Tempting Boundaries

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  What he was going to do was finish measuring everything and then go to his place to work on her shelves. He couldn’t breathe in here without inhaling her sweet scent. She always had a different lotion or spray on, so it was a constant surprise what she’d smell like from day to day.

  Today was honeysuckle or something like it, and he hated himself for wanting to see if she tasted just as sweet.

  “I’m almost done here,” he said gruffly. “Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Oh. Okay. You want lunch or anything?”

  “No. I’m good. Got things to do.”

  “Okay,” she said brightly. She didn’t sound hurt, but damn it, it wasn’t as if she wanted him like that or anything. It was more that he was being an ass to someone he cared about because he cared too much. Wanted too much.

  If he’d put the moves on her, she’d knee him in the balls, slap him hard, and then call her brothers to pounce on him.

  Or Maya.

  He held back a shudder.

  He did not want Maya on his back.

  Or his balls.

  “You can go do whatever you need to, and I’ll get done faster so you have your space.”

  “Fine with me,” Miranda snapped. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it. If you don’t want to do this, don’t.”

  Decker cursed then turned around. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and in a mood.” A guilty and horny mood, but that was beside the point. “I want to do this. You’re family.”

  She rolled her eyes then walked away, looking over her shoulder as she did so. “Whatever. Thank you anyway. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I won’t,” he whispered. Not anything she’d give him anyway.

  He quickly finished up his work and left her with a wave. He needed to get out of her place so he could think clearly again. She lived so close that he could walk to her place easily—something that was a blessing and a curse—so the drive home was quick. His back still ached from the outline of the tattoo Austin had worked on the day before, so he was grateful it was Saturday and he had the day off from work.

  He loved his ink. Between Maya and Austin, he had the best of the best when it came to artwork. Each piece meant something to him—not that he told everyone what it meant. The dragon on his right arm had been his first tattoo and was a symbol of the fire and rage he’d tried to overcome to be the adult he was today. The paw prints on his left forearm…well, those were for Sparky.

  He leaned his head onto the steering wheel when he parked in front of his house.

  Damn it. He did not want to think about Sparky today.

  He’d loved that damn dog. Loved him so much that the one man who was supposed to take care of Decker had killed the dog because he could.

  Because he was a rat bastard with no soul.

  Fuck.

  He stormed out of his truck and stomped into his house, annoyed he’d let the man he hated more than he thought possible enter his thoughts.

  That was another reason he couldn’t have Miranda. The blood that ran through his veins was tainted because of his sperm donor, and he wasn’t about to let Miranda anywhere near that.

  Not that she’d have him.

  Fuck.

  He sighed then set his stuff down in the foyer. When he’d saved up enough money, he’d bought a three-bedroom ranch-style house that had a full basement. It probably would have been a money pit for most folks, but he built houses for a living and knew the bones beneath the drab exterior were worth saving.

  He closed his eyes and cursed. Today was the day for hidden meanings in his thoughts. Time to put that away and think of something else.

  He grabbed a soda from his fridge and then went into his garage. When he’d bought the place, he’d remodeled the garage into workspace so he could build and not dirty up the rest of his house. He loved to work with wood, carving and building things with his own hands. Sure, he worked with drywall, paint, and other things when he worked on buildings with Montgomery Inc., but his favorite part was the wood details. He usually got to do the wooden staircases, carved banisters, and mouldings, while Wes and Storm worked on other things. The fact that they trusted him enough to do so meant the world to him.

  Yet another reason he wasn’t about to poach on their sister.

  Jesus, he needed to get a grip.

  He needed to clear his thoughts of sexy brunettes with long legs and fathers with meaty fists and hammers that broke skulls.

  Decker paused, swallowing back the bile that’d risen in his throat.

  Jesus, he hadn’t thought about that in so long.

  No, that was a lie.

  Every time he looked at a hammer, he remembered the sound of his dog dying at the hands of his father. But every time he saw the paw prints on his arm, he remembered the good times, not just the bad ones.

  Maybe he needed to get another dog. He hadn’t had one since Sparky. Been too afraid of the memories. They already haunted him anyway, so why not go down to the shelter and pick one out?

  Settled slightly, he turned on the radio, took a swig of his drink, and got to work. Miranda had great furniture, soft and relaxing. The dark colors of the wood blended nicely with the creams and bright colors she’d used to decorate. He wanted her shelves to match that so he’d do his best to make sure they did so almost perfectly. He might not be able to have her as his, but she’d have the best things she could.

  The best things did not include Decker Kendrick.

  He’d said yes to Griffin when the other man had asked him for help because it was Miranda. Now, though, he felt guilty. Grif had no idea what thoughts went through Decker’s mind. If he did, well, Decker would probably deserve the fist to his face. The Montgomerys had trusted him enough to bring him into their home. He couldn’t go back on that and defile their younger sister. Even his thoughts and wants were too much.

  He’d just get over it. Make sure she was happy and keep on dating Colleen or someone like her. Someone he liked well enough that he had a chance of maybe making happy. He wouldn’t use her, but he wouldn’t taint her with who he was, either.

