by Cara Bristol
“Exactly! Destiny gets a second chance at life, and she chooses to hang out at your place? I know you were friends, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have another place to go.” His heart sank as he realized that might explain her continued presence. In Zoe’s body, Destiny couldn’t resume her old life, nor could she pick up where Zoe had left off. Was she biding her time with him until she could establish herself?
He understood her situation, but he felt used.
“Maybe you need to get a grip,” Roman said.
* * * *
As he set the table, Chance observed Destiny bustling around the kitchen, singing under her breath. She could whistle and hum, but when she put words to a tune, she couldn’t carry a note. The tiny imperfection did funny things to his insides—that, and the smudge of flour on her cheekbone. Judging from the amount of stuff spread out on the counter, she’d put some real effort into the meal preparation tonight, but the rest of her time was unaccounted for. His conversation with Roman had started him wondering. How did she spend her days? Where had she gotten the money for the groceries she’d bought? Zoe hadn’t been working full-time before the accident, and she’d always existed on the financial edge. She didn’t save money.
Although he hadn’t received any validation from Roman—the opposite, in fact—voicing his suspicions had made them real and raised more issues. What did Destiny intend to do? How could she have slept with him, let him spank her? Was she that desperate?
Of course she was. But he couldn’t live this way—one foot planted in two realities. The uncertainties were fucking with his mind, ripping him apart inside.
After dinner, he would insist they talk. He wanted her to state the truth. He needed to hear it from her lips, for her to confirm he wasn’t losing his mind. A chance still existed that the woman was who she looked like.
“Would you carry stuff to the table, please?” Destiny pivoted and extracted a salad from the fridge. She shook a carafe of dressing and sprinkled it over the greens, then tossed it with a set of short wooden forks he didn’t remember having, and sprinkled some more.
He entered the kitchen. “Did you make that dressing?”
“Uh-huh. Lemon tarragon.” She handed him the salad and the wooden utensils.
He delivered the items to the dining room and returned. One serving bowl contained chicken in a creamy gravy she’s made from a roux; the other held rice. Those went on the table as well. Then two glasses of water.
“We’re set.” She dusted her hands. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“That would be good.” He could use the courage alcohol provided for the conversation ahead. “You sit. I’ll get the glasses.”
After they were both seated with goblets filled, he forked a bit of chicken into his mouth. Creamy, tart, seasoned, and tender. He tried the rice next, and then her salad. He wasn’t much into rabbit food, but she’d tossed crumbles of bacon onto the greens, and her dressing had a nice kick. “It’s all good,” he said.
“Thank you.”
To get the conversation started, to pave the way for the difficult discussion ahead, he shared details of his current restoration project, a Mercury Cyclone. She made some pertinent comments, and he responded while worries eddied in his mind. Why was Destiny still here? What were her intentions?
She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing earrings, green stones suspended by a short gold chain.
He eyed the jewelry, certain he’d seen those earrings before. And equally sure he knew who’d been wearing them. “Are those new?”
Destiny untucked her hair, brushing it down. She shoved away from the table. “Not exactly,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“I got them this week.”
“I would define that as new.” He spoke to her retreating form as she carried her dish to the kitchen.
She muttered something he didn’t catch.
“What did you say?” He set his fork on his plate and twisted in his chair.
“I said, ‘They’re new to me.’” She scraped the remains of her plate into the sink. “Laura gave them to me.” She flipped the switch and ran the garbage disposal for what seemed like a long time. After shutting it off, she approached the table. “Are you finished?”
“Laura did?” A few bites remained of his second helping, but he’d lost his appetite. “I’m done.” He rose to help clear.
“I’ll get it. Relax.” She motioned for him to remain seated.
“No, I’ll help.” He gulped the last of his wine, poured another measure, then grabbed their two empty salad bowls. He headed into the kitchen. Destiny followed with his dish and the silverware.
“So you’ve been visiting Laura?” He leaned against the counter, still holding the crockery. If the woman in the kitchen was Zoe—but she wasn’t—her contact with Laura would be unusual. But it was normal to visit one’s sister.
Destiny scooped leftovers into plastic containers. “Uh-huh. I’m working with her.”
He almost dropped the bowls. “Doing what?” He set them on the counter.
She stowed the leftovers in the refrigerator. “Helping at the photography studio.” Her head popped up over the open door, but she met his gaze briefly before ducking into the icebox again.
“Doing what?” he repeated. This explained what she’d been doing with her time. When had she planned to tell him she was working?
She took her time answering. “Photography.” Coming from inside the fridge, the words were muffled.
“You’re a model, not a photographer,” he said. Each lie she uttered, each excuse, laid out a stick of emotional kindling, building a combustible pile. The theories and hunches that had arisen in conversation with Roman swelled in meaning. He was falling in love with her; she was toying with him. Using him as her security blanket. Yeah, okay, she’d had this freaky, out-of-body thing rip the rug from beneath her feet, but she played both sides by stepping into Zoe’s life yet trying to be Destiny too. How long would she continue the charade?
Until she doesn’t need you anymore.
