Atonement: The Lonely Ridge Collection

by Lyz Kelley

  For a long moment, he couldn’t say anything. He lingered to breathe in her springtime freshness. “Are you hungry? I promised you pizza, and Ben prepared the food before he left. All I have to do is toss the pizza into the oven.”

  Her violet eyes turned a lighter shade of purple, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Not a cook, I take it.”

  “Put it this way, if it isn’t eggs, cereal, or pancakes, you wouldn’t want to eat it.”

  “Got any beer?”

  “A beer I can manage. Ben loves trying new beers, and filled the entire beverage fridge with an assortment of local beers. You can take your pick.”

  “Men are all alike.”

  The generalization made his neck muscles tighten.

  She took a step back, bit her lip, then her face went blank again. She didn’t retract the statement, only picked up her bags and designs and relocated to the kitchen, stopping at the beverage fridge she obviously had built into the kitchen island.

  “Not all men are alike.” He set his wine glass on the massive granite countertop, letting the irritation her words caused slink away. “I’d like to think I’m a bit different.”

  “Men with money and power would like to think they are unique, different. But from what I’ve seen, the common traits outweigh those that are distinct.”

  He didn’t like the way the conversation had turned. Her aloof nature protected more than just her privacy. “Who hurt you, Rachelle?”

  He waited with every sense alert for her to continue. Waited for the shape of her mouth to change, and her eyes to shutter. She gave nothing away.

  “Let me rephrase.” He paused to select the correct wording. “I’ve been remiss in getting to know you, and I like to know the people I work with, especially if they will be in my home.”

  Her arms crossed, tightened into a defensive barrier. “Let’s just say my life hasn’t been easy. Most of my life I’ve had to deal with powerful men. I had to learn to adapt. To survive. Men with money and power make me leery,” she said, in a way that made each word count.

  “Good.”

  “Good?” she choked, and her eyes opened wider.

  “Yes. You should be careful about the people you allow into your life. You deserve to live life the way you want, Rachelle. Don’t let anyone or anything stand in your way.”

  For a long moment she didn’t say anything. Just stared. Then her eyes narrowed. “Seems to me you’ve been hurt yourself.”

  “I was fourteen when my mom died of kidney failure. After that, my life wasn’t my own anymore—at least not until I got out of college. The only thing my father cared about was good grades. Once I got my first job, I made a commitment to live the life I want to live. A life of my choosing.”

  Although recently he’d realized his efforts had gone toward getting his father’s attention and proving he was more than a photo his father showed his colleagues.

  What a waste of time and effort.

  He needed to focus on building a new video game, something he could be proud of, and forget about what his father wanted. Yet no new ideas were solidifying.

  His creative well had run dry.

  A lonely desolation made his skin crawl. He leaned in, craving comfort, and was stopped by her palm on his chest.

  “Mr. Reyes, I believe we need to amend our working proposal to make sure we stay on the same page.”

  He immediately took a step back, and lifted his wine glass, taking a deep swallow to douse a need he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “And what do you propose?”

  “I’ve worked with a lot of men in the past. Most of them make assumptions—the wrong assumptions.” She returned his intensity. “I’ll work with you on your interior design, but I want your promise. No flirting. No innuendos. No kisses. And certainly no sex.”

  “Agreed,” he said without taking a breath. “Anything else?”

  And just like that, the world tipped back onto its axis.

  For some odd reason, she believed him.

  How could she not?

  The raw sincerity in his eyes, voice, and body language matched the statement. Over the years she’d gotten pretty good at observing how people reacted rather than what they said, and she’d bet he was telling the truth.

  “That’s good,” her hand dropped to her side. “Really good.”

  “For who? Me? You?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He reached out a hand then his fingers folded back into his palm.

  His need to touch her was written clearly in block letters across his hand. His resistance, though, was darnright sexy. The demonstrated respect sent a thousand glittering chills down her spine.

  “Damn, you are so tempting, but I won’t go back on my word.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know you don’t believe me, but you’ll see I’m a man of my word.” He leaned in. “But if I’m not mistaken, I believe you feel the connection we share. I felt it the first time I set eyes on you. We connect. The connection shows in every detail of what you created for me.”

  Resentment over his bold assumptions rolled up from her core like a wildfire through dry grass. But she couldn’t deny what she felt when she gazed into his sexy brown eyes. “Do all men get a master’s degree in arrogance?”

  “Don’t mistake arrogance for confidence. One day, if or when you acknowledge the attraction, I leave it to you to decide the next steps.”

  “You seem sure of yourself.”

  “Men can be pricks, Rachelle,” his gaze darkened, and intensified, “but I’m not one of them. Never have been. My mother might have been a single mom, but she raised me right. However, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve my honesty.”

  “Honesty?” She moved closer, still sensing no danger. “Time will tell. Men have carnal instincts. Some more than others.”

  “Since you’ve studied me, you know I don’t date much. There are very few people I allow into my life. You’re an extraordinary woman, Rachelle. Smart. Talented. I find you very attractive. Who wouldn’t?” He scanned her face. He pulled his hands from his pockets and drummed his fingers against his thigh while he debated. “While you’re in my home, you will be treated with respect. You will see there’s a difference between me and those assholes from your past who should have their noses readjusted.”

