The House On The Creek (12 page)

“I don’t have time for dates.” She glared at him across the stick shift. “We can’t go to The Trellis, Ev. I’m not dressed for it.”

“You look fine.” She looked perfect. The simple black sheath she wore hugged every delicate swell and was enough to drive a man wild. She’d even done something with her hair, pinned it back from her eyes, emphasizing the delicate bones in her face.

And she smelled like gardenias.

“People wear silk to The Trellis.” She argued. “Not second hand clothes and discount shoes.”

“I like those shoes.”

Because he caught the gleam of panic in her eyes and understood, he captured one narrow hand and squeezed. “They’ve the best sausage chowder in the state. One taste and you’ll forget anything else.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, snatching her hands away. “My feet are killing me.”

He laughed and hopped out into the evening. He opened her door and extended a hand, but she ignored his chivalry and climbed out on her own. Once out onto the asphalt she hesitated, eying the lights of Merchant’s Square with distrust.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

He took her hand, and urged her gently across the parking lot. She huffed but didn’t struggle, although once or twice it looked as though she wanted to dig in those heels and turn stubborn.

“Their bread has won awards,” he continued, determined to stay calm, although the slide of her hips in the dress made him want to pull her behind the nearest shrug and kiss her breathless.

Ever since he’d left her in the empty attic rooms above her shop he’d been muzzy with desire. All afternoon he’d been able to think of nothing but the silken brush of her mouth against his thumb.

“And dessert. Surely you’ve heard of their chocolate desserts?”

She glanced at him, suspicious. “How many times have you eaten here?”

“Once or twice,” he admitted. “When I first got into town. After I ran out of chocolate pie and before I had time to shop for groceries.

“Look,” he said as they crossed cobble stone and into Merchant’s Square. “There it is. Looks nice, doesn’t it? Little white lights and all.”

Abby slowed to look. Her arm brushed his own, and Everett closed his eyes, fighting a body that threatened to stand up and sing.

“It is pretty,” she admitted, grudgingly. “Look how they weave the vines up the lattice above the door.”

“The Trellis,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “You want to eat out on the patio or in?”

“In,” Abby replied without hesitation. “It’ll be cooler in.”

“As the lady commands.” He guided her beneath strung white lights and into the restaurant.

The hostess met them with a smile, and led them through a busy dining room to a table against one large window. Everett heard Abby draw a breath. She craned her neck from side to side, trying to see everything at once.

“Look at how they match the floor and the colors in the hearth,” she said after the hostess had seated them and drifted discreetly away. “And look at the paintings on the wall. Local. I recognize the artist. Someone has good taste.”

“I brought you here to eat, not assess the decor.” But the animation on her face made him grin.

She smiled back over the squat white candle that flickered at the center of their table. “I can’t help it. It’s wonderful.”

“Didn’t I tell you? And here comes the bread.”

Everett watched as she chose a piece of Irish soda bread from the basket. She took a bite and closed her eyes in bliss, and he had to steel himself from taking her hand again.

He wanted to touch her, to reassure himself that she was well and truly there.

He knew that he had hurt her. As a stupid, frightened kid, and again as an equally stupid and frightened adult. And even though most of her temper seemed to have eased, he knew the insult wasn’t forgotten.

He supposed he should be down on his knees begging forgiveness. But the thought of her blue eyed boy still made his stomach churn.

“Ev.” She might have read his mind. “You can ask me about the house.”

He shook his head. “We’re here to eat. Take a look at the menu.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “I know you. You thought you didn’t care, day before yesterday, when you had your hands all over my breasts-”

“Abby!”

“-but that’s the real reason you stopped by my office this morning, isn’t it? Once you remembered to think with the head on your shoulders you couldn’t bear not to know. So why don’t you stop frowning like you’ve got a pain in your gut and just ask?”

She nudged a polished fork with her pinky finger, sliding it over the table cloth. “I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

Everett chose a bread stick. He looked for the waiter, intending to summon a drink. Wine, or maybe a whiskey.

“No?” Abby picked up the fork and rolled it between thumb and forefinger. The sterling flashed in the candlelight. “You always did prefer brooding to doing.”

She sounded mildly disappointed.

He stiffened. “I’ve spent the last decade working my ass off. I didn’t have time to brood.”

“Could be that’s the problem. Maybe you need to take time and flush it from your system. Stop pretending it’s not there.”

“What exactly,” he asked with deliberate sarcasm as he snapped a piece from his bread stick, “are we talking about?”

Abby didn’t wince, as he’d hoped, or even flush up with temper. She studied him for a moment, and then leaned forward across the table. In the soft light her skin looked pale and fragile and her eyes turned to black.

“What happened that night, Ev? Why did you run away?”

His breath caught, and bread crumbled between his fingers.

“Did it have something to do with me? With the fall?”

Everett opened his mouth on something nasty, but the waiter chose that moment to appear at his elbow. Grim, he ordered a bottle of Merlot, and then waited while Abby picked her dinner from the menu. He ordered a salad for himself and a steak to fill the hole in his gut, and they sat in silence until the waiter reappeared and poured their wine.

“Well?” Abby prompted when they were alone again.

“You didn’t fall. You jumped.”

“I guess I did.”

“You were an idiot.”

Still, she didn’t flinch. “I guess I was. So. It did have something to do with that day, with my birthday.”

