Outside The Lines

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Jules slipped from the bed to slide into her bathrobe, and damn it, Blake couldn’t catch a glimpse of her face to read her expression. “Ah, I’m a little busy right now. Let me call you back.”

  “Wait a second… are you still…oh shit!” Aaron barked out a laugh, and Blake seriously considered strangling the guy the next time he saw him, blood ties be damned.

  “Busy,” Blake hissed. “I’ll call you later.” He punched the end call icon, flipping his phone to vibrate and shoving it under a pillow, just in case. “Sorry about that. I should’ve ignored it.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Jules said, her street-tough veneer locked and loaded as she perched on the edge of the bed, twisting her hair into an efficient knot. “Now that we’re up, I’ll make some coffee.” She shifted her weight to stand, but damn it, he’d come here last night because he didn’t want to let her get away again.

  If he was going to get reckless, he might as well go all in.

  “I don’t want coffee, Jules,” he said, wrapping an arm around her to capture her in the tangle of covers still around his waist. “I want you.”

  The words froze her into place, but her expression slipped. “It’s not that easy, Blake.”

  Jules let go of the words on a whisper, and hell, she smelled so sweet and indulgent, he couldn’t help but press the back of her silky robe against his bare chest.

  “It’s also not that hard. Look, I’m not saying I want to dive into anything here.” As much as Blake didn’t want her to run, he wasn’t about to hand his heart back over on a silver platter, either. “But I’m not going to lie. Being with you feels good. And it’s been a long time since I had that.”

  He swung her around to face him side by side on the mattress, and she moved willingly, the guarded expression she normally wore like armor suddenly soft. “What about the carnival? I can’t lose this contract for Mac’s.”

  Blake nodded. “I understand. But what we do outside of the hospital is nobody’s business except ours. Hell, even my parents used to serve on committees together. There’s no rule against it, as long as we don’t get carried away in the building again.”

  “But your mother—”

  “Will get over what happened yesterday,” he finished, brooking no argument as he leaned in to taste the lush bow of her bottom lip. “I just want to be with you, like this.” He kissed her again, lingering over her mouth as he whispered. “Nothing complicated. Just us. What do you say?”

  For a second, that tough shell of resistance flickered in her eyes, but then it disappeared, replaced by a mischievous flash of heat.

  “I suppose that means you’re sticking around for breakfast?”

  “Hmm.” He cinched up his brows, pretending to think about it. “Let me check my calendar. I might have— oof! Okay! Okay!” His laughter mixed in with hers as he caught her expertly placed elbow to his ribs. “Yes, I’d like to stay for breakfast.”

  “Good.” Jules smiled before she slid from the tumble of covers, and damn if he didn’t feel the happiness on her face everywhere. “Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes. I plan to keep you busy all morning.”

  #

  Jules angled her back against the inside arm of Blake’s buttery-soft leather couch, skimming the twelve-page event plan update he’d just pulled off the printer in his home office. They’d spent a considerable slice of the last three weeks on the Carnival For A Cure, finalizing everything from food service volunteer schedules to emergency evacuation protocol. The fact that they’d also spent a considerable slice of that time in bed (and on the floor…and in the shower…and maybe once against Blake’s living room wall) wasn’t lost on Jules, either. But as much as it scared her senseless, she simply couldn’t get around the truth.

  If they kept taking each day as it came just like this, she was going to fall in love with him all over again. And there wouldn’t be a damned thing she could do about it.

  All over again.

  “Wow.” Jules jammed a lid on the thought, sliding her bare toes over the cool, smooth cushions to nudge Blake’s pajama-clad thigh with a grin. “I can’t believe you got seventeen doctors and nurses to sign on for this bachelor-bachelorette auction. Even if you did have to take one for the team and put your own name at the top of the list.”

  Blake’s laughter mixed in with a don’t-remind-me groan. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget the six firefighters, two members of the Brentsville Rescue Squad, and one paramedic we just added. Although I think you had a lot more to do with that than I did.” He ran his hand lazily over her ankle, and even the benign touch sent little sparks over her skin.

