by Karina Bliss
But, hey, Lee could be a grown-up. Mark had also seen him and plastered a similar “oh shit not you but let’s make the best of it” smile on his face as he strolled over.
“Sergeant Davis, nice to see you again.”
They shook hands and Mark looked at Jules’s purple bike. “Nice wheels.”
Smart arse. Lee almost liked him for it.
“Borrowed,” he said, and nodded toward the Porsche. “Still paying yours off?”
The other man reddened. Guess Lee had misjudged his sense of humor.
“Nope, all mine,” Mark replied. “Cars and women. I’ve always liked a classy ride.”
Lee stiffened. The innuendo had to be coincidental. His successor couldn’t be that much of a jerk. Jules’s taste was too good for that.
Mark met his stare blankly and Lee relaxed.
“How’s Jules?” the architect asked.
Son of a bitch. Lee’s fists curled before he understood. Mark didn’t realize Lee knew about him and thought he was making a private joke. Two could play at that game. “Exhausting,” he said, gesturing to the bike. “Which is why I’m working on my endurance—so I can keep up with her.”
Mark’s expression took on some personality at that.
Come to think of it, the jerk had played mind games with Jules in the pub. Making her extremely uncomfortable.
Lee added, “Turns out I’m not the only one who’s been starved of great sex.”
The architect wasn’t red now, he was pale with anger. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“No, not funny...not funny at all. Did you imagine I was too thick to put two and two together when you were playing the passive-aggressive prick with my fiancée?”
“Don’t be such a jerk.”
“Me a jerk. Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
Lee’s simmering anger rose to a fast boil. Catching the other man by the arm, he spun him out of sight around the corner of the building.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mark asked.
“You like bullying people don’t you,” Lee spit, shaking with rage. “Is it always women and weaklings? Would you be as witty and urbane with your mind games if someone fought back?”
With snakelike speed he pinned Mark against the wall of the gas station. The other man’s leather jacket squeaked against the tinted plate-glass window as he tried to wriggle free. Using techniques he’d learned in Special Forces, Lee held the larger man immobile.
“Yeah,” Lee said savagely, “not so much fun being the one bullied is it, asshole?”
“Please.” Mark’s eyes bulged as Lee dug his elbow harder into his windpipe. “Don’t hurt me.”
Lee recovered himself in an instant, dropped his arms and stepped away in horror.
Coughing, Mark slid down the wall clutching his throat. “What kind of monster are you?” he wheezed.
“I...” Breaking into a sweat, Lee reached out to help Mark to his feet and the man instinctively threw up his hands to shield his face.
“Get away from me!”
Grabbing the bike and his helmet, Lee stumbled around the corner of the building and cycled away. After five minutes he’d started shaking so hard he had to dismount and walk. And through his brain, the same sentence repeated over and over again.
What kind of monster are you?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LEE WASN’T HOME when Jules arrived at one and the pique she felt that lunch wasn’t on the table made her smile as she fixed herself a ham sandwich. Actually it was good she had to fend for herself again. In another week she’d be eating soup and salads.
Sipping her coffee, she settled at the kitchen table with her laptop. While she waited for it to boot up, she ate one of yesterday’s blueberry muffins and then another. Because, dammit, Lee was right. His baking was tastier than hers.
Word came up and she started formatting a document. Nick’s deadline about her shareholding was Monday. Jules figured the surest way of guaranteeing a lottery win tomorrow night was to begin updating her résumé.
Yeah, right.
Her cell rang. She looked at the display and hesitated. Did she want to talk to Mark? Not really, but better for everyone to keep relations civil. “This is a surprise. How are you?”
“Half-strangled,” he snapped. “Your maniac fiancé attacked me at a service station two hours ago.”
“But why...how?” Jules struggled to connect the incident with Lee in her imagination. “What did you do?”
“What did I do? I’m phoning to warn you that you’re living with a madman and you ask me what—”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Are you badly hurt? Where are you?”
“I’m at my office. My throat feels like it’s had a boa constrictor wrapped around it and it hurts like hell. I’m considering laying charges. I want to know if Lee has a history of violence.”
“No!” Cell to her ear, Jules went to the hall telephone and dialed Lee’s cell. She should never have believed him when he denied having PTSD. Was he safe? Did he need help? Emergency counseling? “Mark, don’t do anything hasty.”
“The number you have called is either turned off or outside the coverage area.”
“Who’s that with you?” he demanded suspiciously. “Is Lee there threatening you in some way? I’ll phone the police.”
He was obviously still shaken and Jules tried to keep the panic out of her voice at the way the situation was escalating. “Lee’s not here, Mark,” she reassured him. “It’s an automated message on the other line. Look, stay where you are, I’m coming over right now.”