The kindling ignited. Heat burned in his stomach, swept up his neck. Call her bluff. Tell her you know who she is.
No, force her to admit it. The truth should come from her lips. He couldn’t have her love, but he deserved honesty.
She shut the refrigerator door and returned spices to the cabinet. “I picked up a few things in the modeling business.”
Chance folded his arms. “Will a few things be enough?” He infused skepticism into his tone.
She faced him. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Her eyes flashed. “Well…well…you’ll see.”
“By the way,” he asked, “how have you been getting to the photo studio?” He knew the answer because he’d spied Destiny’s subcompact hidden in plain sight in front of the adjacent condo building. Close enough to be convenient but not so near to their building that anyone would notice. Except he did. Cars were his business.
She adjusted the scarf draped around her neck. He didn’t have a full mental catalog of everything Zoe had owned by any means, but he was pretty damn sure she didn’t have a scarf like that. Black lace with gold beaded fringe.
“I rode the bus one day.” Her gaze skipped off his nose before she focused on her scarf, winding a beaded strand around her finger.
“One day? Then what?”
“Laura gave…let me use D-Destiny’s car.”
“That’s rather generous of her, isn’t it?” Before she could answer, he continued. “So you have her earrings, her car, and, if I’m not mistaken, her scarf.”
Destiny yanked her hand away from the beads as if they had bitten her.
“What else of Destiny’s have you assumed ownership of?” He was acting like an asshole, but he was pissed.
“I didn’t assume ownership of anything.” She glared. “I didn’t ask for those things. If Laura sh
ares Destiny’s stuff with me, what’s wrong with that?”
Chance arched his eyebrows and smirked.
She jutted out her chin. “What’s that all about?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a face.”
He shrugged.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.
“Did I say you did?” He fixed his gaze on her flushed face.
Like a cornered animal seeking escape, she eyed the space between his body and the wall. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She squeezed through the opening, brushing against him. If he allowed her to leave, he’d end up at square one.
“You wasted no time taking possession of Destiny’s things.” He could hear the sneer in his voice, but hurt and resentment overpowered his conscience.
She spun around. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” She clutched the scarf. “It’s not wrong to want mementos of someone you were close to.”
“Is that what it is?” Chance threw back his shoulders. “You’ve taken things that don’t belong to you, and now you’re lying about it.” The truth, Destiny. The truth.
She stared at him, her chin quivering.
“It’s like you’ve taken over her life.” He jabbed verbally.
She jerked as if he’d struck her.
He thrust again. “Sneaking around.” Self-loathing filled his mouth with a bitter taste. What did his behavior say about his scruples? Just admit to her you know the truth.
No, it has to come from her. Intuition whispered if she didn’t confess now, she never would. “Stealing. Like a thief.”
She opened and closed her mouth but emitted no sound. Her blue eyes filled with tears; she lowered her quivering chin. He’d never seen anyone look so wounded—or so guilty.
With a choking cry, she ran from the room.
Seconds later, the front door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.
“Fuck!” Chance punched the air.
* * * *
“He hates me!” Her legs folded under her, Destiny curled into a ball on her sister’s sofa and sobbed.
“No, he doesn’t. He’s angry. Hurt.” Laura patted her shoulder.
“He y-yelled aw-awful things.” True things. She clutched a handful of wet tissues. Her shoulders heaved, and her eyes and head ached from crying. She hadn’t even exited Chance’s house before she burst into tears, and she’d cried during the entire drive to her sister’s apartment. Her stolen body was racked into an aching knot of misery. “He thinks I’m a thief.” His accusation burned like caustic oil that wouldn’t wash off.
Chance had accused Zoe of stealing. He had the wrong person but the right crime. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d skated away from the accident with everything that Zoe owned and had planned to take her place with Chance.
“Why do you think that?” Laura asked.
“He said so.”
“What did he say exactly?”
“He s-said I’d as-assumed pos-possession of Destiny’s stuff and s-stole in like a thief.”
Laura expelled a heavy sigh. “He figured out you’re Destiny.”
She shook her throbbing head. “He would have said so. If I thought my boyfriend, the man I loved, had changed into somebody else, I’d say something! I wouldn’t continue the relationship and have sex with him like nothing had happened.”
“He wanted you to confess the truth,” Laura declared.
“I wish that’s all it was.” Destiny inhaled a long, shuddering breath, then dragged the wadded soggy ball under her nose. Laura grabbed the box from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Thanks,” Destiny said and yanked several fresh ones from the box. She blew her nose.
She lifted her gaze and peered at her sister under wet lashes. “It’s over.”
Laura shook her head.
Destiny dabbed at her swollen eyes. “Yes, it is. I have to accept Chance and I aren’t meant to be together. I need to get on with my new life.” She tossed her tissues onto the pile of wet ones on the coffee table. She smoothed her hair behind her ears, nudging her earring. A new surge of sadness pierced her. She wouldn’t have thought that a man would notice jewelry. Destiny had been nothing more to him than a friend, but the earrings had seemed to set him off. Why did they bother him?
Unless… She froze. Unless he had cared about Destiny. For Zoe to lay claim to Destiny’s possessions might anger him on her behalf. Except he’d never even hinted he liked her in a special way.
