Melt (17 page)

And if they made a
farking
mess of
the whole thing? She had her steak and champagne.

She wet her lips, flexing her flirt muscle. Amazing how
quickly the damn thing got lax. “You got a date for tonight, Norton?”

He sipped, taking his slow time answering. She tapped her
fingers on the bar in a clear “hurry it up” gesture, and he still didn’t rush
through his beer. “Funny you should ask that,” he drawled, a slow smile
overtaking his face. “Since I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Oh, thank God.

She tossed her rag on the bar and pulled up the walkthrough,
making him laugh at her haste. “I’m officially off the clock.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s so.” She glanced back, remembering her purse. And
that she hadn’t punched out. “Or I will be, in five minutes. Wait here,” she
said, snatching her cards as she went.

He laughed again. “Waiting.”

Just in case his idea of a date meant she wouldn’t have time
to go home and change, she switched her work T-shirt for a baby blue one she had
in her locker and brushed her hair. She still reeked of alcohol and cigarette
smoke, but a few dabs of her sultry perfume and she considered herself
presentable.

Her left ankle inexplicably started
twinging
again as she walked back out to the bar. It hadn’t hurt in weeks. Weird.

Justin noticed her sudden limp and set aside his half-drunk
beer. “You all right?”

“Old war injury.” At his laugh, she shrugged it off.

She was just nervous, and her body was already reacting to
his nearness. She would’ve expected stomach fluttering or damp panties or even
a stress headache, but she’d always been on the odd side.

“If you’re sure you’re okay.” He stood and threw some bills
on the bar, and then offered her his arm. “Want to take my Jeep?”

She’d figured they’d take two cars, just in case. Which was
probably silly. Justin had been her friend for a long time. Whatever happened,
she trusted him to get her home safely.

“Unless you’d rather not—”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just being dumb.” She smiled and tipped
back her head to look at him. Since he was already looking down at her, she
suddenly couldn’t breathe. Or walk.

Luckily she managed to grip his arm despite her mental fog,
and he propelled her forward out the door into a soft, misty rain. “Caution
isn’t dumb.”

“Maybe not, but we’re still friends. We don’t need to take
separate cars.”

He stopped under a streetlight at the edge of the parking
lot, seemingly oblivious to the water slicking down the sides of his face. She
sure wasn’t oblivious, because she wanted to follow those twin trails down his
jaw with her tongue.

Friends, remember?
Very special friends.

“We both know I don’t think of you as just a friend, Kylie.”
He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I haven’t for a long time.”

That warmth was back in her chest, this time flashing into
her face and all the points in between. “You’ve done a good job of being my
friend this past month,” she said lightly.

“No, I haven’t. For the most part I’ve stayed away because I
don’t know how to be near you and not kiss you.” He lowered his voice until it
caressed her as thoroughly as if he were running his lips up her spine. “Not
make love to you. In two days, you destroyed the conception of you I’d had all
these years that had helped me keep my distance.” The corner of his mouth
lifted. “Well, that and your commitment ring.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “Dare I ask what that
whole conception thing means?”

“I thought we didn’t have as much in common behind the
bedroom door as we did in front of it. Which was wrong. It’s also wrong I
started this conversation in the damn rain.” Shaking his head, he guided her
toward the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Both her pulse and her brain raced in tandem. As much as she
ached to be alone with him, she wasn’t sure she could keep from spilling her
feelings if she sat near him in candlelight. Feelings that had skipped way past
caring and honed in on love the instant she’d left his Jeep on Thanksgiving and
realized what she was walking away from. Maybe everything wasn’t perfect
yet—dueling therapy appointments and all—but oh, the possibilities…

She could work with possibilities.

As they approached his vehicle, she placed her hand on his
arm. “Why don’t we go to my apartment? I have a big steak and baked potatoes
and champagne and—” His smile made her stop babbling. “Sorry. Kylie’s cup
runneth
over. You know.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve missed you.” He jingled his keys and
appeared to weigh something in his mind. Then he nodded. “Yeah. That sounds
good. I made reservations just in case, but I think
alone’s
better. I wasn’t sure you’d want to with me yet.”

