Читать книгу The Secret Sister - Brenda Novak - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMAISEY TRIED CALLING Keith as soon as she got back to the house. He didn’t answer, so she left another voice mail and sent another text.
Seriously? You won’t answer my calls? Are you okay? I’m not mad. I swear it. I just want to know that you’re safe.
She stared at her phone for several seconds. Then she called Coldiron House.
Clarissa answered again.
“Is Keith there?”
This time she didn’t need to identify herself. Clarissa recognized her voice. “No, Miss Lazarow. We haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
“Really, you can call me Maisey,” she said.
“Yes, Miss... Maisey.”
“There you go. No formality required when dealing with me.” She left all that to her mother, who loved her lofty station in life. “Keith hasn’t called?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe Mrs. Lazarow has heard from him. Would you like to speak to her?”
Maisey considered that, but decided against it. If Keith and Josephine had argued, Josephine would be the last person to know where he was. And Maisey didn’t want to hear their mother blame this latest setback on her. Josephine would undoubtedly claim it happened because she’d walked out on their tea yesterday and “upset” everyone. “No, thanks,” she said, and disconnected.
After that, she wandered from empty room to empty room, trying to figure out if she’d be smarter to grab her suitcase and ask Rafe to drive her to the ferry so she could return to New York. Maybe yesterday when Keith had suggested she go back, he’d done it because he knew he wouldn’t be capable of maintaining the relationship she expected them to have...
In light of his recent actions, that made sense. But it was too late to bail. She’d seen it that way on the ferry, and she saw it that way now. Coming to Fairham had been a last-ditch effort to save herself as well as Keith.
Besides, it wasn’t possible—financially or emotionally—to undo everything she’d done to get here. And there were so many memories in Manhattan, memories she’d rather forget. She didn’t have work to go back to, anyway, not if she couldn’t write or illustrate. Even if she was capable of creating more children’s books, she could do that here, as her mother had pointed out. There was nothing to bring her back to New York. The life she’d lived there felt as if it had burned to the ground. Only ashes remained.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to stop her frenzied pacing and thought of her father. His kindness. His smile. His comfort. She liked it on this side of Fairham, where she felt close to him. She should stay here.
But what about her mother and brother? Could she handle living so close to them? They were both difficult, for different reasons. Jack used to say her brother was worse than her mother. At least her mother was strong, determined, driven. In Maisey’s mind, though, “strong, determined and driven” couldn’t make up for being narcissistic and insufferable.
That was what she normally thought, anyway. Right now “weak” and “unable to cope” frustrated and disappointed her just as much.
Opening her eyes, she kicked her suitcase. She must’ve been remembering Keith in a far more favorable light when she’d raced back to Fairham.
But that didn’t mean she could bear to see him hurt...
With a sigh, she checked her phone again. Still nothing. Which meant she couldn’t save her brother if he was in trouble again; she had no way to track him down. With the friends he found online, playing interactive video games and gambling, he could be anywhere. No one had guessed he’d wind up in New Orleans the last time. She could only pray he wouldn’t do anything like what he’d tried there...
She could also get herself situated, so she wouldn’t end up sleeping on the beach again. Last night, after she’d realized she was stranded, she’d gone over to Unit 9 to see what, exactly, was there and found only large furniture, all of it stacked up and too heavy to move alone. That included the mattresses propped up on their sides, squeezed in behind all the furniture.
But she had more time, energy and sunlight today. She could pick out exactly what she wanted and then see if Rafe would help her move it, even though she’d told him she didn’t need his assistance.
She planned to use the internet on her cell phone to look up the number for Smitty’s in Keys Crossing. The store sold groceries, fishing paraphernalia and sundries, and the goods they carried were eclectic enough that she’d probably find bedding, towels and washcloths. Maybe she could order what she needed and pay one of Smitty’s baggers to deliver it—if they still had baggers and those baggers had vehicles. Not everyone on the island drove cars. Most preferred scooters.
One way or the other, there were solutions. She just had to be determined and creative.
But...first things first. After sleeping on the beach, she desperately wanted a shower.
She was standing under the spray, reveling in the simple luxury of hot water, when she heard someone banging on the front door. Hoping it was her brother, she rinsed the soap from her hair and jumped out.
