The Fiction of Forever (A Stand By Me Novel Book 2) (6 page)

But if Ed Vanderbilt thinks I could persuade his daughter to do anything she doesn’t want to do, then he doesn’t know Kiley.

“You sure about this?” I ask.

She widens her eyes and laughs. “You have no idea. I’m one hundred and fifty percent sure.”

I start the engine and drive straight over the lawn and around the cars parked in the driveway. It’s a long, paved drive to the highway, and we pass the hole I dug the other day and had to refill at her orders. I stop at the end. “Where are we going?”

She looks panicked for a second. Then she regains her composure. “Drive to your favorite place. Where is that?”

Is there such a place? My initial instinct is to respond that I don’t have a favorite. I love being under the open sky, and I’m a total blank on where to take her.

Then it hits me. I take a quick left turn, almost as if I should hurry before she thinks better of leaving with me. The tires protest at the acceleration from zero.

When I look across at her, she’s smiling as widely as I am. My heart stutters for an instant, forgetting to beat. I look back to the road and pray I won’t regret this.

Because Kiley choosing to be with me instead of placating her fiancé—even if he’s an asshole and it’s only for this night—is too good to be true. And all really good things don’t last.

C
urrent Day

Kiley

I
’ve spent
the last five minutes in a happy daze, as if Gunner broke me out of a maximum-security prison. The deserted highway has never looked better as we put miles between us and my dad’s house. Gunner slows the Jeep and turns on his signal.

I grab the strands of my hair that whip into my mouth. Pulling them aside, I yell, “Where are we going?”

He flashes me a mischievous grin. “Changing your mind?”

“No.”

“You’ll see.” He turns the Jeep left onto a narrow paved road. “Almost there.”

The trees are thick and the road curvy. After only minutes, we pull up to a small cabin. There’s a porch light on, even though it’s still light outside. He cuts the engine.

“I didn’t realize someone lived so close to our property.” I unbuckle my seat belt and hop out. I glance around curiously. A patch of sunflowers stands to the left, humongous sentinels of good cheer. A wind chime hangs from the porch and tinkles in the slight breeze.

“Let’s go around back.” He strides ahead and doesn’t wait to see if I follow.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “How do you know anyone’s home?”

Gunner turns the corner and I run after him, past the sunflowers and a silver washtub made into a fountain. He walks up a set of stairs leading to a deck on the back of the house. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He opens a set of sliding glass doors and lets himself in.

The land beyond the deck drops, so all I’m looking at is the valley for miles. I sit in one of the Adirondack chairs, wondering whose deck we’re crashing. He must know them well, if he can come and go as he pleases.

I turn at the sound of the doors sliding open again. Gunner steps forward holding two bottles of beer. He hands one to me and drops into the other chair. “I don’t have fancy drinks.”

“This is fine.” I tip the bottle and drink. When I lower it, I give him a sharp look. “Who said I need fancy?”

He shrugs. “So you like beer?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everyone?” I smirk. “You didn’t answer me. Whose house is this?”

“Mine.” He takes a long pull of beer and doesn’t look at me.

“No. Seriously.”

“I’m your neighbor.”

“No. Really.” I sit forward and look at the house. “Really?”

“Uh huh.” He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t like the lawn boy so close?”

He’s ribbing me without any nastiness in his tone. I purse my lips together to fight an embarrassed smile. “No. I remember the Wilsons owned this land when I was younger. I didn’t even know there was a house on it. I guess I missed you moving here when I was away at college.”

“Hmm…” He nods and stares straight ahead. “I inherited it from my mom’s family.”

“Oh.” I relax into my chair and listen to the evening sounds. After a good ten minutes of silence, I can’t keep quiet any longer. What is he thinking? That I’m wild? I ran off and left my fiancé—soon to be my ex-fiancé—with a houseful of guests. That I’m a pushover? He heard the way Mason talked to me. How do I explain that I didn’t see all the parts of Mason before we got engaged? “I don’t want to talk about Mason and what happened.”

“I didn’t ask.” He doesn’t look at me, but a slight smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.

“Why aren’t you asking? I mean, you barreled in and helped me escape. You told Mason we might have something going on, which is not true and…then you hit him.”

He sighs. “Are you mad that I did it?”

I picture Mason, rubbing his chin and glaring at Gunner. “No. But I don’t get it. I thought you sort of hated me.”

Gunner lets his head loll to the side and studies me. “Would you have come if you honestly thought I felt that way? We’re just very different kinds of people. Always have been.”