“Wait, what ‘want to’ are we talking about? Because if it
resides in the same dirty zone where my mind just went, the answer is yes,
forever and always. Don’t forget the rubber sheets.”

His smile turned into a full-blown laugh as he opened her
door. “I meant being alone without any witnesses. But please don’t hold back
your gutter thoughts on my account.”

She grinned and slipped inside his vehicle. All at once the
familiar scent of his air freshener mixed with his soap wafted over her, and
her eyes pricked with tears.

God, she’d missed him.

He got behind the wheel, and she gave him directions to her
new place in nearby
Balstar
. He remained silent while
they climbed the steps to her third-floor walk-up apartment, and she had to
temper her urge to fill the silence with chatter. Instead she bit her lower lip
and led him through her modified studio. It had a living room, an alcove for her
bed and dresser and nightstand, a galley-style kitchen, and a decent-sized
bathroom. All the basics, no frills. But it was hers, and she was so proud of
how far she’d come.

“Check out the huge closet.” She swept back her arm to
reveal the space she’d crammed with clothes and other stuff she really needed
to weed through someday. “Nice, huh?”

“Very.”

“And did you see the oven? Of course it’s not fancy like
yours.” She rushed back into the kitchen, well aware that her mouth had yet
again shot into overdrive. Luckily he made the appropriate noises of
appreciation and didn’t ask her why she was acting as if they’d just met rather
than been…friends for years. Additional proof that the man could be too sweet
for words.

“So I’ll, ah, make dinner now.” She pulled open the
refrigerator door and started loading ingredients in her arms. “I can pop the
champagne, and you can go watch TV if you’d like. Sorry, I only get the basic
stations—”

“I’ll stay right here if you don’t mind.” He shed the jacket
she realized she’d never offered to take and hung it off the back of a kitchen
chair before sprawling across the seat. “So we can talk while you cook for me.
Which is damn sexy, by the way, even if that sets me back twenty years for
saying so.”

She couldn’t fight the flush she knew stained her cheeks. “I
think we can give the women’s lib movement a break tonight. Besides, you’ve
cooked for me. Deliciously, I might add. Don’t get your hopes up,” she added,
wagging a finger. “I’m no whiz like you.”

His grin almost made her lose her grip on the bottle of
champagne she’d just grabbed. “I think we’ll do just fine.”

By the time they were sitting across from each other at her
small table with a strawberry votive candle between them and the exquisite
scent of steak
fragrancing
the air, her nerves had
vanished. This was Justin, and she wouldn’t act like some
newb
just because she happened to be in love with him. That point might not even
matter, depending on what he had to say.

Though she hoped it did. She hoped so very much.

The conversation meandered from Justin’s school to Christmas
break to the great deal Kylie had gotten on her new place. All safe topics.
When he mentioned stopping by his parents’ on his way out of town on Christmas
Eve, she smiled politely and tried not to look too overeager. She wasn’t Dr.
Templeton, her new therapist, but she was reasonably sure his voluntary visit
to their house had to be a good sign.

“My counselor suggested I go over again, to try to
familiarize myself with their life now and stop looking for parallels to the
past.” His wry tone as he forked up baked potato slathered in butter said a lot
about his opinion on
that
. “I’m not
in charge of the world. They have their own lives, and loving someone doesn’t
mean I have to agree with all their decisions. I just have to support my mom,
and that includes her choice of husband.”

Kylie tried not to react. “And you’re okay with that?”

He rubbed his face, and when he removed his hand, she noted
the blessed lack of lines around his eyes. For once, he didn’t look exhausted.
It had been a long while since she’d been able to say that about him.
“Honestly? No. I’m just less okay with living every damn day with my stomach in
knots, thinking today’s the day he’s going to smash her face in.”

“Good,” she said carefully, setting down her fork. She’d
practically inhaled her own meal, as had he minus his potato. He’d poked and
prodded at it until she wanted to yank away his plate. “So you like your
counselor?”

