by Talia Hunter
How had she not realized he’d been hurting so much when they were teenagers? She’d been thoughtless. Too busy with her schoolwork and planning her future to realize how he must have been crying out for help. All she used to think about was how much he annoyed her. Had she really been so callous?
If her heart hadn’t ached for him then, it was making up for it now. She leaned forward to touch his hand again, but he dropped it under the table, out of reach.
“Blake, I…” Her words ran out. What could she say? Perhaps she should be apologizing.
He shook his head. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He turned his head away for a moment, then looked back at her. The pain was gone, wiped away, and a cold blankness was in its place. “Caylee, I need you to hear this. The night I left, I went to your room hoping I’d get to say good-bye. When you weren’t there I wrote you a letter. I knew how much your grandma’s ring meant to you, and I’d never take it. I’d rather die than hurt you like that, and whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth.”
“A letter?”
“I left it on your pillow. You didn’t get it?”
“No.” The word rang in her ears. A letter? She’d been so furious and hurt when he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was leaving, let alone say good-bye. If he really had left a letter, that changed things. But she hadn’t found a letter. Could she believe him? Her heart was beating too fast, as though it wanted to beat for him, too, to try to heal the deep hurt she’d glimpsed inside him. Before the night he’d left, he’d never lied to her. Could she give him the benefit of the doubt and accept that he wasn’t lying now?
He put his napkin down. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
She dropped her hands into her lap, her fists clenched tight. The night was still beautiful but now she couldn’t look at it, only at him. “Blake, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s fine.” His voice was tight. “I can’t blame you for thinking the worst of me. It was the way I acted, after all.”
“I didn’t…” The words trailed off. She’d been going to say that she didn’t think the worst of him, but for so long she’d thought exactly that. And, no matter how much her heart ached to take his word for it and trust he hadn’t betrayed her like she’d thought, her too-sensible, coldly logical brain still said that all the evidence pointed to him.
“Let’s call it a night.” He stood up before she could protest. Though he was perfectly polite as he helped her pull her chair back on the sand to stand up, his body was stiff, and he made a point of not touching her. The silence sat heavily between them as they headed back up to the suite and, when she tried to cut the tension by making a remark about the full moon, he didn’t reply. As soon as they arrived he disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.
Caylee went into her own room, peeled off the tight, black dress, washed her face and teeth, took her lenses out, and got into bed. Her mind was whirling and her stomach churned as though she’d done something terrible. But she hadn’t. She’d needed to know why he’d betrayed her, and how else could she know but to ask? Still, the look on his face had wrenched her heart so badly it still throbbed. She’d expected him to ask forgiveness, or to bluster and lie, or try to make light of what he’d done. She’d never expected he’d deny it—at least, not so convincingly. She’d never doubted he was the thief, but now she was confused. Was there any way she could have been wrong about him all these years?
She was restless, shifting from one side to the other. How late was it? It felt like she’d been lying awake for hours, but when she glanced at the clock only forty minutes had passed. How would she ever get to sleep?
Another hour dragged by and finally Caylee got up. Warm milk might help. It was a long shot, but right now she was willing to try anything. She was wearing only a black slip, but the suite was silent, Blake long asleep. She’d be careful not to wake him.
She got up quietly, eased open her door, and padded out to the kitchen on soft bare feet.
…
Blake dropped some ice cubes into a glass and sloshed single malt whiskey over the top. The suite was dark, but the moon shone brightly enough through the skylights that he didn’t need to turn on any lights. He picked up his drink and leaned against the kitchen counter, but didn’t sip it right away. First he closed his eyes so he could properly savor the rich smoky smell of the whisky, the cold of the glass against his hand, and the sound of the ice clinking. This was his favorite single malt—hard to get and eye-wateringly expensive, but worth every penny. If his brain couldn’t stop churning over Caylee’s bombshell for long enough to let him shut his eyes, he’d have to find some other way to get through the night.
