by Beth Andrews
See? She was just too damn sweet. “That’s it? No smoking in the girls’ room? Didn’t you sneak out to see your boyfriend?”
She nudged his metal, portable toolbox with her toe. “I never even stayed out past curfew. That would’ve ruined my image.” She sounded disgusted. As if she was upset that she’d been a good person. He couldn’t figure her out. Did Serenity Springs’ sweetheart have a hidden yen to be bad?
Her forehead wrinkled and she swung her foot again, this time connecting with the toolbox hard enough to send the tools inside clanging against each other. “I got good grades and never did anything wrong. Never stayed out late or came home with hickeys on my neck.”
He picked up the toolbox before she kicked it through the wall he’d just spent the day repairing. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Hickeys would only mess up your pretty skin anyway.”
Her hand flew to the side of her neck. She dropped her hand and shrugged. “I guess.”
He put the toolbox away and shook his head at her disappointment. He didn’t understand women.
When he turned, she was next to him, holding his drill. “Thanks,” he said, careful not to touch her as he took it. “You don’t have to stick around and help me clean up.”
He needed her to go, to give him some space. When she was around, he felt edgy, irritated.
But instead of taking his cue to leave, she looked up at him with those big gray eyes, her teeth nibbling on her full, lower lip. “So, what you were saying about trying to keep Kelsey out of trouble…was that what you were doing with Kyle? You know, when you told him about life in prison? About not having any hope or joy. About not caring if you lived or died. Was that really how it was for you?”
He kept his face expressionless. “We need to get this place running full-time again so you’re not forced to eavesdrop to get your gossip fix.”
“So it wasn’t true?” she persisted. “You just made it up to scare him?”
“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you?” he asked gruffly.
She frowned and wiped a hand over her hair, but the curls just bounced back around her face. “It was a simple question. I thought maybe you were exaggerating—”
“That’s not how I work. If anything, I toned the truth down for the kid.”
“So you…you did feel that way?” she asked hesitantly. “You didn’t care if you lived or…”
“Died?” He unhooked his tool belt and set it on the floor next to his Thermos—instead of throwing it against the wall like he wanted. “I wasn’t suicidal, if that’s what you mean. But being in prison…it takes something from you.”
She nodded. “Your freedom.”
“That’s sort of the whole point about prison, isn’t it?”
Her frown deepened. “It seems so unfair. You were protecting your sister—”
“I killed a man,” he said, slamming the heavy lid to his lockbox shut. Bitterness filled his mouth. “I don’t need anyone to sugarcoat it or to forget it. I sure as hell won’t.”
“It just seems like you were given a…a harsher sentence than you deserved.”
Couldn’t she just shut up? “I paid for my crime. But don’t think for a moment that I got more than what I deserved just so you can feel better about letting an ex-convict work for you.”
She stepped backward, looked as if she might run out. Except she didn’t, in the end she stood her ground. “That wasn’t what I was doing. I just…wanted you to know I’m sorry. For what you went through.”
And the last thing he wanted was her sympathy.
He edged closer to her. “You feeling sorry for me, cupcake?” he asked and she visibly stiffened. But she didn’t step back. “I could use that, couldn’t I?”
“Use what?” Her voice was husky, her expression wary.
“I could use that big heart of yours against you. I could play on your sympathy.”
“Why would you do something like that?”
He skimmed a finger down her soft cheek. “So I could feel your skin. Get close to you,” he continued, as he took hold of her waist and yanked her to him. Their thighs brushed, her breasts grazed his chest. “To see how you fit against me.”
She gasped, a soft sound.
“I don’t want your pity,” he growled, tightening his grip on her. “It won’t do me any good. Not now.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt. “What do you want?”
He leaned forward a few inches. Allowed his gaze to drop to her mouth before meeting her eyes. “I want you to remember that everything you’ve ever heard about me is true.” She winced as he tightened his fingers on her waist. “I really am the most dangerous guy you’ll ever know.”
NINA’S MOUTH was dry. Her head was light, she couldn’t catch her breath.
If he let go of his hold on her, she’d probably fall at his feet.
She tried to step back, to break the contact between them. But his large hands, placed so intimately, didn’t budge.
“I…I don’t pity you,” she told him, forcing herself to breathe more slowly, in and then out. Beneath her hands, she felt the hard planes of his chest. Felt the strong beat of his heart against her palms.
“I know all about not wanting pity,” she said as she met his gaze head-on. “I’ve had enough of it since my divorce to last a lifetime.”
He shook his head. “Not quite the same thing. You didn’t deserve what you got.” He slowly, ever so slowly, pulled her even closer—impossibly close—until her whole body was pressed against him. “I did.”
His gaze fell to her mouth. She couldn’t move now…even if she wanted to. She closed her eyes. Waited.
“Stop me,” he murmured.
Her eyes snapped open. His words had been a plea.
Her lips parted but no sound came out. How could she stop him when he looked at her with such…intensity. Such hunger? How could she stop him when he made her remember how it felt to be held by a man. Touched by a man.