  “I just brought a quick meal to the station house when your cousin was on shift the other day. No big deal.”

  “Jules.” He took a deep draw from his coffee before putting the cup on the side table at his elbow. “Aaron said you made six trays of homemade mac and cheese and nine dozen double-chocolate brownies. That’s hardly a quick meal.”

  “Hey!” She laughed, not wanting to cop to the buttered green beans and fresh lemonade that he’d left off the list. “Those guys work hard. Plus, you should see some of the things they try to pass off as meals. I mean, I know they’re busy and all, but Ho-Hos are not a food group. And anyway, Serenity and Violet helped,” she said, trying to spread the credit where it was due, but Blake shook his head.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” With a firm but gentle yank, Blake scooped her into his lap, his palms tight over the low rise of her pajama pants as he anchored their bodies face to face. “When are you going to admit it? This carnival wouldn’t be half the event it is without all your hard work.”

  “I’m organizing the catering. Yes,” Jules held up a hand to stave off the protest brewing on his already parted lips. “It’s a lot of work. But this is my job, remember? It’s just what I do.”

  “I see.” He slid his palms from her hips to the hem of her tank top, and oh God his hands felt so strong and hot and undeniably good. “And is it part of your job description to recruit Brentsville Police detectives to volunteer as extra security on the day of the carnival?”

  Her laughter doubled its efforts. “That’s not fair! Jason and Noah wanted to pitch in, and they couldn’t volunteer for the bachelor auction since they’re off the market. I suggested security detail, but they’re the ones donating their time and expertise.”

  One sandy brown brow lifted. “There are seven volunteer detectives from two different departments on this list.”

  “What can I say? Jason and Noah are friendly guys.”

  “Uh-huh, fine then.” Blake’s hands moved up, skimming her bare arms and leaving a spray of goosebumps in their wake. “Is it also just part of your job to garner nearly double the donations for the silent auction from local business owners?”

  “A lot of those guys come to Mac’s for lunch and dinner. All I did was mention that we were catering the event, and they decided to donate extra.” Okay, so she might’ve also encouraged a teensy bit of friendly competition between a bunch of them to see who could donate the most. But it had been all in good fun, and the more money they raised, the more it would help people with cystic fibrosis. Win-win.

  “You know,” Blake said, pressing up to brush a kiss over her mouth. “The standard response when someone compliments your hard work is usually thank you.”

  “Haven’t we established that nothing about me is standard?” Although she meant the question as a sassy joke, Blake hooked a finger beneath her chin so she had no recourse but to meet the seriousness behind his smoky green stare.

  “Nothing about you is sub-standard, either. I’m not letting you up until you say it.”

  “Come on,” she laughed, shifting to push up from his lap even though it sent her libido into pout-mode. “You have to be at work in two hours, and you need to eat.”

  “Nope.” He circled his arms around her in a tighter grip, pulling her forward until her chest met his. “Uh-uh. Not until you admit that you’re doing an amazing job.”

 
; “No.” She wrapped the word in just enough northie-tinged knock-it-off for him to relent, unwinding herself from the comfort of his lap to head toward his kitchen.

  But the honesty on his face hit her like a hope-filled sucker punch, and something deep within her chest refused to let her cross the threshold.

  Blake believed what he’d said. Jules owed him the truth, no matter how much it scared the hell out of her.

  “I can’t say I’m the great person you think I am, because I don’t believe it.”

  Jules’s heart hammered hard enough for her to hear the whoosh of blood in her ears, and Oh God, she really needed to shut up, to take it back, to bite her tongue silly. But when Blake moved behind her, turning her around to cup her face and look right into her with those eyes that missed nothing, Jules knew he saw past the road blocks and fast talk. He saw her.

  And he truly believed she was worthy.

  “I’m not sure why,” Blake said, and his quiet, matter-of-fact calm was all it took to let the floodgates open wide.