I suddenly notice he’s not wearing a hat. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without one. His dark blond hair is short, nearly a military cut. His face is all sharp angles and serious. He’s more handsome than he was in high school. Even though I had the hots for him then, it was more about his aloofness that got to me. That and the way he seemed more mature than the other boys.

I fight an urge to run my hand over the back of his neck, to caress the five o’clock stubble, to be close enough to gaze into his eyes, and this all overwhelms me in a heartbeat.

“I always wondered what happened to you after you moved. You sort of disappeared.” I don’t tell him I pined after him for months.

He stiffens for an instant, then leans back. “I wondered about you, too.”

“My mom grounded me for a month after that night.” My lips smash into a bitter smile that I can’t hold back.

“That night?”

“Oh, the bonfire night. You probably don’t remember.” I snicker. “My parents had dual custody and I was staying with my mom and her current husband at the time. I went home with my sweater buttoned in all the wrong buttonholes. You can imagine how that went over.”

He grins. “Maybe I do remember.”

“Oh, did that trigger your memory? I’m not sure it was worth getting my phone taken away for a month.”

We’re silent for several minutes and I wonder if he’s thinking about that night. It’s something I’ve never forgotten.

He examines the beer bottle in his hand and nods. “That would explain why you never returned my calls.”

“You called?” My heart thrums at the serious note in his voice. He did call. And he does remember.

“Yep. I did.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me at school?” I wiggle uncomfortably at the thrill that he called me so many years ago.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. A lot of time has passed, and we were kids then.

“You weren’t taking my calls. Do you really think I wanted to humiliate myself with you blowing me off at school?”

I put the beer down beside the chair, irritated with him. “I would never do that. Get a clue. I spent my Friday nights twirling that baton on the football field, hoping you’d notice me.” I twist my hands together in my lap. “So, yeah. I thought you weren’t interested after that night.”

He takes another drink but doesn’t respond. Instead of babbling, I listen to the sound of a bullfrog croaking in the distance. The scent of Gunner’s cologne and the dark woods meld together in a decadent way, making me lean my head back and relax.

Can someone bottle this smell? Because I may have to roll around in it every day to start the morning right.

“I knew you weren’t a beer drinker,” he says and motions at the nearly untouched drink I hold.

“I’m OK.”

“Want something different? I can get you a soda.” He sits forward as if to get out the chair.

“I’m not thirsty.” I pause, wondering when it’s socially correct for me to ask him the one thousand questions about him I have to know. I glance around and return my gaze to him. “OK. You caught me. I really don’t drink a lot of beer. I mean, I did in college—I went to Loyola—but that was because everyone drinks a lot of beer. And other things. But anyway, I’m going to just hold on to this to keep you company.”

He peers sideways at me. A corner of his mouth teases up. “Are you nervous about sitting here with me?”

“No. I mean. A little.” I think about Mason and what I’ve done in the past hour. “It’s over between me and Mason. I can’t believe I finally did it. And do I seem nervous?”

“You’re talking a lot. I thought that topic was off-limits.”

“Right.”

“But since you brought it up… How did you meet that dickhead?”

My mouth quirks at the hostility in Gunner’s voice. “My dad introduced us. Dad was in the same fraternity with Mason’s dad. Mason and I dated for two years while I went to college in Chicago. He was at Cornell Law in Boston. We didn’t actually see each other much.”

“Long-distance, huh. Bad idea.”

I tilt my head, staring into the woods. “Yeah.”

“So, how’s Ed going to feel about tonight?”

I squirm in my seat. “He’ll deal with it.”

“Ed’s a nice guy. He’ll want you to be happy. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried.”

Gunner chuckles, a husky sound that elicits pleasant goosebumps along my body. “Let’s do something to take your mind off it.”

“What?” I realize I sound breathy and suspicious and hopeful. Oh God. What do I think he means?

“I didn’t have anything particular in mind when I said that.” He grins and I’m positive he has read my thoughts.

“Oh.” My face heats. I don’t think I’ve blushed this much in my life.

“What do you like to do? I brought you here, to my favorite place. What’s your favorite thing for fun? Something we can do here. Poker? Television? Twister?”

He’s teasing me, and I love it.

“Dance. I love dancing.”

Gunner lets his head fall back with a thud. “You’ve got to be kidding. Anything but that.”

“What? You don’t like to dance?”

“Does any man?”

“Yes. They do.”

“It’s not my thing.”

“You have to let go and feel the music. That’s all there is to it.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t.”