She had to use one of her skirts to dry off. She didn’t have any towels, which gave her a new appreciation for terry cloth. Her skin was still damp, making it a challenge to pull on a pair of cutoffs and the tank top she normally reserved for yoga class. But if Keith had come back, she didn’t want to miss him.
“Let it be him,” she mumbled, and hurried to the door.
It wasn’t Keith; it was Rafe. He kept turning up—but then that was to be expected. They were living next door to each other and were currently the only occupants of Smuggler’s Cove. There was bound to be some interaction. Besides, she couldn’t consider his appearance a bad thing. Since she’d have to humble herself and ask for a hand with the furniture, this would give her the perfect opportunity. She just wished he’d come fifteen or twenty minutes later. She’d scrambled out of the shower so fast she hadn’t put on a bra or combed her hair, which was sopping wet.
Cracking open the door, she stood in the gap. “Hello.”
He was freshly showered, too—but further along in the process. Although his hair was still wet, it was combed, he was fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a T-shirt and work boots and, once again, he smelled as good as he looked.
“You never returned my key last night,” he said.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m sorry!” Because she’d been afraid he’d catch her on his porch and come out, she’d decided to wait until he was more likely to be asleep. She hadn’t wanted to talk to him for fear he’d ask how the move went, didn’t want him to know that Keith had left her in such an impossible situation. Then she’d become so absorbed in her own misery she’d forgotten. And, as luck would have it, he’d caught her sleeping on the beach, anyway.
“Here, I’ll get it.” She opened the door wider and started to turn, then hesitated. If she was planning to ask for his help, she had nothing to gain by putting it off. “Actually, if you’re on your way there now, would you mind if I tagged along?”
He scowled as he looked past her, into the house. “You don’t have any furniture yet?”
“No, not yet.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “Don’t tell me you’re planning to get it by yourself...” She could hear the skepticism in his voice.
“Maybe, if you have the time, you and I could lift the heavier stuff into your truck?”
A bemused expression appeared on his face. “Didn’t I offer to do that yesterday?”
“Yes. And it was very nice of you.”
“Even though my offer was rejected, along with my invitation to dinner.”
She ignored the dinner part. “Something came up for Keith that...unexpectedly took him away.”
He scratched his head. “Must’ve been pretty important, since he left you stranded.”
“Oh, it was. He wouldn’t have abandoned me unless...unless he had to. Anyway, I appreciate you helping me out. I’ll try not to hold you up.”
“No problem.”
“Great.” She wished she had time to dry her hair, but she hated to make him wait. He had to be on his way to work, or he wouldn’t have needed the key she’d forgotten to return. “I’ll just grab my shoes.”
He took hold of her wrist and, when she frowned up at him, lowered his gaze to her chest. “Unless you want me to drive into a tree or something, you might want to change your shirt, too.”
She looked down at where her hair had soaked her tank and realized why he’d made that suggestion. “Oh. Of course.”
He’d let go almost as soon as he touched her, but he didn’t glance away, and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.
A sexy smile curved his lips as Maisey quickly folded her arms to cover herself. Apparently he enjoyed throwing her off balance. “I can’t believe you’d point that out and embarrass us both,” she said.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’m not sure embarrassed would be the right word for me.”
She was more flattered than offended, and that took Maisey by surprise. So did the warmth pouring through her. She hadn’t been aroused since before Ellie died. Not that she was willing to admit to being aroused. Surely it couldn’t happen that fast or that easily with someone she barely knew, not after she’d struggled for months to fulfill her husband’s sexual needs without feeling so much as a twinge of desire. “I mean...most men would simply pretend they didn’t notice.”
“Have you ever tested that theory?” he asked dryly. “Because I’m guessing those would be men who’ve made love to a woman far more recently than I have.”
She hadn’t managed to shame him, which told her she should drop the subject and go change. But she couldn’t resist a comeback. “What’s it been—a whole week?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He reached down and picked up a box of cereal, what was left of a gallon of milk, a bowl and spoon he must’ve set on her porch before knocking. “Anyway, hate me for having a sex drive if you want, but I brought you breakfast.”
She was tempted to refuse the food and figure out some other way to get her furniture. She didn’t think it would be wise to continue to associate with Rafe. As nice as he’d been—to carry her luggage, offer to help her move, bring her food—there was something about him she found threatening. And it wasn’t hard to guess why. After what had happened before, when they were younger, they were too sexually aware of each other. There was no forgetting the past, regardless of any pact they might have agreed to along those lines—perhaps because that incident had been so unsatisfying. Rafe hadn’t been interested enough to make it anything more.