He took a sip and the whisky caressed his tongue, warm and soft in his mouth.
“Oh!”
His eyes flew open. Caylee was standing in front of him, dressed only in the silky black slip he’d picked out for her. Her hair was tousled. Her hand was at her mouth, shocked to see him.
Shit.
What the hell was she doing in the kitchen at this hour anyway? His eyes grazed over her body. She looked so damn good in that beautiful slip that fit her like a second skin. An embroidery pattern curled down the neckline and gave him tantalizing glimpses of her breasts. Her body was small and lean, and she had the same smell that he remembered from when they were kids. Soap and shampoo and something good that he thought of as the essence of her. That smell made him feel like a teenager again. It made him want to bury his face in her neck and breathe it right down into himself.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was rougher than he’d meant it to be.
“I thought I’d make a little warm milk. I didn’t know you’d be up.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your way.” He could take his drink into his room. Or better, out onto the balcony. Some stargazing in the warm night air would be better than pacing his bedroom. But, as he turned to go, she put her hand out to stop him.
“Wait.” There was a catch in her voice.
He turned to her. She wasn’t looking at his face, but his body. He was shirtless, wearing only his boxers. Hell, if she was offended, that was her fault for going wandering about in the middle of the night.
But when the moonlight caught her face, she didn’t look offended. Her eyes were wide. Had she taken her contacts out? They had a soft, slightly unfocused look to them, but she could obviously see a lot better than the night before. She stepped forward and lightly brushed her fingers against the tattoo on his chest. It had been the first of his two tattoos. The second was the raven feather he had put on his upper arm after his uncle died, a tribute to the man who’d been nicknamed Raven by his work buddies for his black hair and sharp nose.
But the tattoo Caylee was touching was the one over his heart.
“May I see?” Her voice was as soft as her fingertips.
Blake put down his whisky on the counter and stepped forward a little, into a beam of moonlight shining through the skylight, and leaned his face back so he wouldn’t cast a shadow over the image. She leaned in close—she must have taken her contacts out—and traced her finger over it, following its outline.
“It’s lovely.” Her tone was amazed, as though she never would have believed she could admire a tattoo. “A paper airplane. It’s so beautifully drawn.”
He grunted.
“And the words underneath.” She read them aloud. “Release me and I fly.”
“Yes.”
“Is it…?” She hesitated, and he knew she was remembering the day he’d cut his leg open on her ice skates, the day she’d gone wild after he’d folded up her school certificate into a plane and flew it out her window. “Is it my paper airplane?”
It took all his will not to put his finger under her chin and tilt her face up to him. This was a confession that felt wrong without being able to look into her eyes. But she was drawing and redrawing his tattoo with her finger, her featherlight touch lighting a fire inside his chest and making it hard to br
eathe. A tiny frown tugged at her eyebrows, as though the picture was a puzzle for her to figure out.
“You know how my parents were?” he asked. “Miserable and angry, and, well, you remember.” She nodded. “Afterward, when I’d finally escaped them, I realized they were pissed off at life, beaten down by their deadbeat jobs, their shitty luck, and the way things had turned out for them. They weren’t really mad at me. I was just there, and it was easy for them to take it out on me.” He took a shuddering breath. Her body was so close to his that he could feel her warmth and her scent was all around him. God, he wanted to reach out and pull her against him, to feel her skin against his. He had to clench his fists to keep them by his sides. She was still looking at his tattoo, her finger still running over it. Why wouldn’t she meet his gaze? “I would take their misery, store it inside me. And then I would let it out on you.”
Her eyes finally flicked up to his. There was sorrow in them. Pity. Shit, that was the last thing he wanted from her.
“Yes, it’s your paper airplane. It’s a reminder of the day you gave me the scar on my leg that I so richly deserved.” His voice was harsher than he intended. “And it’s a reminder for me to never treat anyone like that again. Or to let anyone do what my parents did to me.”