I get to my feet. “Give me your phone. We’ll put some music on and dance here.”

“Forget it.”

“No. I want to dance.”

“Sweetheart, you need to work on your hearing. I said I’m not.”

I grab both his hands, hoping to pull him to his feet. “Come on. Please.”

He stares at me so long I’m positive he’s regretting that I’m here. “All right,” he says. “But I choose the music. None of that hip hop stuff.”

“Deal.”

Gunner stands, his knees bumping mine at first because I wasn’t expecting his agreement. He towers above me, the top of my head barely reaching his chin. I take a step back.

He pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his slacks. Wearing his dark slacks and white dress shirt, he looks like a different guy from the one who spent time working on the koi pond. Both looks are sexy and confident.

My belly tingles while I look at him. “What kind of music do you have? I like all kinds—R & B, pop, alternate—”

“Kiley,” he says without looking up from his phone. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

Gunner moves his finger along his screen. How much music does this guy have?

“I—”

“Shhh,” he says, a grin tipping the corners of his mouth as he continues to scroll.

I’m going to combust from anticipation. Those science stories about people who automatically incinerate? I’m going to join them. Gunner will tell the police, “One minute we were going to dance, and then she went up in flames in the next. I have no idea why.”

He presses the screen and places the phone on the arm of the chair. A slow country song begins. “This will do.”

“Oh. It’s slow.”

“Yep.” He steps forward and pulls my hands up so they rest on the back of his neck. “You do know how to slow dance, right? Or do I need to teach you?”

I swallow. “Of course, I do.”

“Good. I didn’t want to have to talk.” His hands rest on my hips and there’s only an inch between our bodies.

It’s all very innocent on the surface, except I can’t quit wishing the inch of space would disappear. The heat of his big hands sears through the silk of my dress. His touch is light, but each flex of his fingers sends a bolt of desire right to my core.

“Is this OK?” he says, his gaze searching mine.

“Sure. It’s…”
Do not admit anything.
If I start talking, there’s a chance I’ll say something stupid and truthful. “This is good.”

“Can we dance closer?”

“Oh. Um…sure.” I swallow, his touch leaving trails of heat along my skin.

He pulls me to him so our bodies are flush; his hands glide around to rest on the small of my back. “Much better.”

My nipples perk at the contact of my chest against his.
Settle down
, I command. Only dancing here. No one is getting naked.

We move to the slow beat. I recognize the singer and song. Sam Hunt croons about how much he wants to take a girl’s time. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Fourth grade.”

“What?” I laugh and smile against his shoulder. I breathe in his scent and hope he doesn’t wonder what I’m doing.

“Do you remember you sat behind me and bugged me all year?”

I nod. “Sure. Sorry your last name ends in P. But in my defense, I was bored in the backseat. I mean, come on, teachers. It’s a curse to have a last name like Vanderbilt. Who does that to a kid? Always assigned to the seat in the far corner.”

“I assume your dad had some evil plan to keep you hidden in the back. Damn him for that last name. But I’m not complaining. Only, I was too young to realize you were flirting.”

“Was not.” I feel his smile against my hair. “OK. Maybe I was.”

“That’s what I thought.” His hands slide up for a moment in a caress, then drop lower to rest above my waistline. I’ve never been so aware of every movement, every breath from another human being.

The song changes on Gunner’s phone. It’s a faster beat and a song I don’t recognize. He pulls back and places his right hand on my shoulder blade. “Two-step?” He holds out his left hand.

I put my hand in his. “I thought you didn’t like to dance.”

“Depends on the partner.” He steps forward with his left, twice. Then once with his right foot. And he’s flawless. We’re moving around a small area of the deck, taking care not bump into the chairs or the railing. Moonlight reveals his grin and he’s enjoying himself. Or maybe he’s mirroring my face.

Gunner twirls me once, spinning me quickly. He smirks at my surprised expression. “Keep up.”

My face hurts from smiling. “I could do this all night.” Then my smile fades when I remember what awaits me at home—Mason.

“You don’t have to go home. We could hang out here on the deck until the sun rises. Or go inside and watch television.” He lifts one eyebrow as if saying he dares me to take a chance on him.

“I think you’d best take me home.”

His mouth tightens and the lightness of the moment fades. When the song ends, Gunner releases my hand. “What are you going to do about that ring on your finger?”

It’s not that I don’t want to answer him. But I don’t feel right telling a guy I haven’t seen in years what I should tell my soon to be ex-fiancé.