But the last thing she needed was to spoil her fresh start by sleeping with her neighbor, especially if it was only to prove she could finally capture his full attention—or that she was attractive and desirable and her husband should never have thrown her over for someone else.
“Really? You have to think about whether you’ll accept my food?” He shook the jug to cause the milk to slosh. “That says something, doesn’t it? Since you’re obviously not in the best of circumstances.”
“No, I want it.” She couldn’t refuse. She was too hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the oatmeal she’d cooked early yesterday morning before leaving for the airport, and that cup of tea at Coldiron House. She’d been too tense to choke down a sandwich. “I should be more leery of you, though,” she added to show that her acceptance was a grudging one.
“Trust me, you’re leery enough,” he said.
“Merely trying to learn from my past mistakes.”
He tucked the cereal box under his arm, as if he might not give it to her, after all. “Did I hear you correctly? You’re insulting your only source of help? Is that what happened yesterday with Keith?”
“You’re tough. You can take it.” She felt a smile tug at her lips as she jerked her head to invite him in. “Any chance you could carry that into the kitchen while I change?”
After putting on a bra and a dry shirt and combing her hair, she found him leaning against the wall. “It’d be nice if there were somewhere to sit in here,” he said.
She handed him the key she’d retrieved when she changed. “Yes, it would.”
“So...why isn’t there? What could be more important to your brother than making sure you have a bed to sleep in and the other stuff you need?”
She released an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“Which is the short way of telling me you’re not going to explain.”
“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” she said as she opened the Frosted Flakes and poured them into her bowl.
He lowered his voice. “I get that you’re a proud person. I’m even beginning to think you might be the kind of proud that drives everyone nuts for no good reason. But...”
“Excuse me?” A slight quirk to his mouth told her he was teasing, but no one wanted to be thought of as being “the kind of proud” that drove everyone nuts. That made her sound like her mother. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you’re a Lazarow,” he said.
She hesitated before adding milk to her bowl. “What does that mean?”
“Who else would sleep out on the beach rather than go to a neighbor for help? If you weren’t so determined to keep up appearances, you could’ve slept on my couch. Saved yourself a lot of needless misery. We are old friends—sort of.”
“One sexual encounter—a long time ago—doesn’t make us friends,” she pointed out. “And you should be thankful I didn’t come knocking at your door. You don’t want a needy neighbor.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Because it looks like I’ve got one whether I want it or not.” He opened several of the cupboards and left them that way. “You have no furniture, no blankets, no food. What’s going on? I can see why you might not want to come to me. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t stay at the house where you were raised. Where you could eat to your heart’s content. You could’ve slept in a nice, warm, expensive bed, Princess Lazarow, instead of huddling alone, out on the beach, where anything could’ve happened to you.”
There was so much of what he’d said that she wanted to address—the comment about her mother and brother and the “princess” reference that suggested she considered herself too good for regular people (like him, no doubt). But all of it was painful and convoluted and something she’d been trained not to discuss with outsiders. She couldn’t imagine he’d want to hear the dirty details, anyway. In many respects, she’d been blessed with more than most people. The rest of the islanders certainly viewed her that way. Complaining would only make her look ungrateful and spoiled. So she skipped over everything except the least personal part of what he’d said. “Stop being so dramatic. Except for a few mosquito bites, nothing bad happened while I was on the beach.”
“It could have. Fairham doesn’t have a lot of crime. But shit happens everywhere. No point in creating the perfect opportunity.”
Her spoon clinked against the bowl as she took her first bite. “Where’s your daughter?” she asked instead of continuing to argue with him.
“We’re not talking about Laney right now,” he replied.
“I’m curious.”
“Where do you think she is? I work. Someone has to watch her.”
She brought another spoonful of Frosted Flakes to her mouth. She would never have chosen a prepared cereal with so much sugar—she wouldn’t have chosen a prepared cereal at all—but she had to admit it tasted better than the usual healthier choices. There was something cathartic about drowning her sorrows in what she used to eat with her father on Saturday mornings—while Josephine slept in and wasn’t there to voice her disapproval. “You have a sitter at the house or...”
