As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (21 page)

His fingers bit into the flesh above my elbow. “Are you seeing someone else already?”

“You’re hurting me. Let go.”

He shook me so hard my teeth clicked together. “Who is he? Tell me who he is!”

I swung my arm back, breaking his hold as the motion twisted his wrist. I lunged for the door and slung it open just as two patrol cars sped into the parking lot. “Help—”

Jeremy’s hand clapped over my mouth from behind, hitting my nose. The pain was so great my vision went black for an instant, and I went limp, unable to resist as he dragged me backward into the apartment.

“I only want to talk to you, Finch,” he said, breathing heavily against my ear. He tried to slam the door shut, but something caught it from the outside and shoved it open. Knocked off balance, Jeremy tripped and fell.
 

I landed on top of him, driving the breath from his lungs. When his grip on me loosened, I rolled free and scrambled away. With my teeth chattering, I rocked back and forth, cupping my nose and swallowing against the urge to vomit.

Jeremy staggered to his feet. “Who the hell are you?”

I looked up in time to see Clay answer him with his fist.
 

Chapter Eleven

Clay insisted on taking me to the hospital after the police arrested Jeremy.
 

My nose had stopped bleeding soon after we arrived, and the X-rays came back clear.
 

The doctor advised me to wear the splint for a few more days. “You’ll probably need one of your pain pills tonight as well,” he said.
 

Clay was silent on the drive to my apartment. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but the tenseness of his jaw was quelling.
 

When he parked the car, he turned to me. “What the hell were you thinking opening your door to him?”

I swallowed. “I didn’t . . . I thought it was you.”

“You didn’t even check?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the harshness of his tone made the volume moot.
 

Still, I said, “Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m sorry, but when I saw him grab you . . . I wanted to keep hitting him once he was down.”

His hand was clenched around the steering wheel, and I took it in mine and soothed a gentle finger over his bruised knuckles. “You need to put some ice on these.”

“They’ll keep.” He lifted his hand and ran his thumb across my brow. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. “Here’s your coffee, before I forget.” He leaned over the console and snagged the paper bag from the rear seat.

I glanced back. “What are those?”

A bouquet of bright sunflowers and dark pink roses lay on the floorboard. Several of the stems were snapped close to the blossoms, as if the arrangement had been dropped, and a few petals fell as I lifted the flowers and cradled them in my arms.
 

“They’re the reason I was late.”

“These are for me?”

“No,” he said, his voice wry. “I make a habit of buying myself flowers.”

I laughed. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

His smile was rueful as he fingered a broken stem. “I’m afraid they’re a little worse for wear now.”
 

A couple of the sunflowers were starting to droop.

“Nothing a tall drink of water and some tape won’t fix.”

Once inside, I retrieved a bag of frozen broccoli from the freezer and a roll of tape from my purse.

Clay chuckled. “You always carry duct tape on you?”

I handed him the bag of frozen vegetables and placed my flowers on the counter. “Of course. I’m a flight attendant. I’m nothing if not resourceful. Now put that on your hand.”

He sat on one of the barstools at the counter, and his gaze followed me as I collected a vase from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with water then untied the ribbon and unwrapped the cellophane from around the flowers.
 

The ones that weren’t damaged I arranged in the vase, and then with careful precision, I bound the broken stems and placed them in the water as well. “There.” I picked up the vase and took it into the living room to set on the coffee table. “They brighten the whole room,” I said, stepping back to admire them. I turned to Clay with a smile and found he’d swiveled on the barstool to face me. “How’re your knuckles?”

He set aside the bag of frozen broccoli and took my hand. “I’ve had worse.”

“Have you? Do you often engage in bare-knuckle brawls?” I bent my head over his hand and heard the smile in his voice rather than saw it.
 

“You doubt I’m an expert pugilist?” he asked.

I couldn’t contain a chuckle. “
Pugilist
? Do people use that term anymore?”

He grinned. “I just did, didn’t I?”

“You did indeed.” I smiled, but it slowly faded as his gaze ensnared mine. His expression was one I’d never seen before. “Thank you,” I whispered. Drawn by the look in his eyes, I stepped between his legs.

He placed his bruised hand along the side of my neck. The weight and warmth made me shiver.
 

“For what?” His voice was low and smooth.

“For the flowers. And for earlier.”

He tilted my face up with his thumb under my chin and slowly lowered his head. He angled his face to avoid bumping my nose, and then his lips met mine in a simple, warm press of the lips.

And it was like finally surfacing for air after being submerged too long in a roaring torrent.

I gasped when he pulled away and realized I was leaning toward him, gripping his knees. “What was . . .” My voice squeaked, and I couldn’t slow the hard pounding in my chest. “What was that for?”