He couldn’t stand it anymore—he had to touch her or explode with want. His hands went up to rest on her upper arms. Her skin was as soft as it looked. But he had to stop there; he wouldn’t let himself pull her against him. Not when she thought so little of him. “I’m sorry, Caylee.” His voice was too quiet. Could she even hear him? “I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”
She didn’t answer for the longest time. Her face was tilted up to his. Her eyes were wide and dark, as though resisting the glow of the moonlight. She barely seemed to be breathing, but her hand was resting against his chest and it moved up and down with the force of his breaths. Could she feel his heart beating hard enough to break? There was no way she couldn’t feel it. Not with her warm hand pressed over it.
“No, Blake. I’m sorry,” she said finally.
He frowned. “Sorry for what?”
“I was selfish. I knew you were suffering but I didn’t think of anyone but myself. I never helped you.”
“You helped me more than you’ll ever know.” His muscles tensed. “Caylee, don’t feel sorry for me.”
“No, of course not. How could I when you faced all that and became who you are?” She shook her head. “That’s not what I wanted to say. What I meant is that I thought I knew you back then, but I’m starting to realize how wrong I was. You’re not the person I assumed you were.”
“You think I stole from you. How could you believe I would do that after the night we spent together?”
“I didn’t know whether it meant anything to you. After all, you’d been with other girls.”
Blake closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the intensity of his passion. In her bed he’d felt so raw and so terrifyingly vulnerable. All the tough scar tissue he’d built up vanished under her hands. He’d long since lost his fear of his father’s fists or his mother’s tongue, but that night he’d felt as though Caylee had stripped him to the bone with a single touch. “You couldn’t tell what it meant to me, Caylee? Really?”
Her tone was uncertain. “I’d been asleep. Afterward, it felt like I must have dreamed the whole thing.” She caught her breath. “Tell me what happened to you that night. Why were you in my room?”
Blake hesitated. He’d wanted to shut that terrible, wonderful night out of his memory, to stop it from hurting so damn much.
“Earlier that night I was out with Troy,” he said reluctantly. “Remember him?”
“Lana’s boyfriend?”
“He and his buddy stole a car and they picked me up in it.” Blake took a deep breath, remembering. The car had been full of the thick, sweet scent of marijuana and the music blared, but he still heard Troy in the front shooting off his mouth about Lana. Troy had been boasting about how Lana let him sneak into her room and what she let him do to her, until Blake had told him to shut his mouth or he’d shut it for him.
“I managed to annoy Troy,” said Blake. “He pulled the car up in front of a liquor store and I thought he was just going to kick me out. Instead he told me to go into the store and get some beer and some cash. If I didn’t do it, he and his buddy would work me over. I got out of the car and he wound down his window and handed me a gun.” Blake swallowed. He remembered wrapping his fingers around the handle of the revolver and feeling the weight of it. His pulse had sped up until his heart was keeping time with the fast and heavy bass throbbing from the car’s stereo. It seemed like everything in his life had been leading up to that one moment, like the gun in his hand was not only inevitable, but somehow right. It was a big step on a path he was destined to take. A path that led him into the liquor store to get as much beer as he could carry and all the cash from the register.
“What did you do?”
“I took off in the opposite direction and ducked through someone’s yard so Troy and his buddy couldn’t follow me. I found a payphone and called my uncle, told him that school was over for me and, if I didn’t get out of town, I’d end up in jail or dead. He agreed to take me in. Said he had to turn up at work first thing, but afterward he’d drive down and pick me up.”
“Then you came to my place?”
“I walked home and found my parents drinking on the porch, singing at the top of their lungs. They had their arms around each other, but my mother had a fresh bruise on her cheek.”
Caylee wrinkled her nose. “That’s right. I heard them start up before I fell asleep.”