  She studied him closely. There it was again. His honesty. She could see the truth in his eyes. “At least you realize there’s a difference.”

  “Rachelle, at some point there will be a man in your life you can trust—probably more than one. Maybe I’ll be the first.” His eyes had softened, and he lifted his hand, palm outstretched, offering her hope. “So are you in or out?”

  She stared at the long fingers on his broad hand. Her eyes traced the lines on his palm. And just like that, she placed her hand in his. She wanted...no, needed...to connect with someone. During the last several weeks loneliness left her parched and aching for human connection. His skin was warm, soothing.

  “In,” she whispered, hating the weakness in her voice. Her eyes stung from the emotional release. “It takes me a while to trust people.”

  “And initially you push people away to protect yourself. I get it.”

  She turned his palm over to trace his long lifeline, then withdrew. “There haven’t been many people in my life I could trust.”

  His eyes gentled. “I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “It’s a sad way to live…and because the money in my bank account scares you. I can assure you I have never used money to make someone do something they didn’t want to do.”

  “To your point, money doesn’t scare me. It’s the people behind the money, that’s who I’m leery of.” Admitting the fear sent hot flashes pulsing up her neck and cheeks.

  He laid a hand gently over hers. “I do have money—more than most—but underneath it all, I’m just a guy who likes to play video games and help kids who don’t understand they will be okay even after their parent dies.”

  He opened himself up, exposed
himself on purpose to generate an environment of security. She accepted his gift for what it was, and let the cool Colorado night breeze coming through the sliding glass encircle them and hold the two hurt souls safe.

  A leisurely smile stretched across his face, like a cat waking up from a nap.

  “Ready to indulge in some carbs?”

  She searched his face, daring to hope a person could be in her life without wanting to control her, or bend her to his will. She wanted a man who could see her as a partner, not some woman to be put in her place.

  She ran her thumb over his hand the way he did hers. “Do you know how to turn on the oven?”

  A robust laugh came bouncing out and made her smile. “That’s a valid question. How about you teach me how it’s done? I don’t want to starve until Ben returns.”

  “You might need to learn how to cook. There aren’t many places around here for takeout.”

  She could have sworn he leaned in a little closer, but when she double-checked, he hadn’t moved. He was keeping his promise, but the look in his eyes also promised her he wouldn’t make resisting him easy.

  “After we get the pizzas in the oven, I’d like to look at those design boards again.”

  “So you like the designs?”

  “No. I don’t like them, I love them. Normally I go through dozens of designs before I find one I can live with. You get me. And the designs are spot on. Now if I could only teach my game designers to read my mind, I’d be set.”

  “Sounds like you’re frustrated because they can’t translate your ideas,” she suggested after reading the agitation on his face.

  “For the past five years we’ve had meeting after meeting until someone finally comes up with something we can use. Not getting it right the first time takes time and money, and when the game’s already been pitched to launch at a certain time, it adds a great deal of pressure.”

  “I thought you sold your game.”

  “Yes, but I have investors who want to invest in my next game. If I don’t come up with a new world soon, they’ll invest somewhere else.”

  “Ah. Got it.”

  She showed him how to work the oven, then slid onto the stool at the kitchen island to avoid taking over. “When I was in high school, I came up with a game design. In my head, I laid out this whole city filled with magical beings. There were mountains and rivers. I even threw in a forest filled with odd creatures.”

  He slid the pizza into the oven, then reached for some dishes. “Do you play?”

  Between the excitement in his voice and the way his entire body almost wiggled like a wagging puppy, his delight was palpable. It was almost like watching her brother get his first baseball bat. She didn’t want to squash his enthusiasm, but had to correct the assumption. “I don’t, but my brother does.” Or he did. “After watching him play for hours, I came up with this idea for an alternative world where everything was beautiful, yet corrosive. “

  He searched her face, thinking. “Interesting choice of words. Was your city big or small?”

  “When I design, I always start small and work my way out, it’s easier than getting overwhelmed in the details.”

  “But how do you know your design fits in the wider picture?”

  “When I design a room, I think of the basics. How a person will naturally navigate a room, the lighting, both simulated and natural, and where furniture will naturally fall. After that I add color and texture. From room to room the change is gradual, soothing.” She shrugged. “For what you’re building, I would think you’d want to do the exact opposite. You’re building utopia in a dysfunctional way. Things will appear normal, then warp into something different—unexpected—to catch the players’ attention.”

  “Yes, but what does that utopia look like? That’s my problem.”

  “I created a world made of crystals. With each refraction of light, the world and the characters inside change. One minute the character is beautiful, the next a demon, or fairy or warlock. My characters don’t shift, like a shape-shifter, but transform based on how powerful the gamer has become. The more powerful, the more the player can see the true essence of the character. In the beginning, the gamer wouldn’t know who to trust, but as the game progresses, more and more is revealed.”

