by Brinda Berry
“You called my dad and lied,” she says. “I never agreed to quit the show. You made the choice to—”
Moneyclip interrupts her. “I think you need to start acting like the wife of an attorney. That's all.”
They both come into sight from a doorway in front of me. Kiley walks in front, her head down and studying the floor.
“Maybe I shouldn't get married to an asshole attorney,” she mumbles.
“What did you say?” Moneyclip grabs her arm from behind.
My heart pounds in my ears, my temper riled by what I've seen and heard. I cannot tear my gaze from his hand on her arm. If there’s one thing I won’t stand for, it’s Moneyclip laying his hands on her.
Kiley's gaze flicks up and she sees me. Her face flushes and she gives a confused smile. “Oh. Gunner. What are you still doing here? Are you looking for me?”
“No. I helped your caterer carry a box to the kitchen.”
Moneyclip steps to her side. “Thank you,” he says with a fake pleasant look on his face. “You know the way out?”
What a dick. If he thinks he can dismiss me so easily, he's wrong. “Everything OK here?” I look at Kiley as if we are the only two people in the hallway.
She furrows her brow. “Sure. Only having a little disagreement.”
Her fiancé's mouth twists. “I believe this is private. We don't require your help for anything else.” He drops his hand from her arm.
“Kiley?” I still ignore him.
“I'm fine,” she says. Her tremulous smile, only a tipping at the corner of her mouth, does crazy things to my instincts. She's not fine.
I nod. “If you say so.”
My footsteps slow in the distance to the side door. It's not as though I belong here, lurking in her house, but I don't want to leave.
I strain to hear their conversation, but I can only tell her voice from his. Turning around, I pause and stare toward the kitchen area where the voices are. Their volume increases or maybe I've stepped closer without realizing it.
“Say that to me one more time. I dare you,” Kiley says.
“You’re used to being a daddy’s girl, and you're throwing a tantrum at the wrong time,” he says. “You’re spoiled and don’t know what’s best for you.”
“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again.” There's no mistaking Kiley's words, but now her voice lowers. “I want to talk about us. I think we’ve made a mistake. We want different things in life.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Moneyclip says. “Honey, you’re not that bright. You’re on your daddy’s show only because of who you are. What happens after Forever ends? Next season, you’re out. It’s not like you have a future in television. I’m not going to put up with this crazy talk. You pick now when we have a house full of the people who matter—”
“Do you think I care about those people? We’re talking about the rest of our lives here,” she says. “Get your hand—”
I don't need to hear more. I stride away from the back door and toward the kitchen. When I turn the corner and see them, his hand grips her upper arm. Again.
Holy shit. “Take your hand off her,” I say only inches from both of them.
“How did you get back in?” He releases her. “I suggest you turn around and leave before I make sure you're off this property.”
“He's not leaving.” Kiley rubs her arm where he grabbed her.
“What? Something is going on here. Kiley, have you been messing around with the lawn boy?”
She doesn’t respond, her face surprised and ashen at the accusation.
Moneyclip misinterprets her expression of shock. “I know you’re stupid, but I didn’t peg you for a cheater. You cunt. I should’ve known, since you put out anytime, anywhere.”
The surprise is gone from her face. She shoves him in the chest. “You stuck-up, small-penised bastard,” she screams, loud enough to be heard two counties over.
If I weren't so pissed, I'd laugh my ass off. The guests in the house heard that one. There's a moment when I consider the consequences of my next words. Oh, what the hell. “She hasn't done anything with me. Yet.” My lips part in cocky smile that says I certainly know how to please a woman. “After tonight, I'm thinking I might be able to persuade her.”
He lunges toward me, his right hand balling into a fist. Before his elbow lifts, I step forward with an uppercut and his teeth click together with a sickening pop. He falls back three steps and his body hits the kitchen counter.
“No!” Kiley inserts herself between us. She grabs my hand and yanks. “Come on. Please.” She pulls at me. Her hand is small in mine.
I search her face, trying to figure out what I should do about the mess I've made.
“You’d better leave before I call the police.” Mason pushes away from the counter.
“Take me away from here.” She tugs once more and we're running through the back of the house and out the door. Her shoes make clipping sounds as they hit tile and then brick.
I turn and the guy still isn't following us. What kind of idiot would take a punch and then let a guy leave with his woman, the one he had planned to marry? “What about your guests?”
“I didn't invite them. He can deal with dinner.” She tugs at my hand again. We're at the edge of the grass and she takes off her heels. “Where's your vehicle?”
I point. “Beside your garage.” I'm not sure what to think about the way she's holding my hand as if she's afraid to let go.
“Hurry. Before I chicken out.” She does let go now and runs faster than I'd thought she'd be able to in a dress.
Her long hair streams out behind her in the moment before I move. Then I'm chasing after her to the Jeep.
She stands beside the vehicle in her dress, those high-heeled shoes dangling in one hand and her other hand on the sidebar. I grin and grab her by the waist so I can lift her into the passenger side.
