by Ava Miles
“You were out of line earlier,” she told him, feeling a sweet buzz in her head.
“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Natalie,” he told her, and Jordan peeled away like a fast car.
She pressed her hand to her chest. “My feelings?”
She didn’t have feelings. Something wove, and she realized it was her when Sam put out an arm to hold her in place. A woodpecker tapped on her shoulder, and she tilted her head to the side to tell it to buzz off. But it wasn’t a bird—it was a massive finger. She followed the digit up to the arm and then up to the face.
Blake was staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Have enough to drink, babe?”
Andy leaned into her face, and she wove backward when she saw two of him.
“Jeez, Nat, how much did you drink?”
Sam shook his head. “Jordan brought around tequila shots.”
“Great,” Blake said. “She goes crazy when she has tequila.”
“I do not,” she said like a little kid and then giggled. “If you’re talking about that one time when we went to Mexico and—”
Blake put his hand over her mouth. “That story isn’t for public consumption. Andy, why don’t you head out so your babysitter can go home? I’ll see that Nat gets home safely.”
“I can get back home fine,” she told them, leaning against Blake’s solid chest.
“Did you drive here?” he asked her.
“Oh, crap.” There were two of him, and both faces were so pretty she reached up and pinched his cheeks.
“That’s what I thought,” Blake said with a grumble.
“She picked me up,” Andy said.
“Then take her car. We can figure the rest out tomorrow when she’s sober.”
Blake signaled for something with his fingers, but Natalie couldn’t make it out. Moments later, Jordan appeared with a grin and a glass of water. He thrust it out and bent at the waist.
“My lady,” he said in a British accent, making her giggle.
“Jordan, you have lost your mind.” Blake ran his hand through his hair and cursed. “Damn mousse. Is everyone like this?”
“Pretty much,” Sam said. “I’m glad you and I refused to drive into town in that monstrosity Jordan rented. You take care of Nat, and I’ll herd the rest of the cats into the Hummer. Grant’s cuing up to sing the Notre Dame fight song.”
“Gee, that sounds like fun,” she said, looking for her singing buddy.
“If he gets going, we’re doomed,” Blake said. “You’d better stop him, Sam.”
With that, the man walked off. He was so serious all the time.
“Are you sure you have her?” Andy asked with a dark frown.
She patted his chest in her best imitation of patty-cake. “Don’t you know anything, Andy Cakes? Blake has always had me.”
The men shared a glance.
Her laughter snorted out. “He had me at hello. Get it.”
“Oh, brother. Take two aspirin and call me in the morning,” her brother said, kissing her cheek.
“Wait,” she cried out, grabbing a hunk of his shirt. “Did you find anyone to talk to tonight?”
He glanced upward. “Yes. Blake was most helpful. Her name is Valerie. I’ll tell you more later when you’re guaranteed to remember.”
“Blake is the best friend ever,” she said in all seriousness and then gave a gigantic hiccup.
“Yes, he is,” Andy said agreeably. “Hiccups signal—”
“I know,” Blake said. “We’re out of here. Catch you later, Andy Cakes.”
Her brother shot him a look. “If you hadn’t been such a good wingman…”
As Andy walked off, she snuggled closer to Blake. He was warm. “Have they turned on the air conditioner or something? It’s freezing in here.”
Blake swore softly. “First hiccups and now the chills. I know what comes next. We need to go, babe.”
She pressed her hand to her skull, which was starting to hurt. “What comes next, Blake? I can’t remember.”
He hustled her out of there with the help of that giant bouncer man, the other guys trailing after them. The camera flashes made her eyes turn to dry balls in their sockets, she blinked so much. Her stomach started to churn. When Blake buckled her into the passenger seat of his SUV, she moaned.
“Hang on, babe.”
The sound of the car door slamming made her wince. Her head rolled over on the seat as she turned her head to look at him. He was so darn pretty. Tonight all she wanted to do was fall back into the world they had once shared. The one where they’d always been there to take care of each other, to love each other. She was such a sap.
