We passed my local Circle K, and his eyebrows pinched together. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Dude,” I said.
He looked at me like I had a debilitating case of the crazies, which was fine; obviously he did, too.
“Seriously, I’m a done deal.” I toed off my sandals and did the southern thing, sticking my foot out the window.
“I’ve been thinking about you, darlin’.” His lazy look over my legs and suggestive words reeled me in. “I’m not a man who has to take matters into his own hands.”
My heel hit the side view mirror, tilting it to the pavement.
Reardon had masturbated, over me
.
Takes one to know one,
my MIA conscience supplied.
In his office? Yeah
.
Under the mirror in his ceiling?
Hell yes
.
His slacks open and arms bulging as his erection ran between his fist, picking up the pace…
I shifted in my seat. He winked and shifted gear, the sleek knob held between his fingers. I spent the next hour regaling raunchy fantasies inside my head, more and more turned on.
We cruised through Georgetown. A ghost town of mill workers, steel, and poverty, the streets a ragtag vision of closed-down factories obscuring pretty tucked-away cornerstones of history.
From boomtown to bust.
A few miles further on, we idled at a gabled gate.
“Shay?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re here.”
Winding through swamp and cypress and deer crossing the narrow boulevard, I glimpsed giant houses camouflaged by dense woods.
DeBordieu.
People whispered about this place like it was some kind of Promised Land, the Holy Grail to the old rich.
The scenery unfolded from the Francis Marion Forest to the Atlantic seaside. I breathed the brine of ocean, the earthiness of woods. “
The land is so beautiful, it must be the borderland of God!”
Reardon parlayed, “Lafayette on
d’abord Dieu
.”
“I ain’t just a pretty face, Mr. Boone.”
“And I know it full well, Miss Greer.”
It was only a mile or so back, where leggy pine trees relinquished their turf to showy palms. We crunched along a shelled driveway to a rustic manse bordering the ocean. The weekend cottage stood tall on stilts with an untidy seaside appearance, extending its embrace toward the ocean. The boom of surf mingled with chirpings from colonies of colorful birds soaring this way and that.
Getting out of the car, I slapped my hand over my heart. “Oh my.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Reardon kissed my palm and tugged me along the white shale up three flights of steps into the house.
“It’s, it’s–” I stuttered and stopped right inside the door, inhaling the scent of cedar rising from fragrant paneling. Turning in a circle, I ingested everything. “It’s–”
“My home.” He leaned against a crazy end table made of a lamp with a yellowed waxy shade on legs fashioned from...were those antlers?
Skipping across the hall into the kitchen where the appliances were dated and the fridge buzzed in time with the flickering overhead light, I dashed beyond the bar, discovering every nook and cranny.
A cathedral ceiling arched over a huge walnut slab table sided by sturdy timber benches in the dining area. Into the lounge, I jumped on the couches, leapfrogging the cushions, loving the scratchy feel of old wool against my bare feet. Under a TV too ancient to call itself anything but Stone Age, I opened the cabinet doors and found a mishmash of board games, Life, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit. On top, shells of all shapes and sizes mounded against rows of ships-in-bottles.
As I danced, the dust cavorted. Perhaps Temperance wasn’t all that after all.
Hugging myself, I saw the beachside porch.
I walked outside, into heaven on Earth, shaking my head. This man always had a view.
He stepped behind me, encircling me in his arms, watching the endless ocean and the unpeopled sand below our perch.
Except for that one dot, over there.
Coming closer and closer.
Reardon untied my breezy scarf, replacing it with his mouth on my neck. His hands touched my collarbone and rained across my breasts. Sensual whispers mirroring the sea’s tidal tease. Calloused palms splayed over my nipples, tufting them to aching points.
I turned my mouth to his. “Reardon.”
His kiss was deep and long, indecent.
“Ahh…” I dragged my lips away. “Reardon!”
The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he ran a hand through his hair. “What?”
“We got company.”
“You up there, Boone?”
He bent over the railing, his smile breathtaking. “Whistler! C’mon on up here, old man.”
Old man? Fuck, I needed an eye exam because this Whistler was, well, shit. Did they just breed hot-as-hell men where Reardon came from?
Whistler was all salty dog. Taking the stairs, he braced himself as if waves bottomed out beneath him. A shrimper, he had that look. Salt and pepper and sweet as could be with a rough touch of
why don’t you c’mon over here, girl, and find out?
They toed up and clapped each other’s backs.
Reardon hooked my waist to propel me forward. “Shay, this is Whistler.”
I gave him my hand and damn if he hadn’t been raised the same. He bent low, kissing my palm, raising sandy eyelashes. “Pleased to meet you, Miss.”
Boyish, handsome, bad. And he didn’t call me ma’am
.
Reardon positioned me under his arm so the softest skin of his bicep nudged my naked shoulder, his pursed mouth hinting at faint displeasure.
“Likewise.” I smiled, threading my fingers through Reardon’s.
“Wayne,” he tersely interjected. So, Whistler had a name, and Reardon had a possessive streak. I loved this show of manly strutting, roosters rutting.
Whistler-Wayne sideswiped Reardon and clamped his head between muscled forearms, giving him a noogie.
I snorted.
They looked over.
“What?”
They were the ones acting like schoolboys, what was a little ladylike snuffle between friends?
