She nodded. “You don’t have to do this. You’re on vacation and I’m not your responsibility.”
Amazing. She was ready to fight this herself. She could probably do it too. He needed to get to know Isabelle DeRosa a whole lot more.
“The minute Vic called me, you became my responsibility. You’re his friend and he cares about you. If something happens to you, when I should have helped, I’ll go insane. Plus, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She stepped to the coffee table, set it to rights. “I never imagined he’d break in here like this. He’s never been violent with me.”
“What has he been with you, Izzy?”
Tension wrapped itself into a rock between Isabelle’s shoulders. She’d dragged him into this mess. He deserved the truth. Even if he treated her differently afterward. Everyone else did. Besides, she owed him. If Kendrick decided to press assault charges, Peter could be implicated. Wouldn’t that be a kicker?
She drew in a breath, lowered herself to the ottoman and motioned for him to sit. He dropped onto the couch in front of her.
Draped over the back of the sofa was one of her grandmother’s afghans. Yes, this was still her space and she would again be safe here.
Here goes. She prayed he wouldn’t give her the pity face.
“Kendrick is ten years older than I am. He sexually abused me from the time I was eight until I was fifteen. He’s a sick bastard who now lives in Ohio now and wants me to come live with him. He said he needs my legal advice. I’m guessing he’s in trouble.”
The rush of words left her feeling flattened. She’d been carrying the vile weight of Kendrick’s offer since her initial conversation with him, and now something inside told her it would be all right. That the man sitting in front of her, the one that ogled her in the elevator less than twenty-four hours ago, would help her.
Peter’s face remained a blank canvas. Nothing. Not a wince. Not an iota of a curled lip.
He finally sat forward and narrowed his eyes. “I knew it had to be something twisted. I could tell by your body language.”
The breath she’d been holding came hurtling out, and she threw her hands over her face.
When Peter rubbed his rough fingers over her arm, she flinched and he snatched them away. No. She reached for his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull away. It startled me. You startle me.”
She rose, paced the floor and reached for the afghan while Peter watched, his face a cross between curiosity and concern. She enfolded herself in the softness of her granny’s hard work and went back to her seat.
“I don’t tell people because they either pity me or they’re disgusted.”
He shrugged, inched a little closer until his leg brushed hers.
“I don’t pity you. Look at what you’ve accomplished. This house, your education. He’s the sick fuck. And there’s a special place in hell for him. Did he serve time for this?”
She shook her head and Peter’s eyes bulged.
“Why the hell not?” He kept his voice quiet, but the slow rumble seemed to strangle him.
“My mother worried I couldn’t endure a trial. My uncle, of course, being the top criminal attorney in the state, didn’t want the bad publicity. He’s the one who found us. Kendrick was having sex with me in my uncle’s study during a family party and he walked in on us.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“They decided to send Kendrick away. Uncle Bart got him a job with a client’s company in Ohio. That’s why my parents are divorced. I guess my father felt helpless and resented my mother for agreeing to let Kendrick walk away. And my younger sister left for college out West. She doesn’t come back much. I don’t know if it’s because of the situation or if she’s embarrassed or what. Thankfully, Kendrick never put his hands on her. At least she’s never admitted it.”
“Do you think she would?”
Isabelle nodded. “Yes. She and I are close. She’d at least tell me.”
“I can’t believe your uncle let a child molester go free. I don’t give a shit that it’s his kid, he’s still dangerous.”
Didn’t she know it? She’d spent years wondering if there were other victims. Children who would have been safe if Kendrick had paid for his crime.
“I lose sleep wondering if he’s abused other children. Part of me hopes it was just a sick attraction he had to me because then I would be the only one. It makes me nervous that he’s back and that attraction still exists. Ugh.”
Bile curled in her throat and she swallowed it back.
Peter leaned forward, put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her toward him. She let it happen. A light embrace. Not too close, not too distant. Just enough so she’d know he wasn’t repulsed. A good man. The faded woodsy scent of his soap soothed her rattled nerves and she snuggled into his neck.
Since when did she need comfort from a man?
“We’ll take care of the security pronto,” he said. “Who else knows he wants you to visit him?”
“Only Vic. I told him when I called about the security system. It’s too disgusting to even think about much less tell my family. I just never thought he’d get violent with me.”
Forcing sex with a child isn’t violent? Peter shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve never said no to him. He didn’t have control this time.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face, and the blanket inched down her shoulders. “Maybe you’re right. I can’t figure out why he came home. It’s been three years since his last visit. Even if he’s in legal trouble, there are plenty of defense attorneys he could go to. I don’t get it. I’m probably just tired.”
“Hey.” He squatted in front of her and pulled the afghan back into place. “You kicked his ass. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
“When I started college at NYU, my father wanted me to learn self-defense. Vic was in town on business and Dad asked him to show me a few moves. My dad has never dealt with his own anger about this situation. I think I feel most sorry for him because he has no outlet.” She paused a minute and took a breath. “Anyway, that’s when Vic found out about the abuse. My dad confided in him. It shocked me because we don’t talk about it. Ever. My dad didn’t want me to be victimized again, though, and he was worried about me being on my own. Vic showed me some Krav Maga moves. I liked the power it gave me. It became an addiction for me. It helps me get rid of the rage when I think about Kendrick. I told Vic I wanted to get better and he hooked me up with a guy who’d been in the Israeli Army. Ian trained me well.”
