by Tara Wylde
“He was marking his territory, letting all dogs know that you’re a part of his life, a pack member. And Atticus isn’t fond of many people, so, like I said, you should consider it a compliment.”
Amusement continues to dance in her eyes as she extends her hand. I take it and let her pull me up.
I pull the tree tag out of my pocket and tie it to the fallen spruce tree, marking it as mine so that the crew knows which one to deliver to the Blind Pig.
“You wouldn’t be talking about compliments and being part of the pack if it was your leg he peed on.”
Lara giggles. “Oh, he has his own special way of reminding me that I’m a pack member.”
“Which is…”
“He pees in my shoes.”
“You’re kidding.”
She snorts. “Three days ago, he ruined my favorite pair. Peeing on things is Atticus’s personal love language.”
Lara moves in close and wraps an arm around my waist, her small hand cupping the curve of my hip. It’s the first time she’s touched me. Hope warms my chest. Finally, it feels like we’re starting to connect, that something’s starting to grow between us.
And if finding that connection requires a little dog urine, then so be it.
25
Lara
“Do you know where you’re going to put all the stuff we bought?” Paul asks.
I like how he says we bought, rather then he bought or that I picked out.
“Some of it.”
I spot the Philistine Hotel through the car window and reach for my coat. “I’ve known for months that I was going to set up a tree by the fireplace, but since the spruce is about four feet wider than I expected, I’m going to have to move some of the tables and couches to different locations.”
And hopefully, doing so won’t require putting any of the seats into storage until after the holiday season. I want to end the year on a high note, not with a diminished seating capacity.
The car slows as it approaches the Blind Pig. Two people, Emile and a local police officer I’m friends with, Liam Dempsey, stand next to the front door, their arms crossed over their chests, watching a young window washer scrape paint off my beautiful plate glass window.
“Not again,” I mutter.
“Again?” Paul floats a brow. “What again?”
“It’s not really a big deal,” I tell him as we glide to a stop. Emile and Liam turn and stare at the car. “The past few weeks I’ve been having problems with vandals. They keep hitting my place with spray paint.” I do a quick mental count. “This is the third time in seven days I’ve had paint cleaned off that window.”
“Three times?” Paul whistles. “And the police haven’t done anything yet?”
“They’re trying. Reports have been filed and they’ve checked all the local security cameras. I had new cameras installed after the first incident, but they always show the same thing. A big … person in a heavy black jacket and a scarf around his face. Not enough to make an accurate identification.”
Dreading what I’m going to see, I pull my phone out of my purse and look at the screen. Three unread text messages. Knowing what they’re going to say, I drop the phone back into the depths of my purse, leaving the messages unread.
“Hey boss,” Emile calls out cheerfully as I step out of the warm car and into Chicago’s cool breeze. “Nice ride.”
“It’s temporary,” I tell him.
Emile and Paul exchange a complicated series of hand gestures. The pair became friends during last night’s shift. Apparently learning that Paul was willing to lend a hand was enough to ease Emile’s concerns.
“Hi.” Liam walks straight up to Paul, a warm, welcoming smile on his broad face. “Liam Dempsey. Local law enforcement and one of Lara’s oldest friends. Our moms were best friends so we spent a lot of time together while we were growing up. When Lara said she wanted an old timey style bar, I helped her find this place.”
“Paul Sullivan.” Paul shakes Liam’s hand. They size each other up. “Lara’s newest friend and temporary, fill-in bartender.” He nods to the window. “What’s going on here?”
“Someone saw this beautiful window,” Emile says, “and thought they should cover it with disgusting words. If I ever find out who keeps doing this …” He balls up his right hand and punches his left palm.
“You’ll call the police station and they’ll send me or another office down here straight away,” Liam says mildly.
I stand near the edge of the sidewalk until Paul and Emile move closer to the window to inspect the damage. Taking advantage of the distraction, I sidle up to Liam.
“What did it say this time?”
“Slut,” Liam says. He reaches out with one hand. I dig my cell phone out and slap it against his palm.
He taps the message icon and reads the first message out loud. “Return the Blind Pig to its rightful owners or pay the price.” He scrolls down to the next one. “You stole our inheritance. We want it back.” He moves to the third. “Give it back.”
Liam returns my phone. “Have you had any luck figuring out who keeps sending these?”
“No. I spent some time online doing some searches on this place, but because it has such a long history and there have been so many different owners, especially during the past thirty years, I didn’t have much luck. The only thing I know for sure is that the title was clear when I bought it.”
“I get it,” Liam sympathizes. “The three texts came from two different numbers. I’ll try tracking them down, but based on past history, they’re going to be burner phones. He nods at Paul and changes the subject. “New guy?”
“Yes.”
“A special one?”
