by Kim Law
Horror filled her eyes. “She’s a bigamist?”
“Yep.”
“I hope she’s sitting in jail.”
That had been his first instinct. To report her. Throw away the key. But before he’d even left her apartment, he’d realized he hadn’t cared that much.
“I don’t actually know what she’s doing,” he began. “She’s out of my life, and that’s enough.” He wanted to tell Julie the rest of the story. The worst of it. But he wanted to tell Ginger first. She would know what to say. How to help.
Only, she was out on a date.
“At least you’re giving Mom and Dad a grandchild before writing off the other sex,” he added. He dropped his head to the glider and stared at the sky. “I’d hate for them to never have one.”
Julie pulled out of his arms. “No, I’m not.”
He looked at her in question. Surely she didn’t mean—
“I’m not writing off the other sex.”
“How could you not? After what this jerk did to you.”
“I’m only twenty-two, Carter.” She shook her head as if he were missing the whole point. “Why would I chop off a huge part of my life before I can ever live it?”
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t.” He sat up straighter on the seat. “I’m not saying never go out with a man again, just—”
“Just have sex?”
Her words made him flinch. “I’m not saying that, either.”
“Well, you can’t have it both ways.”
Before he could come up with a reply, she leaned back into him. And she kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry Lisa did that to you. Really, I am. It bites. And I understand why it hurt so much. Why you’re scared. But you’re still young, too.” She suddenly seemed a hell of a lot older than her years. “Don’t write off that part of your life, either. You deserve more.”
She meant well, he knew. But he didn’t have a choice. Handing his heart over to someone—a second time? It wasn’t worth the risk.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The cab slowed to a stop outside the house, and Ginger took a moment to sit in the dark staring out at the night, before straightening her shoulders and pulling herself together. The driver gave her the total as she opened the door, and that’s when the next road bump of the evening hit. She’d forgotten her purse.
She held in a groan. “Do you mind waiting for just a minute? I need to run in and get some money.”
“I’ll have to keep the meter running.”
“I know.” A sigh slipped out. This wasn’t the first time she’d been caught in a similar situation. She slid from the car and stood. Only to gasp when she turned and immediately bumped into someone. “Crap, Carter. You scared me to death.” She shoved away his hand, where it had landed on her elbow. “What are you doing out here?”
“Why are you in a cab?” he bit out. “Where’s your date?”
It was midnight, and every house on the street was dark. Carter’s included. He should be in bed. Or at least not out here witnessing her humiliation.
“The date’s over,” she said. She tried to push past him so she could go in for money, but he didn’t budge. He had her trapped between the car and the open door. So she gave up. She was too tired for a battle. She peered up at him. “I didn’t want him to bring me home, okay? I shouldn’t have gone out with him to begin with.” She motioned to the cabbie. “Do you have money on you? I’ll pay you back.”
Carter moved her out of the way and leaned into the open back door. He spoke to the driver, pulled a wallet from his back pocket, and passed over enough money to cover fare plus tip. When he straightened, the car sped away, and he turned to her. He returned the wallet to his jeans, his expression hard and calculating as he studied her. “No need to pay me back. Just tell me what happened.”
“Everything,” she mumbled, but at the immediate stiffening of his spine, she quickly amended it to “Nothing.”
The clench in his jaw didn’t release.
“Seriously,” she added. “Nothing. He was a jerk. I wanted none of it. So I called a cab.”
That was a rushed version, but it would suffice. Or so she thought. But instead of accepting her at her word and letting her slink into the house to lick her wounds in private, he folded his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “Do I need to go kill him?”
That made her laugh. Drily.
“You’re a good guy, Carter.” She gave up on the idea of going in and dropped to the cracked sidewalk where she stood. She wiggled her butt around until she wasn’t sitting on any sticks or pebbles, stretched her legs out in front of her, and slumped as if the wind had been sucked from her lungs. “Too good,” she added. “I wouldn’t let you kill anyone on my behalf.”
He lowered to sit beside her, and she tilted sideways until she bumped into his shoulder.
“I’d do it for you.”
“I know you would.” She patted his arm. “Like I said, you’re a good guy. But no jail time for you. You’d lose your prettiness in the big house.”
He chuckled at that, and the tension that had been in his shoulders finally eased. His arm went around her, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. “Tell me about it?” he requested softly.
“Dating sucks.” She sniffled. “And I hate it.”
His hand stroked her bare arm.
“And really, I just don’t get it,” she said after a few minutes. She snuggled in closer. “What’s so wrong with me?”
“Sweetheart.” He tilted her face up to his. There were no streetlights in the area, but the moon was bright tonight. It lit the tenderness on Carter’s face. A tenderness directed at her. “Nothing is wrong with you.”
She wanted to kiss him when he looked at her like that.
He remained quiet and went back to stroking her arm, and she told him about her night. Pricey dinner, nice meal, superior wine. There’d even been a romantic walk on the beach.
