Nothing Between Us (22 page)

Colby stroked a few more times, milking the last of his orgasm, then let out a long breath. With economy of movement, he tucked himself back in his jeans and zipped up. His gaze tracked over Keats and the dripping mess he’d become. He nodded in his direction. “Rub it into your skin, Adam. Every drop of it.”

Keats blinked at the unexpected command. “What?”

“It wasn’t a request.”

Acting as if on autopilot, Keats moved his hand over his chest and stomach, rubbing the fluid into his skin.

“You can wash your hands but you’re not allowed to shower until the morning. You don’t think you’ll regret tonight, and I hope that’s true. But I guess we’ll see when you wake up tomorrow sticky from my come and covered in my scent.”

The thought sent a trail of goose bumps up Keats’s back.

Colby put out a hand and tugged Keats to his feet. He grabbed the waistband of Keats’s jeans, pulling him close, and gave him a quick, openmouthed kiss. “Thanks for the song, kid.”

Keats’s gaze dropped to the floor, a strange lightness filling him. He smiled to himself. “Anytime, Teach.”

Georgia had slept like the dead for what seemed like the first time in a year. Usually she woke up multiple times a night, plagued with nightmares or hearing phantom sounds in the house. But last night, she’d fallen asleep with comforting thoughts of the new turn in her life. Finally, she felt like she was finding her way through the dark cave and seeing thin shafts of light. She’d had two fantastic nights with Colby and had managed not to panic, even when she’d been tied up and fully under his control. And now her long days in her empty house would be filled with Keats’s teasing and laughter. Signs of life were leaking back into her existence.

She’d made that happen. She’d let these two men in her life and doors were opening inside her again, doors she’d long left locked and forgotten. Things were going to get better. She wasn’t broken forever. Leesha had been telling her that from the beginning, but now Georgia was finally allowing herself to believe it.

She shuffled into the kitchen in pursuit of industrial-strength caffeine, feeling a bit drunk and bleary-eyed from a night of such deep sleep. She’d set the coffeepot on a timer, and the smell alone was enough to perk her up. She needed all the help she could get because Keats had told her he’d be on a mission today to get her out and about with him. The guy wasn’t going to let her be a chicken for much longer. Especially after Keats had taken on his own fear last night and told her he was headed out to see Colby play at the bar so he could talk to him. She couldn’t wait to hear how that had turned out.

She smiled to herself and reached for an upper cabinet to pull out her favorite mug, while simultaneously opening the fridge to get the milk. But multitasking had been a bad idea. The heavy fridge door shut on her hand and when she yanked backward, she lost her grip on her mug with her other. The ceramic crashed to the floor. And in that shred of a second, all the bubbly happiness that had been coursing through her drained away, and everything inside her seemed to plummet at that chillingly familiar sound.
No, no, no . . .

She gripped the edge of the counter, trying to hold on, but her eyes squeezed shut and she sank to her knees, the rush of memories and panic overwhelming her. The familiar movie reel from hell rolled behind her eyelids.

Georgia moved through her best friend’s kitchen, straightening this and that, unable to stay still as she waited for the electric kettle to come to a boil. Once she heard the steam starting to eke out, she grabbed a canister of the new chai tea blend she’d picked up a few weeks ago at a cute shop in downtown Chicago and spooned the loose leaves into her infuser. This blend was decaf, so she hoped it wouldn’t key up her nerves like coffee had lately.

But as she poured the hot water over the leaves, she knew it was hopeful thinking to blame it on the coffee. She hadn’t had a drop of caffeine yet this morning and already that unsettled, on-edge feeling was humming through her. These days it was like she was always plugged into a faulty outlet—electricity getting pumped into her system in large, uneven doses, her adrenaline always primed for the next time Phillip popped up unexpectedly.

Up until a few days ago, she’d convinced herself it was mostly harmless. Phillip had fixated on her after their breakup, and this was his way of getting over it—even if it was a little nuts. When she’d notified the cops of his stalker-like behavior, they’d assured her that as long as she didn’t engage him or encourage the behavior, Phillip would eventually move on. And with him doing nothing particularly threatening beyond calling her too much to profess his love, sending her bouquets of flowers, and showing up in places she happened to be, the cops couldn’t really help her anyway except tell her to change her phone number and take out a restraining order if she felt threatened.

