Offside (9 page)

[i]
Lack of morals, more like
[i].

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked
silkily, though there was a hint of rasp beneath his words.

“I…” was all she managed to get out. “This…I
shouldn’t—”

“No,” he replied, a dangerous glint in his
eyes. “You shouldn’t have started this, but I sure as hell don’t
have a problem finishing it.”

With one hand on her ass, his other slid up
to the base of her neck and she closed her eyes as his warm breath
rolled over her cheek. Goosebumps peppered her skin and she
shuddered uncontrollably.

Idiot.

Dumb. Idiot.

He hovered over her mouth for what seemed
like, [i]
ever
[i]; then he leaned down and slid his mouth
over hers.

Logan now controlled the kiss, and each lazy
draw on her tongue made her head spin. Slowly, he delved deeper,
his taste and feel making her weak. He held her in place so she
couldn’t move, but really, did she want to? She felt his erection
and all sorts of naughty thoughts entered her mind. She saw naked
bodies. Tattoos and straining muscles. Skin on skin.

When his mouth left hers to trail a line of
fire down the side of her neck she couldn’t hide the groan that
fell from her lips. She was pliant in his arms and wanted nothing
more than to let the feelings coursing through her continue. If she
could bottle these sensations, she could sell them and make a
fortune.

Logan was like a drug. An addictive, wholly
male, sexy-as-hell drug, and as she spread her legs slightly as she
arched her back so that his mouth had access to the valley between
her breasts, she surrendered to the insatiable need and desire that
ran through her. It was one that had burned for years.

“Christ, we shouldn’t be doing this,” he
murmured against her skin, his tongue tracing a path that would
lead directly to her nipple. All he had to do was…

[i]
Shit
[i].

He tugged her shirt down.

And she let him.

He pushed her bra aside.

And she let him do that too.

Liquid fire pulsed between her legs and she
rolled her hips against him, hissing…maybe crying? Moaning for
sure.

Cool morning air slid across her now bared
breast and when his tongue teased and licked her there, her legs
gave out. But that big hand was still on her butt and he held her
steady, his fingers digging in, massaging…caressing.

They were both breathing heavy, leaning
against the truck and for one crazy second Billie thought that
maybe they could hop in the back and he could assuage the ache
between her legs in the only way she knew would help.

His tongue flickered over her nipple again
and when he closed his mouth overtop of it, when he suckled and
groaned into her flesh…[i]
she let him
[i]. Out here, in the
driveway.

When he blew a hot breath on her now wet
flesh, she groaned so loudly that it startled her. Chest heaving,
she dug her hands into his hair and forced his head back.

“We can’t,” she could barely get the words
out.

Logan’s eyes were shuttered and for a moment
he stared down at her in silence. Carefully, his fingers flickered
over her nipple—a gentle swipe and tease—and he pulled her bra back
into place so that her T-shirt fell back.

His strong jaw was shadowed with a day’s
worth of stubble and she hated that it made him sexier than ever.
His hair, mussed from her fingers, had that ‘I just rolled out of
bed look’ and his dark eyes glistened with something that looked
like hunger.

“I get it,” he said slowly.

“What?” she answered breathlessly. Billie was
still stuck to Logan, every inch of his hard body pressed into hers
but she didn’t have the strength to pull away.

A smile curved that sexy mouth of his and
something inside her stilled. Oh, the power this man had. What
would it be like to wake up to that smile every single morning?

Okay, where did [i]
that
[i] thought
come from?

Her cheeks heated even more, if that was
possible, and she bit her lip as confusion and anxiety rolled
around inside her. She ached everywhere, all the nooks and crannies
that made up her body were empty and hollow. Unsatisfied.

His eyes rolled over her face in a slow,
sensual, way that felt like a caress.

“You’re definitely not a kid.”

The wind picked up, lifting long strands of
her hair into the air. She stared up at Logan for several long
moments, nothing but silence between them, and then she pushed
against his chest, wanting some space.

“Logan, I…” she licked her dry lips and tried
to form a coherent sentence. “I don’t know why I just did
that.”

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry you did.”

Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. It
was enough to singe every single hair on her body.

He straightened and ran his hands through his
hair, which only managed to mess it up even more. “But I don’t play
games, Billie.”

She swallowed thickly not sure where this was
headed.

“Were you with Shane last night?” he asked,
his gaze direct, all traces of desire gone.

For a moment she was confused, but when his
meaning took hold, she opened her mouth to retort angrily. She’d
give Logan Forest a piece of her mind. Did he really think she’d
sleep with Shane Gallagher and then play tongue tag with him the
next morning? That was a Betty move, not hers.

Billie opened her mouth to retort, but a
voice slid between them. A weak, hoarse, and oh-so-familiar
voice.

“Chantal?”

A confused and angry voice.

“Move away from my wife or I’ll kill
you.”

Billie’s eye widened and she glanced over her
shoulder just as a vehicle pulled in behind Logan’s truck. Gerald
Dooley’s. Even through the glare of sunlight on the windshield, she
saw Bobbi’s thunderous face. Great. Could this get any worse?

She stepped out of Logan’s arms and
turned…just as her father stumbled down the front steps, a shotgun
aimed at Logan and aa crazed look in his eyes.

Just as her grandfather rushed out onto the
porch, feet encased in wooly slippers—the ones with the big beaver
heads that wobbled when he walked. His pale belly jiggled,
prominently displayed over his green and red Christmas boxers—the
Grinch smiling viciously at them all.

They were two sizes too big and currently
hanging so low she was afraid they would drop down to his
knees.

She blinked.

Exhaled.

They slid.

As the boxers slowly slipped down Herschel’s
hips Billie closed her eyes. If her life was a reality show, this
would be the big finale. The money shot, so to speak.

You really could not make this shit up.

For a moment no one spoke. Not one word was
uttered as Herschel yanked his boxers back up to where they
belonged and scratched his head. He pulled his ball cap in place
and settled his hands on his hips as he slowly perused the
situation.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he muttered and
took a step down, but paused when his son, Trent Barker, shot him a
warning look.

Billie took a step forward, aware that Bobbi
and Gerald had exited his truck. She held her hands out in front of
her, cleared her throat and spoke cautiously.

“Dad, it’s me. Billie.”

Her father’s eyes moved from Logan and he
frowned, obviously confused and more than a little agitated. Billie
held her hands out. “Dad?” She wasn’t afraid of the rifle. She knew
the chamber was empty, but Logan sure as hell didn’t and she heard
him swear softly as he tried to move in front of her.

Billie sidestepped him, Bobbi now at her
side. “It’s us, Dad,” her sister said softly. “Why don’t you go
back inside? It’s cold out here.”

Herschel was now abreast of his son, and the
pain in her grandfather’s eyes nearly did Billie in. It hurt to see
her father like this, but what did it feel like for Herschel? No
parent should have to watch their offspring suffer and deteriorate.
Not like this.

Trent Barker squeezed his eyes shut and ran a
trembling hand over his temple. His whole body shuddered. He seemed
so frail, so tired, and just…old.

Eventually her father lowered his rifle.
“Billie, when did you get home?”

Relief washed through her and she offered a
small smile. She’d been home for nearly two weeks and this was the
first time her father had called her by name.

“I got home…a while ago.”

Her father’s brows furled. “Is it off
season?” He glanced at the trees, saw the fall foliage. “Shouldn’t
you be at college? What’s going on?” His voice rose as did his
agitation.

Billie opened her mouth but Bobbi spoke
before she had the chance. “Billie’s just home for a quick visit,
Dad. No worries.”

Their father stared at both the girls and
then he glanced at Logan. “Who’s he?” he asked gruffly, his
expression bordering on confused, though his pride kept his chin
up. It broke her heart.

Her grandfather cleared his throat, but
Billie saw the tears that glistened in his eyes and her own welled
up.

[i]
Daddy
…[i]

An image of her father bent over, tying her
skates rolled through her mind...

She remembered the quiet encouragement in his
eyes. The way they crinkled when he smiled. The scent of coffee.
Mint toothpicks. The warm hand on her back before every game.