Wanted by a man.
She stared up at him. His expression was harsh, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed. She kept her hands on his chest—as if keeping that slight distance between them would be enough to save her.
It wasn’t.
He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She was taken by surprise at the softness and warmth of his mouth and, yes, the pleasure of his touch. When he settled his mouth on hers a second time, she slowly slid her hands up to his shoulders.
He cupped her neck with one hand, held her head still. It’d been so long since she’d been held and kissed—really kissed…A low moan escaped her. She pressed her hips against his.
An answering sound rose from his throat and he pulled her up against him so that her toes only grazed the floor. He stroked his tongue across the seam of her lips and she opened them. The slow rasp of his tongue against hers made her heart pound. The feel of his hand on her lower back and his large, solid body against hers—she felt…wanted. Desirable. Maybe even daring.
And, good Lord, it was wonderful.
Until she realized she was acting like a sex-starved divorcee. She was kissing Dillon Ward right there in front of God and anybody who just happened to walk by—or worse, into—the bakery.
What would people say?
Panicked, both at the idea of getting caught and at her own unwanted reaction to him, she leaned back and pushed against Dillon. This time he immediately dropped his hold of her and turned around in one smooth motion. His broad shoulders rose and fell with his rapid breathing. Her breathing was none too steady, either, and she locked her knees to make sure she remained upright.
He lowered his head and muttered something, but she couldn’t make out the words.
His shoulders slumped before he faced her. And she wanted, more than her next breath—or even that new mixer she’d had her eye on for the past year—to be able to read his thoughts.
“I apologize,” he rasped. “That never should’ve happened.”
She wanted to rub her fingertips
over the stiffness of his jaw, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out except a humiliating squeak. She squeezed her eyes shut. God, she really was an idiot.
She cleared her throat. “No harm done.”
He stared at her as if she was a few donuts short of a dozen and shook his head. “Right. So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without waiting for her response, he swept up his tool belt, Thermos and lunch pail and walked out without so much as a backward glance.
Nina moved to the nearest table and slid into a chair.
She bit her lower lip. No harm done? She said that to her kids when they spilled milk at the dinner table. She lowered her head until her forehead hit the cold tabletop with a thump.
And because she deserved it for being so reckless, she tapped her head against the wood twice more.
She figured as far as penances went, a headache was a small price to pay.
The door opened followed by the sound of footsteps. “Nina. Are you all right?”
She didn’t have the energy to lift her head so she turned her face just enough to see Trey crouching next to her, concern etched on his handsome face.
Perfect.
“Are you hurt?” he asked as he gently smoothed her hair off her forehead. “Did you hit your head?”
His touch, combined with his concern, made her straighten. “I’m fine,” she said pulling away from him. “I just…” Experienced the best kiss of my life with Dillon Ward. Not something her ex-husband would be happy to hear. “I have a headache is all.”
Trey didn’t seem convinced. But instead of harping at her, he sat down and unzipped his jacket. “You’re under a lot of stress here. It’s no wonder you’re feeling beat up.” His tone was sincere and soothing. So sincere and soothing she knew he was up to something.
“Was there something you wanted?” she asked wearily.
“I heard about the problems you’ve been having.” Trey leaned back and crossed one designer shoe over the sharply creased knee of his pants.
And here it came. He was there to lay into her for hiring Dillon. “Listen, I’m handling things here. It might not be the way you’d like—”
“Hey, no, that’s not it at all.” He dropped his foot and sat up. “I’m not here to argue with you, Nina.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not?”
“Of course not. Even though we’re no longer together, we both still want what’s best for our family. Our kids.”
“Is that why you’re here? To discuss the kids?”
“In a way.” Trey rested his elbows on his thighs and linked his hands together to hang between his knees. “Hank called me a few hours ago. He told me you hired Ward—”
“What?” She jumped to her feet. Her chair wobbled and she steadied it by slamming it under the table. “My dad called you?”
“Now, don’t get upset. He’s worried about you.” Trey stood, as well. “We all are.”
Her hands curled into fists, but when she spoke, she kept her tone calm and cool. No way would she give Trey or her father the satisfaction of knowing she was about one patronizing pat on the head away from going ballistic. “What right do either of you have to discuss me or my business? And don’t you dare tell me you’re worried about me. You gave up that right two years ago.”
Trey winced. “That’s not fair,” he said. “You know I never meant to hurt you.”
She pressed her lips together and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she cared about him enough to give him the power to hurt her. His affair with Rachel had bruised her pride, but even when she’d been at her lowest point, Nina had known his leaving was the best thing to happen to her.
No, his deserting their marriage hadn’t hurt—but he’d done plenty that had hurt her. Emotionally. Physically.
And each time he called her an ugly name, tromped on her self-worth, or pushed or slapped her, he always apologized and sometimes even blamed his outbursts on his stressful job.
Usually, though, he blamed her. Her nagging. Her unrealistic expectations of him. Her inadequacies.
