Читать книгу Too Close to Resist - Nicole Helm - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
GRACE COULDN’T FOCUS on painting. She was restless and feeling a little weird about being in someone else’s house, and Mom’s constant texts kept interrupting her. Might as well give up.
She’d visited Jacob’s place plenty of times, knew most of the house as well as her own, but she’d rarely spent the night. And she’d never been in the house knowing Kyle was around without Jacob to act as a buffer.
Grace poked her head out of her room. It shouldn’t matter if Jacob was around or not. Kyle had agreed to let her stay, and even welcomed her, even if that welcome came with a set of rules.
Scowling, Grace tiptoed down the blue runner in the hall. “It’s an image thing,” she mimicked, stepping onto the second-story balcony. Who talked like that? Who thought like that? She didn’t look like some crazed hobo. Tons of people had tattoos, many way more visible than hers, and the colored hair was definitely a trend right now.
Well, maybe not in Bluff City.
Of course, Grace could remember that Kyle’s parents hadn’t dressed nicely and had been considerably inked, and his mother’s hair had definitely not been natural. Even if Grace thought he should be over that connection ten years after they’d all gone their separate ways, maybe she kind of understood why they made him uncomfortable.
Grace took a deep breath of the cool April evening. She didn’t want to think about Kyle anymore.
It wasn’t quite dusk. The street below was narrow and lined with barren trees on either side, their bark rough and hewn from winter. Most of the houses on the street were the same sprawling Victorians as the one she was in, some still in good shape, a few not so much. She found them just as appealing with their vacant windows and fading paint as those MC Restorations had restored to be gleaming nods to the past.
It was a quiet little neighborhood on top of the bluffs, though the river was to the side of the house and she couldn’t see it from here. Grace wondered why someone had designed a porch here. Had it been to watch the horses and buggies below all those years ago? Or perhaps to spy on the neighbors without having to talk to them.
Grace took a deep breath, smiling at the hint of spring she inhaled. Spring was the perfect time of year. Renewal appreciated warmth. She couldn’t wait to see the uninterrupted sloping lawns turn to green, the trees slowly leaf out. The next month would bring a flurry of change.
And once things went back to normal, she would go home to Carvelle, to her little house in the middle of town. Her lawn would be green, too, and likely Mom would put a pot of pansies on her doorstep and plant some impatiens under her crab apple tree.
But...would things go back to normal? Would Barry finally be an unfortunate memory instead of a constant factor? Would her parents be the comforting, enjoyable people they’d been when Barry was in jail, or would she have to develop a more permanent plan? Or would she—
“Enjoy the moment, Grace,” she said into the still around her. Why was it so hard?
A dot of red drew Grace’s attention. Down the road a ways someone was jogging. Grace watched the figure, a man, get closer. Hmm. Not a bad view.
Despite the cool temperatures, there was a ring of sweat around his running shirt. He had broad shoulders and a body obviously―thanks to the skin-tight shirt―full of lean muscle. Loose gym shorts did nothing to hide the powerful legs that must have been used to a hard run. Grace never considered a man’s legs particularly sexy, but watching muscles bunch and brace as his feet hit pavement, then pulled back up, might convince her to change her mind.
Leaning on the railing, Grace continued to enjoy the show and let her mind wander. Maybe he did this every night. Maybe she’d take up running, strike up a conversation. They could stretch each other out. Maybe...
Oh, crap.
So quickly she tripped over herself, Grace moved away from the railing. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed fervently Kyle hadn’t seen her ogling him. Kyle. Kyle. She knew he was runner skinny, but who knew that meant sexy and lean and yummy?
Oh, crap. She’d just called Kyle sexy. And yummy. She was going to be sick.
Well, it wasn’t her fault he always dressed so formally she had no idea he was actually hot underneath.
Oh, crap.
Grace hurried back inside. She had to get back to her room as soon as possible. And maybe never come out again.