  With a sigh, he got down to work, losing himself in the craft. He measured twice, cut once, and carved until his back ached from bending over too long. Still, he pushed through it. He’d rather deal with a little pain and work his ass off than sit for too long, thinking about what he shouldn’t.

  His cell phone buzzed on the table, and he set his tools down to answer it. When he looked at the screen, he cursed.

  Mom.

  He did not have the energy to deal with her right then, but like always, he couldn’t give up on her. She might not have been the best mother ever, but she’d tried every once in awhile. She’d had her own shit to deal with.

  Steeling himself, he answered the call. “Mom.”

  “Oh, Decker, good, I caught you.” Her voice held that beaten-down tone and lack of energy he’d dreaded as a kid. She’d always spoken too soft, too wary, too afraid to speak out.

  He ran a hand through his hair then walked into his house. He didn’t want to be near anything he was putting in Miranda’s home when he had this conversation. It made no sense, but he didn’t want to have anything she’d touch be tainted with his past.

  That, again, included Decker himself.

  He resisted getting a beer from the fridge since drinking had never helped his family anyway. Instead, he leaned against his kitchen counter, willing himself not to ask her if she needed help. Every time he did, it only hurt them both in the end. She had to know by now that he’d be there for her no matter what, but it didn’t matter when she ignored it.

  “You caught me. What’s up, Mom?” He made sure his voice was soft, non-threatening. He hated the fact that if he let his voice go as deep and rough as it normally did, she’d freeze or hang up. He’d never laid a hand on his mother, but he held the same genes as the man who had.

  She cleared her throat then mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch. A cold knot formed in his b
elly, but he pushed.

  “I didn’t hear you. Can you repeat that?” God, please don’t be what he thought it was. Please be something good for once.

  It was never good.

  “Your father is being released tomorrow. Dinner is at five thirty tomorrow night, and we’d like for you to come.”

  The buzzing in Decker’s ears increased, and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to not scream into the phone, hang up, or crush it in his hand. His mother didn’t deserve his anger, as much as her lack of spine killed him. She’d been beaten into who she was, and he couldn’t fault her for that. He could only try to help her—like she hadn’t helped him growing up.

  Fuck.

  He needed to get off the phone, or he’d freak the fuck out.

  “I thought he was in for another year,” he said, his voice low, emotionless. Jesus, hell, why was the old man getting out? His body broke out into a sweat, and he sucked in a breath.

  No, he had to be calm. He wasn’t that little boy anymore. He was a fucking man, a man with big hands and bigger arms. He didn’t need to be afraid anymore.

  For himself anyway.

  “Oh, Decker, you know he usually finds a way out.” She whispered that last part, and Decker’s heart ached again. Damn it.

  “What was the excuse this time?”

  “Overcrowding, I think. It doesn’t matter, honey.” She paused, and he had to hold his breath. “He’s coming home, and you need to come to dinner. He wants you there.”

  And whatever Frank Kendrick wanted, Frank Kendrick got.

  Well fuck that.

  “No. I’m not coming, Mom.”

  “Decker, you need to. He…he said you needed to be here.”

  He closed his eyes at the catch in her voice. His fist clenched, but he held himself back. Violence from the threat of violence wouldn’t help.

  “You don’t have to let him back in, Mom. You can leave.”

  “We’ve talked about this, honey.” An uncomfortable silence filled the line, and Decker sighed.

  “Mom.”

  “Everything will be different now.”

  She always said that.

  It never was.

  “I’m not coming to dinner. I’m not going to see him again. Ever. You need to leave him, Mom. You’re welcome here. You’re always welcome in my home.” Please, Mom. Please leave him.

  “I’m sorry to hear you won’t be making it. Call me if you change your mind, honey.”

  She hung up then before he could talk her out of it, say he loved her…do anything other than stand in his fucking kitchen with the phone seemingly glued to his hand.

  He’d never felt more useless.

  He set the phone on the counter and ran a hand over his face. He’d been trying to help his mother since he was big enough to fight back against his father. No matter what he did, it was never enough. He’d finally—after the second time his nose was broken—had walked away from the house. He tried to get his mother out, tried to make sure she knew he was there, but it wasn’t working.

  She’d never leave her husband.

  She’d taken her vows, and that’s how things were.

  He wouldn’t give up on her though. She was his mother. No matter the fact she had been incapable of raising him—even when the old man was in jail—because she was too weak.

  He couldn’t give up.

  The thought of that beer filled his mind when the doorbell rang. For the love of God, he hoped it wasn’t his mom wanting him to come to the house for dinner. Maybe she’d been on her cell phone and had been lying in wait. She never came by his place, but there was a first time for everything. He didn’t know if he had the guts to say no to her face and those tired eyes.

  When he opened the door, he held back a groan. Today was not his day, and his control just kept being tested.

  “Miranda, what are you doing here?” He didn’t growl out the words, but he was damn close.

  She’d changed from those short shorts of hers into an even shorter purple dress that made her look sexy as all hell. It looked soft, like cotton, and he wanted to run his hands up and down her sides, up her dress, and all over her damn body.