“I take her to my mom on weekdays, when my mom’s arthritis doesn’t make it too hard for her.”
“Where’s her mother? She can’t help?”
“No.”
He didn’t answer her question about Laney’s mother, didn’t offer anything else. Figuring that might be a sensitive subject and feeling she had no business sticking her nose in his private business, she let it go. “So your mother babysits for you.”
“Yes. And I pay her. That way we both benefit.”
“She’s never remarried?”
“No, after my father died, she might’ve dated here and there, but not for some years, at least not to my knowledge.”
“I don’t think I ever learned what happened to your father.”
“He was a dietician and personal trainer. He’d just quit his job to open his own gym when he was robbed and stabbed only a few feet from the warehouse space he’d rented for his new business. That’s why my mother came here. She wanted to get away from the crime, out of the big city.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Four.”
They’d both lost their fathers young. “That’s sad.”
He lifted his shoulders as if to say it was in the past. “She really should’ve remarried.”
“She still lives on the island, then?”
“Hasn’t moved since she brought me and my brother here.”
Maisey didn’t remember either of the Romero boys from elementary school or Fairham High. They’d both graduated before she entered ninth grade. But she’d heard of them. They’d been popular in high school, especially with the girls. Then there was the trouble they caused—partying, ditching school, getting in minor scrapes with the law. Rafe’s reputation was part of the reason she’d been so interested when she finally met him. That he was sinfully good-looking didn’t hurt, either. “How long has your mother had arthritis?”
He gave her a look that suggested he was finished answering her questions. “How is this turning into a conversation about me? You’re the one who slept out on the beach.”
Maisey had no intention of discussing how she’d spent the night. “I’m curious, like I said.”
“About my mother?”
“More about your daughter. I saw her this morning, and I still can’t imagine you as a father.”
He frowned. “Why would I be any different than other men? Do you think I eat children for dinner?”
It felt odd to smile. Her mouth was so out of practice. And yet, since he’d come this morning, she found herself smiling quite often. “Maybe not every night.”
“Great,” he responded with a grimace. “In your mind, I’m not only a failure in bed, I can’t be trusted with a child.”
“You told me you’ve changed, grown up.” She slid down the counter to get out of the sunlight streaming through the window. She was also trying to avoid the scent of his cologne. She thought that might be what was wreaking havoc with her mind. She didn’t like when a man used too much, but there was just a hint of it on Rafe and, otherwise, he smelled so clean. “I’m willing to take your word for it.”
“You wouldn’t have to take my word for all of it.”
She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “And that means...”
She saw a devilish expression on his face. “Not if you’ll go put that wet T-shirt back on.”
She could tell he didn’t expect her to take him seriously. He meant to shock her, make her uncomfortable—teach her a lesson for insulting him. But she felt more tingly and breathless than outraged. That was the real shock. Forcing her gaze away before he realized she was more susceptible to that suggestion than she cared to admit, she said, “You had your chance eighteen years ago.”
“When I was drunk off my ass and wasn’t expecting to be propositioned? Especially by an underage virgin who told me she was eighteen?”
“That was a pretty detailed recap,” she retorted. “So much for forgetting...”
“You haven’t forgotten,” he said. “You’re still holding me accountable for that night, assuming I haven’t changed or couldn’t have changed enough to suit you. I’m trying to tell you it was hardly a fair test of my ability.”
“Don’t act like I didn’t give you another opportunity,” she said. “I approached you the following week, remember? And you turned me down.”
Hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he crossed his ankles. “You were too young.”
“And you had too many other girls throwing themselves at you.”
“Who were older,” he said, as if any guy would’ve made the same choice.
She took another spoonful of cereal. “You didn’t want me. Admit it.”
He studied her for several seconds. “You expected the world to bow at your feet. That’s hardly an aphrodisiac.”
“Ah, the Lazarow thing again. You’re intimidated by my name.”
“I’m not intimidated in the least. Well, maybe a little,” he conceded. “You are one of the ‘untouchables.’”
She chuckled. “Well, for the record, you were right to reject me. I was angry and acting out, had no clue what I was doing.”
“You’d never make that mistake now...”
“No.”
“Because you’re the one who isn’t interested in me.”
Unsure where he was going with this, she stopped eating. “True.”