They broke apart with sheepish grins, and Whistler proved his nickname wasn’t in vain by, well, whistling, “Ssslummin’ it?”
Oh no, he was
not
talkin’ about me.
Thankfully, he was mocking the cottage because apparently four thousand square feet in a private seaside enclave was slumming it for the likes of the Rat Bastard.
I punched Whistler in the arm. “Nice one! I said exactly the same thing to him the other day.”
He returned my punch with a fist bump, and I felt like one of the guys, except for the way Reardon kept a close eye on me, not to mention his hand on the swell of my ass.
“Goin’ out on the boat next week, right?” Whistler asked.
Reardon’s fingers convulsed on my hip. “Always do.”
“Why don’t y’all bring Shay?”
He squinted over the water. “Might-could.”
Well that was obviously a sore point, and Whistler’s cue to leave.
Carrying on a quiet conversation, Reardon walked his friend to the beach.
“Good to meet you,” I called, hanging over the railing.
He raised his hand and dipped his visor.
Moseying away, Whistler became a wavy image, then a dot.
Reardon bristled beside me. “You like him?”
“What’s not to like?” I massaged his chest; he glared after Whistler. “Thought you were just a playboy. Turns out you’re actually sorta real.”
His hands ran down my back, hitting a ticklish spot. “Guess you got the wrong end of the stick.”
I curved into him. “I’m not getting any end of your stick, now, am I?”
He stiffened. “Yeah, about that. You want a drink?”
Inside, he presented me with a vodka tonic. “Take a seat.”
Take a seat
in his world meant something I didn’t want to hear. My skin clammy with dread, I lurched to the couch and drained my drink by half.
“We need to discuss birth control.”
’Course. No Rat Bastard runts wanted. “Birth control.” I gagged on the rush of terror closing my throat.
Shit, shit, shit. Not now.
I slammed the rest of the drink, my heart knifing my chest with each shaky inhale as panic shrouded me.
He stepped nearer. “For when you decide to–”
“I know what it’s for, you ass, and it’s hardly necessary!”
“But you said...you’d try.” Fingers tucked into pockets, confusion churned up his features.
“You had an investigator on my tail. You mean to tell me you don’t know?”
“He never, I never trespassed your private life.” He knelt in front of me. “What’s this about, Shay?”
“I thought my makin’-a-family problems were just one more reason I was the perfect mistress.” The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor. I couldn’t hold onto it, I hadn’t been able to hold onto
her.
Ice cubes bounced. I swooped down to clean the mess, but I couldn’t see. Tears spread down my face, and sudden sobs forced me in half.
Gripping my wrists, wrenching my fingers from my hair, Reardon’s touch unleashed the hysterics I always, always
stuffed back inside.
“Stop, darlin’, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
The keening ache ripped me apart, tossing me into blackness I’d fought so hard to return from.
Pulling me into a protective embrace, he rocked me back and forth. “Shay?” He held me through wails I’d never released in front of anyone else. “Sshh
…”
I wound my arms around him and held on, clawing at him for more and closer and touch while pain and panic engulfed me.
That hole. It wouldn’t shut. It burst open. “She died!”
“Who?” He shook my shoulders. “Who, damn it?”
“Delilah. My baby. My daughter.”
He froze. His face described all the agony I felt. And pity
.
“You wanna make sure you’re protected? Well, y’all don’t have to worry about me gettin’ pregnant because infertility runs in my family as much as infidelity.”
“Damn it. Goddamn it!” When I flinched, he gentled, capturing my hands. My fingers clambered to his, a solid lifeline. “What happened?”
Once started, I was helpless to stop. “They said it’d be fine, all I needed was bed rest. I had a rocky first trimester, so with my family history, because there’s my momma...”
Teardrops destroyed my face faster than Reardon scooped them away. “Your momma?”
“She couldn’t hold no baby but me. She lost three.” I snagged the tissue from him. “Guess I was the lucky one.”
“I’m sorr–”
I slashed my hand across the air. I didn’t want his pity. I didn’t want anything but to get it out and get it over with, get back on track. “They lied
.
Those assholes lied to me, lied to Palmer. Just like they’d lied to Momma.
“Things weren’t cushy, but Palmer was doing well enough I could quit my job if we were careful.” I shook all over. “I was so excited when I finally got to wear maternity clothes, when we heard her heartbeat, when she moved inside me. My ankles swelled and my face got puffy and heartburn made sleep impossible, but all of that just made it real.” I remembered the feeling of her growing inside me, it
was
real. “I probably looked like shit, but I felt like I was glowing.”
“I bet you were beautiful,” he hushed.
I chanced a look at his drawn face, his eyes focused on my flat belly where my hands joined protectively. “Don’t say that. You don’t know. You don’t know anything about this.”
Alarm flared across his irises. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say that!” I turned away. “It was only last year. Five months pregnant.” I locked down, unmoving, unfeeling. “I woke from a nap, napping was what I did, and eating, I did a lot of eating. Cake–that was my weakness. Those frozen Pepperidge Farm cakes. Addy hated my cravings because she says she makes the best pastries. When I woke, I didn’t feel any different, except wet. A twinge, the start of cramps, the sheets were so wet. I stared at my hand, I remember that. It was dark red, sticky.” I gasped through the tears. “I was so scared, Reardon, and no one was there.”