How had everything gotten out of hand so quickly?
Once again, his body acted before his brain. With absolutely no finesse, he jumped from the bed like the thing had turned into a gaping mouth threatening to swallow him whole. The sudden move nearly had Eve face-planting into the colorful rug, and he steadied her by placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I, uh—” He stopped short, trying and failing to catch his breath. She was looking up at him with big, wary eyes, two graceful fingers touching her kiss-wet lips, her other hand wrapped around the pearl pendant at her throat. Holy hell, you’ve got to get out of here, boy-o.
“I didn’t mean for that to—” He stopped again, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Eve.”
He turned on his heel, gritting his teeth against the pain caused by the humungous bite his ulcer took out of his stomach when her softly whispered “G-goodnight, Billy” followed him out the door.
Chapter Nine
Black Knight Inc.’s Onsite Gym
Sunday, 6:36 a.m.
What did it mean? What did it mean? What did it mean?
The phrase circling around in Eve’s head kept time with the pounding of her sneakers on the treadmill’s conveyer belt.
He’d said he wanted to let bygones be bygones, and then he’d kissed her…
Holy moly, did he ever! Her lips were still tender, the skin on her chin still slightly pink from the rasp of his ever-present beard stubble. And, oh, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be good and truly kissed. To be swept away by the sensation of lips and teeth and tongues and sweet-tasting breath.
Nobody, and she meant nobody, kissed like William Wesley Reichert. The man was a veritable prodigy, especially when he did that thing where he put both palms on either side of her face and gently sucked her tongue into his mouth…or when he caught her lower lip between both of his and softly stroked the sensitive pad with his tongue…or when he was in the conquering mood and plunged inside her mouth like Genghis Khan, just flippin’ ravaging her—which was what he’d done toward the end last night.
And, yes, she totally blamed him—and her early immersion in the wonder that was him—for the fact that the guys she’d dated and kissed since him hadn’t measured up to her expectations. I mean, once a girl got a taste of triple-chocolate truffles, plain ol’ graham crackers simply lost their appeal.
But what did it mean? Did it mean she’d been wrong about that look out in the Hummer? Did it mean he’d forgiven her and wanted to give it another try? Or was it, in fact, some sort of good-bye kiss, a way to mark the end of their tumultuous relationship, to bookend their time together, if you will?
Her phone sprang to life, dragging her from her restless thoughts, and she frowned down at the name on the screen. Her father wasn’t very good at taking a hint. But she wasn’t prepared to speak to him. Not yet, at least. Punching a button, she sent the call directly to voice mail just as a deep voice, spoken from directly behind her, had her hitting the emergency stop key on the treadmill.
“You still run like the wind.”
She glanced over her shoulder, grabbing the towel draped over one of the handrails in order to wipe away the drops of sweat on her brow and throat.
“You’re up early,” she wheezed as she stepped off the machine, wondering if her breathlessness came from exertion or the fact that Billy looked so dang good that her lungs had seized up.
Erm…probably the second. Because she ran seven miles a day, five days a week, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d lost her breath while doing it.
Chastising herself for being a complete man-hungry ninny when it came to Billy and his miles of tan, tattooed muscles, she wiped the towel over her face and forced herself to drag in a steadying breath. The smell of the bleach the towel had been washed in combined with the aromas of the gym’s astringent cleaning products and good, healthy, male sweat to ground her. Sort of. That is until her gaze once more landed on Billy.
Oh, good gracious. Today he was wearing baggy sweat pants slung low around his ultra-trim waist and a tight white tank top that emphasized the hulking muscles in his shoulders and just happened to showcase the colorful star tattoos cascading down his sculpted arms.
Her eyes were drawn to the red and blue ink, to the fierce points of each wickedly perfect beacon of patriotism. She wondered idly if the individual stars represented something. But the thought was fleeting, because she was distracted by the sea of testosterone surrounding Billy. The sea of testosterone that made her want to do something incredibly foolish like, oh, say, don snorkel gear and dive right in. Then again, before she could do that, she needed to figure out exactly what last night’s kiss meant. If she could just drum up the courage, that is.