“Bullshit.”
She forced down her last swallow. “You don’t believe me?”
“I think I can tell when a woman finds me attractive. You look away whenever I catch your eye, which is a pretty reliable sign. You’ve just changed, lost the moxie you once had, that’s all.”
She wished she could laugh, scoff at him. This was an outrageous conversation. She wasn’t even sure how she’d fallen into it, or how it had progressed so far so fast. She’d seen Rafe for the first time in years only yesterday. But he was right: she was as attracted to him as she’d ever been. And she’d felt so little of anything positive in the past two years she didn’t know how to handle the sudden influx of hormones.
She did, however, know better than to let on. “Don’t tell me you’ve already been through all the other women on the island.”
“A womanizer like me?” He scowled facetiously. “I went through them years ago.”
“You wouldn’t want to quit too soon. You’re bound to find a glutton for punishment here and there.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “A glutton for punishment?”
She should’ve heeded the warning in his voice. But he’d started this little battle. She felt she should be able to give as good as she got. “Women who don’t mind a man who can only last thirty seconds or so.”
Assuming she’d landed the coup de grâce, she smiled sweetly. No way could he outdo that. But she shouldn’t have taunted him, shouldn’t have taken it so far. The look that entered his eyes as he stepped forward and boxed her in made her realize she’d thrown out a challenge he was more than willing to meet.
“We’ve talked about the special circumstances of that night,” he murmured, his face just inches from hers.
“That’s true. And—” growing a bit nervous, she cleared her throat but would not allow herself to be intimidated into backing down “—and I promise I won’t tell anyone how badly it went. Your secret is safe with me.”
She stopped laughing when he took her bowl and set it on the counter. “How about you let me make it up to you instead?” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.
Maisey knew she should push him away. He was being assertive, going after what he wanted. But the way he was pressing his lips to hers so gently, coaxing her to respond with the barest slip of his tongue, gave her plenty of opportunity to refuse.
If only she wanted to refuse. Desperate to push the recent past as far away from her conscious mind as possible, if only for a moment, she was suddenly more than eager to let Rafe make her feel something else, something good.
Sliding her hands up his arms, she found the soft, curly hair at his nape and closed her eyes as she sank into the kiss.
He seemed surprised when she parted her lips. She realized then that he hadn’t taken her capitulation for granted. It had been a risk for him—one he wasn’t convinced would work out—and, for the first time, she felt a measure of hesitation. Would he withdraw? Maybe lift his head to ask whether she was really okay with what they were doing?
She hoped not. That would only yank her back into the real world and ruin everything.
To make sure he didn’t, she became more aggressive. Instead of just permitting him to kiss her, she clenched her hand in his hair and kissed him back.
“God, I haven’t felt anything like this in so long,” she muttered against his warm, pliant lips.
She wasn’t aware that she’d spoken aloud until he caught her face in his large hands and made her look at him. “How long?”
“Years,” she admitted.
“That’s even longer than me.”
She didn’t ask how long it had been for him. She didn’t want any more conversation, or she’d have to make sense out of what he said and how she replied, what she was doing. She couldn’t justify this, which was why she didn’t want her conscience to intercede before she could get what she craved. So she moved his hands to her breasts.
He seemed startled, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Then he reached around and unsnapped her bra, staring into her eyes the whole time, testing her to see if she’d stop him. When she didn’t, when she let him slip his hands up under her shirt and touch her, she heard him suck in his next breath.
“This is going too well. You won’t even go out with me,” he said as he flicked his thumbs over the tips of her breasts. Obviously, he wanted her to convince him, not change her mind. But she could offer no explanation for her behavior. Where was this sudden recklessness coming from? She’d been so sad for so long, it was almost as if all the needs that had gone unsatisfied during that time were welling up at once.
“Are you going to let that stop you?” she asked, and stood on her toes to reach his lips. When he met her tongue, she groaned and gave everything she had to that kiss, even bit his lip and felt him nip at hers.
“Holy shit,” he moaned, closing his eyes as her mouth moved down his neck and her hands traveled up under his shirt.
Feeling strangely gratified that he was already trembling and breathless, she ran her fingers over his arousal. “Is this for me?”
He turned her face back up to his. “Let’s go to my place,” he said.
She didn’t protest when he scooped her into his arms and carried her there.
