Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  “I’ll try,” she whispers. “Shaw.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can let me go now.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  Just as I release her, my phone rings and my heart soars—until I look down and see it’s our father. Disappointment runs through me that it’s not the one person I want to hear from.

  I glance at Annabelle. One of our unspoken rules when we get together, is no cell phones. I always try to carve out dedicated time just for her.

  “It’s okay. You can get it.”

  “You sure?”

  She waves to my ringing device before digging into her burger.

  “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Are you busy tomorrow night, son?”

  Yes. I plan to be buried balls deep in Willow. Somehow, someway.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar. I have a Children’s Hospital board meeting around the corner; I just can’t remember which day this week it is. Why?”

  Annabelle slides her gaze my way, clearly wondering what’s going on.

  “I’m hosting a very informal get-together with a few supporters at my house tomorrow night, and I’d like you there.”

  I sigh quietly.

  “It’s short notice. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That’s fair. Oh, and I’d also like you to bring that girl of yours. Willow.”

  A slow smile spreads on my face. “Yeah. I’m sure we can make that work.” Very fucking sure. “I’ll just double check our schedules and let you know.”

  “Perfect. It would make your mother very happy. She’s talked nonstop about her since you brought her over.”

  I sober. Shit. I’m a horrible son. I should have anticipated that my mom would fall in love with Willow. I’m wondering if it’s impossible not to.

  Having no choice, I push the guilt aside and remember why I’m doing this. For my father. For my baby sister. For my other siblings, to keep their personal shit out of the limelight. I’d sacrifice all that I have, all that I am for them. My mother will be disappointed when Willow and I “break up,” but she’ll get over it just as she has with every other daughter-in-law hopeful.

  “If I have a conflict, I’ll try to rearrange so we can be there.”

  “Thanks, son.”

  I hang up, excitement bubbling inside. I have a few scheduled events coming up, but not enough, so this is absolutely perfect. Even if we have to spend the evening with a bunch of stuffy politicians and bootlickers, it doesn’t matter as long Willow is by my side.

  “Something good, I take it?” my little sister asks.

  “Yes. Very good,” I reply, finally digging into my own meal.

  As I devour my greasy fries, I try to ignore the little voice inside my head whispering that my mother may not be the only one falling for this girl.

  24

  I take one last look at the three circular purple bruises dotted on either thigh before letting my skirt drop, smoothing it to be sure it’s wrinkle free. Instead of tonight, I try to focus on them, who put them there, and how damn good it felt to be wanted so fiercely your partner loses all control, marking you as his in the heat of passion.

  Even though I’m not.

  His, I mean.

  He almost had me the other night. I nearly caved and stayed in his warm embrace. I wanted to. Jesus, did I want to. But I couldn’t. If I stayed cuddled up with him all night like we’re really some couple starting a brand-new relationship, I’ll fall further into the lie myself. It’s one thing to fool everyone else; I can’t afford to fool me, too.

  Tension twists my stomach again. I don’t know why, out of any date we’ve had so far, this night makes me most nervous. There’s an unknown in the air. It’s as if I have a sixth sense that something big is going to go down, shifting the path I’m on. Again. I felt it the same the night my sister overdosed. I felt it the same the night my father died.

  Maybe it’s just seeing Shaw for the first time since we had sex. And that’s what it was, I keep telling myself. Sex. Just raunchy, can’t-get-enough-of-you, downright-dirty sex. It didn’t mean anything. Not a thing.

  Except it did.

  I wasn’t supposed to feel like I did. I wasn’t supposed to feel soft and squishy and melted into a pile of goo. I was supposed to feel empowered and reenergized and plain old satisfied. The itch scratched—and scratched well. Instead, I felt…adored.

  The urge to call or text or drive to his house and lie naked on the kitchen table, giving myself over to him completely the next day was frightening. It’s all I thought about all day, but instead of acting on it, I harnessed it. I threw myself into my narration of Forsaking Gray and made great progress.