Of course, the universe wasn’t done screwing with her, because she had to pass the top of the stairway she could hear Kyle walking up. Her brain went through a chorus of oh, craps.
Not knowing what else to do, Grace put her head down and powered past the stairs, determined to do one thing and one thing only: get to her room without falling any deeper into this weird alternate reality she found herself in.
“Grace.” He sounded about as surprised to see her as she was to discover he was freaking hot.
Oh, crap. “Hey.” She turned to face him. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. See? That wasn’t sexy. He huffed in time with the beat coming from the headphones dangling from his neck. Not sexy at all. “Uh, good run?” Oh, God, she was an idiot.
He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt, looking about as uncomfortable as she felt. “Yeah. I... Yes.” He nodded after the fact and kept fidgeting with his shirt collar.
“Great. I was just—” plausible lie, plausible lie, plausible lie “—going downstairs to make myself some dinner. Want anything?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, still holding on to his collar. What was that about?
“I usually just order in.”
Grace waved that idea away, inching past him. He smelled like sweat and Irish Spring. Oh, crap. “I’ll make enough for two. Feel free to help yourself.” Why was her voice so weird and squeaky? And why the hell was she inviting him to spend more time in her presence?
“Sure. I, um, have to run through the shower first.”
Well, now that she screwed herself out of retreating to her room to determine what the hell had short-circuited in her brain to find Mr. Stuffed Shirt attractive, she had to go make herself, and him, some dinner.
Forcing one leg to follow the other, Grace took the first stair. She made the mistake of looking over her shoulder, accidentally making eye contact with Kyle, who was staring after her. She’d never noticed what a deep, pure blue his eyes were, and what the hell was wrong with her?
Grace whipped her head forward and took the stairs as quickly as possible. Distance seemed to be the best method to nip this crazy in the bud.
In the kitchen, Grace took a moment to lean against the wall and take a deep breath. This was weird, definitely, but not fatal by any means. So Kyle turned out to be more than just kind of cute. What did that matter? His personality hadn’t changed.
Bolstered, Grace poked around in the fridge. Not much to work with despite the state-of-the-art appliances and an overall gorgeous interior. Aside from the stainless-steel fridge and stove, the room looked like it came right out of the 1900s. Dishwasher and microwave were hidden inside gleaming white cabinets with distressed brassy handles. Decorative copper pans hung from a pot rack above the oven, and the walls were decorated with antique prints of food. A display cabinet stood along one wall with a handful of old kitchen gadgets and green bottles.
There was a small restored table in the circular end of the kitchen, surrounded on three sides by windows overlooking the side yard and the bluff below.
Grace pulled out eggs and cheese and a green pepper for an omelet. It would be another great place to paint with the almost surrounding windows. She wondered if Mr. High and Mighty would deign to allow her to paint in this room, or would that ruin his precious image, too?
Grace smiled as she mentally patted herself on the back. She was back to thinking about Kyle in the normal way, not the “hey, my brother’s stuffy best friend is surprisingly hot” way.
“I’m sorry we don’t have much in the way of food.”
Grace was startled, but hid it by pulling open a drawer blindly. She’d been in this kitchen quite a few times, but had never cooked in it. The pans had been easy enough to find, but she had yet to discover a spatula.
“I don’t like to cook for one, and Candy’s been keeping your brother busy the past few weeks.”
“I’m surprised you cook at all.” Was that mean? Was she being snippy? Suddenly she couldn’t tell if she was engaging in banter or bitchiness. Not good.
But she was off-kilter. Not only had she never seen him in shorts and a T-shirt during a run, but now he stood in front of her, hair wet from the shower, the smell of shampoo infiltrating her nose, and he was in track pants and a loose long-sleeved T-shirt. He wasn’t even wearing shoes, just perfectly white socks.
It was downright...normal.
Grace opened another drawer at random, focusing on the task at hand. In other words, not think about Kyle as anything more than her brother’s annoying roommate/business partner.