  “I love it.” He tapped his fingers on the countertop. “Utopia meets dystopia in a whole new, multi-level way.”

  She laughed at his exuberant expression. The sensation felt strange. Her life hadn’t been fun. And the last time someone made her laugh was so long ago she couldn’t pinpoint the moment.

  She picked up the pile of mail on the counter to straighten the stack. “My characters are rooted in mythology and lore, only because I’ve always thought the old designs are cool. I wonder. What do you think would happen if the gods ruled in a technologically advanced society? Would technology find a way to nullify their superpowers? Would the gods figure out how to dismantle the artificial intelligence superstructure?”

  He tapped a couple of fingers on his head. “A fight for power in utopia, where greed and domination shouldn’t exist.” He folded his arms, his hand cupping his jawline, squeezing and releasing. “The characters would have to reflect the world.”

  “That’s the easy part. In one of my art classes our assignment was to take two forms and combine them. Like a tree and flower, or a light bulb and lamp. I combined a cat and a dog. It wouldn’t be too hard to place a mythological god in a futuristic setting.”

  The way he smiled at her made her toes curl. Oh, man. He could make her want things she shouldn’t ever want.

  “Rachelle?”

  A Fourth of July sparkler sizzle sent tingles every which way. She should accuse him of reading her mind, the way he was looking at her. Could he know the sensual images swarming her brain? “Yes, Jacob?”

  “You still want to stick to our agreement?”

  This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Her brain said yes while her head voted a firm—very firm— no. His eyes narrowed, and he took a couple of steps, and rounded the edge of the counter. He lifted her hand from her lap.

  “I thought you agreed,” she studied his eyes.

  “I did agree, but I specifically said I wouldn’t make it easy for you.”

  “Jacob…I…”

  “Tell me you want me…want this.”

  No. No I don’t. No. No. No. But she couldn’t say a word. His mouth hovered a half an inch from hers, and she wanted to feel his skin against hers.

  “Tell me what you want. It’s your choice.”

  “I…”

  “Bro, my man!” An unfamiliar voice yelled from the hallway. “What’s up?

  Jacob jerked back. “Larson. What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Six

  Larson stood in the doorway with one arm around a redhead, the other around a blonde. A brunette in shorts covering not much stood nearby. His fake Cheshire cat grin was telling, and sent a swarm of uneasiness crawling across Jacob’s skin.

  “I decided you need some company.” Larson released the women and spun around in a circle, looking at the vaulted ceiling and then out the massive windows looking across to the mountain ridge. “What a great pad.” He tipped his head back and staggered a few steps, then leaned forward, squinting. “Is that a silver cow’s skull on the wall?”

  Jacob’s stomach clutched.

  His business partner was feeling no pain. Feeling no guilt for having broken the promise he made less than twenty-four hours earlier to stay sober and off drugs. Jacob wasn’t sure he could go through the anguish of watching Larson hit bottom again.

  Jacob stepped in front of Rachelle. “Larson. I thought you were in California.”

  “I wanted to party. Have some fun.”

  Larson put an arm around Jacob’s shoulders, and the stench of cigarettes and booze triggered his gag reflex. Sliding out from under his best friend’s arm, he demanded, “Dude. What are you doing? You’ve been down this road before, and it doesn’t end well.”

 
“I booked us some rooms.” Larson patted Jacob’s shoulder.

  “I’ve got work to do. The investors are expecting a proposal on their desk by Thursday. You were supposed to be investigating the software we talked about and setting up a new development environment.”

  Larson waved him off. “Work. Work. Work. All you do is work. You gotta have some fun, buddy.”

  One of the girls giggled and flopped down on the great room’s couch. She wasn’t in any better shape.

  Larson squinted, then tromped to the counter to pick up one of Rachelle’s design plates. He spun the board across the counter like he was throwing away a piece of trash. “What’s this?” He pointed.

  “Just some ideas for my master bedroom.” Jacob stepped in between Larson and Rachelle. “Take it easy, buddy.”

  “Don’t let her design anything else.” Larson poked Jacob’s chest with every word. “I’m the designer. Me. Not some big-boobed bobblehead.” He reached past Jacob’s shoulder toward Rachelle, but Jacob managed to hold him back despite the height difference.

  “I should go.” Rachelle already had her purse over her shoulder, and was scooting out of reach.

  Damn it.

  She looked at him with such understanding he wanted to punch Larson. He didn’t want her to understand anything. This wasn’t how life was supposed to be. He wanted his smart, funny, dependable, study-buddy back.

  Jacob nodded. “It’s probably for the best.”

  “Yeah. Run away, little girl.” Larson flicked his wrist, shooing her away.

  “Will you get back to me on the designs?” Rachelle asked, ignoring Larson.

  The only thing he could do was nod. When she turned to leave, he felt like a helpless idiot, but there was nothing he could say to make a better impression.

  “Hey! You. Blondie,” Larson called after her. “Remember, I make the designs.”

  She didn’t acknowledge the slurred words. She just kept walking, and Jacob didn’t blame her. At least she didn’t race out of the house.

  Jacob held out his hand. “Give them to me.”