  My gut churns when the doorbell rings. I stand still too long, and it dings again. I imagine Shaw on the other side, impatient. Taking a few deep, calming breaths I check my reflection in the mirror one more time, ignoring the excitement I see staring back.

  “Hi,” I say evenly when I open the door. I’ve missed you is on my tongue, but I spit it out before it catches sound.

  “Hi, yourself,” he replies in that baritone voice that’s like a warm blanket wrapping around me. I preen under his long perusal, feeling his eyes as they travel the length of me.

  “You ready?” I ask, grabbing my purse from the table next to the entrance.

  “Not quite.”

  I take a step back for each he takes forward until he grabs my waist and spins me, pinning me to the inside wall. He digs his hands through my hair once he has me in place. “You look breathtaking, Goldilocks,” he growls before slanting his mouth over mine.

  Our kiss breathes and pulses and gathers steam until it takes on a life of its own. Desperate need sweeps us up in her maelstrom until I feel raw and stripped and one with him. How can a simple kiss affect me like this?

  Because nothing about Shaw Mercer is simple.

  “I want to be inside you more than anything right now,” he pants, nipping down my jaw harshly. As if he thinks I need proof, he bends his knees, aligning his cock with my core, and nearly makes me weep when he presses forward into my pounding clit.

  “I’m not stopping you.” I spread my legs apart farther. Fuck it. I’m done pretending I don’t want him. I do. Regardless of whether I end up with a broken heart, I want this, and for the next few weeks, I’m going to take it.

  “Willow…fuck.” I gasp when he drives his hips into me again. “If I hadn’t promised my father we’d be there, you’d already be coming around my cock.”

  “Now you’re just teasing.” I moan as he keeps up his relentless assault, edging me closer.

  “Are you wet for me, Willow?”

  “Drenched.”

  Groaning loudly, he drops his forehead to mine and grips my hips hard, stilling their motion. Ragged breaths drizzle over my face. “We’ll stay an hour, tops. Then I’m going to bring you back here, and you’re going to let me do whatever I want to this sinful body.”

  “Okay.”

  Drawing back, he looks me in the eye. “Okay? Just like that? No snippy comeback?”

  I drop my head back to the wall and smile. “I knew it, Drive By. I knew you liked my lip.”

  He laughs, a mischievous look crawling across his face. “You’re right, Goldilocks. I like both glossy sets, actually. Very much.” His voice drops. “But I have to admit, I also envision you on your knees, those mouthy lips milking my cock dry, too.”

  My stomach flips, skin heating when his gaze drops to my mouth and stays. The mood perceptibly shifts from playful to serious.

  Cupping one cheek, his body is flush with mine as he leans slowly into me until only a breath separates our mouths. With every slow exhale, his longing fans my face. My legs wobble when he lightly runs his nose along the side of mine. It’s erotic and tender, and oh God, steals a part of me. My lids feel heavy. They weigh a hundred pounds. I give up the fight and let them fall shut just as he says my name, the hoarse whisper sounding like a benediction, reaching my ears o
nly a second before his lips ghost mine.

  This time the kiss is sweet, sensual, and drugging. Meaningful. Giving instead of taking. It bursts with promises I want…but know aren’t there.

  God help me.

  I know what this is. I know what’s happening.

  I’m falling in love with this man despite my best efforts, and I don’t know how to stop it.

  More importantly, I think it might be too late.

  “Willow, dear. So nice to see you again.” Adelle Mercer draws me into her bony embrace. She’s a slight woman who could stand to eat a few pieces of cheesecake.

  “You, too, Mrs. Mercer.”

  “Adelle, dear. I thought we moved past that last time.”

  We did, but it’s too personal. I’m falling in love with your son and your family, and I’ll be but a distant memory by the new year. I manage to smile and say, “Okay, yes.”

  “You know, Shaw doesn’t often bring a woman around more than once,” she whispers low.

  I believe that to be true. I think about the beautiful brunette and wonder if he brought her here to meet his family.

  “Is that so?” I ask.