Come on, Eve. Stop being a wuss. Oh God, her heart was pounding a mile a minute.
“I like to get in a workout before the chaos of the day begins,” Billy said in answer to her incredibly lame—insert eye roll here—you’re up early. Geez, whoever it was who’d recently complimented her for being articulate should obviously go in for a CT scan. Because when it came to Billy, her vocabulary shrank to double and most times single syllable words.
Like, for instance, right now? Well, right now, as she watched him push away from the doorjamb, the only word she could seem to come up with was yum.
Her eyes devoured him as he sauntered over to a weight bench. Lowering himself, he bent to tighten the laces on his worn sneakers. Which is when she realized not only was her stomach quivering from the mere sight of him, but her hands were also shaking with fear. And dangit, a large part of her wanted to turn tail and run. Just skedaddle right on out of the outbuilding that served as BKI’s home gymnasium and avoid any morning-after conversations. Because what if he told her that kiss meant nothing? Or worse, that it meant the end of everything…
But, no. That was the old Eve, the timid, little rabbit Eve. The new Eve? Well, the new Eve gnawed on her lip for a good two-second count before blurting, “You kissed me last night.”
Okay, and that came out sounding more like an accusation than a question. Curses.
Billy planted his forearms on his thighs, letting his head hang between his shoulders and his big, lovely hands dangle between his legs. He was silent for a seemingly interminable moment during which time she was afraid her pounding heart might just leap right out of her chest. Then, he lifted those lovely eyes of his to her face, and his expression was…what?
Embarrassed? Wry? Self-deprecating?
She couldn’t tell. Oh, why couldn’t she tell?
“Guess there’s no way to un-ring that bell, huh?” he muttered, lips twisting, and all the hope that’d been expanding in her chest burst. She was surprised a loud pop didn’t echo around the room.
The urge to run was more powerful than ever. But she held her ground, lifting her chin. “Would you…” She licked her lips and swallowed…her pride, perhaps? “Would you want to un-ring it?”
He made a face. “Maybe,” he said. Then, “Probably.”
Well, a girl couldn’t fault the guy for being honest.
“Oh,” she murmured, trying very hard to keep her shoulders from drooping and her lower lip from quivering.
“I went up to your room last night to attempt to give you a little comfort after your hellacious last couple of months and to tell you that I’m done holding grudges about the past. But the urge to kiss you overcame me, probably something to do with old habits or bad instincts, and I wrongly acted on it. I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
But what if she wanted it to happen again? She opened her mouth to admit as much—talk about swallowing her pride—when his expression stopped her cold. She knew a wall when she ran into it, face-first.
He might be ready to try to forgive her for the past. But from the look of things, he wasn’t ready, he’d never be ready, to start something new. There was just too much history there. Too many grieva
nces and too much distrust…
She wanted to sit down and scream. Scream at herself for having been so disloyal and cowardly. Scream at her father for pushing her away from a good man and into the arms of a manipulative one. Just scream, scream, scream! But, the time for self-pity and blame was gone. Now she needed to do the right thing, the brave thing and offer Bill the apology that’d been a long time coming. Too long…
“Since we’re…uh…since we’re baring our souls here,” she began hesitantly, “I-I want to tell you I’m sorry for the way I behaved all those years ago.”
“You were young,” he said. And considering all the times she’d hoped to see a little compassion shining out at her from the depths of his warm, brown eyes, the fact that she was seeing it now should’ve brought her more comfort. Instead, it only made her grief and regret burn brighter, hotter. Tears scorched at the back of her throat.
“That’s no excuse,” she admitted, staring down at her Asics.
“We were both young. And it takes two to make an accident,” he quoted quietly, and her gaze shot up to his face.
“The Great Gatsby?” she asked, lower lip trembling—dang the thing! “That’s…that’s one of my favorites.”