“I’ll say.” Peter scratched his head. “Your uncle’s quite a guy. I don’t get how you can work for him after everything that’s happened.”
She shrugged. “It’s not rocket science. My uncle feels guilty about what his son did. He’s also the founding partner of a law firm. I’ve worked hard at my education and I don’t want to depend on anyone. For anything. Defense lawyers make more money than prosecutors. I’m a former victim who has to defend criminals, and I have to live with that. But it gives me freedom.”
In a sick sort of way, it made sense. Peter also had ways of channeling his anger. Unfortunately, his ways stopped working recently. “I give you credit. I couldn’t be near him every day.”
“Yeah, you could. If it meant getting to where you want to be in life, you could do it. My relationship with my uncle is strained, at best, but I’ll use him to build a career. I don’t feel bad about it either. I sacrificed for his career, and he can do the same for me. I won’t be there forever. Just a couple of years. All I need is the experience at a prestigious firm and I’ll be able to go anywhere.”
He reached up, tucked the hair that had come loose back behind her ear.
She brought her gaze up and it fused with his. Oh, crap. The look he’d been thinking about all day. He started to pull his hand away, but she grabbed his wrist and held it there while his good sense went to war with his horny body.
“You’re okay,” he said.
If she made a move on him he’d
be screwed. He would not shag her. Not after what she’d experienced tonight. She focused on his mouth and closed her eyes for a second.
When she opened them, something changed. An odd shift he couldn’t decipher. Heat filled her eyes, but she’d become distant when it should have been the other way around. Weird.
She inched toward him. He backed away.
Nope. Not gonna do this.
“Izzy, let’s not confuse two issues here.”
She laughed. “I’m not confused.”
“I’m glad. Overjoyed actually.” She’d never know how much. “But, let’s wait and see how you feel tomorrow. Adrenaline sometimes makes me want things I shouldn’t have. You may think you want sex tonight, and believe me, I’m happy to oblige, but I couldn’t take it if you had regrets tomorrow.”
Silence. She kept her gaze locked with his though, and he saw the confusion behind it. Did she have a clue how much talking her eyes did?
She screwed up her lips to smother a smile. “Where the hell are you from, Peter? I have never in my life had a man say that to me.”
He snorted. “I’m a bit blown away myself. Considering I’ve been thinking about nothing but having sex with you. I don’t want it like this. Not after what happened tonight. I’d be damned happy to revisit the conversation at a later date though.”
She leaned forward and the blanket slipped off when she pressed her ice-cold hands against his cheeks. And kissed him. Not a crazy, lust-ridden kiss. More of a soft, lingering kiss. Confirmation that they would revisit the conversation. Haza! He could only hope. Otherwise, he’d beat himself to death with a ball pein hammer for losing the opportunity.
She backed away, giving his wrist a squeeze. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed awhile. I’ll get you some blankets. The couch is comfortable.”
He cleared his throat. Nodded.
She headed toward the bedroom, but stopped. “Thank you, Peter. For everything.”
“No sweat,” he said. “You don’t happen to have a hammer, do you?”
Chapter Seven
Isabelle waited as Peter pulled his SUV into the circular drive in front of her office building.
“That’s a look if I’ve ever seen one,” she said when he walked over to her. The camouflage cargo shorts, white T-shirt and beat-up combat boots left her wanting to duck and cover. Why, oh why, did he have a do-rag hiding that gorgeous hair?
He handed her a set of keys. “Huh?”
She gestured up and down with her hands “Your outfit.”
“Oh, yeah. This is standard wear for me. My day and night look, so to speak.”
After skimming the getup one more time, she tapped her finger against her lips. “I like the rogue look. It suits you.”
A car pulled up and Peter stepped onto the curb, nudging her back a few steps. The intensity of all that male heat so close sent a buzz shooting up her legs.
“Thank you for running the keys over to me,” she said. “My court appearance was cancelled, so I could have met you at the house and gotten them.”
Ten minutes earlier, he called to say he’d changed the lock on the front door and had new keys for her. Could he come by the office and drop them off? Him going so far out of his way left her wondering why he was being so kind. Vic’s words echoed in her mind and she shook off the negative thoughts. She could trust Peter.
He waved his hand. “I knew you had a busy day. I figured I’d run them by. Plus, if I’m not at the house later, you won’t be able to get in. Well, you could use the back door I guess. It is your house and you probably have a key.”
She burst out laughing. “Peter, you’re babbling.” She put her hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
He snatched her hand away, brought it to his lips and kissed it. That is quite lovely. But the kiss ended and he stood there holding her hand as if he’d done it a thousand times before. She didn’t fight it. Where had this ease come from in one short day?
Holy.