  I turn my head to see Shaw observing us as he did last time I was here. Contemplative is the best way I can think to describe him. Kicking up one corner of his mouth, his smile is easy, slightly cocky and leaves me giddy. Giddy, for God’s sake. Like I’m some sort of teenager on a date with the star quarterback.

  Shaw held my hand all the way here. Our conversation was light and carefree. Comfortable, not forced. Regardless whether you want it to or not, sex redefines a relationship. I didn’t know what to expect when I saw him tonight, but I’m so far off balance right now, if Adelle Mercer wasn’t holding my arm in hers as she ushers me inside, I may stumble.

  “Can I get you a glass of wine, Willow?” she asks sweetly as we weave our way through her spacious home into the kitchen.

  “Yes. White, please, if you have it.”

  “Of course. Pinot Grigio all right?” The noise escalates the closer we get to the hub of activity.

  I smile and nod, and she hurries off to be a good hostess.

  All I know about tonight is that it’s a party for some of Preston Mercer’s political supporters. I know no one in politics or in the mayor’s inner circle, but my senses are on high alert nonetheless. The closer we got to Mercer Island on the drive here, the more my stomach twisted.

  Maybe my nerves have nothing to do with seeing Shaw at all. Maybe it’s the lies we’re spinning. Shaw’s family is wonderful, and I feel shame at pulling one over on them, pretending we’re some happy couple falling in love. The falling in love part is true. At least for me, only there will be no happily ever after for us.

  “Willow, glad you could make it.”

  Preston Mercer hands Shaw a tumbler with a couple fingers of amber liquid and me a half-full stemless wine glass before placing a chaste kiss on my cheek. I laugh when Shaw growls a low warning beside me.

  Shaw is the spitting image of his father. The first time I saw him I saw Shaw, only with graying hair around the temples and a few more laugh lines around his mouth.

  But looks aren’t all Preston passed down to his son. He’s just as disarming as Shaw. I would put the mayor in his early sixties, and I liked him immensely the minute I met him. He gives off good vibes and is genuinely sincere. His love for his wife and family is palpable, his passion for this city unmistakable. I think you can tell a lot simply by watching how people interact with each other, more so than their words. And when I watch Preston Mercer, I see strength, confidence, honor, and heart. Much like his son.

  He hasn’t let success or wealth or power go to his head. He’s the real deal, and I can’t see how he won’t win this upcoming election. He’s the people’s mayor. Seattle is lucky to have his leadership.

  “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Oh, shush. It’s Preston to you. You keeping my son out of trouble?” His tone is light, but his question is chock-full of meaning.

  Forcing a smile, I throw a glance at Shaw before turning back to the mayor. I snake my hand over to Shaw’s, twisting our fingers together. “Well, he’s a hard one to keep in line, but I’m pretty confident in my abilities.”

  That earns me a laugh. From Preston. When I look at Shaw, he’s not laughing. He’s looking at our hands.

  Oh. Shaw.

  He’s so damn baffling.

  “Shaw, can I steal Willow for a few minutes? I’d like her to meet some people.”

  “Sure,” he mumbles, dragging his eyes back up to my face. They’re blazing and catch me on fire. Before he lets his father parade me around, he tugs me to him using our connected hands. He gently pinches my chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, and, without a care that his father—or anyone else—is watching, drops a lingering kiss on my lips.

  He tastes of whiskey and banked desire.

  “Hurry back, beautiful.”

  “Okay.” I mouth it because I’m stunned and have temporarily lost my voice.

  This is not an act. It can’t be. It’s not on my part anymore. In one breath he tells me this is temporary, yet his eyes say the polar opposite. He feels something for me other than lust. I know I’m not making up the look of pure adoration on his face. Our gazes hold momentarily. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

  “I won’t keep her long,” Preston tells his son with amusement before he hauls me away. Shaw gives me a cheeky grin, which I return as I wiggle my fingers at him.