  “You think you know who I am, but you don’t. You don’t know where I came from. Not really,” she blurted, the admission burning a path of heat over her cheeks.

  “Does this have to do with you being an orphan?” Blake’s forehead creased, but before he could work up any more questions about the vague story she’d given him when they first met, Jules forced herself to keep talking.

  “I am an orphan, but that’s not the whole truth. I was born in the North Brentsville Women’s Shelter, because my mother was living in an abandoned warehouse when she went into labor with me. She turned me over to the foster care system when I was three, and I don’t know anything about my father other than the fact that he didn’t want me, either. Family services tried to place me with an adoptive family, but I was just another welfare kid in a system already full of them.”

  Blake’s jaw went tight, a barely-there hardening of the muscles beneath the gold-brown stubble. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

  “Because where I come from, admitting your weaknesses gets you hurt. Or worse yet, left behind.”

  “Growing up in foster care isn’t a weakness, Jules. Wait,” he said, his eyes going wide with realization. “Is that why you never told me about your family or took me to your place? You thought it made you weak?”

  She nodded, unable to keep the words from pouring out like water spilled from an oversized glass. “I’ve spent my whole life being tough just to survive. I couldn’t tell you the ugly details, Blake. You were pre-med at Brentsville University, smart and funny and from the wealthiest family in the entire zip code. What would you have said if you’d known I’d lived in seven foster homes in thirteen years, and that I left high school at seventeen because I needed to get a job or starve? That when I met you, I carried everything I owned with me in a duffel bag because it was the best way to keep it from getting stolen from my shitty apartment in Battery Heights? What would you have said if you’d known the truth?”

  For an excruciating second, he said nothing, and damn it, she should’ve just stayed quiet. But then Blake stepped in, the honesty on his face so real and open and true that Jules knew not only was she in love with him all the way to her bones, but she’d never really stopped.

  “I would’ve said that I wanted you anyway, Jules, no matter what. Just like I do now.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her traitorous eyes filling with tears. “I was afraid that if you saw it all, even now, you wouldn’t want to be with me. I didn’t mean to keep anything from you, and I never meant to hurt you by leaving, but I’m not… I’m not…” Jules stumbled on the words, the echo of an eight-year-old memory sifting up from the back of her brain.

  You’re going to ruin him, you know. You’re not good enough for my son.

  “That’s what made you leave so suddenly eight years ago?” His voice was thick with surprise, and something deeper Jules couldn’t quite identify. “Because you thought you weren’t good enough?”

  Oh no. No, no. There was no point in doing any more damage when the end result wouldn’t change. Telling Blake that his mother had shown up at her grungy apartment, deep in the underbelly of the worst part of Brentsville, three days before she and Blake were supposed to leave for New York City to precipitate Jules’s decision would only make it hurt worse. And even though she hadn’t meant to, Jules had hurt him enough already. She couldn’t tear his family apart, too.

  So she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Come here.” But rather than gathering her close, Blake took her hand, guiding her down the hallway and over the sun-strewn floorboards of his kitchen until he shushed to a stop in front of the pantry.

  “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the door with a gentle incline of his head, and— not knowing what else to do— Jules palmed the knob to swing it open.

  “Oh.” The hot tears she’d been able to blink away a few minutes ago redoubled their efforts, breaching her eyelids. She ran her fingers over the achingly familiar jar of orange marmalade and the day-old loaf of brioche, and oh God, there were three different jars of honey and a skillet on the shelf, too. “Why did you get these?”

  “Because.” Blake thumbed a tear from her cheek. “I don’t want to miss another single chance to have breakfast in bed with you. I don’t care what your past looks like, or where you grew up. I don’t want us to hide things from each other, ever. I’m done not living out loud. I want all of you, Jules. You can’t see yourself as good enough, but I can’t see you as anything but mine.”

  Blake leaned in, pressing his mouth over hers in a reverent kiss Jules felt from her bones to her belly. “I want us to be honest with each other, no matter what. I want to be with you, Jules. Tell me you’ll stay.”