But then Antonio, the new guy she’d started casually seeing, had called her two days ago to tell her his house had been broken into while he was out of town. His bed had been slashed up along with all his clothes. And when he’d gone into his garage, he’d noticed a faint smell and fluid stains beneath his car. If he hadn’t left the car sitting closed up in the garage for a week, he probably would’ve never noticed. But thank God he had because his brake lines had been punctured.

When he’d told her the story, Georgia had gone cold all over. Failed brakes had been what the police suspected had gone wrong on her good friend Tyson’s car when he’d crashed one late night driving home from work. He’d been killed on impact, and with not much left to examine after the car fire beyond the lack of skid marks, the cops had ruled it an accident most likely due to mechanical failure or driver intoxication. But it’d never felt right to Georgia. Tyson’s BMW had been only a year old, and Georgia had never known Tyson to drink on work nights.

But Phillip, Tyson’s friend and co-worker at the time, had stepped in to comfort her after the loss, and he’d confided that Tyson had started to drink when he worked late, that his caseload had been crushing him. Georgia had felt even more bereft after that. Not only had she lost a man she cared about, she’d failed him as a friend by not seeing that he was under too much stress and needed help.

But after the incident at Antonio’s, the pieces had started shifting into a new pattern, and she’d had the bone-chilling realization that Phillip might’ve been lying the whole time. That maybe he wasn’t lovesick, but truly sick. She’d rewound back to when she was happy and casually dating Tyson. Phillip had been around a lot—a good friend to Tyson. But looking back, Georgia could now see that maybe Phillip had made himself too available, too present. He’d subtly crept his way into her life by always volunteering to run errands or do favors. He’d become a go-to guy for both of them. From the outside, he’d seemed to just be an all-around nice guy. But now she had a feeling it had all been carefully calculated.

Phillip was a brilliant man and once they’d started dating, she’d never known him to go out of his way to do favors for others. Only for her. Had he developed an unhealthy obsession with her from the very beginning? All of her instincts were now pointing in that direction. And if that was the case, had he taken it upon himself to remove the only obstacle from having her? Tyson.

Her gut clenched at the thought. If Tyson had been killed because of her . . . God, she couldn’t even think about it. Sweet, sexy Tyson. They’d only dated casually, more friends with benefits than anything else, but he’d been a good man and a stand-up guy.

Yesterday, she’d taken her suspicions to the police. The detective she’d talked to had been skeptical, but that was his job. He’d asked a lot of questions and had assured her he’d look into it. She’d also gone ahead and filed that restraining order. So now all she could do was wait and worry. She was probably overreacting and coming up with far-fetched theories, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She’d called her friend Leesha last night and had made arrangements to stay with her for a while so she wouldn’t be alone at her house if Phillip decided to show up.

But now that Leesha had left for work, Georgia couldn’t help but be unnerved by the creeping silence in the unfamiliar house. She wrapped her hands around her mug of tea and blew across the top, trying to bring her mind to a settled state. But before she could turn to head toward the living room, a hand grabbed the back of her hair, jerking her backward. The mug slipped from her grip and shattered on the floor, the spray of hot tea burning the tops of her bare feet.

A scream tried to escape, but a hand clamped over her mouth before she could make much of a sound.

“Don’t you dare,” the menacing voice uttered in her ear. “Don’t you think you’ve already caused enough trouble?”

Georgia couldn’t see who was behind her, but she’d know that voice anywhere. She screamed behind his hand again and tried to writhe out of his grip. But he was far bigger and stronger than she was.

“I’ve tried and tried to make you understand, sweetheart,” Phillip said, switching to a soothing tone. “I’ve sent you flowers and letters. I’ve given you everything you could want. I love you and am not going to give up on us. Can’t you see that? We’re meant to be together. Do you know how hurt I was when I heard about the restraining order? Why would you do that to me?”

She whimpered behind his hand.

“You know, I think you’re just working too hard. The stress is messing with your head. You’re not thinking straight. Maybe you should see someone or take a break. We could go away together.”

She stretched forward, trying to reach the kettle, but it was just out of her reach.