  It’s a beautiful summer day in Seattle. With the temps hovering around the eighty-degree mark, the party has spilled outside. The entire time I’m led around and introduced to advisors and staff and supporters, I feel Shaw’s eyes on me. He subtly moves around so he can keep me in his crosshairs, whether I’m inside or out on the expansive patio. It’s a warm feeling I don’t think I could grow tired of.

  Twenty minutes later when Preston cuts me loose, Shaw is in deep conversation with a man who looks to be about his age. I take the opportunity to wander a little, looking at all the family photos Adelle has lining the walls and shelves. I begin to wonder why I was all that nervous about tonight and decide my sixth sense must be off.

  On the grand piano in the corner of the main room, a picture catches my eye of a young, beautiful girl who must be Shaw’s sister, Annabelle, whom I haven’t met yet. She looks to be about ten in this picture and is playing the piano. It must have been snapped while she was performing because she’s wearing a fancy dress and the piano is on some sort of stage. She’s thoroughly immersed, lost in the music she’s creating.

  Though I feel an ache of sadness, I also feel an immediate, unshakable bond.

  She reminds me of Violet.

  Violet was unnaturally gifted. A musical prodigy. She could write it, play it by ear, and carry a tune. I could sit for hours listening to her practice, never picking out a mistake. But Violet was a perfectionist. Compulsive, like my father. She’d play the same piece over and over, and over and even then, she was never completely satisfied. If I close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, I can still hear the smooth notes floating through the house, up the stairs, into my room.

  I finger the necklace at my throat, the one that’s a combination of us, wondering what my sister would be like if she were alive today. Would she still be tortured, or would she have embraced her God-given gift? Would she be married? Would I be an aunt? Would two of us have been enough to save our father?

  I’m so engrossed in my memory I don’t feel anyone approach.

  “You doing okay, beautiful?” Shaw breathes in my ear as he winds his arms around my waist from behind.

  I take in a deep gulp of air, blowing it out slowly. “Yes, fine. Why?”

  “You seem…I don’t know. Lost.”

  I hate how he sees me so clearly. I hate but need it in the same breath.

  Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I let his body heat seep into me, enjoying our stolen moment
, focusing on the here and now. I tilt my head up, knowing he’s waiting on an answer, and I give one that’s true. “You left me wanting you.”

  “Jesus, Willow. You’re going to ruin me,” he breathes. “Has it been an hour?” I feel his erection growing at the small of my back. Oh, how I want this man. Somehow, some way, he fills this bottomless cavern I have inside, making the loneliness not so crushing. I’ll live in it as long as I can.

  “No.” I chuckle. “And we’re not leaving yet.”

  “Why?” His attempt to pout looks ridiculous.

  “Because it’s rude, that’s why. And apparently, you need to learn some patience.”

  “Patience is for nuns and schoolteachers.”

  “Really? Only nuns and schoolteachers?”

  “And maybe daycare providers.”

  We’re both laughing when Preston’s deep voice booms, “Shaw, I need you in the kitchen a minute.”

  Shaw sighs heavily. “Duty calls,” he says with resignation.

  “Be nice. This is important to your father.” He spins me in his arms, and I wind mine around his neck.

  “You’re an incredible woman, Willow. You know that, right?”

  “Why yes. Yes, I do,” I sass. He cuts off my giggle with his lips and only breaks free when his father calls his name again. “I want you to come home with me. Spend the night in my bed.”

  “Shaw…” My teeth find my lip. My heart pounds. This is a bad idea. Isn’t it?

  “Please.” His soft plea should kill my protest, but it’s his eyes that really do me in.

  “Okay,” I reply quietly.

  His grin is downright boyish and unlike him. With my hand in his and one last peck, Shaw leads me back into the fray.

  This is insane. I’m treading on ice so thin it can’t possibly hold my weight, but I’m deliriously happy right now. I foolishly tell myself that if I’m careful enough with each step, testing it out before I take the next, I won’t fall through.

  When we reach the kitchen, Preston is facing us, talking to an impeccably dressed man whose suited back is to us. I met everyone here tonight and I don’t recall seeing him before. He must have just arrived.