Confirmation hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say out loud what I’m starting to suspect. Partly because the strange mix of emotions bubbling inside of me is difficult to name, but mostly because I don’t know what to do with them. And until I do, I refuse to say anything out loud.
“I’m not sure yet,” I finally say.
Liam nods as if he understands. “Well, my advice is to keep him close. I know I’ll sleep better if I know you have someone watching your back while we try to catch whoever has decided you’re an easy target. And this Paul of yours looks like the kind of guy who knows how to handle himself in a tough situation.”
26
Paul
“I kind of hate to admit this, but I’m starting to come around to your way of thinking.”
Lara carries a two-stair step stool across the room and sets it down beside the jack pine we purchased. While this tree doesn’t have the wow factor the blue spruce downstairs possesses, now that it’s decorated, it’s shaping up to be a good-looking piece of pine.
“About what?”
“About real trees.” Lara runs an appraising eye over the tree. “They are prettier than the fake ones. And they smell better than the pine scented candles I usually burn during the holidays.”
Lara steps onto the stool. Even with the extra feet the stool provides, she still has to stretch to reach the top. The light perfectly illuminates her curves, including the very faint curve of her belly where my … our baby is nestled.
In my mind’s eye, I picture what she’ll look like this time next month, in three months, just before she goes into labor. That image fades like smoke in the wind and is replaced with a different one. In this one, Lara holds a small, precious child in her arms. She rests her cheek on the top of the baby’s curved skull and looks at someone on the other side of the room, her eyes bright with love and laughter.
I want to be the person she’s looking at. I want that and so much more. I want it so badly my heart feels like it will break beyond repair if it doesn’t happen.
The only way to turn that particular fantasy into reality is by taking the first step. The same way I did when I decided to create my business.
I set aside the string of lights I’m trying to untangle and walk across the room toward Lara and the tree.
“Lara?”
“Yeah?” She nudges the star with her fingertips, making sure that it’s secure.
“I’ve come to a decision and it involves you.”
That gets her attention. She looks down at me and chews on her lower lip. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”
Taking her hand, I help her off the step stool and guide her to the couch. Moving as one, we sit down.
“I’ve decided I’m going to move to Chicago.”
Lara blinks and her mouth opens but nothing comes out. She swallows and tries again. “But your business? Won’t it be difficult to move it all that way?”
“I don’t think I’ll have to. Most of my staff has been with me forever and know their jobs inside out. If I set up something here, a smaller satellite office, I should be able to handle the administrative stuff here while they do everything else there. And if there’s something that needs my personal attention, it doesn’t take long to fly to North Carolina.”
“But what about your family? Won’t they miss you?”
“My mom passed away three years ago. And my dad, he took off when I was nine. Other than an aunt and an uncle I love and a few close friends, there’s really no one there.”
“Oh.” Lara stares down at her hands. “It does sound easier than trying to shuttle a child back and forth across state lines each week. And it will be nice to have you around, having you here to talk to in person rather than having to rely on Skype or texting whenever I want to tell you about a strange customer.”
Her brow furrows. “But why did you sound so serious when you said you had to talk to me? I thought you were going to say you’d changed your mind, that you no longer wanted kids and that I was going to have to deal with this baby on my own.”
Telling her I was moving to Chicago had been the easy part. Now for the hard part.
“I don’t want to be friends anymore. I can’t be your friend.”
27
Paul
First Lara pales and sits as still as death. She looks so fragile I want to take her into my arms and protect her from the world.
That phase lasts about three seconds.
Next, her face flushes bright red and she leaps into action.
“Why, you lying—” She springs off the couch. Her head whips back and forth. She spots one of the colored glass Christmas tree bulbs sitting on the table and grabs it. “—sack of shit.”
She hurls the ball with deadly accuracy. At the last second, I jerk my head to the side so it bounces off my shoulder instead.
Undeterred, she grabs a second bulb and launches it. I don’t move quite quick enough this time and it strikes my cheek. It’s lightweight, but it still stings. God, if our kid inherits her throwing arm, it’ll be a hell of a ball player.
“You filthy, rotten, phony,” Lara screams.
Atticus leaps from his dog bed under the China hutch and dives under the couch. Smart dog.
A third glass bulb arcs through the air. I dive out of the way and jump to my feet.
“You spend all this time telling me you’re my friend, buying me nice things, making me think that you’re one of the good guys.” With no more bulbs on the table, Lara turns and scans the room for more ammunition. “And why? So you can knock me up and then yank the rug out from under me.”
“Lara, will you calm down and listen to me?”
Her brows shoot up. “Listen to you! Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you get off on toying with people’s emotions?”
My heart breaks for her. Somehow, I need to get her to listen to reason.
I move in close and wrap my arms around her, pulling her in to my chest.
“Lara, the reason I can’t be your friend is because I want you so much. Being near you, but not being able to touch you is killing me.”