But you didn’t make any grand announcements either.
Could they both have harbored secret crushes? Could Laura have been right?
She lowered her head into her palms and moaned. Wishful thinking. Just because she wanted it to be true didn’t mean it was. Propriety and fairness had fueled his outrage, not love. Even if he had cared for Destiny, well, she was Zoe now. A no-win situation. She was a loser no matter how he felt.
“Can I stay here tonight?” She looked at her sister. Her landlord had rented out her old apartment; with Laura’s help, she’d placed her furniture in storage. She’d pinned everything on Chance.
“You can stay as long as you need to but—”
“I’m not going back to him.” Destiny cut her off with an emphatic statement. She didn’t need ESP to guess what her sister had been about to say. “Please let me work this out on my own,” she pleaded in a softer tone.
Laura pressed her lips together. “All right.”
Tomorrow while Chance worked, she’d sneak to the condo and retrieve some clothes. With his accusations ringing in her ears, she loathed taking anything, but she had little choice. She couldn’t afford to replace an entire wardrobe, and none of her things, except for jewelry, scarves, and a few robes, fit. But she wouldn’t take anything more than what she needed to get by.
“I still think—” Laura broke off under Destiny’s glare. “I’ll get the sheets and blankets for the sofa bed.” She marched down the hall, muttering about mistakes and stupid decisions.
Chapter Thirteen
Chance pulled his ball cap low over his forehead and slumped in the driver’s seat of Roman’s SUV. Inside the studio, an accordion screen had been folded back, allowing him to observe the photo sitting in process.
Sitting was a misnomer.
The bald baby wearing a frilly pink dress scampered around as Destiny, Laura, and, judging from the facial resemblance, the baby’s mother coaxed her to remain motionless on the carpeted posing stage. Laughing, Destiny attempted to capture the little girl’s attention by waving a stuffed animal. She’d no sooner get her settled, would squeeze off a shot or two, and the baby would toddle away, the process starting anew.
A week had passed since his failure to force Destiny into confessing For eight long days and even longer nights, he’d ridden a roller coaster of mixed emotions. Missed her. Regretted his actions. Applauded them. Considered taking her back on any terms. Feared no relationship could survive without honesty.
Time chipped at his willpower until he succumbed to the urge to do a drive-by. Except he didn’t cruise; he parked and spied. This was what it had come to: he’d become a stalker, disguised by a hat and sunglasses and an unfamiliar vehicle. If Roman ever suspected why he’d asked to borrow his SUV, Chance would never hear the end of it.
He swiped a hand over his stubbled jaw, then cupped his palm over his mouth and exhaled into it. Stale beer and morning breath filled his nose. He’d forgotten to brush his teeth. Again.
His life had assumed a monotony: working till late, then drinking till he fell asleep. In between, he’d talk to anybody who’d listen, which, since Roman had barked at him to “shut up already” amounted to nobody.
He watched as Destiny confidently handled the camera, interacted with her client. She’d cut and dyed her hair auburn. The pixie haircut enhanced her femininity and showed off the perfect bone structure of her profile, but he would recognize her anywhere because he had connected to her. It wasn’t cooking or humming th
at caused her to stand apart but her inner essence.
Faded blue jeans hugged her spankable butt, and when she turned sideways, he could see corresponding bumps underneath her pink T-shirt. Adrenaline pumped through his system, setting his heart to racing, his pulse to hammering, even as a dark, wet blanket of despair settled over him. He’d done everything a man could do.
Except shout: “I know you’re Destiny Grable.”
When had he become such a coward?
About the time he’d fallen in love with Destiny. Perhaps that was what had made it so difficult to bond with Zoe and then to let her go so easily when they decided to split. His feelings for her had been no deeper than hers for him.
Destiny chuckled at the baby’s antics, her shoulders shaking, her hand clapped over her mouth. Zoe didn’t laugh that way. But Destiny used to. She’d had the most endearing giggle. It lit up her whole face and transformed her from pretty to breathtaking. Despite a new body, a new appearance, she continued to shine.
He tore his gaze away from the woman who tormented his waking hours and haunted his dreams, and focused on a pair of panties on the passenger floorboard and then on a strip of condoms with two empty packets in the center console. To his credit, his brother was prepared. If the Boy Scouts had had a badge for fucking, he would have earned it by age fifteen. Chance knew without checking that the glove box contained a stash of additional rubbers. Roman had scored more women than Chance had dated. He used to envy his brother’s prowess but had since come to realize he and Roman represented flip sides of the same dented coin. One brother couldn’t settle down; the other couldn’t let go.
The baby wound down enough to allow pictures. On the sidelines, her mother spoke animatedly to Destiny’s sister, who grinned and nodded. Then Laura’s smile vanished, and she snapped her head around to stare out the window. A chill traveled up Chance’s spine. Laura touched the mother’s arm, commented, then made a beeline for the door.
Oh, fuck. The last thing he needed was a psychic messing around in his head. He fumbled with the car key. Glanced at the studio. Laura stood on the sidewalk.
“Shit!” He fired up the engine.