Grabbing her keys and handbag, she hurried out to the car.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
On the drive over Jules scanned every street, hoping to glimpse Lee, feeling sick and frightened for him. What had triggered his violence? He’d never been a possessive boyfriend and had maintained friendships with a couple of ex-girlfriends. A jealous rage was out of character.
Out of character for the old Lee, but what about the new one?
She tried his cell again but it was still turned off. As soon as she’d convinced Mark not to call in the National Guard she’d trawl the streets, get Nate and Claire to help if she had to.
Pulling up outside Mark’s office, Jules locked the car and hurried into the foyer of the three-story Georgian-style building. As she waited for the elevator to take her to the third floor, she caught sight of something that made her blood run cold.
Her bike lay half-hidden under the stairs.
Oh, my God. Forgetting the elevator, she took the stairs, two at a time, and wrenched open the door to Mark’s office. Lee turned from his position sitting on the other side of Mark’s desk. His features were drawn, his expression bleak. Ashamed.
Mark sat on the other side, his fingers steepled grave and oddly condescending. He appeared to be relieved as soon as he saw Jules.
Panting, she caught the door frame for support. “I saw your bike,” she explained to Lee, and then realized that she’d basically just revealed that she’d expected to find Mark beaten to a bloody pulp.
Which wasn’t true. She’d hurried to prevent Lee from beating Mark to a bloody pulp.
Pressing her fingers into a stitch under her ribs, she went to stand beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Weren’t you coming here to ask me that?” Mark answered.
“Yes, of course. Tell me what
happened.”
“A savage and unprovoked attack,” Mark told her. She let him vent, making appropriate sounds of shock and sympathy when he pulled down his collar to show her the mark on his neck, tinged the faint red of a sunburn. And all the while, with the pad of her thumb she stroked tiny reassuring circles on Lee’s tense shoulder blade.
Lee gave absolutely no sign that he felt it. He listened silently to Mark, until the guy ran out of steam.
Then he cleared his throat. “As I said before Jules arrived, I completely understand if you want to press charges rather than accept an apology.”
“And I’m asking you not to,” Jules said. Lee shifted away from her hand and she dug her thumb into his back. “You know what he’s been through.”
“That’s all very well, Jules, but is he getting help?”
“He’s had some counseling,” Lee answered. “He’ll get more.”
Mark looked at him. “Is Jules safe with you?”
“Yes, she is,” Jules answered.
“Still choose him, huh?” Mark sighed. “Okay, I accept your apology.”
Jules waited until they were in the car, her bike angled across the backseat and out the open window, before she asked again, “Are you okay?”
“I’ll move out,” he said. “Tonight. Go stay with Nate...no.” He rubbed his face. “They’ve got the launch tomorrow. I’ll find a hotel.”
“You’re staying with me for another week,” she said, “as per the conditions of our armistice. Otherwise, all the effort we’ve put into continuing this tortuous engagement becomes a bloody waste of time.”
His gaze met hers. “Jules, everything he said was true. I identified him as a bully and I lost control.”
“The SAS liaison will be able to recommend someone experienced in dealing with your problem. We’ll call Kyra tomorrow.”
“I will,” he said. “You’ve done enough.”
“Okay.” She started the car. “But under all this you’re still a good man.”
“I thought I was a selfish, manipulative jerk.”
“That, too,” she said. “In a male, they’re not mutually exclusive.”
Lee almost smiled.
* * *
JULES WOKE THE next morning to the chirrup of an incoming text and fumbled for her cell. Can you pick up fifty extra glasses from the party rental place en route? Claire.
Yesterday’s drama had pushed Heaven Sent’s launch out of her mind. Jules texted back: Sure.
Shrugging on a robe, she went in search of Lee but found no sign of him. Or her bike. Had he remembered? Would he still want to go? After chewing her lip, she forwarded a reminder. Duty was a powerful motivator, and being among his friends would speed up the return to normalcy.
When she returned from her shower she found a reply.
Home soon. About to delete it, she paused.
Then, leaving it in her in-box—for reasons she didn’t want to examine—she got dressed.
The launch was at the boathouse on the estuary of Stingray Bay so Jules opted to wear practical glamour: a hot fuchsia halter top over navy capris and a matching cardigan in case of a sea breeze. Strappy sandals. Pink lipstick. When she was finished, she scanned herself in the mirror.
“Who are you getting dressed up for?” she asked suspiciously. She tossed her head. “The rock star, of course.”
Bravado locked and loaded, Jules drove to the party rental place and collected the extra glasses.
Under a blue sky, every passing garden bloomed with the bright freshness of pending summer. Some of that promise crept into her spirit.
By the time she’d negotiated traffic and arrived home, Lee stood in front of the mirror in the living room, adjusting the collar on a shirt that bought out the green of his eyes.
She’d chosen it for him.
