Melt (14 page)

If she’d said no, would he have been able to stop?

Had
she said no,
and he somehow hadn’t heard her? Was that why she was crying?

Coils of panic twisted in his gut, and he jerked back. He
wanted to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything, to tell her he was sorry
if he’d gone too far, but his throat muscles wouldn’t work.

As she pushed herself to her feet and turned, letting out a
trembling breath, he gazed down at his hands. Dear God, had he become his
stepfather after all?

Tear tracks wended their way down her pale face, and she
wiped them away, laughing weakly. “I get like this sometimes,” she began,
falling silent at the look on his face. Or at least that’s what he assumed
stopped her cold. If his mental state came through his expression, he could
only imagine what he looked like.

His shoulders ached from the effort it took not to cradle
her against him. He needed to talk her through this. Talk
them
through it. He’d obviously pushed her over the line, and he
had to ensure she was all right. The last thing he’d wanted to do was to hurt
her, and he’d done exactly that. Haze of passion or not, he’d known better.
They hadn’t set firm limits, and he’d just blasted clear through his own
anyway.

Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

She pursed her lips and drew herself up to her full height.
She was so petite, so delicate, and he’d deeply reddened her flesh. He’d hurt
her. Sensual pain was still pain, wasn’t it?

For a few blissed-out moments he’d forgotten anything other
than her acceptance. Than her longing for the same thing he craved. Together
they’d shoved past their own limits and—

Except it was too soon. She’d been injured a couple of days
ago. Occasionally he still saw her limping. And she’d just left a long-term
relationship. Neither of them were in the place for something so intense right
out of the damn gate. God, if he could be so rough with someone he cared about
as much as he did Kylie, what might he do to someone he didn’t?

Like her ex?

“Justin?” she whispered.

Apologies hesitated on his tongue. Pleas. Saying them would
only hasten her retreat and deepen his own remorse. She wouldn’t stay with him,
not when he couldn’t look her in the eye.

Better
all around
that he just
shut down and make it easier for her to go. Then he’d figure out how to get his
shit together.

Far away from Kylie.

He pushed a shaking hand through his hair and turned
unseeing eyes toward the doorway. “I have a call to make.”

Before she could call him back, he walked out of the
kitchen.

Kylie wanted to chase after him. In fact, she’d started to
do just that when she realized she only had his apron to wear since her clothes
were in the living room. Somehow she didn’t figure that was the appropriate
outfit for a conversation like this. Whatever it was.

She wasn’t sure what had happened at the end of their
lovemaking, but something had gone wrong. She’d gotten teary, yes, but that
happened sometimes when she came. It was probably clichéd, and maybe a little
weird too, but she couldn’t help the emotions a strong climax brought up inside
her.

Besides, if she were really being honest, she hadn’t simply
teared
up because she’d come so freaking hard she’d almost
burst a blood vessel. The true reason had a lot more to do with the man who’d
been inside her than the physical responses he’d coaxed from her body.

It was too soon for her to feel so emotionally on edge
around him, wasn’t it? She shouldn’t feel as if she were on a tightrope and a
hasty step in either direction would send her plummeting. With as long as
they’d been friends, she should
not
be falling this fast.

She definitely hadn’t the first time around. And as much as
she’d like to credit his tongue ring and hot tat and sexual kinks, she knew it
was much more than that. She was…
ready
for Justin. Not just physically. Spiritually. Mentally.

But psychologically? That was the sticking point. She’d just
gotten out of a troubled relationship. If she hoped to have a more stable one
with Justin, she couldn’t just go bopping into it. Especially not considering
everything he had in his past. He had his own issues, and ignoring them now
would probably cause them a hell of a lot of pain later. She’d kinda filled up
her quotient of pain for a while.

But that didn’t mean she knew what to do next.

At a loss, she sat at the table. The pizza would be done
soon, and then maybe over dinner they could—

Justin strode into the room, fully dressed. He went straight
to the table by the back door and snatched his keys, then cast her a distracted
glance as if he’d forgotten she was still there. “I need to go out for a
while.”