She settles into her seat and the dress rides high on her thighs. I'm glued to the expanse of tan skin. She lifts one perfect eyebrow brow. “You coming?”
“You bet.” I run around to my side and hop into the driver’s seat. My grin makes the corners of my mouth hurt. How long have I been smiling?
I glance sidelong at the woman beside me—a rich girl with no idea of the mess she’s making for me. Her dad has a good head on his shoulders, but he’ll likely fire me for running off with his daughter during a swanky dinner party. I work hard for a solid reputation in my landscaping business. I would hate to lose Ed’s respect more than the fact that I could lose his business.
But if Ed Vanderbilt thinks I could persuade his daughter to do anything she doesn’t want to do, then he doesn’t know Kiley.
“You sure about this?” I ask.
She widens her eyes and laughs. “You have no idea. I’m one hundred and fifty percent sure.”
I start the engine and drive straight over the lawn and around the cars parked in the driveway. It’s a long, paved drive to the highway, and we pass the hole I dug the other day and had to refill at her orders. I stop at the end. “Where are we going?”
She looks panicked for a second. Then she regains her composure. “Drive to your favorite place. Where is that?”
Is there such a place? My initial instinct is to respond that I don’t have a favorite. I love being under the open sky, and I’m a total blank on where to take her.
Then it hits me. I take a quick left turn, almost as if I should hurry before she thinks better of leaving with me. The tires protest at the acceleration from zero.
When I look across at her, she’s smiling as widely as I am. My heart stutters for an instant, forgetting to beat. I look back to the road and pray I won’t regret this.
Because Kiley choosing to be with me instead of placating her fiancé—even if he’s an asshole and it’s only for this night—is too good to be true. And all really good things don’t last.
Chapter Six
Yearning
Current Day
Kiley
I’ve spent the last five minutes in a happy daze, as if Gunner broke me out of a maximum-security prison. The deserted highway has never looked better as we put miles between us and my dad’s house. Gunner slows the Jeep and turns on his signal.
I grab the strands of my hair that whip into my mouth. Pulling them aside, I yell, “Where are we going?”
He flashes me a mischievous grin. “Changing your mind?”
“No.”
“You’ll see.” He turns the Jeep left onto a narrow paved road. “Almost there.”
The trees are thick and the road curvy. After only minutes, we pull up to a small cabin. There’s a porch light on, even though it’s still light outside. He cuts the engine.
“I didn’t realize someone lived so close to our property.” I unbuckle my seat belt and hop out. I glance around curiously. A patch of sunflowers stands to the left, humongous sentinels of good cheer. A wind chime hangs from the porch and tinkles in the slight breeze.
“Let’s go around back.” He strides ahead and doesn’t wait to see if I follow.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “How do you know anyone’s home?”
Gunner turns the corner and I run after him, past the sunflowers and a silver washtub made into a fountain. He walks up a set of stairs leading to a deck on the back of the house. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
He opens a set of sliding glass doors and lets himself in.
The land beyond the deck drops, so all I’m looking at is the valley for miles. I sit in one of the Adirondack chairs, wondering whose deck we’re crashing. He must know them well, if he can come and go as he pleases.
I turn at the sound of the doors sliding open again. Gunner steps forward holding two bottles of beer. He hands one to me and drops into the other chair. “I don’t have fancy drinks.”
“This is fine.” I tip the bottle and drink. When I lower it, I give him a sharp look. “Who said I need fancy?”
He shrugs. “So you like beer?”
“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?” I smirk. “You didn’t answer me. Whose house is this?”
“Mine.” He takes a long pull of beer and doesn’t look at me.
“No. Seriously.”
“I’m your neighbor.”
“No. Really.” I sit forward and look at the house. “Really?”
“Uh huh.” He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t like the lawn boy so close?”
He’s ribbing me without any nastiness in his tone. I purse my lips together to fight an embarrassed smile. “No. I remember the Wilsons owned this land when I was younger. I didn’t even know there was a house on it. I guess I missed you moving here when I was away at college.”
“Hmm…” He nods and stares straight ahead. “I inherited it from my mom’s family.”
“Oh.” I relax into my chair and listen to the evening sounds. After a good ten minutes of silence, I can’t keep quiet any longer. What is he thinking? That I’m wild? I ran off and left my fiancé—soon to be my ex-fiancé—with a houseful of guests. That I’m a pushover? He heard the way Mason talked to me. How do I explain that I didn’t see all the parts of Mason before we got engaged? “I don’t want to talk about Mason and what happened.”
“I didn’t ask.” He doesn’t look at me, but a slight smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
“Why aren’t you asking? I mean, you barreled in and helped me escape. You told Mason we might have something going on, which is not true and…then you hit him.”
He sighs. “Are you mad that I did it?”
I picture Mason, rubbing his chin and glaring at Gunner. “No. But I don’t get it. I thought you sort of hated me.”
Gunner lets his head loll to the side and studies me. “Would you have come if you honestly thought I felt that way? We’re just very different kinds of people. Always have been.”