“Now, now, none of that,” he said, his voice soft but his grip tight. “I want to work this out. I don’t want to fight. But you’re going to have to calm down and get your head together. Then you’re going to go to the cops and tell them you were mistaken. You were just hurt that I broke up with you.”

She made a sound of strangled disbelief.

“I won’t let you embarrass me, Georgia. What if my clients found out about the order?” He pulled her tighter against his body, the smell of his designer cologne burning her nostrils. “You don’t want to make me angry, sweetheart. I’ve tolerated your behavior these last few weeks because I know all couples go through rough patches. But I’m losing my patience. Don’t make me prove how far I’m willing to go for you.”

Tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Are you going to make this right and take back what you said to the police?”

She nodded, willing to do just about anything to get him away. Right. Now.

He pressed his nose to the curve of her neck and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, that’s my smart girl. I knew we could talk this out
.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to recoil. He needed to think she was calm and in agreement if she had any shot of him letting her go.

“What time is that bitch Leesha getting back?” he asked, still nuzzling her neck. “Because now that we’re back on the same page, I want to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

His erection pushed against her backside and a wave of nausea slammed into her. She shook her head.

“Come on, I know you’ve missed me, too. That limp-dick Mexican can’t be doing much for you.”

He tilted her head to the side and pressed his mouth to her neck, his tongue touching her skin. Georgia began to shake, her gaze darting around the kitchen to see what she could use against him. The knife block was a good possibility, but she’d have to break free for a few seconds to make the two steps to reach it.

She raised her elbow, ready to jab, but a sound from the front of the house made her pause. A door clicked shut. “Georgia, you still home?”

Georgia had never been happier to hear another human being.

Phillip swore and pressed his mouth against her ear. “Say a word about this to anyone and you’ll regret it. Don’t test me, Georgia.”

With that, he released his hold on her and hustled out the back door, leaving her in a sobbing heap on the floor.

Leesha had found her there, and they’d gone straight to the police. Georgia had told the cops everything but had no hard evidence to back it up. She couldn’t prove he’d been the one who’d attacked her at Leesha’s. He had an alibi and she’d admitted she hadn’t seen the intruder’s face. They had put Phillip in jail for a few nights, but they were no match for his legal maneuvering. They didn’t have enough to hold him.

And soon after he’d gotten out, he’d made good on his threats.

Two weeks later, she’d been standing at her sister’s grave site. Suicide.

Sure, it was.

Georgia’s eyes snapped open, clothes clinging to her and her heart pounding in her throat. Sunlight streamed through her kitchen window, but the shadowed corners from her flashback were still assaulting her. She pressed her hands to the floor and took a few big gulps of air, trying to push away the memory of that day in Leesha’s kitchen. She could still feel Phillip’s hands on her, the threat and intention in his voice. That had been the day she’d gone from worried to terrified. The breaking point. Nothing had been safe or good since.

After a few moments, she lifted her hands and realized her left hand had been braced on a broken piece of the mug. She watched her bloodied hand tremble in front of her. Goddammit. She rose to her feet and grabbed a dish towel to press to her palm and paced, trying to purge all the adrenaline coursing through her, but it was no use. Her entire system felt zapped.

She reached for her cell phone, which she’d left charging on the counter. Keats was due to come over for work in half an hour, and she needed to call him off. She wasn’t in the right headspace to handle much of anything right now, much less other people. She felt strung out and . . . off. Flashbacks were rare, but she knew what that meant for the day. That overwhelming wallop of adrenaline and anxiety short-circuited her for hours. Her panic attacks would come more easily, and any little thing would set her off. She’d have to take an extra pill just to get through.

Maybe she’d gotten too cocky about her progress. Maybe she’d been kidding herself.

These were the days she didn’t just feel frustrated; she felt crazy.

She typed a text to Keats.

Change of plans. Take the day off. Not up to working today.

Then she sent another to Colby because he’d called and left a message first thing this morning about getting together for lunch.

Today’s not good. Let’s talk later.

With that taken care of, she forced herself upstairs and into the shower. Maybe she could wash off the bad memories, watch them swirl down the drain and disappear. Ha. If only.

After her shower, she bandaged the small cut on her hand and went downstairs to make some toast so that she could take her meds. She also needed to clean up the mess she’d left behind. But before the toast popped up, there was a knock at her door. She groaned, knowing all too well who it probably was.