“I love it when you call me, babe,” she said after he was settled in the driver’s seat.
The sigh he released was harsh in the quiet of the car. “Now you tell me? Your timing sucks.” He turned the key in the ignition and started to drive.
She closed her eyes. “You said it wrong.”
“Huh?” The car was picking up speed, and her skin started to turn to fire.
Then she realized Blake was the fire. He’d always blazed larger than life. Why else had she been so attracted to him? He helped keep the cold inside her at bay.
“Your timing sucks, babe.”
He didn’t respond, and she cracked her eyes open to look at him. There were still two of him, and each one looked bigger than Hercules.
“Ah,” he finally said. “How could I forget?”
“Don’t know,” she mumbled. “You never forget. Not even things like my birthday or our anniversary like some other guys. Are we almost home?”
“Yes, babe. We’re almost home. Go to sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” she said, feeling like she was sitting around a big, happy bonfire on a quiet stretch of beach. “Let’s sing a song.”
He groaned. “Please, babe. Go to sleep.”
“No. How about ‘You Are My Sunshine’?” It seemed appropriate. Hadn’t she just been thinking about firelight? Wasn’t the sun the biggest, baddest ball of fire in the universe?
She launched into the song, but he didn’t join her.
“Why aren’t you singing?” she asked, pausing. “Come on. One, two—”
“Natalie. Please just close your eyes and go to sleep.”
“Oh, you’re such a fuss budget sometimes,” she said. “Let’s have some fun. I feel great.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.
The lassitude coursing through her only grew more powerful. She placed her hand on his knee and stroked the hard muscles there. Blake would come around.
He loved her. He’d do anything for her—even if it meant singing her silly song.
Chapter 15
Blake’s worst nightmare was happening. When Natalie drank too much, she either passed out or starred in The Natalie Show. It was famous among her siblings and friends. She became a flirty entertainer, completely uninhibited. Tonight he was going to get a show, it seemed. How could Jordan have forgotten that? His friend was dead meat.
She continued to belt out “You Are My Sunshine,” giving him a pounding headache. Braving the crowded bar to help Andy find a date had been bad enough. But he’d seen the plea in Natalie’s gaze, not to mention the fear in Andy’s, and it had felt natural to help. While he wasn’t a widower, he remembered the first night he’d tried to move on with his life after Natalie left. It had been a catastrophic failure, the kind he still dreamed about, and not in a good way.
He’d hoped to soften Andy’s experience. The woman Blake had spotted from across the room hadn’t wanted to be at the bar with her two girl friends, and since Andy wasn’t a bar kind of guy either, he figured they might be a good match. The two of them had hit it off after some initial awkwardness, and Valerie had agreed to meet him for coffee. Score one for Hale. He hoped it went well.
When he reached Natalie’s house, he cut the engine. Her piercing alto rendition faded.
“Where are we?” she asked. “Are we on vacation?”
Terrific. She was already showing signs of confusion. “We’re at your place, babe.”
He lurched out of the car, wanting to run for it. If she didn’t even remember where she lived, he was really in for it.
One of Natalie’s favorite classic movies was The Philadelphia Story, so he’d watched it with her one movie night. Near the end of the film, he’d realized something—Natalie turned into the character played by Katharine Hepburn when she drank. Tracy Lord might not climb up on a restaurant bar and conduct her own Coyote Ugly number like he’d seen Natalie do, but she did act outside the norm and fail to remember everything when she woke up the next morning. Exactly like Natalie.
“What do you mean my place?” she asked in a slurred yet sassy voice when he opened her door.
He braced himself and helped her out of her seatbelt. Touchdown appeared beside the car with a happy bark. “You live here now.”
Her hands pressed to his shoulders. “You’re playing a practical joke on me, aren’t you? Why would I live here? I love our home.”