He grinned, but there was a ruddiness high in his cheeks. “Do I need a reason?”

“For future reference, no.”

He leaned forward, brushing my hair aside, and whispered in my ear. “It was for being a woman who’s concerned about bruises. And who bandages broken flowers.” The friction of his lips against my ear almost made my knees buckle.

I cleared my throat. “It was nice.” I felt my face heat as he drew back and arched a brow.
 

“Nice?” His wicked smile warned me. “I’ll have to remedy that. Can’t have you thinking I’m
nice
.”
 

He lowered his head again, and I met him halfway.

“Jeremy’s lucky Clay has more restraint than I do,” Julia said later that evening. “If it had been me, I would have killed the bastard.”

We were in the kitchen in her apartment above the bakery. Though not as state-of-the-art as the one in her shop, her kitchen was well equipped, and we placed everything we thought we’d need onto the island.

“I didn’t even recognize him, Ju. It was a side of Jeremy I’d never seen.” I stared into the stainless steel bowl, and my reflection at the bottom was distorted. “It makes me wonder how much you can ever truly know a person, you know?”

Julia paused in retrieving several knives from the butcher block. “I do know what you mean. I think we can get an impression of a person’s character, but you never really know what people are capable of. I also think you’d be doing yourself a disservice, however, if you are suspicious of everyone around you. Not to mention it’d be exhausting and unhealthy.”

“You have a point. It’s just unsettling to think you know someone and then see a side of them you never imagined.”

“I’m sure. What did—”

“Knock, knock!” my mother called from the front door.

“We’re in the kitchen!”

“Don’t mention this to her, please,” I whispered. “It’ll only worry her.”

“My lips are sealed,” Julia said.

My mother entered the kitchen laden with grocery bags, and we rushed to relieve her of the burden.

“Thanks for coming, Mrs. Rhodes. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Julia said, “inviting him here for dinner.” As incredible a baker as she was, Julia could burn water when it came to cooking. “I stupidly thought he’d enjoy a home-cooked meal.”

“That isn’t stupid,” I said.

“It’s stupid to think I could cook him one. The last time I cooked, the spaghetti sauce set off the smoke detector, and the pasta congealed in the pot. Help.”

“Nonsense,” my mother said. “You’re going to make a meatloaf that’ll ruin the man for all other meatloaves.”

“Meatloaf?” I asked.

“It’s simple and hearty and men love it,” my mother said, retrieving a red and green pepper and an onion from a grocery bag. “Get your aprons on, girls.”

We had only a little over an hour before Daniel was supposed to arrive, but my mother was a drill sergeant in the kitchen. The meatloaf was prepared and smelled so good all our stomachs were growling. The baby red potatoes were boiled and seasoned, and the asparagus was baked with a drizzle of olive oil, a sprinkling of sea salt, and freshly ground pepper.

Mama and I set the table, lit candles, and put aside a plate of food for Daniel to take home to Timothy, while Julia ran into her bedroom to change. She came out in a simple, elegant black dress that accentuated her figure and made her pink hair appear brighter. It was knee-length with short, capped sleeves, a ruffled neckline that scooped dangerously low, and a slit to mid thigh. The bodice was formfitting, and the skirt flared out from the waist. She was barefoot, and when my mother and I gaped at her, she blushed.
 

“What do you think? I saw the dress the other day at a consignment shop and couldn’t walk away from it. Not what I usually go for, but—”

“But you look stunning,” I said.

My mother agreed. “The man won’t know what hit him.”

She hugged us both. Her flour and sugar smell was tinged now with onions and peppers and olive oil, and it made me smile.

“This would have been a disaster without the two of you,” she said.

My mother smiled. “All I ask for is an invitation to the wedding.”
 

We all laughed, though I noted with interest that Julia’s blush deepened.

“I want a full report!” I called over my shoulder as we left.

Daniel was just parking in the small lot to the side of the bakery when we came down the steps.

“Evening, ladies,” he said. He held a bouquet, but not one of flowers. The crystal vase was filled with kitchen gadgets. When he saw the direction of our gazes, the tips of his ears reddened. “She probably already has all of these, but I thought . . .”

“She’ll love it,” I assured him. And that was putting it mildly, I knew.

After he bade us good night and ascended the stairs to Julia’s apartment, my mother murmured, “Those two have it bad.”

“Think they realize it?”
 

She glanced at me, and the gleam in her eyes made me squirm. “Sometimes it takes a while to sink in.”

Deciding that was a dangerous topic to broach, I opened the car door for her. “How are you and Daddy?”

“That man. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”

I laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you for lunch Saturday. Need me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself and that man of yours.”

“He’s not my—”

But she was already pulling away and waving goodbye.