Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  I have spent years searching for the real me I left behind. The me I know is in there, waiting patiently to be found underneath the convoluted labyrinth I’ve created to protect her, and truthfully, I thought she was long gone. I’d accepted I’d never find her, and I was okay with that.

  But then I met Shaw Mercer. I hate that when I saw him for the first time I caught a glimpse of her. The old me. The one who used to be full of fire and hope and vigor for life. I hate, hate, hate that when I look into his eyes, I see my light burning inside him. I don’t want him to have it. I don’t want him to guard it like it’s precious and belongs to him.

  He’s not the right one.

  He’s using me. I’m using him. He’ll hurt me, even if it is unintentional. I may hurt him the same way. I know this. Our foundation is nothing but a shifty base of creatively spun deceit. Like tissue paper, it will disintegrate under the slightest pressure because it’s weak.

  Even knowing all of this, I am foolishly developing feelings for him, yet as much as he wants my body, he’s made it very clear there’s a No Vacancy sign permanently nailed over his heart. I’m an emotional mess, and he’s emotionally unavailable. Moving this…whatever this is...beyond professional is a horrible idea.

  Yet…what he said the other night has been echoing endlessly in my head: “If we’re both honest with each other about what this is, no one will get hurt.”

  I’m not sure I believe that’s true, but is it a choice anymore? I am hopelessly fixated on that damn light he holds like it’s going to flicker out before I can figure out how to get it back. I need it back. Maybe if I sleep with him I can douse it?

  “Lowenbrau, you up?”

  I can only laugh when Sierra pounds on my closed door. The one I’ve pinned an “In Session” sign on, hoping it would remind her to leave me alone when I’m trying to work. Guess I’ll have to come up with something else.

  “It’s almost noon,” I announce when I open my door. “When have you known me not to be up by lunchtime?”

  “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble. I’m not. “Why are you up anyway? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

  Sierra is one of the hottest DJs in the entire upper Northwest. Definitely the single most successful female in a profession dominated by males. People flock from hundreds of miles around to hear her play at the trendiest club in downtown Seattle. She works odd hours and sleeps even odder ones. Despite living together all these years, I have yet to figure out her schedule.

  “Here,” she snaps. I look down to see my phone in her hand. It’s ringing. “To answer your question, I would be sleeping, except this fucking thing won’t stop its incessant ringing. Just when I’m drifting off, it starts up again.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” This time I mean it.

  Without another word, she heads back to her room and slams the door. My hand vibrates. I gulp when I see it’s Shaw.

  “Uh, hello?”

  “What the fuck, Willow? I’ve been calling you all goddamn morning,” his baritone voice booms.

  Jesus, this man knows exactly the right sequence of buttons to push to rile me. “I thought we already went over this. I do have a life. Another job, remember?” I snipe, closing my door before I flop onto my still unmade bed.

  “I was getting worried about you.” He sounds a smidge less irate than a second ago. “I almost left work to come check on you to make sure you were okay. Again.”

  Oh.

  Well.

  Now I feel like a real bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” I say contritely. “I was recording and I had my headphones on and my door shut. My phone was downstairs charging.”

  “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

  “No,” I answer quickly. “I promise.”

  A long, steady breath comes through the speaker. I can just imagine him pacing around his office stabbing his hands through his hair in frustration. I bet he looks sexy as hell right now.

  “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean for you to worry.” Who knew he would be worried? “Why are you calling?”

  “Just give me a minute,” he breathes.

  Is he really that upset he couldn’t get me?

  “Shaw?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  A beat passes before he answers. “Fine, yes. It’s...” He sighs again. “I’m sorry I acted like a jerk.”

  “This is becoming a habit,” I tease. “Maybe I should have negotiated hazard pay.” He laughs, and I feel the energy lighten significantly. “So, what was so earth-shattering you almost called in the National Guard to hunt me down?”

  I hear the grin in his voice when he responds. “You’re stretching my concern here.”

  “Am I?” I toss back, amused.

  “Yes. It was a mild irritant at most.” He’s back to the relaxed, teasing Shaw I’ve quickly grown fond of.

  “Irritant? As in someone left just a swallow in the milk carton irritant, or someone just ran into the back of your car irritant?”

  His boisterous laugh ripples through me. Tingles explode everywhere.

  “I want to see you tonight,” he husks.

  God, I love it when he sounds needy like that.

  “Well, I guess it’s your lucky day. I happen to be free. Last minute business dinner?” I add quickly, because surely he doesn’t mean he wants to see me, me.

  My eyes fall to my nightstand, where I notice a faint layer of dust already gathering although I just cleaned two days ago. I absently swipe my finger through it and study the particles gleaming in the light. My gaze goes to the stunning arrangement of flowers delivered yesterday. They’re beautiful, but what makes them unique are the red catkin willows sprinkled throughout and the note accompanying it that said:

  I wanted to send pussy willows but I

  thought that was a little cliché.

  ~ Drive By

  I realize I’m grinning like a besotted teenager when I hear him say, “I’ll text you the information this afternoon.”

