Mine Until Morning (12 page)

The Only Way Out

HE SHOWERED, SHAVED, USING A RAZOR OF KERN’S SHE HADN’T gotten rid of. Kern’s things littered the bathroom, meds in the cabinet, out-of-date contact lenses, male deodorant. Reminders were everywhere. He was sure if he opened the closet and bureau drawers, he’d find Kern’s clothing. He had a vivid memory of him and Kern packing up his mom’s things for Goodwill, touching personal items he’d never been meant to touch, learning secrets she never would have shared.

Death stripped away so many layers people hid themselves behind. Now he knew too many of Kern’s secrets, too many of Dani’s. She was still asleep, her hair strewn across the pillow, curled into a childlike ball. He dressed in relative darkness, the sun starting to come up. He didn’t disturb her, wanting instead for her to wake remembering what she’d done to him in the night. Without him there, she would think only of how good it had been. Of the times he’d been with her, that moment had been the best. He didn’t take; she gave. Though she couldn’t know, when he came in her mouth, he gave her everything. There was time enough to talk tonight, to say what he needed to say, to fight or beg or whatever it took. For now, he just wanted to savor the sigh of pleasure she’d made as he came for her.

THE BED STILL SMELLED LIKE HIM, AND THE BATHROOM TOWELS were scented with Kern’s shaving cream. Mac had left a pot of coffee brewing for her, a slice of bread ready in the toaster.

God, yes, there were things she missed about having a man around. She missed cooking for someone other than herself. Toward the end, Kern had subsisted on protein drinks and what amounted to baby food. That wasn’t cooking.

She missed Kern the way he used to be. The way he laughed and teased, the sparkle of good humor in his eye. Dani squeezed the coffee mug so hard she thought it might crack. The things she’d done with Mac didn’t mean she’d loved Kern less, but Mac rejuvenated her. She’d been so worried for so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like to let herself go, even if it was only for a little while. The things she did with Mac gave her courtesan dates the extra she used to feel with Kern. Last night, when she’d taken him in her mouth . . . 76

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How would it be if there weren’t Courtesans and the money between them?

Would it really be so bad to let him in?

It didn’t bear thinking about now. She couldn’t plan or move forward with the bills hanging over her.

Mac had left the morning paper for her on the kitchen table. The phone rang just as she turned the first page. Isabel’s number. Dani stabbed the speaker button. “Hey, there, you usually call the cell.”

“You didn’t answer it, and I wanted to talk to you ASAP.”

“Oops, sorry.” Right. The cell phone was in her purse, which was in the hall where she’d dropped it when Mac picked her up. Last night there’d been only Mac and how badly he’d wanted her.

“Darling,” Isabel drawled, “Sheldon was ecstatic. He’s never had a better time. And you know”—she paused for effect—“he’s neh-ver called after a date.”

True. The only way one really knew with Sheldon was if he called back for another date. “I’m glad he was pleased.”

“He said you and Mac were an unbeatable combination. What did you do?

Tell all.”

Isabel wasn’t generally so effusive. It had been totally hot when Mac stormed in. As if he’d actually caught them at something. As if he were pissed as all getout and there’d be hell to pay. “Mac played the angry cuckold. Sheldon must have left the door slightly unlatched hoping he’d come up and ‘catch’ us. Mac did”—she laughed—“and dragged me out, threatening Sheldon.”

“My, my.”

“I didn’t have a thing to do with engineering it. Mac figured it out all on his own.”

Isabel chuckled. “Well, you need to keep him around, that’s for sure.”

Her stomach pitched. She liked having him around too much. She could start to depend on him. “For right now, the bills are my top priority.” Speaking of which, she needed to take Sheldon’s money to the bank. “So if you’ve got anything else brewing for me, give me a shout.”

Isabel promised and rang off. Dani wandered into the hallway. Her purse lay on the carpet just beyond the tile entry, Sheldon’s tin box sat on the hall table, and Mac’s words echoed in her mind.

So fucking turned on that I’m close to tearing your clothes off and taking you right here on the tile.

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She hadn’t cared about the money or Sheldon or Kern or the bills or anything else. In that way, Mac was dangerous. He could make her forget everything. At the kitchen table, she upended the box and scattered the bills. There were tens, twenties, and hundreds. Hundreds weren’t Sheldon’s usual style. She stacked, counted. It wasn’t his usual amount, either. By a lot. Wow, he really had been pleased last night.

Wait, wait, wait. Sheldon gave Mac the box before they went upstairs, before Mac became so forceful. Yeah, he gave the tin to Mac. Now it contained more cash than usual.

Just as there’d been far more than she’d expected in the envelope from Spryo. Goddammit. Mac had stacked the deck. He’d bullied his way into arranging her dates, dictated that he’d be spending the night, and now this. She’d told him she didn’t want his money, so he’d tricked her. Oh yeah, Mac was dangerous. He was a corporate raider stepping in for a hostile takeover of her.

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The Only Way Out

12

OUTSIDE HIS OFFICE BUILDING, DANI WAS DRESSED TO KILL AND leaning against his car.

“Why didn’t you come in?” Mac asked as he approached.

“I was enjoying the sun, and I knew you’d be out eventually.”

It was a little after five, and he’d had work that would carry him at least until six. “I saw you through the window.” He had no idea how long she’d been in the parking lot. Or why. The roiling in his gut told him it wasn’t good.

“I have a date tonight,” she said without smiling. Hence the mouthwatering sweater dress that molded to her breasts, clung to every curve, and made his heart race. “Isabel didn’t call me.”

“I told her not to.”