28
Lara
Being an emotional yo-yo isn’t just unnerving and unsettling, it’s exhausting. I’ve never felt so unbalanced in my life.
I don’t like it one bit.
I sag against Paul and let my head rest on his broad shoulder. He smells so good, I could breathe him in all day. And being in his arms calms me in a way I can’t begin to describe. The anger melts away.
“I don’t understand,” I say against his chest.
He pulls me closer, until his erection presses against my thigh. Startled, I lift my head and look up at him.
The corners of his mouth tip up in a rueful smile. “It happens every time we get close. And I’m losing control fast. If it hadn’t been for your dog, I think things would have bubbled over when we kissed at the tree farm. I know I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”
I remember how good his hand felt when it slid under my shirt, how sweet his kiss tasted. “I probably wouldn’t have either,” I admit.
“I thought as much. I haven’t been able to think of anything else,” Paul says. “So I propose that we give this thing a real shot. See if we can’t make a go of it.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I move in here with you. I can make sure you get enough rest and help out downstairs until you’re back on your feet. We can start getting ready for the baby”—his voice warms a little—“and get to know each other better whenever we have a free minute. Let’s stick it out until the New Year. That’s when I’ll need to start making arrangements to move, and by then we should know if we can stand to share the same space.”
“And if we can’t?”
That’s my biggest fear. As much as I want to build something with Paul, I love the friendship we’ve already created too much to want to jeopardize it.
“Let’s agree, right here and now, that no matter what happens in the next few weeks, we’ll always be friends. Not only for the sake of our upcoming child, but also for each other.”
My mind spins. There are so many different things that can go wrong with this plan. Doesn’t he realize that?
Still, the possibility of a future hangs in front of me, all shiny and tempting. My personal version of Pandora’s box. And as much as I want to think otherwise, I just don’t have the strength needed to fight the urge to peek inside.
“I agree to everything.”
29
Lara
Paul doesn’t give me a chance to change my mind.
His big hands slide up my neck, holding me steady as he smothers my face in kisses before capturing my mouth. I moan and deepen the kiss. Moving without any conscious instruction from me, my hips press forward, rubbing against his hardness, which swells in response.
Paul breaks the kiss, but before I can protest, he bends low and sweeps an arm under my thighs, lifting me up off the ground and against his chest in a move that leaves me breathless.
I nip at his earlobe and squeeze his corded biceps. “Cutting down trees, schlepping me around, seems someone enjoys showing off all these rock-hard muscles.”
“They’re not the only thing I plan on showing off,” he growls as he carries me into the bedroom and deposits me on the bed.
I scramble to the middle of it, fully expecting him to join me. Instead he turns and walks across the room and pushes the door closed.
I raise an eyebrow. “Worried someone’s going to walk into my apartment and be shocked, possibly even scarred for life by the sight of us making love?”
Paul grabs the bottom of his sweatshirt and pulls it over his head. My pussy clenches at the sight of his rock-hard abs.
“I don’t care about people,” he says and crawls onto the bed. “But I don’t want your dog coming in here and pissing on me again.”
I’m laughing so hard I can’t do much more than hold my arms up above my head and lift my hips as he divests me of my jeans and underwear, then everything else.
My burst of laughter dies abruptly as he knees my thighs apart and draws a lazy finger along the opening of my clit. Heat snakes through me. I rear up and press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his mouth, delighting in the way his skin quivers when I tou
ch it with my skin. Knowing I have the same effect on him that he has on me makes me feel less vulnerable.
Rational thought flees as he places a line of kiss along the line of my sternum. Each kiss sends a shock wave of pleasure jolting through both breasts and my pussy. I run my hands up and down his back. Scrape my nails against his ass.
“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” he growls against my skin.
“You should have said something sooner.” I nip at his collar bone. “Nothing good ever happens to those who suffer in silence.”
“You’re going to be the one suffering before I’m done with you,” he promises in a dark velvet voice that sends delicious chills racing up my spine. “I plan on making you beg.”
“I can’t wait,” I purr.
“Smart ass.”
His mouth captures mine before I can say another word, his tongue sliding in and out. Lower down, he sinks a finger deep inside of me, and matches the rhythm of his mouth. My shoulders brace against the mattress. I arch my back, crying into his mouth as my body responds to his touch. White light dances behind my closed lids.
While Paul’s tongue continues to ravish my mouth, I twist my hips, bucking against him, trying to drive his finger deeper. He smiles against my mouth before pulling his hand free.
His hands glide along my body, awakening nerves as they go.
Finally, he frees my mouth and we both gasp for air.
Breathing hard, he stares down at me with an awestruck expression, like he can’t quite believe I’m here. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, desire deepening his Southern accent.
He lowers his head, but instead of covering my mouth like I expect, he trails kisses along my jaw, down the curve of my throat, and over the swell of my breast until his mouth finds my nipple and my body starts to hum.