“But dinner’s almost ready.” She heard the whine in her
voice, and she hated it.

Look at them. So not a couple and already she was falling
into the traditional harpy role. Lovely.

“You eat it. I have to take care of something, and it won’t
wait.” He ran his scarf through his hands, his brows drawing more together the
longer he stared at her. “Kylie, I don’t want you to feel like you need to
stay.”

“Huh?”

“It’s your option, of course. I know your…housing situation
is problematic, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. But I don’t
expect it after—” He broke off and jingled his keys. “Look, I gotta go.”

She stood unsteadily and walked over to the oven to turn off
the pizza. It hadn’t dinged yet, but she wasn’t going to risk a fire. And she
sure wasn’t going to stay there alone while he charged off to do who knows
what. “Wherever you need to go, I’m coming with you.”

“It’s not for you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s tough turnips because I’m coming.” She
whipped off the apron and tossed it on the counter they’d so fully desecrated.
“Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed.”

“Kylie—”

“I’m coming, Justin. Deal.” She walked out of the kitchen
before he could argue anymore.

Fifteen minutes later, she was in the passenger seat of his
Jeep and staring out at the endless white landscape whizzing past her window.
She had no idea where they were headed, and she wasn’t about to ask him. He was
spookily silent, his gloveless hands wrapped around the wheel, his jaw like
granite. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. He’d gone somewhere in his
head, and she wasn’t invited.

She turned on the radio, just to fill the cabin with
something other than the words neither of them were saying. A cheerful
Christmas classic rolled out of the speakers, somehow highlighting how
fucked-up everything had become.

Their perfect afternoon had shattered two days in a row.
Either they had extremely sucky luck or maybe she was just fooling herself that
anything could ever be perfect between them for very long. Maybe they were both
too screwed up or their timing was off. Either way, they couldn’t keep jumping
back ten paces for every two they took forward.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said, his voice monotone.

Kylie shifted on the seat, trying to find a position that
didn’t sting quite as much. She’d been worked over more vigorously in the past,
but he’d definitely made her a little sore. Pleasantly so. “No. You didn’t have
to take me in either, but you did. You didn’t have to take care of me and make
me laugh and make me co—”

“Don’t.” His hands flexed around the wheel as he hissed out
a breath. “What I did doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“Says who?”

“Your tears said it pretty clearly.” He still wouldn’t look
at her.

She rubbed her forehead. All of a sudden a nasty headache
was brewing at her temples. “So you know why I was crying, then?” she asked
tiredly.

“I think it was pretty obvious, Kylie.”

“Apparently not, since you haven’t said one right thing in
the past hour.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me, then.” He wrenched the radio
dial so hard she was surprised it didn’t pop off in his hand. “Let’s just not
do this now, okay?”

“So now I’m a this.
We’re
a this.” She placed her cheek against the cool glass and found it didn’t do a
thing to settle her temper. “Good to know.”

“Do you know where we’re going right now?” he asked, his
voice brutally quiet as he made a hard right onto yet another isolated country
road. She didn’t know where they were for sure. All she could see for miles was
dark and snow and more dark.

“How would I? You haven’t seen fit to tell me.”

“Every holiday I call my mom. I don’t know why, since she
usually doesn’t seem like she wants to talk to me. She’s either busy or about
to take a nap or a million other excuses that don’t change that I’m way down
her list of who she wants to hear from on holidays or any other time.”

She waited, twisting her hands in her lap.

“I called her tonight, and she didn’t answer. I called three
times.”

“Maybe they went out?”

“With my stepfather? Doubtful. Now that he’s retired, he’s a
homebody through and through.” He rolled his shoulders as if he were shaking
off his tension. If only it were that easy. “I need to make sure she’s okay. If
I don’t and something’s happened, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“Okay.”

He cast her a sidelong glance, his surprise evident in the
quirk of his mouth. “That’s all you have to say?”