“And then I let him kiss me,” she said, as if that summed it up.
A muscle flexed in Carter’s bicep. “And how was that?”
She peeked up at him again. Did he really want her to tell him about the kiss?
“I’m just saying . . .” He glanced at her mouth. “Was it as good as . . .”
“Carter Ridley!” She pulled out of his arms, turning so she faced him. “This conversation is about me and my pathetic inability to date. We are not talking about that.”
He nodded like a properly schooled child. “Probably a good idea. Talking about it might lead to . . . more of it.”
She forced herself not to look at his mouth. Because she wanted to.
“So he kissed you,” Carter prompted her to continue. His glance dipped once again, but only briefly. “And it wasn’t good?”
“It was fine.”
“Fine.” He nodded. “Fine can be good.” But the Devil danced in his eyes.
“Carter,” she ground out.
He blinked innocently. “What?”
“Stop it.” She scooted back in, bumping his shoulder with hers. “I’m crushed here. I’m upset.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.” He fell silent. But three seconds later added, “Bad kisses can do that to a person.”
Her snort of laughter caught her off guard.
He picked her hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Then he wrapped his arm around her once again, and as before, tucked her in tight to his side. She liked it there. “Tell me the rest,” he directed. “Moonlight walk on the beach, wine, bad kiss . . .”
She smiled easily. This was what she’d wished the date tonight had been. Easy and comfortable. Without having to try. “There’s not much more to say. I misjudged him. He wanted to get laid. I didn’t.”
“I am going to kill him.”
“No need. I can take care of myself.” She pulled her knees to her chest then, and thought about how she kept choosing wrong. She was attracted to jerks, apparently. Except Carter. The memory of Carter kissing her played thro
ugh her mind. The memory of him touching her.
He was different than other men. But then, he also wasn’t emotionally available.
Not that all the men she went out with were, either.
She dropped her chin to her raised knees and replayed man after man in her head. How could she possibly screw up so many times? All the dresses. All the freaking fakeness. She just wanted to be her. She just wanted to be happy.
“I’m sad, Carter. And lonely.” She turned her face, resting her cheek on her knees, and watched him. “I was supposed to be married with kids by now. I really want to be married with kids.”
“Me, too.”
At his softly spoken words, she became still.
“I mean . . . I did. A long time ago. I thought I would be by now, too.”
She nodded in understanding. “It sucks. Not being able to reach out and take something you want so badly. I feel like all I’ve done for the last few years is put my life on hold. And for what? Something I can’t control?” She hugged her legs tighter. “I’ve wasted so much time. My house should have been completed weeks ago, yet I’ve dragged my feet on it. I’ve romanticized my entire life, and for nothing. Not a single thing has turned out as I’d planned it.”
“Come on.” He stood, and held a hand down for her. “We’re getting out of here.”
“What?” She let him pull her to her feet. “No. I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
“You’re not going to bed. And anyway, if I let you go inside, you’d just take your pants off and go out the back door.”
A smile broke over her face.
“No reading tonight,” he commanded. “We’re going out to your house. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” She shot him a curious look. “Don’t tell me you have some other secret identity I don’t know about. I still can’t believe you’re Jules Bradley.” And again, she smiled. “That is seriously the coolest thing ever. Did I tell you that?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You did not tell me that. But you’re cute when you go all fangirl on me.”
She shoved at him and they began moving toward her mother’s place together. “Why do you want to go out to the house?”
“Gene finished a few things today that I think you’re going to like. Plus . . .” He captured her hand. “I want to be with you right now. I think you need a friend tonight. And to tell you the truth, I do, too.”
His gaze shifted to her mouth once again, and she swallowed the attraction that bubbled to the top. It darn near reached out of her and dragged his mouth to hers.
“We’re not going out there to have sex,” she told him.
“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me, too.” He kissed her on the nose. “I just want to talk. There’s more about Lisa that I could stand to get off my chest.”
This was about him, too?
She stared up at him. “Okay.” She touched his cheek, pleased that he would talk with her about his ex. “I’ll see you in ten.”
They arrived at the house twenty minutes later. True to her word, Ginger had exited the house a mere ten minutes after she’d gone in. And he wasn’t certain she hadn’t come out without pants. She’d changed into a flowing white blouse, canvas tennis shoes . . . and not much else.
Of course, the blouse covered her hips, so what was underneath remained to be discovered.
He pulled out the key he’d taken from Gene as they climbed the steps, and opened the door for her, then swept his heavy-duty flashlight into the room. “You really have to pick out fixtures soon.”
“I know.” She scanned the empty space as they entered, her head sweeping back and forth. “I need to pick out a lot of things. I did bring over some lamps the other day, though. One of them is down here somewhere.”
The beam landed on a bare-bulb lamp in the corner of the kitchen, and Ginger turned it on. The room filled with warm light.
“Want to go shopping with me tomorrow?” Carter asked.