“I didn’t want to wake you, but all I could think about were those nights when we were younger and you’d let me stay with you until my parents had gone to bed. Next to you was the only place I ever felt safe, even though I knew you didn’t really want me there. The day you gave me the scar on my leg I realized what a jerk I was being to you, and since then I’d tried to stay away, but that night I was desperate. I wanted that safe feeling one last time before I left. So I snuck in and lay down quietly, trying not to wake you.” He swallowed. “And you know the rest.”
“And afterward you left without a word.”
He nodded. He couldn’t explain it. How could he find the words to tell her how wretched he’d felt to leave—forever—after what they’d shared? She’d dropped straight off to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to even close his eyes, knowing that he still had the gun and feeling guilty for having brought it into her bedroom. As he’d watched her sleep, he’d seen two paths stretching out in front of him. One path was crystal clear. Troy and his buddies, and even his parents, were beckoning him along it. The other path was harder to see. Caylee was on that one, but so far ahead she was just a faint smudge on the horizon. All he knew was, that was the path he wanted to take. Somehow he’d find his way.
He’d kissed her cheek gently, breathing in her scent and locking it inside his heart forever. Then he’d slipped out of bed. One day he’d deserve to wake up next to her, but not yet, and nothing proved that more than the fact that the whole time they’d made love, she’d had no idea there was a loaded gun lying on her bedroom floor.
“What did you do with the gun?” she asked, as if she could read his thoughts.
“I handed it in at the police station the next day.”
“Why didn’t you go to school?”
“I did, but only to tell them I wasn’t coming back. Then I had to go and quit my part-time job at the garage. Afterward I went to your place and waited for you, but you didn’t come home.”
“My Stanford interview,” she said. “I wasn’t home until late.”
“You really didn’t get my letter?”
She shook her head.
His heart was beating fast. He’d spent so much of his time at his uncle’s place watching the phone, hoping she’d call. When it stayed silent, he’d known it was because she’d come to her senses and realiz
ed she was too good for someone like him. Over and over he’d pictured her balling up his letter and throwing it in the trash with a muttered “Good riddance.” But if she didn’t get the letter, that changed everything. The phone hadn’t stayed silent because she regretted spending the night with him, or because she knew how little he’d deserved her. She hadn’t called because she didn’t have his number.
Suddenly it all seemed so clear to Blake. “Don’t you see, someone else must have gone into your bedroom. They stole your things and took my letter.” He lifted one hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, stroking his finger across the soft skin of her cheek. “Do you believe me?”
She caught her lower lip in her teeth and then released it. “Yes. It doesn’t make any sense, but I do believe you.” She hesitated. “Just promise me you won’t ever lie to me. I couldn’t stand it.”
“I won’t lie to you, Caylee. I haven’t.”
He wouldn’t have thought his heart could beat any faster, but it sped up as she moved even closer to him. Her body was almost touching his. Her face lifted, as though she wanted him to kiss her. Christ, he couldn’t fight it a second longer.
Chapter Ten
Caylee could feel Blake’s heart hammering under her hand. Her own heart was beating even faster. Without her contacts everything had a soft focus, but she could see him well enough that her breath was frozen in her throat. Shirtless, Blake was magnificent. His muscles were chiseled underneath his glowing tan, the physique of a man used to hard work. She’d never seen such beautiful tattoos, never even knew tattoos could be beautiful. But it was both the artistry of the ink and the perfect canvas that made them so breathtaking.
Standing so close, she was caught by the intoxicating scent of sea and sun infused into his skin. Even if she wanted to pull away, she couldn’t. Everything about him drew her in. He’d put her paper airplane on his chest, over his heart—that’s how wrong she’d been about him. How could he have stolen from her when he’d done something like that? She couldn’t bring herself to keep believing he’d ransacked her room, and that changed everything. Blake wasn’t a liar or a thief. He really was the generous, amazing man who’d saved her, taken her in, and had even given her a way to get Dr. Partington to listen to her, instead of taking one look and writing her off.