Did he honestly expect her to argue with him? “Yeah. That’s
it. You have to make sure she’s all right. You’re her son, and you love her.”

“Sometimes I don’t know why I do,” he muttered.

“Because she’s your mom. No matter what.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Yeah. But if she’s
okay, she’s not going to be glad to see me. You don’t need to be there for all
that. You shouldn’t be.”

The pang in her stomach was just hunger pains. Sure it was.
She hadn’t gotten dinner after all.

It wasn’t because he thought he needed to keep her at arm’s
length, except when it came to sex. Even then he didn’t believe he could be himself
with her. Not for more than a few minutes at a time. Afterward he brought the
walls up thicker than before.

“I’m your friend. Friends are part of each other’s lives,
Justin. Or at least they should be. If they aren’t, if you don’t want them to
be, you might as well get a blow-up doll and stick it on your couch.”

His mouth curved for a fraction of a moment. “Blow-up dolls
are less trouble. No arguments there.”

“Is that all you want? Less trouble? An easier life?”

He glanced at her, his eyes so dark in the faint glow from
passing streetlights that they might as well have been sinkholes. Resistant to
light, refusing to let any back out. “You know it’s not.”

She wished she had the balls to rip into him for always
assuming the worst, both with her and apparently his mother, but the guy was
clearly hurting. She didn’t want to cause him any more grief in his life—she
wanted to alleviate it.

If he pushed her away, she’d have to prove to him she would
stick around this time. Not like in college when she’d been so eager to lace up
her own running shoes. She’d changed a lot since then, and even if this didn’t
turn out to be the love affair of the century, she’d be his friend. No matter
what.

She reached across the console and touched his wrist just
beyond the sleeve of his jacket. He whipped his gaze to hers, and she held her
own steady. “Our deal was we’d spend Thanksgiving together. It’s not over yet.”

But when it was, would they be too?

* * * *

Trying to ignore the bubbles of fear brewing in his gut,
Justin strode up the front walk to his mom’s home. The difference tonight was
that he was cognizant of every step Kylie took beside him. They hadn’t spoken
for the last few miles, and he figured that was probably a good thing. His
tendency for making things worse every time he opened his mouth didn’t bode
well for heartfelt chats. At least not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

His mother’s house—not his parents’, since he’d never think
of that bastard as his father—sprawled out like a well-lit haven in the dark.
Warm. Inviting.

Fake.

He tucked his bare fingers in the pockets of his jeans as he
hurried up the snow-encrusted steps to the front stoop. It seemed like every
damn light in the place was on. They’d already decorated for Christmas, and
old-fashioned, multicolored bulbs encircled the railings. A real fir wreath
with a big velvet bow hung on the door. Hell, it was practically the perfect
scene for the Cleaver Christmas version 2.0. Which would’ve been fine, had he
trusted any of it to be real. He didn’t.

All the shrinks in the world could tell him his stepfather
was “cured,” and he wouldn’t believe it. As far as Justin was concerned, the
man was a ticking bomb, apt to explode at any time.

Before he could growl aloud and really freak Kylie out,
Justin grabbed the door knocker and rapped. No answer. He tried it several more
times with the same results.

“Maybe they’re out,” she ventured.

“Car’s here.”

“The property’s pretty big. Do they do outside stuff? They
could be out back.”

He rapped again. “In all that snow? Doubtful. They don’t
snowmobile.”

“Perhaps—”

“Kylie, enough.” He fished around on his key ring for the
spare key he’d had made years ago. They hadn’t given it to him voluntarily, but
he’d be damned if he didn’t have a way into their place just in case. With his
free hand, he rapped again, well aware that Kylie was stewing at his side. “If
they don’t answer in another minute, I’m going in.” He shook his key. “I’m not
taking a fucking chance that she could be hurt or dead—”

His hand fell away from the door as it was yanked inward,
and his stepfather filled it with his broad frame. “Justin?
Whatsa
matter?”