  Fuck, he was for sure going to hell.

  Instead of looking annoyed at his unwelcome response to her presence, she tilted her head and smiled. His dick twitched, and he took a deep breath.

  Mistake.

  He could smell that sweet goddamn fragrance, and now he had to deal with that on top of everything else going on inside his head.

  How was a man supposed to drink alone and deal with all the shit going on?

  He’d rather pound on his punching bag or beat a shelf into shape.

  “I need to talk to you for a minute. Can I come in?” She sounded nervous, yet oddly determined. He had no idea what to make of that.

  He stepped back, not knowing what to say. He didn’t like feeling like he was out of his depth, but that’s what happened more often than not when he was near Miranda Montgomery.

  She brushed past him, leaving that honeysuckle scent in her wake. He closed the door behind her and tucked his hands in his pockets. That seemed the only place safe for them.

  He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want her in his space. It was hard enough to keep her out of his thoughts when they were out in public or with the Montgomerys, but now she’d leave her scent in his home, and he’d never get it out. He didn’t want her near anything that had to do with what he was, where he’d come from. Now she was in his home, and he had his dad on the brain.

  Fuck he needed her out of his space.

  “What do you want, Miranda?” he ground out. She needed to leave. Now.

  She licked her lips—fucking A—and he ground his teeth. “I…”

  She didn’t look as sure as she had a moment ago. What did she want? Already angry about his father and what his mother was doing for the old man, he didn’t have the energy to deal with Miranda. It was nothing she’d done; it was all how he dealt with it. Another reason he wasn’t fucking good enough for her.

  “I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner.” She blinked at him and looked as though she was holding her breath.

  “Dinner?” he asked stupidly.

  “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Dinner. You know. A meal, at night, out in public since I’d like to go out. What do you say?”

  “With who?” Dear God. He was a fucking idiot. He could usually string more than two words together, but right then, it didn’t seem like it. The vein at his temple pounded, and he knew he was at the breaking point. Images of his father’s fist mixed with Miranda’s smile, and he had to take another deep breath.

  She smiled at him in that special way of hers, and he fisted his hands in his pockets. “With me, silly. You and me. Dinner.”

  “Why?” Why did she want to go out with him? “Is there something wrong?” Shit. “Is it Harry? You want to talk about him? Did something happen and no one told me?” He walked past her and checked out his phone. No missed calls, so it wasn’t an emergency. Or maybe they’d called when he’d been on the phone with his mom and it hadn’t gone through. “Maybe we should go over there to make sure.”

  She cringed when he looked up, and he frowned. “What? What is it?”

  “Dad is fine.” Her mouth wobbled, but she held together. He always thought Miranda was stronger than her brothers and sisters gave her credit for. She might cry more than the others at bad news, but it didn’t make her weak. It was something he liked about her.

  She huffed out a breath and threw her hands up in the air. “Damn it, Decker. I’m usually better at this. It’s not like I’m a newbie when it comes to dating.”

  “Dating?” he growled. Who the hell was she dating, and what did it have to do with him?

  “Yes. Dating. I want to go on a date. With you. Out to dinner. Not to talk about my dad, though that might come up because he’s important to us both. So. What do you say?”

  She was asking him on a date? Him? Jesus. What t
he hell was she thinking? He wasn’t fucking good enough for her. So what that he wanted her. So what that he’d dreamt about having her under him at night and by his side during the day. It wasn’t ever going to happen, and this little girl dream of hers was idiotic.

  Maybe she wanted to live out some fantasy of being with the foster kid from the wrong side of the tracks, but he wasn’t about to let that happen. Miranda Montgomery was too good for the likes of him.

  Still angry over the fucking justice system and his old man, he didn’t bother to keep his words in check.

  “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Her smile fell, and the light went out of her eyes. He felt like a shit for being the cause of it, but better she knew that now than later when she regretted it.

  “No, Decker. It’s not a joke. I came over here to ask you out to dinner. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

  He prowled toward her, and she took a step back. Good. She should be afraid. She backed up until her body was against the counter, and he caged her in, his palms flat on top of the counter.

  “I am an asshole, little girl. You’d best remember that. I’m too much for you and your first time looking for a good, hard night.” Because it would be damned good. But it wasn’t going to happen.

  She narrowed her eyes, that Montgomery fire scorching. “Fuck you. I’ve had a few hard nights of my own, thank you very much. You wouldn’t be my first, so you can get off your high horse. And stop trying to fucking scare me.”

  She’d been with someone else? His hands fisted on the counter. Whatever little fucker had touched her was dead. That wasn’t the point then, though. “It’s good that I’m scaring you. We’re family, Miranda. You don’t go fucking with family because you have an itch to scratch.” Hell, he was being a fucking bastard, but if he didn’t push her away the right way, there’d be a chance she’d come back. He couldn’t let that happen. Better to hurt her feelings now so she could go on with her life than risk something worse later.

  Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked once, twice, and they were gone. “Damn it, Decker. What is wrong with you? Why are you acting this way? If you think I’m too young or not enough for you, then just say it. Don’t act like you’re not good enough. We both know that’s not true.”