  “Can’t you just tell me now since you worked so hard to get me?”

  “No, Goldilocks, I can’t. I wasted so much time trying to reach you that I’ve neglected my other responsibilities this morning. I’ll have to work that much harder to get everything on my schedule done today.”

  “It won’t happen again, sir,” I sass, loving how easily we play off one another.

  “Fuck, Willow.” His tone is about two panty-scorching octaves lower than seconds ago. “Next time you say that, you will be begging me to let you come.”

  I exhale in a whoosh, my mind immediately picturing being stretched out on his bed; my naked, thrashing body beaded with sweat from the many times he’s brought me up to the edge only to leave me hovering in sweet agony.

  “I don’t beg,” I finally manage to push out.

  “Mmmm. But if you’re gracious enough, I’ll make the pain worth it.”

  There are so many things I hear swelling in his voice right now. Promise. Power. Pure sex. Not one of them is humor, though. He’s dead serious.

  Holy hell.

  “Keep your phone close to you from now on. And answer it when I call.”

  Omnipotent.

  That’s the best singular word I have to describe this man. He barks, people act. Too bad for him I’m not afraid of his bite. In fact, I’ve begun to crave it.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Willow,” he says, his voice clearly scolding.

  “Don’t you have a busy day, Drive By? Best be going so you can find time to text me later.”

  The muted rumble in the back of his throat sounds wolfish. “I can’t wait to school you in the proper way to respect your boss.”

  I wait for a dark chuckle to follow. It doesn’t.

  Gulp.

  A slow heat magnifies between my clenched thighs.

  “I can’t wait to learn,” I breathe.

  Stupid. That’s me. I’m goading
a lion with only a piece of straw as a weapon. I clearly have no sense of self-preservation.

  He clears his throat, but his voice is still husky. Well, huskier than usual. “Don’t forget.”

  I don’t think I’ll forget a second of this phone call. Not sure which part he wants me to remember, though, I ask, “Forget what?”

  “That you asked for it.”

  Oh. Shit. My entire body tightens.

  I’m not sure how long it takes me to realize that he’s hung up without so much as a good-bye. I toss my cell beside me and blink long, slow blinks. My chest is rising and falling as fast as if I’ve just finished a five-mile run.

  This is it. We’re really going to do this. He’s worn me down.

  It’s just sex, Willow, nothing more.

  We have a contract, an expiration date. That’s it. Lock everything else down, because if you don’t, you could easily get lost in between what is and what could never be.

  I simply can’t let that happen.

  18

  Jesus, I’m nervous.

  I look at Shaw’s text for about the hundredth time today to be sure I read it right the previous ninety-nine.

  Dinner. My house. 7:00 p.m. sharp.

  Why would we be having dinner at his house when the whole idea is for us to be seen in public? I see no other cars here, sans a probably expensive silver sports car. It’s parked close to the garage and looks like the one I saw outside of Randi’s, so it has to be Shaw’s. Maybe he had me arrive earlier than everyone else?

  Deciding he’s not going to call me out on sitting in my car again, I make it halfway to the front door before it swings open. With a lopsided grin and corded arms crossed, Shaw leans casually against the jamb, looking absolutely edible in his faded jeans and an inky-black tee that’s stretched across his muscles. Once again, his feet are bare and his hair is damp as if he’s freshly showered.

  He looks like sex and candy. And sex. Forget the candy. He looks exactly like sex.

  “Good job, Goldilocks. You cut the time you spent in your car in half. You’re making progress.”

  I ignore his jab, my eyes sweeping over his sinful form before landing on his beautiful face. That sexy smirk grew. “You said we were having dinner.”

  “We are.”

  “Then why are you dressed like that?” Like we’re skipping right to the sex part.

  With both hands, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me flush to him. I hate that whenever he touches me I want to purr.

  “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

  No. I fucking love it.

  “I…I didn’t say that.”

  “Then you do like what I’m wearing.” His smug voice falls, and he bobs his eyebrows up and down, making me laugh.

  How this sexy godlike man doesn’t have women camped outside his house every day throwing themselves on his car like shameless hos is beyond me. I don’t follow the gossip rags, and Seattle is admittedly a big city, but I’m surprised I’d never heard of Shaw Mercer until a few weeks ago.

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  He swoops down and murmurs before kissing my cheek, “You didn’t have to. I see more than you think I do, Ms. Blackwell.”

  Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.

  I deposit my shoes by the door, and he grabs my hand, leading me through his house, straight out the glass sliding doors and onto his monstrous, multilevel deck. We stop at the railing, and I stare in amazement.

  “Wow,” I breathe, gazing out into the calm, dark blue water. Several boats cut slowly through the glass top, causing lazy ripples to lap across the rocky shore not even a hundred paces away. I envision their passengers, drinks in hand, the wind in their hair and the sun in their eyes. “This is stunning. Truly beautiful.”

  Shaw leans his forearms on the iron, bending slightly at the waist. His eyes follow mine. “It is. It’s not as beautiful as my parents’ view, but it’s a close second.”