Cow.
“I feel great,” he said. “Gotta go though. I need to stop at my mother’s on the way back to your place. The guys are going to be finishing the alarm and I want to get back before they’re done.”
She nodded. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re taking the time.”
“Izzy, we talked about this last night. I know you’re grateful. Stop saying it.”
She held up her hands. “I just wanted you to know.”
“When you get home, I’ll show you how to work the alarm.” He stepped away from her. “Uh, you care if I do a little surfing by your place?”
Was he kidding? She didn’t own the ocean. He could surf wherever he wanted. She knew what he meant though. He wanted permission to be in her space for reasons outside of installing an alarm. A smart man.
“You can do whatever you’d like at my house.”
He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“Within reason,” she added. “If I find you in my bed with a woman, you’re a dead man.”
He grinned bigger.
Her stomach knotted. “Did I say that?”
He continued to grin.
She had said it. Must be the fatigue. Three hours of sleep didn’t cut it.
He stepped closer. Oh, boy.
“Izzy, the only woman I want in that bed is you.”
Some alternate force propelled her forward and she threw her arms around his neck, pressed herself against the hard planes of his body and kissed him. Tongue and all, right in front of her office building.
Holy.
Holy.
Cow.
What was she doing?
Peter didn’t seem to mind the PDA because he steel-armed her around the waist and returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. When he pulled away, his gaze stayed glued to hers and the fire shot to her core.
He eased back. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”
When he got to the car, he smiled that amazing movie star smile and blew her a kiss.
Smart-ass.
Still though, his thinking was spot on about the maybe.
Peter’s SUV was in her driveway when Isabelle pulled in at six o’clock. She breathed in the salty ocean air—nothing compared to be being home. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel while the suddenly slow process of raising the car’s roof took place. Could she be excited about seeing him? Hmm, something new.
As she approached the front porch, she glanced back toward the car in the no-parking zone by the public beach access. She had driven past and spotted a man sitting behind the wheel staring out at the ocean. Maybe he was waiting for someone. She shrugged it off and turned her attention to the new silver lock gleaming in the evening sunlight. Assuming Peter would be on the beach, she unlocked the door and opened it. A beep sounded and she hoped it only meant someone had entered. Otherwise, the alarm would blare and she had no idea how to turn it off. She dropped her keys in the dish by the door and glanced toward the spot in the kitchen where Kendrick had grabbed her.
No.
She wouldn’t let him take the safety of this house from her. Her grandmother’s afghan on the sofa caught her attention and she breathed in. Her house. Her space.
“Peter?” she called, perusing the mail she’d grabbed on her way in.
Wow. Calling out for a man in her house was a new experience. She needed to decide if she liked it. In this case, maybe so.
No answer.
She brought her briefcase to the kitchen and dumped it on the table, where she spotted a note written in what she now recognized as Peter’s scratchy, all caps handwriting. ALARM IS IN. WAVES ARE GOOD.
She laughed. A man of many words. She stepped to the French doors and peered out. Three surfers sat atop their boards waiting for the promise of a next wave. She spotted Peter in a sleeveless, red wetsuit. Yowzer. Without a doubt, she needed a closer look.
Maybe she’d change clothes and sit on the beach with a glass of wine. She had work to do, but mental an
d physical fatigue had set in hours ago, and her body ached from head to toe.
Yes. No sense wasting a wind-free, eighty-degree evening.
Ten minutes later, armed with her beach chair, a couple of oversized towels and a glass of wine, Isabelle stepped off the back deck and headed down the beach to her favorite spot.
The afternoon’s blazing hot sand had cooled and her feet nearly sighed with joy. Sometimes warm sand was better than a foot massage. The sound of breaking waves crashing into the shore helped release the stress of the last couple of days and her body hummed.
Her space.
She watched Peter grab a wave and ride it in, deftly handling the process. She held her hand up. He waved, but headed back to the water. Apparently, nothing came between Peter and surfing. Just as well. She could enjoy her wine and watch, which couldn’t be considered a hardship with him in that wetsuit.
One of the other surfers, Doug, came out of the water and dropped his board to the sand. He surfed here often and they’d chatted a few times. Seemed like a nice enough guy. His surfer-boy blond hair and tanned body didn’t diminish the package and, recently, she found herself contemplating his maybe-we-should-get-a-drink-sometime suggestions.
Isabelle’s attention turned back to Peter, who caught another wave and promptly got tossed. Ouch. His head popped out of the water and he shoved his hair from his eyes before reeling in his board and heading to shore.
Sorry, Doug, you don’t have fantastic hair.
She stuck her wine in the sand and pondered greeting Peter at the shoreline, but with Doug standing not four feet away, she didn’t want an awkward situation. Not that they had anything going, but still, he’d showed an interest in her, and she didn’t want to be rude by ignoring him while talking to Peter. Men. Such complicated creatures.
Peter solved the problem by coming to her. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself.”
She tossed him one of the two towels and eyed him as he ran it over his face and rioting hair. She had to get her hands in that hair. Soon.
A Just Deception Page 5