His gaze flicked to hers, then returned to his reflection. “Are you going to tell any of our friends what happened with Mark?”
Jules folded her arms. “What do you think?”
“Neither am I,” he warned her.
“It’s not the right forum. Today is a celebration.”
“I’m not ever telling them, Jules.”
She wanted to give him the right answer, one that would help him, so she took a few seconds to reply. “They won’t judge you,” she said at last. “Maybe it’s time you discussed the ambush and how it affected them.”
“I booked some counseling,” he said abruptly. “A local guy recommended by Kyra. No one else needs to get involved.”
Don’t shut everybody out. What right had she to say it after telling him emphatically and repeatedly she was shutting him out? And why now, after he’d beaten up her ex-boyfriend and revealed himself to be troubled, was she suddenly questioning her decision not to give third chances?
Both of them needed their heads examined.
“Let’s talk about this later,” she said quietly. When she’d had time to untangle her thoughts.
* * *
STINGRAY BAY WAS picture-postcard paradise. Blue water mutated into a blue sky. The footbridge spanning the estuary hosted a number of hopeful anglers and, across the channel, sun glinted off the windows of the colorful old cabins.
Climbing out of the car, Lee put on his shades and wondered how soon he and Jules could politely leave. He still felt shaken by the depth and ferocity of his anger yesterday, which seemed to have come out of nowhere. Oddly, Jules’s compassion only intensified his humiliation.
He didn’t want her pity; he wanted her love.
He didn’t want her to see him as weak; he wanted her to see him as the indomitable optimist she’d fallen for. Because no way in hell would he win another chance in his current shape.
Claire must have been watching for them, because she strolled from the boathouse to meet them.
The doors of the corrugated shed were open at both ends and framed the estuary view and the restored sixty-year-old launch sitting on the skids.
“Thank God, you’re here,” Claire said to Jules. “We were about to break out the plastic goblets and that is not the impression I want to make when we’ve got Zander Freedman attracting national press.”
In white capris, a nautically striped top and a captain’s hat, she sparkled even more than the tinsel wrapped around the railings of her forty-foot pride and joy. “And of course I’m delighted to see you, too.” Laughing, she kissed Lee’s cheek.
He made an effort. “It’s going well then?”
“Brilliantly.”
Lee opened the trunk. “I’ll unload the glasses, you two go ahead.”
“Thank you!” Claire tucked her arm through Jules’s and started leading her away. “Dan’s tending bar. He’ll know where to put them.”
Jules hesitated.
“Go,” he said. “Have fun.”
After yesterday, she deserved a break from worrying about him.
Picking up the two trays of glasses, Lee nudged the trunk closed and headed toward the boathouse, passing Claire’s son, who was kicking a ball with a bunch of other teenagers.
“Want to organize a game of football later?” Lewis said hopefully. It had been one of their traditions.
“Sure, mate.” Any excuse to avoid questions from grown-ups.
Inside the boathouse, he threaded his way through tables decorated with checkered tablecloths and centerpieces of spring flowers. He nodded hello to Claire’s mother-in-law, Ellie, who was overseeing the cutting of a ham behind a buffet
table all but sagging under the weight of food.
On the estuary side of the boat shed he found Dan dispensing drinks from a makeshift bar. Lee placed the trays of glasses on the far end to stop the white tablecloth billowing in the breezy gusts.
“Good thinking.” Dan finished loading a tray with glasses of white wine and handed it to a passing waitress. “I was wondering how to anchor that. Local or imported?”
“Local, thanks.”
Dan freed a can of Steinlager from an ice-filled tub and flipped the tab. “Here you go.”
Lee accepted the chilled can. “Want a hand?” Because he really didn’t want to stand around wringing his.
“Nah, I can cope. You can take another beer to Ross, though. His lordship is on the poop deck.”
“What the hell is a poop deck?”
“No idea...just like the sound of it.”
“Derives from the Latin puppis, meaning stern,” Nate supplied, arriving with an empty tray. “Commonly the rear cabin roof on a sailing ship’s main deck. Which means we don’t have one.”
Dan began refilling the tray with wine and beer. “Hark at the old sea dog.”
“Less lip, galley slave, or it’ll be the plank.” Nate grinned at Lee. “Ross is inspecting the engine for the fiftieth time.”
Lee delivered the beer and kicked Heaven Sent’s tires with Ross for ten minutes. He thought he was doing well until Ice looked up from his inspection of the Leyland 680 engine and said casually, “Everything okay? You seem edgy.”
“Box of fluffy ducks.” Lee collected Ross’s empty glass. “I’m going to get another drink. Want one?”
“I’m good.”
Heading toward the bar, he saw Jules and Claire approaching the rock star and detoured away from them.
After yesterday’s attack on her ex-lover, the last thing he wanted was to make her nervous by hovering while she met her schoolgirl crush.