Paradise Hops (15 page)

The look he shot her was full of ambiguity. “Sure thing sweetness.”

Noting his distinct lack of explanation or apology for offering to throw away all he’d done at her family’s brewery, Lori shoved down the urge to berate him and just let him hold her. “Thai,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” he muttered. “Sorry, distracted,” he brushed her hair aside and nibbled at her neck. She giggled, ran her hand down his chest, marveling once again at the amazing beauty of the tattoo along his shoulder.

“Feed me first. Then this.” She gripped his ass. “Deal?”

“Deal.” He slid away from her and grabbed his phone. Leaving her with her thoughts which lurched from emotion to emotion, man to man, in a way that made her positively dizzy. She observed the supple play of his back muscles and the way the deep greens of the body art seemed to undulate in the light. She glanced at her phone more than half expecting to see Garrett’s name, checking up on her. Nothing. Lori frowned at it.
Well shit woman. You are fucking another guy. What do you think he’s gonna do, bring you a fresh change of clothes and a toothbrush? Get a grip.

She walked into the other room, anger warring with the rising need for Eli’s body, as Garrett’s dark green eyes pierced her consciousness yet again.

Chapter Thirteen

Lori struggled against something pressed down on her throat. She panicked, kicked out only to be rewarded by another sickening punch to her stomach, then to her ribs, making her retch and roll onto her side. She barely had air to breathe, much less cry out or scream — all the things you were supposed to do.

 “Bitch.” An ugly half-forgotten voice growled. Hands flipped her over, yanked her hips up. “I’ll show you who’s in charge.” Her face scraped the carpet, bringing fresh agony to her broken nose. She turned her head, trying to gulp through her mouth, just trying to stay alive at this point. No longer even aware or caring what the guy did to her as long as he didn’t kill her. Bright and brittle pain ripped through her starting low where she thought she’d be numb to it by now, after all his efforts with fists, and whatever else he’d used. But she found the breath to scream, loud, high and piercing as her whole being was ripped in two, over and over again.

“Lori!” A low voice kept calling her. She scrambled around, tried to get away from the pain, to hide from it like a wounded animal, but it kept coming, getting worse. She smelled blood, and her panic ramped up even higher.

“No!” She screeched, her voice hoarse with terror. “Please, stop, please! You’re hurting me.”

“Lori!” The voice again, but she struggled against it, kicked out, flailed her arms, in a half-waking state, the strange room closing in on her. Arms held her tight, kept her still. Sobs tore at her throat. She had to get away. He was going to hurt her. A voice crooned. “Please, honey, it’s me. It’s Eli. It’s okay. Everything is fine.”

The sudden shift into German made her shudder, forced a calm veil over her rattled brain. He kept talking, whispering, using soft words of comfort in a language that once held happy memories. “My darling. Quiet now. All is well. All is good.” He rocked her, and she sensed something cold and wet against her leg. Heard the canine whine of concern as Hopster snuffled around in his worried doggie way.

Eli shifted, then held her closer. Her body calmed as she realized she had likely called out for Garrett just a few moments before. But she was safe. “He hurt me. Bad.” She sniffled, remembering Garrett’s visceral reaction to her story. Eli kept stroking her hair.

He put his lips to her temple. “I know. I heard.”

“But, you never asked,” She hiccupped, tasted the garlicky meal they’d shared earlier.

“Not my business. Unless you want to talk about it that is.” She heard his voice tighten, but suddenly it was the last thing on the planet she wanted.

“No. I don’t.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just hold me, please.”

“Ah my darling,” he slipped back into the comforting soft German. “I will hold you forever, if you will let me.” She drifted off, dreamless this time, not moving until they woke still tangled together in a mass of arms, legs, sheets, and dog. Lori smiled, kissed Eli’s lips, making him stir, then roll over.

 She sat, rubbing her face and coming to terms with a simple fact: she had to face the real world again—today. She plucked her phone from the pile of electronics and books on the side table and pulled on one of Eli’s discarded shirts from a nearby chair. She set the phone down stalling while making coffee, fiddling with Eli’s iPod dock, finding Bob Dylan and letting
Tangled Up in Blue
make her smile.
Tangled up indeed. Jesus.
She gulped some water and grabbed the phone once more hitting the speed dial before she even knew why she did it.

“Lori?” Garrett’s low voice made her shut her eyes against a sudden rush of guilt, of a scary bone-deep need to see him. “That you?”

“Yes.” Her voice betrayed her, shaking and brittle.

“You okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Well, is there anything I can do? I mean, you know….”

“No, Garrett. You can’t fix this.”

“I’m not trying to fix anything, dammit.” She shut her eyes again in the face of his obvious, well-earned anger. “Jesus. Why did you call me anyway? Get bored at Eli’s house?”

She frowned and gripped the railing of the back porch, heard movement from inside. “Because, I…I thought I should.”

“Spare me, Lori. Stay with him if he’s what you want, but do not drag me into it. If you are gonna make that choice, just make it. Don’t be wishy-washy. It’s not like you. I have to go.” She stared at the now silent phone in her hand, angry, frustrated and knowing he was right.