“I remember.” His voice was gruff. And it was then, because of the unspoken look in his eyes, that she wondered if maybe he’d taken to reading books, the classics in particular, to please her. Because when they’d dated that summer, reading the classics had been her thing.
Oh, God! Why had she agreed to go out with Blake Parish? Why hadn’t she told her father to go jump in a lake when he kept harping on her to forget about Billy and give Blake a chance? And why hadn’t she been brave enough to hop on a plane to go see Billy after the misleading photos and articles had been printed in the papers? Why had she relied on those stupid, impersonal letters that probably hadn’t accurately portrayed her regret or remorse? Why hadn’t she been courageous enough to explain everything to him face-to-face? Perhaps if she had, he would’ve forgiven her then and everything would be different now…
But hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. And there was no going back. Now all she could do was move forward, no matter how painful it might prove to be.
“I am sorry,” she said again, her heart a clenched fist in her chest.
“I know you are.” He nodded, his smile gentle.
God, that smile killed her. “I’d like to explain what happened. I think you deserve…I don’t know…more than what I gave you. I think you deserve to hear—”
“And I would like to hear what you’ve got to say,” he said, cutting her off. “But not now.” She couldn’t help it, the muscles in her shoulders loosened, and she dragged in a tired sigh. “First, let’s figure out who’s behind these attacks on you. Let’s get you safe and secure before we sit down for a heart-to-heart, okay? That way there’ll be no distractions.”
She held his gaze for long seconds, feeling as if, regardless of the words coming out of his mouth, the book on that part of her life had inexplicably slammed shut. Just as she’d suspected, last night’s kiss had been an ending.
“Do you think it’s possible for us to maybe…to maybe be friends someday?” She didn’t care that there was an obvious note of hope in her voice.
A muscled ticked in his jaw, and she rolled in her lips, waiting. Finally, he gave her a shrug, “Maybe…Someday…”
“Good.” She blew out a shaky breath, having no choice but to accept what he was offering. “Thank you, Billy.”
“You’re welcome, Eve,” he said in that deep voice of his that’d always reminded her of thunder rolling in over Lake Michigan. She took that as her cue.
Turning on her heel, she exited the outbuilding, carefully closing the door behind her, and stepping onto the slate flagstones of BKI’s back courtyard. She lifted her face to the warm sun peeking over the eastern perimeter wall and closed her eyes, bathing in its warmth.
“It’s enough,” she murmured to herself. “If I can have his friendship, it’ll be enough.”
But the words fell flat on her ears, because what she wanted from him, what she’d always wanted from him, was so, so much more…
***
Belmont Avenue
4:15 p.m.
Mac was beat. We’re talking dead-dog-roadkill tired. Or as he father used to say, too pooped to pop—whatever that was supposed to mean. Because not only had he spent the entire day with Bill and Eve and the shit-storm of angst that seemed to swirl around those two in a dizzying funnel cloud—something had happened between them last night that’d turned all their overt animosity and ill-disguised insults into covert glances and tense silences—but he’d also just blown the last hour trying to wheedle a yacht club members list from a guy with salon-quality hair and handmade Italian loafers.
The dude had had silver spoon stamped on his forehead and giant, unremitting asshole scrawled on top of that. And Mac had suffered so much of the guy’s sneering, condescending looks that he’d been two seconds away from strangling the cocksucker, when Eve stepped in, cool and unflappable, finally getting the information they needed.
He had to give the woman some serious props. She was the picture of poise and grace, of geniality and charm…well, except when she was around Wild Bill. And now he was back to the first of his day’s headaches. He glanced over at Bill only to find the man surreptitiously watching Eve in the rearview mirror. Eve, for her part, was staring out the rear passenger side window and gnawing her lower lip like the thing was tastier than apple pie.