He knew that, and it was the only reason he’d stayed there, contending with the daily torture of living in a place stacked ceiling-high with memories of her. He reached out to help her down from the car, and it was a good thing he did. She was unsteady on her feet.
“You’re going to have to carry me,” she told him, batting her eyelashes at him in the moonlight. “Like Prince Charming.”
While Natalie could be unnervingly practical in day-do-day life, her romantic side opened up when she drank. It didn’t happen often, so each memory was treasured. He remembered the vacation they’d gone on after his one and only Super Bowl win. She’d jumped into his arms and asked him to sweep her off her feet.
He’d always loved that side of her, so seeing it now hurt. Bad.
He grabbed her purse, picked her up, and carried her to the house. She toyed with the ends of his hair, running her fingernails down the back of his neck from time to time, knowing it drove him wild. Somehow wearing a football helmet for so many hours had made his neck more sensitive to touch.
At the door, he tried the doorknob, and was relieved to find it unlocked. Managing her and unlocking the door was more than he could juggle. Touchdown led the way inside, his tail wagging like he was delighted to see Blake carrying Mommy again. At least someone was happy.
The pounding in his head worsened as he set her down. “Come on, Nat. Let’s get you into bed.”
She wove a bit and faced him. “I’ll get ready, if you get ready.”
Her hands moved to the waistband of his jeans. Pure torture. He stopped them from touching him. He was going to be either canonized or knighted after tonight. He decided to try a different strategy. Maybe if she expended enough energy she’d fall asleep. It worked with Touchdown.
“How about some music?” he asked, digging into her purse for her smartphone.
Pulling up her playlist, he walked over to the docking station he’d seen in the kitchen and plugged in the phone. Pink’s edgy music poured out, and Natalie’s body immediately started to dance.
“Good choice,” she crooned. “Come dance with me and Touchdown.”
How many times had they danced like this? Usually, he could unwind enough to join her. Tonight, his muscles were tight and uncoordinated. As soon as he came over to her, she placed her hands on his chest, her touch driving him wild.
“What’s the matter, honey? Tough day?”
Her concern was a harbinger of old times. Oh, how he wanted things to be like this again. But not when she wasn’t herself.
“Yeah, it’s been a tough week, and I’m tired. How about you dance? I’ll make you something to eat.”
It wouldn’t be too long before she got the munchies anyway. God knew she’d need something to soak up all that tequila. He dug into her refrigerator, going with a grilled cheese with an over-easy egg in the middle—one of her favorite hangover cures. After pulling the ingredients out and walking over to the counter, he glanced over at her.
All the air arrested in his lungs, and his whole body locked in place.
Somewhere in the middle of the kitchen she’d lost her T-shirt and jeans and was now dancing in her bra and panties to Pink’s “So What?” Her taste in lingerie had never sucked, and his mouth went dry at the sight of her white bra wrapped in black lace. Touchdown was doing circles around her, and it would have been funny, if he hadn’t turned hard as hell in three seconds.
Her body was the same breathtaking combination of strength and sexiness it had always been. Smooth lithe skin flowed under the lights in the den. Her hips shimmied in a way that had his own pelvis twitching. And her arms… Well they wove through the air with all the erotic, fluid appeal of a belly dancer.
He dropped the ingredients on the counter with a thud as his pulse hammered in his neck. The egg cracked, the liquid leaking across the counter. He was so enthralled by the sight of her dancing, he didn’t even reach to clean it up.
She was so in her own thrall, her eyes were closed. The tequila was taking her to a new dimension, he knew. She was humming along with the music.
God, he’d missed her. Missed her like this.
Tearing his gaze away from her body was harder than facing down the player who’d delivered a dirty hit on him and popped his shoulder out of the socket. He started breathing deep, hoping to corral his thoughts. But his normal ability to focus was limited around her.