She needed to hear his voice why exactly? To justify her own feelings about another man? Christ. She palmed the device and turned, coming face to face with the tall, compelling guy who on many levels was perfect for her. But part of her screamed in agony still at passing up the opportunity to marry other man—the one she knew she loved.

“I have to go.” She brushed past him. “Really, this time.” He didn’t stop her, didn’t touch her, just watched, patting the dog who eyed her with a similar non-committal look in his eyes.

Eli ground his teeth, but kept his face passive, watching her scurry around to get dressed. “Here,” he tossed her a clean shirt to drape around the skirt and blouse she’d shown up in, in the locker room, what felt like years ago. He flopped into a chair, waved a hand so the dog would leave him alone and tried like hell not to beg her to stay. Tension rose in his chest. He sensed his skin heating up and his leg twitching. Suppressing the urge to yell at her, pick a fight, anything to justify the fact that she was about to walk out of his life, perhaps forever, he curled his hands into fists.

Finally, she stood in front of him, her beautiful face inscrutable, her wild curly hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Well, so, I have to catch a plane tomorrow.” No longer able to stop himself he stood, slid into her personal space. She leaned towards him just enough. He cupped her neck, brushed her lips with his. “Don’t.” She whispered. God damn but she was a bundle of contradiction. Frustrating to the point of making him want to punch through the wall. Yet, so sexy he had another hard on at the thought of…. He hated himself right then for what he was about to do to them both.

He sat back down. “Have a nice flight.”

She stared at him, but he would not meet her eyes; couldn’t or he’d be lost forever admitting things he refused to, even to himself. Anger boiled off her skin like near-visible steam. But he stayed put, grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV doing all he could to ignore her. “Go, Lori. Before you do something you’ll regret,” he ground out. “Because I can make you do it, but I don’t want to. So, go.”

He shut his eyes and pressed fingers to his newly aching head at the sound of the ancient front door slamming shut. Music flowed from the speakers. Fucking Beethoven. He groaned and heaved a tennis ball at the iPod dock, knocking it to the floor. The dog leapt up and chased it down, happy to be playing games.

Chapter Fourteen

Garrett shifted and stretched his legs out on the couch trying to ease the ache in his back.

Stop sleeping on the couch, Hunter. You have a bed. Use it.

But he couldn’t. He had actually contemplated selling the damn house and moving, after the events of the last week. Glaring at the giant piano that dominated a corner of the room, he limped to the kitchen for a pain killer. He stopped long enough to pluck a photo from the fridge, tossing it to the counter before he filled a glass with water. Sipping, he stared at Lori’s laughing face, caught forever with his by a photographer at some art and wine thing they went to up in Traverse City. He remembered the moment like it was two minutes ago.

 They had both drunk way too much and were stumbling through the crowds, making fun of the “art” under their breath. He’d pulled her into an alley, needing to touch and kiss her so badly it was like a physical pain. She’d giggled, shoved him away, sending him straight into a tent full of what looked like bird feeders made of old Michigan license plates. He’d knocked over a whole display, while Lori laughed so hard she got the hiccups. After purchasing four of the God-awful things out of guilt, he’d waltzed out and handed them to the first four people they met.

“Can I take that off on my taxes?” he asked, making her snort, and they both nearly fell over just as a roaming photographer caught them. He allowed himself another half second to look at her, then opened the drawer that held his garbage bin and dropped it in. After downing three ibuprofen he flipped open his laptop and noted Mrs. Anderson’s efficiency once more, as Lori’s overseas itinerary dropped into his inbox. Old man Brockton had been sympathetic the other night, sucking back several expensive Scotches as he commiserated with him. But after the disastrous, failed proposal Garrett hadn’t been able to choke down any food or muster much conversation and finally tossed some money at the waiter leaving Lori’s father and stepmother at the table.

After two martinis and several beers at a bar down the street from the restaurant, flirting his ever-loving ass off with a couple of women way too young for him, he escaped overt invitations to their place and took a cab home. He’d kept fisting the box in his pocket, gripping it for dear life. What a fool. What a fucking idiot he’d been. Anger and a killer hangover made the next day a blur but even after food, a nap, a shower, a run, and another nap, his head still buzzed with something that remained just under the surface.

By the time she’d shown up Monday to tell him she loved him, to beg him to forgive her, he’d worked himself into such a frenzy he’d rejected her. Not only rejected her but had been a coldhearted asshole in the process and likely shoved her straight into Eli’s arms.

He snapped the computer shut and wandered into another room. When he’d become such a fucking sap, such a wishy-washy pushover he had no idea, but this had to stop. He planned to see her off on her trip because he had something he needed to say, but that would be the end of it. He watched himself as if from the other end of a telescope, opening the garbage drawer, plucking the photo from the trash, and sticking it back on the fridge. At that moment his phone rang. Lori. He glanced at the clock. Nearly four p.m. Friday, the day before her flight. He clenched his jaw and attempted not to answer, but he lost the battle.

“Lori?” he said, trying not to sound hopeful. It didn’t work. At least not to his ears.