What happened between those two last night to wind them tighter than fiddle strings? he wondered for the zillionth time. Then, quickly following that, he thought, ah to hell with it. Because he was done trying to figure them out. It was making his headache worse. Plus, he’d learned long ago it was best to leave all that ooey-gooey stuff to Ace.
Tilting his head from side to side, he was in the middle of working out the kinks in his neck when his iPhone blared the opening bars of “Amarillo Sky.”
Damn. Sometimes he missed Texas.
“What’s up, Ace?” he asked, holding the phone to his ear.
“Bad news.” Ace sounded annoyed. “The motor on the door to the Bat Cave on this end has broken. Again. And I can’t get the sorry sucker open.”
“Shit,” Mac muttered, rubbing a thumb against his pounding temple.
“That about sums it up,” Ace concurred.
To avoid the reporters hanging out in front of BKI—Samantha Tate had been true to her word, it seemed—they’d exited the Knights’ compound that morning via the top-secret underground tunnel that originated behind a heavy, twelve-foot-wide, brick and iron door in the motorcycle shop and terminated in a parking garage across the Chicago River. So, unfortunately, with their only other way back into BKI officially closed for business, they were left with the options of either driving in through the front gate—which couldn’t happen because then the reporters would know that Black Knights Inc. came equipped with a very fancy, very illicit backdoor, and wouldn’t that be just enough to pique their interest?—or he and Bill could stash Eve somewhere safe before frog-manning their way across the Chicago River, scaling the ten-foot-high, razor-wire topped fence commando-style, and helping Ace repair the motor. Fixing that rusting, old behemoth was always a two-, sometimes three-man job.
“Shit,” he said again, realizing that instead of a couple of ibuprofen and a quick nap in his future, he was doomed to engage in full-on Mission Impossible-style maneuvers. “Hold tight, Ace,” he muttered. “I’ll call you back in a sec.”
When he clicked off the phone, he turned to find Bill watching him with an expression like a bio-hazardous waste sign. “Let me guess,” Bill said. “The motor is broken on the Bat Cave door. Again.”
Mac just smiled and nodded, taking a page from Ace’s book and batting his lashes.
“Shit,” Bill cursed, yanking th
e steering wheel on the Hummer, maneuvering the beast into a cramped parking space on the side of the street. Slamming the giant SUV out of gear and switching off the engine, he ran a hand through his hair and muttered again, “Shit.”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” Eve piped up from the back seat, and Mac turned to explain what the problem was and, as a result, what all the only possible solution entailed.
“Well,” she shrugged, “I guess you can drop me back at my cousin’s condo, or…” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I could go to my dad’s house. At least that’d stop him from calling me every five seconds.”
Bill shot Mac a sharp look.
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing,” he said, wracking his brain for a way to serve her this bitter pill of truth so that it went down smoothly. Then he realized this was a situation where it was probably best to avoid the truth—at least the whole truth—altogether. “We’d feel a lot better if we stashed you with someone we know and trust.”
“Why?” Her brows formed a perfect V.
Good Lord, the woman was determined to make him perjure himself. He shrugged. “It’s just better if you stay away from your usual spots.”
“Oh.” She nodded, her face clearing. “That makes sense.” And he was going straight to hell for being a liar-liar-pants-on-fire. “Okay, so where to?”
Mac glanced at Bill, proposing, “Shell and Snake’s house? There’s a key to their place in the glove box and—”
“Boss would skin us, fillet us, cook us, eat us, and then use our bones as toothpicks if we involved his sister and his nephew in anything even remotely dangerous,” Bill stated. “And that’d be a cakewalk compared to what Snake would do to us once he comes back from Mali.”
Mac knew the guy wasn’t just being dramatic. Boss, like any good big brother, was extremely overprotective of his sister and her son. And Snake? Well, let’s just say that when it came to his wife and child and their safety, the man lived up to his code name. Deadly.
“Okay, so that leaves us with…” He made a rolling motion with his hand, encouraging Bill to offer another option since none of the rest of the Knights had family—or even close friends—living nearby.
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