Forcing himself to clean up the mess from the cracked egg, he then moved on to make the grilled cheese. When it was piping hot, he scooped it onto a plate. He couldn’t take seeing all her tantalizing flesh, so he detoured through the house to her bedroom to locate her favorite nightshirt. She usually slept nude—like he did—but they’d always kept PJs for visits to family. Her cedar chest lay at the foot of her bed, just like it had during their marriage. He’d sent it to her because he hadn’t felt right about keeping her hope chest.
If he were honest, he’d also hoped returning a few keepsakes to her would help remind her of all they’d had. He opened it with shaking hands. The nightshirt was folded on top, but sitting just under it was something he hadn’t expected.
Her wedding dress was still wrapped in the plastic sleeve at the bottom. He fell to his knees. God, he’d assumed she would have gotten rid of it. She’d been so insistent about wanting nothing from their home, their marriage. Nothing that would remind her of him.
Unable to control himself this time, he lifted the dress out. It smelled like the perfume she’d worn that day. The hints of jasmine and vanilla brought back memories of the secret smile she’d given him as she walked down the aisle. Oh, God.
He held the dress against his chest, his eyes burning now. At the bottom of the chest was their favorite wedding picture, the one he’d added to the chest before sending it over.
Then he spotted the black box and knew it held her engagement ring, the one he’d given to her on bent knee on a warm Saturday afternoon in June after he’d taken her on a picnic in the mountains. Her wedding ring was probably nestled in beside it. He couldn’t touch that little box right now. He knew it would break him completely to see the infinity symbol engraved in the bands, just like the ones he’d had engraved on the bridge. He set her dress on top of it, hiding it from view.
But he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for the photo. He drew it out, trembling everywhere now, and traced the outline of her face. Like usual, she’d eschewed fashion trends. She’d left her hair down and curly like he preferred, and instead of going with a sleeveless wedding dress like most brides, she’d chosen one covered in Spanish lace. They were standing in front of the ocean, on the beach outside of Santa Cruz where they’d exchanged vows. In the picture, she had her hand on his cheek, her long lacy sleeves blowing in the breeze. He was gazing into her eyes, his eyes full of love, and his hands gripped her hips to him.
“I love that picture,” she said brightly from behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Take me to bed like
you did on our wedding night.”
Her easy touch broke his heart once again. He made himself replace the wedding mementos and reach for the nightshirt he’d dropped to the floor. Thrusting it at her, he rose to his feet.
“Put that on, and then come and eat.”
He had to get out of her room, away from her touch, or he was going to do something he regretted. Like kiss her. Hold her. His willpower was rapidly approaching zero.
As he strode out of the bedroom, he leaned down to pick up Touchdown. If he had something occupying his hands, surely he couldn’t put them on her.
She came out, holding the nightshirt under her eyes like it was some veil and she was the exotic dancer sent to seduce him, which only made Touchdown bark. Pink was singing about the walk of shame now, which seemed appropriate. If he acted on his feelings, he was going to feel a whole heap of shame tomorrow.
“Why are you acting so weird?” she asked, dancing closer to him. “I’ve never seen you this uptight. Why don’t you let me loosen you up?”
He ran to the kitchen and gave Touchdown a treat. When she found him, she was dancing and…yes, weaving more than just a little. He knew he’d have to leave her and hope she’d eventually pass out on her own.
He slid the sandwich toward her. “Eat. Take two aspirin. Drink a glass of water. And go to bed. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
Her face looked as though he’d slapped her, and he cursed. To his shock, tears formed in her eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, all the teasing and seduction stripped from her voice. “You’re scaring me.”
Having experienced his fair share of pain and confusion over the past two years, he understood the emotions shaking her.
“You’re not yourself right now.”
She clutched the nightshirt to her body. “Don’t you want me anymore?”
Not want her? How could she accuse him of that after everything? He crossed over to her and took the nightshirt from her hands. “Raise your arms.”
She did so meekly now, and when it fell over her body, she raised her troubled eyes to meet his. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you this mad.”