“Why?” He knew why. Because he’d told Dani, in no uncertain terms, that he intended to make her his. No matter how she felt about it. It took her less than a day to balk, and they hadn’t even fought about it yet. She surprised him by removing an envelope from her purse. “This is why.”

He took it, opened it, found the hundred-dollar bills. Yeah, he clearly remembered thinking he was spoiling for a fight. Now he’d gotten it. “Busted,”

was all he said.

“You broke the terms of the deal. So now the deal is off.”

A couple of girls left the building, laughter, chatter. It died the moment they saw him. “Why don’t we discuss this inside?” he said, taking Dani’s arm. “Or elsewhere.”

She pulled away. “No,” she said, her gaze following the girls. “That’s exactly why I stayed out here. So you couldn’t cause a scene.”

He smiled, feeling anything but happy, but the way she’d reversed roles on him was amusing. “I don’t intend to make a scene. But this”—he waved the envelope—“doesn’t change a thing. I still have that promise I made to Kern.”

“Kern’s dead,” she said far too harshly, her nostrils flaring. Then she stopped, took a breath.

He remembered his brother’s things all over the bathroom. “I don’t want to replace Kern. I just want to take care of you.”

She rolled her lips between her teeth a moment. “I know you mean well. But 79

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I can’t let you do this.”

He opened his mouth. She put a hand up, almost touching his lips. The heat of her fingers arced across the brief space.

“Let me finish,” she said.

The lobby doors opened again, more voices, the click of high heels, a car door, then an engine. Moments ticked by. He didn’t want her to finish. He knew what she’d say, and he damn well didn’t want to hear it. But he chose to let her say her piece. “Go on.”

“I loved Kern very much. But”—a deep breath—“I should never have let him talk me into quitting my job.” She held his gaze. “Yes, you thought that was stupid, too, and it was, but he wanted it, and I did it. Running the business together wasn’t working even before he got sick. He made all the decisions, and he didn’t want my advice, and instead of fighting about it, I let him do what he wanted. Everything snowballed on us. Then he got sick, and the bills”—she threw up her hands—“so we went for the quick cash instead of having me return to work. We weren’t sure he’d be covered by whatever medical plan I got anyway, because of the preexisting condition.”

His breath chafed in his lungs, struck again by how little Kern had confided in him.

“I let him make the decisions. So I’m not saying I have anyone else to blame.” She held his gaze for a long moment. “But I’m not doing it all over again. I will solve my own problem my way. I will not let you help me. Because if I do, I stand to let you take over like I did with Kern.”

“I’m not my brother. I wouldn’t allow you to be overwhelmed with bills you couldn’t pay and things you couldn’t control.” He’d make mistakes, too, sure, but he wouldn’t let her get flushed down the toilet by a mountain of debt. He was prudent.

“You’re not getting it. This isn’t about what you would or wouldn’t allow.” She put her hand to her chest. “I am not going to let myself be dependent. I’m going to pay off my bills, and when that’s done I’m going to find a real job, and start my life over. Rebuild. You have to let me do that.” Her eyes were intent, her features earnest. She truly believed he would stand in her way. Perhaps he would. He’d pushed and shoved his way in. It had been about him fulfilling his promise to Kern, not about what Dani needed. He couldn’t deny a thing she’d said, and he felt his heart cracking in two. 80

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“One more thing,” she said softly. “I never thanked you for all you did to help me take care of Kern.” Her eyes misted, lips trembling. “I couldn’t have coped without you. I would have fallen apart.”

He’d never met a stronger woman. “No, you wouldn’t.”

She shook her head abruptly. “You don’t know how close I was. But you saved me. Now let me do the rest myself, Mac, please.”

If she’d gotten angry, yelled at him, fought him, dictated to him, he would have ridden right over her because he knew what was best for her. He was best for her.

But he couldn’t force her to see things his way. He couldn’t fight this. He couldn’t override her desire to take care of herself. He trailed a finger down her cheek for the last time. “Call me if you need me.”

As she climbed into her car, he knew she wouldn’t call. A piece of him died thinking of her touching other men, taking them in her mouth the way she had him. He wasn’t sure he could survive this. His brother hadn’t. He withdrew Kern’s cell phone from his suit pocket and punched a speed dial. Isabel answered. He didn’t give her a chance to speak. “You damn well better make sure she’s safe. Because she won’t let me do it.”

“All my courtesans are safe, Mac.” He heard her breathe, knew she wasn’t gone, then she murmured, “She’ll be back, I promise.”

He no longer believed in promises. Some shouldn’t even be made in the first place.

MAC HADN’T CALLED HER IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS. ALL SORTS OF

adjectives describing how much she missed him flitted through Dani’s mind. None of them expressed the depth of her emotion. She’d had six dates and made inroads into the medical bills.

She’d faked every orgasm. At least when she had to. Some men didn’t really care.

Sex without Mac was . . . rote.

The mail had arrived with all the monthly bills. October rain arrived as well. She lit a fire to keep out the damp and curled up on the couch to open each envelope. With the start of the cold season, the heating costs would rise. Her life was about money these days. She opened the phone bill, and there was Kern’s 81

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cell number. She’d forgotten about it, especially since Mac had the phone itself. When Kern had become too ill to go out with her, she’d used the cell phone to check in with him. Until she’d stopped accepting dates. And then . . . well . . . she hadn’t cut it off because . . . she couldn’t. Now he was gone.

Dani held the bill to her chest as if it were a pair of his favorite pajamas. Which, incidentally, were still in the dresser, along with his clothes in the closet, his home office, and his computer. His toothbrush in the bathroom. She didn’t notice it because it was there. She’d notice more when it was gone. Someday she would have to clean out.