  I take in his immense, secluded lot lined with tall, grand trees on either side. Right below us is a concrete patio that holds a giant in-ground pool. To the far left are a sunken hot tub and a circle of rust-colored padded chairs surrounding a massive brick fire pit. Plants, flowers, strategically placed shrubs, and boulders round out the backyard oasis.

  It’s spectacular. I would live outdoors if I owned this house. “Oh, I don’t know about that. This is pretty great.”

  “Thanks,” he replies quietly.

  “Have you lived here long?”

  “Almost four years now.”

  “It’s peaceful. I like it.” More than I should.

  “It’s a good place to hang my hat at night.”

  I want to look at him, but I keep my eyes on the waters ahead. “Why don’t you live on Mercer Island?” This is the third time he’s talked with fondness about the island his family founded, so while his home is truly spectacular, I wonder why he doesn’t live there.

  “At first it was independence. I love my family, but I wanted to get away from my parents when I was younger, so after college, I bought a place of my own. Sold it for a mint and bought this also for a steal when the former owners were foreclosing. My family would love it if I moved back, and maybe someday I will. But I like it here for now.”

  “I think this place suits you,” I tell him.

  “Thanks. What about you? You live in Seattle all your life?”

  Safe topic. “Born and bred. Grew up in Montlake, went to college at UW. Moved in with Sierra after we graduated.” True, though I leave out the part where I moved in with my fiancé for a year before I broke it off and moved back in with Sierra.

  “What did you study?”

  I slide my eyes to his and smile. “Drama.”

  His laugh lights my insides up. “Figures. Did you ever put it to use?”

  My smile falls. “I use it every day in my job.”

  “Which one?” I don’t mistake the fact that his voice has sharpened.

  “Both,” I pipe back, unaffected. He may not like what I do—correction, did—but I wouldn’t be here otherwise.

  We fall still as I listen to the soothing sounds of crashing waves. I close my eyes, enjoying the early evening rays warming my face and the peace of being here in this moment. It’s the same sense of ease I had last time I was here. I don’t know if there’s something special about this house or the man in it that makes me feel like I belong here. I don’t, but for this one second, I decide not to worry about the whys and let myself just be.

  With one of my senses now muted, I’m all too aware of Shaw’s slow, even breaths close to my ear. My blood warms, but it has nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the man who just snaked his arm around my middle. Flutters low in my belly kick into high gear when he turns me toward him and cradles my face.

  “Look at me, Willow,” he commands in a low-toned whisper.

  God, I knew this name thing was going to be the end of me.

  I don’t know why, but I feel like this moment could change everything between us. Once my eyes connect with his, I’m worried he’ll see too much…that I’m teetering on the edge of falling for him and his irresistible charms despite my best efforts. Despite telling myself last night this is only sex.

  I am such a liar.

  “Why?”

  “Open your eyes.” Slight pressure against my drawn lids startles me until I register his lips. I have no choice but to obey when he eases away because the sheer need I hear in his voice strips away my defenses. Is he feeling so much as a fraction of what I am right now? Am I alone in these crazy feelings rapidly swelling between us?

  We have an expiration date.

  Right.

  Calling on every single skill I have, I let my gaze focus and join with his. But my effort is pointless. My heart races at the melting pot of emotions I see. They match my own.

  Desire.

  Confusion.

  Affection.

  “I don’t want you going back to that when we’r
e done.”

  I want to tell him I can’t anyway. That he doesn’t get to dictate what I do when we part ways. Instead, I say, “I won’t.”

  His eyes both darken and soften. “What you’re doing with me is no act.”

  “It is. It has to be,” I whisper desperately. It simply has to be.

  “It’s not. I don’t want it to be.” His strangled confession only confuses me more. The need to protect myself is blinking a bold and blinding red.

  “Shaw, we can’t muddy what we’re doing here.”

  Time feels suspended as I wait for him to agree. But something ripples through his blue pools that I don’t understand, followed by a growly, “What are you doing to me, Willow?”

  “I don’t know,” is the only way I can respond. Only it’s a bald-faced lie because it’s the exact same thing he’s doing to me. A heady combination of wild emotions rushes through me like a raging river, making me dizzy as it takes me under. I’m terrified I’m going to drown in them. In him.

  “Whatever it is, I can’t seem to stop it,” he says before tenderly placing his lips on mine.

  Every worry and stray thought is blown away when he slides his hand through my hair and tips my head, increasing the pressure and cadence against my mouth. He’s in complete control of me. He takes. I let him. I like it. I want more.

  All too soon he pulls away, and I swallow a groan of pent-up sexual frustration.

  “If I didn’t have plans for dinner, you’d already be naked and writhing under my mouth.” His raspy voice showers me in goose bumps.

  It’s now or never. I either tell him to back off, and I know he will, or I commit. My choice is pretty damn easy what with his intense want for me literally twitching against my stomach and mine drenching my panties. This will change everything, but I can’t ignore it any longer.

  “I’m not hungry. For food anyway,” I say breathlessly.