There were pretty little tea towels in this drawer. For a bachelor pad, it was quite the place. Of course, it wasn’t a bachelor pad. It was their business, and no doubt their interior decorator had picked out the dainty towels.
“The drawer right next to the oven.”
Grace looked up to find Kyle practically standing right next to her and only at the last second did she manage to keep herself from jumping away. “Huh?”
He opened the aforementioned drawer and pulled out a spatula. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for?”
“Oh. Right.” She took it from his outstretched hand, being very careful not to accidentally make physical contact. That would just be weird. “Thanks.” Grace avoided eye contact, instead focused on cracking eggs into a bowl.
“We keep a pad of paper in the cabinet over here for a grocery list.”
Forced to look now, Grace turned her head and watched as he opened the cabinet and pointed to the pad of paper hanging on a hook inside of it. “Feel free to add to it.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“I go Sunday mornings, so if there’s anything you want for this week, you might want to get it down tonight.”
Grace smiled a little at that. Of course he had a set grocery day. The guy was about as anal as they came. But he looked good in the casual outfit, though he didn’t seem any more relaxed than usual.
He looked down at himself. “What?”
Heat stole up her neck so she quickly turned back to her omelet preparation. “What?”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Am not,” she muttered before realizing she sounded like a whiny kid.
“I don’t wear a suit to bed, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She snickered because he’d actually made a joke at his own expense, but it didn’t last long because thinking about Hot Kyle plus what he wore to bed was bad news.
“Is that on your schedule, too? ‘Wear normal clothes Saturday evening.’” She wouldn’t be surprised. He probably even had a certain day of the week for sex. Oh, crap. Danger! Danger! Do not think about Kyle and sex in the same sentence.
She focused on the knife in her hand and the green pepper that needed slicing and willed every synapse of her brain away from images of Kyle’s powerful legs; flat, lean stomach; serious blue eyes.
She almost squeaked when Kyle stepped behind her. She could hear him breathing as he watched her slice the green pepper. She felt as if she was in a cooking class and he was the teacher analyzing her technique. Which was good. When he was being all judgmental, she had no desire to picture him naked.
Oh, crap.
* * *
KYLE WATCHED AS Grace haphazardly cut up the green pepper. It took every ounce of control to keep from telling her she was doing it wrong, but knowing Grace she’d just do it even more haphazardly to annoy him if he pointed it out.
Since he’d already run five miles this evening because he couldn’t focus on work thanks to Grace and all her innate Grace-ness, he wasn’t about to let her get under his skin anymore.
She was just so unpredictable. And not the kind of unpredictable he could troubleshoot. He never knew when she was going to scowl at him, poke fun at him or smile brightly at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. A discomfort he’d spent a lot of time ignoring the past few years.
Kyle pulled out a dish towel and stepped toward her to lay it on the counter so she would take the hint and use it instead of wasting another handful of paper towels. You’d think he’d slapped her on the ass the way she flinched.
He stared at the tattoo on her arm, because if he didn’t he might be tempted to look at her ass, and, well, adult Kyle didn’t do such things.
Besides, she was acting a little strange this evening. Jumpy. Maybe Barry being out of jail was getting to her. He should probably make a point to be nice, and make her feel that she wasn’t alone. He still wasn’t too happy about Jacob’s bailing and leaving the responsibility to him, but Kyle wasn’t selfish enough to not be honorable.
Grace had made the first step in being friendly, offering him some of the dinner she was making. So he would try to follow suit. Even if they were very different, they did have to cohabit for the next month, and Kyle would really prefer a smooth, nonconfrontational thirty days.
And yes, he was counting down.
He collected two plates and silverware and set the table. What could they talk about over dinner? Jacob was about the only thing they had in common, and it seemed strange to discuss him when he wasn’t here.