Not therapist. He hadn’t yet used that word. It was always
counselor. Whatever made it easier for him to deal with.

“She’s okay.” He shrugged and went back to fiddling with the
potato skin, finally cutting off a small piece and popping it in his mouth.
“She talks a lot.”

Her lips wiggled as she attempted valiantly not to smile.
“That’s kind of her job.”

“I thought the client was supposed to talk all the time,
preferably while lying on a couch. Easier to spill secrets that way.”

“Have you done that?”

“No. Mainly because I don’t have a lot of them that are
mine. The abuse…that was mostly my mom’s. There was verbal stuff with me, but
the biggest thing was the fear of what would happen to her. I wasn’t afraid for
me. Even when I was a little kid, I was sure I could take the bastard.”

She gripped the sides of her chair to keep from rushing
around the table to hug him. He might not have needed that—though she sure
did—so she didn’t move. Barely even breathed. He’d started to open a valve, and
she wasn’t going to do anything that might close it again before he’d gotten
out what he had to.

“My counselor’s gone through a lot of textbook crap with me.
You know, how you can’t control an event, only your reaction to it. I went
through most of that in school, and I think Lola finds it funny that I can
recite most of it back to her before she even gets the words out. It’s
different when it’s you, though.” He sighed and tossed his napkin next to his
almost untouched glass of champagne. “Way fucking different.”

“Night and day.”

“Lola asked me if it was easier to lose my mom now, while
she was still alive. I never saw it that way.” He blew out a breath. “I’m not
ready to say good-bye to her yet.”

“No. I know you’re not.”

“So that means I need to stop listening to what I should do
and start trying to do it. Not because it’ll help me pretend to get better.
Because I want to
be
better. I want
my mom in my life for real. I want to be her son again.” He shut his eyes. “I
want a place where I can bring my girlfriend on family holidays, and for it to
mean something.”

My girlfriend
.
Kylie swallowed deeply. She wasn’t his yet. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be. But
that possibility shimmered in front of her like a diamond, and she ached to
grasp it with both hands.

After they cleared up one more teensy thing.

Though she felt a little guilty, she couldn’t help her keen
interest in one point. “Lola?” she asked, striving to sound casual as she
lifted her own glass.

“Sorry. Dr. Sheen. She told me not to be so formal.”

“I just bet she did,” Kylie muttered, knocking back half her
champagne in one gulp. Even the explosion of bubbles in her belly didn’t
smother her spurt of irritation. “Really, Lola? What kind of doctor’s name is
that?”

“She said—” He broke off and grinned. Flat out grinned.
“Hey, you’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“Are so.”

She finished off the rest of her drink and relaxed in her
chair. She might not be a big fan of drinking under most circumstances, but
tonight it was definitely hitting the spot. “So what if I am?”

He braced his forearms on the edge of the miniscule table
and dazzled her with his smile. She wished she knew how to sketch, because she
would’ve immortalized that carefree expression for all time. It had been so
long since she’d seen it, she’d almost forgotten the joy his happiness gave
her. “I think it’s fucking awesome.”

She had to laugh. “You’re weird.”

“No, it’s called shoe on the other foot, babe. For so long I
imagined you with Rob, and now you’re
pissy
about
Lola. Christ, it makes my day. Hell, my
fricking
year.”

“Do I have reason to be
pissy
about Lola?”

“Absolutely none.” He held her gaze. “Do I have anyone to be
jealous about anymore?”

“No. Rob and I are completely finished. He’s moved on to his
harem of
sl
—lovely ladies”—Justin suppressed a
laugh—“and I’m living the high life, as you can see.”

He glanced around and toasted her with his glass. “It seems
like a pretty good life, all things considered.”

“It is.”

“I met with someone else too,” he said after a moment.

She wrapped her fingers around the stem of her glass and
propped her chin on her other hand. “Listening.”

“This guy, Van Burke, is into BDSM. He has a studio of
sorts. I guess he does sex therapy, among other things.” Justin’s brows dipped
low over his dark blue eyes. “He has the whole setup there. Except his playroom
is right next to his counseling area,” he finished with a quiet laugh.