I suddenly notice he’s not wearing a hat. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without one. His dark blond hair is short, nearly a military cut. His face is all sharp angles and serious. He’s more handsome than he was in high school. Even though I had the hots for him then, it was more about his aloofness that got to me. That and the way he seemed more mature than the other boys.
I fight an urge to run my hand over the back of his neck, to caress the five o’clock stubble, to be close enough to gaze into his eyes, and this all overwhelms me in a heartbeat.
“I always wondered what happened to you after you moved. You sort of disappeared.” I don’t tell him I pined after him for months.
He stiffens for an instant, then leans back. “I wondered about you, too.”
“My mom grounded me for a month after that night.” My lips smash into a bitter smile that I can’t hold back.
“That night?”
“Oh, the bonfire night. You probably don’t remember.” I snicker. “My parents had dual custody and I was staying with my mom and her current husband at the time. I went home with my sweater buttoned in all the wrong buttonholes. You can imagine how that went over.”
He grins. “Maybe I do remember.”
“Oh, did that trigger your memory? I’m not sure it was worth getting my phone taken away for a month.”
We’re silent for several minutes and I wonder if he’s thinking about that night. It’s something I’ve never forgotten.
He examines the beer bottle in his hand and nods. “That would explain why you never returned my calls.”
“You called?” My heart thrums at the serious note in his voice. He did call. And he does remember.
“Yep. I did.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to me at school?” I wiggle uncomfortably at the thrill that he called me so many years ago.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. A lot of time has passed, and we were kids then.
“You weren’t taking my calls. Do you really think I wanted to humiliate myself with you blowing me off at school?”
I put the beer down beside the chair, irritated with him. “I would never do that. Get a clue. I spent my Friday nights twirling that baton on the football field, hoping you’d notice me.” I twist my hands together in my lap. “So, yeah. I thought you weren’t interested after that night.”
He takes another drink but doesn’t respond. Instead of babbling, I listen to the sound of a bullfrog croaking in the distance. The scent of Gunner’s cologne and the dark woods meld together in a decadent way, making me lean my head back and relax.
Can someone bottle this smell? Because I may have to roll around in it every day to start the morning right.
“I knew you weren’t a beer drinker,” he says and motions at the nearly untouched drink I hold.
“I’m OK.”
“Want something different? I can get you a soda.” He sits forward as if to get out the chair.
“I’m not thirsty.” I pause, wondering when it’s socially correct for me to ask him the one thousand questions about him I have to know. I glance around and return my gaze to him. “OK. You caught me. I really don’t drink a lot of beer. I mean, I did in college—I went to Loyola—but that was because everyone drinks a lot of beer. And other things. But anyway, I’m going to just hold on to this to keep you company.”
He peers sideways at me. A corner of his mouth teases up. “Are you nervous about sitting here with me?”
“No. I mean. A little.” I think about Mason and what I’ve done in the past hour. “It’s over between me and Mason. I can’t believe I finally did it. And do I seem nervous?”
“You’re talking a lot. I thought that topic was off-limits.”
“Right.”
“But since you brought it up… How did you meet that dickhead?”
My mouth quirks at the hostility in Gunner’s voice. “My dad introduced us. Dad was in the same fraternity with Mason’s dad. Mason and I dated for two years while I went to college in Chicago. He was at Cornell Law in Boston. We didn’t actually see each other much.”
“Long-distance, huh. Bad idea.”
I til
t my head, staring into the woods. “Yeah.”
“So, how’s Ed going to feel about tonight?”
I squirm in my seat. “He’ll deal with it.”
“Ed’s a nice guy. He’ll want you to be happy. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried.”
Gunner chuckles, a husky sound that elicits pleasant goosebumps along my body. “Let’s do something to take your mind off it.”
“What?” I realize I sound breathy and suspicious and hopeful. Oh God. What do I think he means?
“I didn’t have anything particular in mind when I said that.” He grins and I’m positive he has read my thoughts.
“Oh.” My face heats. I don’t think I’ve blushed this much in my life.
“What do you like to do? I brought you here, to my favorite place. What’s your favorite thing for fun? Something we can do here. Poker? Television? Twister?”
He’s teasing me, and I love it.
“Dance. I love dancing.”
Gunner lets his head fall back with a thud. “You’ve got to be kidding. Anything but that.”
“What? You don’t like to dance?”
“Does any man?”
“Yes. They do.”
“It’s not my thing.”
“You have to let go and feel the music. That’s all there is to it.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t.”
I get to my feet. “Give me your phone. We’ll put some music on and dance here.”
“Forget it.”
“No. I want to dance.”
“Sweetheart, you need to work on your hearing. I said I’m not.”
I grab both his hands, hoping to pull him to his feet. “Come on. Please.”
He stares at me so long I’m positive he’s regretting that I’m here. “All right,” he says. “But I choose the music. None of that hip hop stuff.”
“Deal.”
Gunner stands, his knees bumping mine at first because I wasn’t expecting his agreement. He towers above me, the top of my head barely reaching his chin. I take a step back.