“Christ, yes. You were the one stupid enough to jump. But I was the one got blamed for it.”

The candle flickered and her face seemed to waver before his eyes.

“Blamed?”

Everett shrugged, and looked down into his wine. “Once your ma saw you settled in that night, she came storming over. Shouted up a fury at the old man.”

“Mom?” Abby blinked in disbelief. She shook her head. “And of course he took it out on you after.”

He shrugged again. The muscles in his back knotted and pulled painfully.

“Beat me bloody, no surprise. Broke a tooth. Battered a few ribs. So, instead of brooding about it,” he shot Abby a dry look, “I decided enough was enough and packed a bag. Stole the booze money from under his mattress. Took off.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“No. You were the fool. I should have let you drown.”

“Is that why you didn’t say goodbye?”

He thought her voice quavered. He looked up. Her fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes were wide and troubled.

His conscious prodded and he sighed. “No, Abby. I told you. He beat me bloody. I was a mess. I didn’t want you to see me that way. Fifteen year old boys have a lot of pride.”

Abby bowed her head. The waiter materialized and placed huge, leafy salads on the table. Abby grabbed her fork and took a hasty bite. Even in the dim light Everett could see the face she made.

“It’s the arugula,” he said, amused in spite of himself. “You’ll get used to it.”

Her chin came up. “Seattle doesn’t have a monopoly on arugula, Ev. I know what it tastes like.”

Everett glared back and took a gulp of wine. Then, quite suddenly, Abby’s mouth curved. “Like cat sweat.”

He choked on his wine. Abby winked at him, and speared another forkful of greens. “Quiet, Ev. You’re disturbing the tourists.”

Her soft, rueful laughter melted his heart and made him ache with the terror of it.

“Hell.” He breathed, and brushed a knuckle across the top of her right hand.

She paused, fork suspended, and watched him. “I can’t afford to make a mistake right now, Everett.”

“God forbid.” He noticed the way the salad shook slightly on the tines of her fork, and his smile grew. “You and I were meant for each other, Abigail.”

“And the past?”

“Let’s look to the future.” In that moment, he believed he could.

Abby rolled her eyes, but her fingers twined with his. “When’s dessert?”

He laughed, and brought the palm of her hand to his lips. And laughed again when she quivered at his touch. “You never could resist chocolate.”

“Me?” She grinned fiercely back at him. “You’re the one with the addiction to sweets.”

He nuzzled her wrist and felt the beat of her pulse against his mouth. A small sigh slipped her lips, and at the sound Everett’s treacherous body went taut and hard.

“Maybe we should take dinner home.”

She snatched her hand back so quickly the silverware chimed. “No way. We’re staying here. No way are you ruining my Trellis dinner with your lecherous thoughts. Besides.” Her smile grew bright with secret amusement. “I booked the sitter until morning, after all.”

“Fine.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, picked up his wine, and took a long swallow. “Eat.”

When he looked up from the glass he found her studying him again, and the heat in her eyes seemed to dim the candle light.

“Eat quickly.” He suggested, and downed more wine.

They took dessert to go, wrapped prettily in tin foil twisted to resemble a swan.

Abby sat silently, the swan in her lap, and stared straight out the front window as Everett sent the car zinging through Colonial Williamsburg and up Creek Lane. A light rain pattered on the windows, leaving grey streaks across the glass.

“Cops love this corner,” she warned as they blazed past an upscale gated community.

Everett only grunted. Somehow her hand had come to rest on his thigh, and every time the Spyder bumped and her hand curled he came an inch closer to losing control. He perfume seemed to cloud the car, and the weight of the wrapped chocolate in her lap caused the hem of her skirt to edge up along her thigh.

“And there are deer around.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her wet her lips in a quick, nervous gesture.

His foot slammed on the brake. The car squealed, and slipped on wet pavement, and then came to a crumbling halt in the middle of the road. Abby’s eyes had gone huge.

“What?”

He silenced her with a kiss, leaning across the front seat and claiming her mouth. She stiffened against the assault and then relaxed. Her fingers reached to tangle in his hair, and he knew with a thrill of triumph that she was at least as ready as he.

He pulled away, breathing heavily, and sent the Spyder speeding back into the night. Abby sat silently, and gripped the tin foil swan with both hands.

They almost didn’t make it up the drive. He stopped again to taste her as he helped her out of the car. The rain dampened her hair to curling tendrils and tightened the dress about her body.

He ran his hands up and down her spine as he nibbled along the curve of her neck, and then reached down to cup the tight swell of her rear.

Her fingers danced along the waistband of his slacks, dripping lower, trailing wet fire against his groin. Her eyes were slanted and full of moonlight.

“Abby.” It took all of his strength to lift his mouth from the hollow of her throat. “Not here, sweetheart. Inside.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Her hands turned their attack to his belt buckle, and the brush of warmth across his front tore at his control.

“Abby.”

“Ev,” she whispered. The buckle released and at last her quick, clever fingers found the length of him. “Shut up.”

Her hands were magic and flame. Stroking, plucking, teasing. When she put his mouth to him he gasped and his hips began to pump of their own accord.

“Abby.” He growled, pulling her away before his eager body fell over the edge. “Come up to the house.”

She only shook her head and smiled. Warm rain and cool moonlight turned her shadow to silver. He could see the high peaks of her nipples through clinging rayon, and he felt a sharp surge as passion threatened to crest.