He’d been wrong. She knew that now, she knew all of his failings were his own fault, his own weaknesses, but she hated that he could still put her on the defensive. To have her saying things better left unsaid, to make her question herself.
And if she’d turned to her family, if she’d told them of Trey’s verbal and physical abuse, she doubted they’d be calling him for backup. But she hadn’t. Just one more bad decision she had to live with.
“Dad doesn’t need to worry,” she said. “I have everything under control here.”
She held her breath and waited for a lightning bolt to fry her where she stood at the blatant lie.
“You’re a bright, capable woman,” Trey said as he stepped closer to her. “But sometimes, you’re too stubborn for your own good. This is just like after Marcus was born. His colic kept you up night after night but you refused to ask your mother to come and stay.”
“What could she have done? I wouldn’t have been able to get much sleep knowing he was screaming in the other room.”
Besides, as much as she’d longed for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, Marcus had needed his mommy. And she hadn’t been about to admit failure at something she’d wanted from the time she was a little girl.
“Seeing as how you won’t ask for assistance, I’m offering it instead.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out a folded check and handed it to her.
She about choked on her own spit when she saw all the zeroes at the end of the amount. And that it was made out to her. “What’s this?”
“Now you can hire whoever you want. For this amount, I guarantee they’ll drop their other jobs and work here.”
She didn’t doubt it, seeing as how it was three times the amount quoted for the job.
She held it out with an unsteady hand. “I can’t take this.”
He frowned but made no motion to take the check. “Of course you can.”
She waved it at him and stepped forward. “I don’t want it.”
“Nina, don’t be ridiculous. I want to help. And, well, to be honest, I always felt bad you didn’t ask for more of a financial settlement during the divorce. This is my way of making it right.”
She blinked. Oh, sure he’d felt bad. So bad it’d taken him two years to offer her any sort of financial help. And only when, she was sure, there was something in it for him.
Against her divorce attorney’s advice, she hadn’t asked for any money except child support. She’d never regretted it. Yes, she’d struggled financially—especially compared to the lifestyle she’d had with Trey—but her kids were well fed, clothed and had a decent roof over their heads.
More importantly, they were loved. And safe.
“No.” She took a shaky breath, lowered her voice. “Thank you, but I don’t need this.”
Impatience flared in his eyes. “If it makes you feel better, we can call it a loan. I know you’ll pay me back when you can.”
That was even worse than it being a gift. And either way, it all boiled down to one thing: she’d owe him.
“I’m not in any position to be taking any loans.” She shoved the check against his chest until he took a hold of it between two fingers.
“This isn’t like you, Nina,”
“What? Saying no? Standing up for myself?”
“Putting your own wants before what’s best for our children. Do you really think it’s safe to have them around a convicted murderer?”
She gripped the back of the chair with both hands. “I would never let anyone hurt my kids.” She remembered how patient Dillon had been with Kyle. How he’d tried to get through to the teenager about straightening his life out. “Besides, I don’t believe Dillon would ever hurt them—or anyone.”
“This is exactly what worries me.” Trey slapped his hand on the table and she jumped. “You’re too naive. It’s obvious Ward’s already playing on
your good nature just so you’ll keep him around.”
Okay, she’d had enough. “You—and Dad and anyone else in town who’s worried—can relax. Dillon isn’t taking advantage of me. He’s doing a job and once that’s over, he’ll be on his way.”
“I hope you’re right,” Trey said, crumpling the check in his hand. “Because you’ve already strained your relationship with your father because of Dillon Ward. Don’t make the mistake of risking more than you care to lose.”
CHAPTER SIX
SATURDAY MORNING, Dillon pushed his lockbox across the bakery’s dining room. Nina’s son, Marcus, had spent the past forty-five minutes at a corner table. His hair was mussed, his sneakers untied and his head was bent over some sort of handheld video game. Every time Dillon looked over, he caught the kid watching him—like a warden on the lookout for a jailbreak. When he’d catch Dillon looking, he’d quickly lower his gaze.
Dillon set the lockbox underneath the boarded-up window. He had enough problems just getting this job done; he sure didn’t need an audience. He’d figured it’d take him a week, ten days at the most, to finish at the bakery. No such luck.
He picked up a stack of chairs. Instead of two days to tear out the drywall and replace the ruined two-by-fours in the damaged walls, it’d taken him four. And the electrician couldn’t get there until Tuesday, which meant Dillon couldn’t install the insulation or hang the new drywall today. So he’d decided to skip ahead a few steps and work on the floor in the hopes of still finishing before Kelsey’s wedding.
Kyle walked by, dragging a single chair in his wake, his long, wavy hair held back by a wide, black bandana. “Aren’t you, like, way old to be listening to Metallica?” he asked with his usual sneer.
“You know,” Dillon said as he switched off the CD player, “if you put as much thought into your work as you did into your wiseass comments, my life would be a lot simpler.”
“Dude,” Kyle said, his expression serious, “I live to make your life easy.”
Dillon pinched the bridge of his nose. “If only that was true.”
The kid rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”