She exhaled slowly and it was a few seconds
until she could speak. “This is my…friend, Logan.” She paused. “You
remember Logan Forest don’t you? His family owns the veterinary
clinic in town.”

Trent’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips.
“You’re Max’s son?”

“Yes, sir.” Logan answered quietly.

“Dad,” Bobbi moved forward, Gerald at her
side. “Why don’t you go inside with Gramps?”

Herschel was beside his son and gently tugged
the rifle from Trent’s hands. There was no resistance. There was
nothing really. It was as if the fire inside Trent Barker had
burned bright for only a moment and then it was gone.

The lump in Billie’s throat was huge as she
watched her grandfather slip her dad’s hand into his. The two men
turned and shuffled up the porch steps—one an older version of the
other, both dejected. They disappeared inside the house as the
October sun shone brightly in their wake.

“Unbelievable.” Bobbi’s voice was sharp with
insinuation. Condemnation.

Billie tensed, not really up for a battle
just now. She’d never felt this low. Not even when she’d woken up
in hospital after her concussion had it been this awful. She felt
like she was in the middle of a storm with no safe haven…as if she
didn’t fit anywhere.

“Bobbi, I can’t do this right now.”

“Of course you can’t, but do I care? Billie,
how could you?”

Her sister moved until she stood inches from
Billie’s face. For once Bobbi didn’t look put together. Her hair
was clipped haphazardly on top of her head, with day old makeup
smeared beneath her eyes—eyes that were bloodshot. Her yellow track
suit was top of the line, the label, [i]
Lulu Lemon
[i]—an
import from Canada—but she’d pulled on slippers instead of running
shoes. One of her earrings was missing, and was that dried
toothpaste in the corner of her mouth?

If Billie wasn’t feeling so crappy she’d have
been all over that. As it was, there was no fight in her and it
took everything inside Billie to [i]
not
[i] break down. She
couldn’t do that. Not in front of her sister. Not in front of
Gerald Dooley.

And especially not in front of Logan.

He was still behind her. She couldn’t see
him, but she sure as hell felt him.

“Bobbi, maybe this isn’t a good time,” Gerald
said carefully.

Bobbi ignored him and though Billie welcomed
his effort, she knew Gerald wasn’t man enough for her sister. If
Billie wasn’t so down she’d appreciate the fire that burned inside
Bobbi, but she didn’t want to deal with her sister’s anger. Not
now.

Maybe not ever.

“I left you in charge for one night.” Bobbi
held up her hand, index finger pointed at Billie. “[i]
One
night
[i] and I come home to this?”

“Bobbi, I—”

“Don’t Bobbi, me.” Her sister was livid. “You
had one thing to do. [i]
One thing
![i] Make sure Dad was all
right.” She whirled around and nodded toward Logan. “Instead you
don’t even come home? You stay out all night with him? Are you
kidding me?”

Her sister’s tone touched something inside
Billie and a spark of indignation erupted. Indignation, hurt, and a
whole lot of other stuff she’d been bottling up for days. Bobbi had
no idea what had transpired over the last twelve hours. Or over the
last few months. None at all.

In fact, neither one of her sisters had even
asked about the concussion and subsequent end to her career. When
had their family become so fractured?

“Are you really gonna go there with me?”
Billie fisted her hands.

“Girls—” Gerald began.

“Shut-up!” They both shouted.

Billie took a step toward Bobbi and something
in her eyes must have warned her sister that Billie was a little
unstable because she moved back. All the crap Billie had dealt with
over the last week—the snide comments and innuendoes. The lack of
focus. The anxiety over not knowing where her life was going. The
fear she had for her father and how ill prepared she felt about his
deteriorating condition.

The kiss she’d just shared with the one man
she’d wanted to avoid.

All of it rushed through Billie and she
trembled from its enormity. The storm that swirled around her was
suddenly raging and there was no way she could keep it at bay. It
was too big.

“Don’t you dare get all high and mighty with
me, [i]
Bobbi-Jo
[i].” She thrust her chin out as Bobbi’s eyes
flashed. Her sister hated her full name and Billie knew it.