  She kissed him back with matching need, her mouth seeking and finding all at once. His fingers knotted in her hair, holding her close as he tasted her lips, parting them easily with his own. Everything about him, from his hot palms on the back of her neck to the intoxicating hope in his words, sustained Jules from the inside out, and when Blake carried her to his bedroom with clear and vivid intention, she knew she’d never be the same without him.

  “I’ll stay, Blake. I’ll stay.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jules balanced a stuffed-to-the-gills grocery bag on each hip of her black pencil skirt, side-stepping a pair of nurses on her familiar path toward Brentsville ER’s main triage desk. With five weeks’ worth of committee meetings under her belt, she no longer felt like an interloper in either dressy clothes or the hospital’s hallways, although she’d had to get creative with her wardrobe choices this week. After all, there were only so many times a girl could rotate the small handful of appropriate items in her closet before having to raid her best friend’s stash of skirts and suits.

  “Oooh, is it Thursday again?” Dr. Cross, who had eased up significantly on the cocky-factor since their first meeting last month, tipped his head at the load Jules’s arms in a wordless may I? as he fell into step next to her.

  “Hello to you too, Dr. Cross,” she teased, although her shoulder muscles were secretly relieved when he took one of the bags from her grasp. “I take it you’ve been eagerly awaiting breakfast.”

  “Since about Monday afternoon.” He gave up a laugh, and huh. He was actually pretty handsome when he went the genuine route. “How’s it going with the last-minute prep for the carnival? Anything I can do to help out before Saturday?”

  “You’re already letting us sell off a night of your life at the bachelor auction,” Jules reminded him. “It’s really nice of you to donate a date.”

  “It’s not exactly a hardship to be bid on by a bunch of Brentsville’s prettiest,” Dr. Cross joked, his confident air making an appearance in his grin. “But really, it’s for a great cause. Plus, you and Dr. Fisher have worked really hard to pull the carnival together for the hospital. Donating a date is the least I can do.”

  The shrill sound of the alarm on the intercom canceled out the
thank you on her lips, and she and Dr. Cross hitched to a stop just outside the door to the staff lounge at the same time the voice on the speaker signaled a code red in one of the trauma rooms.

  “Ah, that’s my cue. Sorry, I’ve got to go.” He handed the grocery bag back to her with an apologetic smile, already poised to move down the hallway.

  “No worries,” Jules said, nudging the staff lounge door from its frame with her hip. “I’ll make sure to save you something to eat.”

  “You do look out for us, don’t you? Thanks, Jules.” Dr. Cross winked, way more charming than cheesy as he took off at a sprint toward the trauma bay, and Jules turned to step all the way into the lounge. If the incoming trauma was as serious as it sounded, she’d probably have some time to review her notes one last time after setting up breakfast, maybe even make a few calls before—

  “Good morning, Ms. Shaw.”

  Frances Fisher’s crisp, no-nonsense voice sent Jules’s easygoing mood into a full-bodied flatline.

  “Good morning,” Jules returned, and even though she had politely interacted with the woman a handful of times since the day of the kissing-on-the-desk debacle, every last one of Jules’s defenses clamored for DEFCON one.

  Which was stupid, really. Yes, Mrs. Fisher might arguably be the most influential person in the city, and one who still held Jules’s job on this contract in the palm of her hand at that. But she was still just a person, who slept and breathed and ate just like Jules did.

  Come to think of it, Mrs. Fisher looked kind of pale.

  “I’ve come to sit in on your final meeting with Blake to make sure there are no last-minute glitches,” the older woman said with brisk efficiency. “With only two days left before the carnival, it’s imperative that we stay completely focused.”

  Jules nodded in agreement. “We triple-checked the updated plan just yesterday. I’ve got all the notes right here. Blake and I usually just go from the book to keep everything all in one place. But of course you’re welcome to review it all if you’d like.” She lowered the grocery bags to the table, her shoulders singing a hallelujah chorus as she released the food to unearth her trusty notebook from her purse.