his buddy for looking out for his little sister, he’d adopted the cause himself.

  They’d thought they were all kinds of heroic for setting the little grade-school creeps—and later the junior high ones—straight when it came to Taylor, and yet, they’d barely scratched the surface of what she’d gone through.

  Her revelation now nearly burned his insides out with regret. Imagining what had been going on in Taylor’s mind made him want to hold her until her demons were gone, but he settled for just continuing to hold on to her hand. He knew her well enough to realize sympathy would do nothing but push her away. Probably cause a cleaning frenzy at two in the morning.

  “That’s some heavy shit going on inside of you,” he said.

  She made a noise in response, half laugh, half scoff, and removed her hand from his.

  “I don’t know why I told you all of that.” Now she sounded embarrassed.

  “Wish I knew how to make you see what a cool chick you are.” He kept his tone light, but damn, there was nothing he wanted more than to do exactly that.

  She laughed quietly again, and this time it sounded a little more real. “I wish kicking Joel’s butt would actually solve my problems.”

  “You sure it won’t?” He stood abruptly, causing the swing to sway unevenly, and took several steps away from her. The thought of the scrawny loser had Alex clenching his fist. The good-for-nothing jackwad deserved it for what he’d done to Taylor. She should be treated like a princess, not lied to.

  He stared off into the neighbor’s yard, into the dark night, torn. He wanted to show Taylor how amazing she was, to make her see herself the way he saw her. To hold her, make her forget everything else, everyone else. But he would ultimately end up just like the computer dork because Alex couldn’t be what she needed. He wasn’t her long-term kind of guy. Hell, who was he kidding? Wasn’t her kind of guy at all.

  When he turned back around, he found her inches away from him, and he momentarily wondered how rusty he’d gotten that she could approach without him hearing her. All rational thoughts slipped away as she took a hesitant step even closer. Tentatively touched his chest and ran her hands upward, around his neck. She pressed her cheek into his chest and his arms instinctively came up and around her. Holding Taylor felt like the most natural thing in the universe. He pulled her closer and his body went where he’d tried to keep his mind from going.

  He wanted this woman. Wanted to hold her, protect her. Make all the bad stuff go away, if only for a night. He wanted to make
her believe she was sexy, beautiful, inside and out.

  And he could acknowledge that a good fifty percent of that was selfish, as well. Which was why he would’ve put space between them—if she hadn’t peered up at him and clumsily risen on her toes with the very clear intention of kissing him.

  He was toast.

  He met her halfway, all traces of sympathy and sadness imploding when their lips touched. There was only heat, like fire, arcing between them. Heat and too much space.

  He wound his hands around her, over her, up and down her back. Slid them farther down to the softness of her ass and drew her even closer, leaving no question about what she did to him.

  Again, she surprised him with the depth of her response, her hands in his hair, her slender body pressed into him. The little sounds that came from her throat, needy gasps for air, turned him inside out.

  His hands were all over her, under her tank, on her baby-soft skin. Her apple scent enveloped him.

  He lost his mind a little bit, let all thoughts disappear and matched her intensity. This wasn’t the lonely little girl who’d twisted his heart up minutes earlier, wasn’t the insecure woman who’d evoked his sympathy or his protective urges. It was just Taylor. And right now, she was everything.

  Alex slipped his hands back to her ass and lifted her up his body. She wrapped her legs around him, sliding into him and fitting like the last piece in a puzzle. Need pounded through him. He was on the verge of losing every last shred of control. He broke the contact of their lips, forced himself to breathe in the cool air and attempted to grasp on to any hint of reasoning he had left in him. There wasn’t much.

  “Taylor,” he said, his voice husky. “We can’t do this.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  TAYLOR NIPPED NEEDILY at his lips, each touch killing him. “It’s one night.” She breathed the words into his ear, the whisper of her breath having a crazy erotic effect on him. “I know. I want one night with you, Alex.”

  Maybe a saint could have walked away from her, but he was about as far from a saint as a guy could get.