When Ginger turned back to him, he continued. “Or if you have to work, we could go Saturday. I need to get a kitchen table, and you need to choose tile, flooring—”
“Countertops, fixtures.” She nodded. “I know. My week for deciding is up.”
“So . . .” He watched her warily. He was afraid to get his hopes up. “Saturday?”
“Tomorrow. I have plans for Saturday, but I can take tomorrow off.” She twirled in a circle, as if being there had erased the disappointment from earlier in the evening. “I’m so excited to focus on getting the house finished. I even picked out the interior colors tonight.”
“Tonight?”
She laughed. “Right before we came over here.”
She reached behind her and her hand disappeared up under her shirt—and his heart skipped a beat. Then she produced several paint cards. They’d apparently been tucked into a back pocket. Meaning there were shorts on under that shirt.
Damn.
“I had these at the house,” she told him. “I looked at them before I walked out the door, and I just knew.”
He shone his light on the cards in her hands, and she pointed to a pale blue green. It was almost an aqua. “This one for the kitchen. With white cabinets. I love the airiness about it.” She dealt out the other cards one at a time. “And this for the rest of the house, these three for the guest baths, and this for my bedroom. What do you think?”
He thought her excitement was contagious. “I think it’s going to be magnificent.”
She glowed under his praise. She was magnificent.
“So what’s this big surprise?” she asked. She turned in a circle once again, taking in the shadows cast over the room, and Carter grabbed her shoulders and pointed her toward the dining room.
He nudged her chin up and shone the light on the ceiling, and she gasped.
“My coffered ceiling is done.”
“The one in your bedroom, too.”
“It’s amazing.”
She took the flashlight and walked the perimeter of the room, studying the yet-to-be-painted custom trim. Gene’s guys really had done a fantastic job.
“He also got two of your bathrooms done.”
“Today?” She whirled to him. “I just picked out everything yesterday.”
“See what a few decisions can get you?”
“I wish we could go shopping right now.”
He chuckled. Because if he didn’t, he would kiss her. Then he took back the light and walked her through the remainder of the house. Wainscoting and additional trim work had been installed in the eat-in kitchen, and shelving had been added to a few of the closets.
“This is just what I wanted.” They stepped onto the deck off the master bedroom, where she’d seen that her underrailing lights had been put in. She flipped them on. “Thank you, Carter.” She pulled him to her for a long hug, and he focused on the dim glow of the lights instead of the soft curves of her body. “Thank you so much for helping me with this.” She leaned back and smiled up at him. “My house is becoming mine, and it’s all thanks to you.”
She hugged him again, and he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her.
This hug was different, but neither of them acknowledged it. However, he didn’t miss the way their fingers lingered as they pulled away.
She averted her eyes. “Thank you for bringing me over here tonight.”
“And thank you for being you.”
Her head tilted with a sigh, and she pressed her lips together as if touched by his words. She faced her house from her position at the edge of the deck and simply took it in, then angled her head back to see the smaller deck and office doors above them.
After a minute, her eyes grew wide in surprise.
Turning to him, she pointed at the house. “I’m building our dream home,” she said urgently. “Do you realize that? Do you remember planning out a house together?”
He’d started nodding before she finished ta
lking. “We had a piece of paper with a sketch on it. We used blue ink, because that reminded us of real blueprints.”
“I’d forgotten all about that.” Her entire being seemed soft.
“I used to bring the paper over with me in the mornings, and we’d work on it together.”
“I wonder where it is now.”
He wished he had it. “Probably tossed in the trash years ago.”
“Probably.” She leaned over the railing to look at the wraparound deck below. “We used to laugh about how someday we’d both end up with the same house. I can’t believe I’m actually building it.”
“Both of us.”
She turned her head to look at him, and he gave a quick motion with his head. “Mine is almost identical to yours. I noticed it the first time I walked through.”
Her smile flattened. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not. Only, I don’t have this view.” He took in the ocean. “I’m looking at the city.”
“You have an office on the third floor?”
“My house is only two floors, but the office is sectioned off by itself. There’s a deck.” He turned to her. “They really are very similar.”
“Huh.” The expression sighed out of her. “Life is funny sometimes, isn’t it?”
“That it is.”
They moved back through the house, taking everything in one more time, and ended up in the kitchen, where the small lamp still glowed. He pulled two beers from the minifridge sitting in the corner.
“You stocked my fridge?”
“Gene did. For an end-of-week perk tomorrow afternoon. Not everyone will work on Saturday, and they’ve been pulling long hours. It’ll be empty by tomorrow night.” He held one out to her, and as she took it, he watched concern pass across her face.
“I worry about your drinking,” she admitted. She rolled the bottle between her palms. “Is it . . . a problem?”
Leave it to her to face things head on. “I’m good,” he assured her. “It was a phase.”
“A phase?” Her incredulous look reminded him of something his mother might grace him with. “You’re thirty years old. Aren’t you too old for phases?”