There was art, of course, but he’d tried that before. She always wanted to discuss the impressionists and modernism. Most of what he knew about art stemmed from his reading on the Renaissance period or still lifes. He’d never been one for the fanciful. “What would you like to drink? I could open a bottle of wine.”
“Uh, I’ll just have milk.”
Milk. Well, a discussion of wine was officially off the table. It occurred to him that they could discuss their shared past. Growing up in Carvelle, high school, but Kyle had made the decision a long time ago not to talk about those things. Then he could pretend his childhood there had never happened. That he wasn’t Kyle Clark of the Rosedale Trailer Park, where his parents were quite famous for all the wrong reasons.
“You okay?”
He blinked, realized he was standing in front of the open refrigerator not doing anything. “Of course.” He pulled out the carton of milk and focused on pouring drinks and gathering napkins.
“Oh.”
He turned to see what she was commenting on, but she just stood there, pan in hand, staring at the table. Then she laughed.
Kyle frowned, looking at the table himself. What on earth was she laughing at? “What?” he demanded.
She shook her head and stepped over to the table. Still laughing, she put half the omelet, which now resembled scrambled eggs with stuff in it because she’d done it wrong, onto his plate, then the remainder on hers. “You’re just kinda weird, Kyle.”
Irritated and defensive, he locked his jaw tight. He would not lose his temper, or point out that if someone in this kitchen was weird, it was most certainly not him.
“Actually, weird is a bit harsh. Quirky, I guess.”
He stared. “I’m quirky?”
“You know, in a totally anal, rigid kind of way.” She slid into a seat, didn’t bother to put a napkin in her lap before lifting her fork.
“I see.”
“Kind of odd for a guy who grew up in a double-wide.” She shoveled in a bite of food, and though his stomach rumbled after his long, difficult run, he didn’t make a move for the table.
This was one of the many reasons that, despite her unfortunate circumstances, he hadn’t wanted Grace here. Of the very few people in his life who knew a little bit of his childhood, she was the only one who’d yet to take the hint that the topic wasn’t open for discussion and never would be.
“You give them too much credit. It was a single-wide.”
She blinked at him. “Wow. That’s the most I’ve heard you talk about the past since you left Carvelle.”
Irritated the comment had slipped out, Kyle scowled. “And it’s the very most you ever will.” He turned to the stairwell. He would go do some work. Work would calm him down. But before he could take another step, Grace’s voice interrupted him.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
It was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment, but letting his irritation show only served to increase people’s curiosity. Kyle returned to the table, telling himself to make sure bland Kyle was in fine form tonight. “Yes, of course.”
As he droned on about foreign markets, boring even himself, Grace retrieved a pen and the pad of paper for grocery lists. She shoveled eggs into her mouth and scribbled intently until he was done with his monologue.
She pushed the paper across to him, and he was forced to look into her amused smile for a moment. She was like a tractor beam with that smile, all pretty, cheerful goodness. He could not let that get to him.
He looked down at the paper. It was a drawing, no, a caricature of him. She’d overemphasized his square jaw, drawn little money signs over his head, and in the background was a quick sketch of her with z’s filling a thought bubble above her head.
He didn’t want to smile, didn’t want to find it funny. Hell, it was funny, and the smile won over the impassive expression he’d been working so hard to keep.
“Is that a little glimpse of a sense of humor?” Grace feigned shock. Or maybe it wasn’t so much feigned as exaggerated. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was shocked.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lifted a bite of egg to his mouth, trying to tamp down the amusement, the...lightness Grace seemed to infuse the room with.
She was a temporary visitor. This wouldn’t become normal. He wouldn’t let her so effortlessly invade his carefully erected protections.
No smiles, no jokes, no long, alluring legs could make him forget who he was. What he was. His soul was empty, and there was no chance of his risking filling it again.
At least he kept telling himself that, even as he folded up the drawing and put it in his pocket.
* * *
THE VOICES WERE LOUD. So damn loud, but then they always were. Kyle heard the sounds of crashing glass mixed with screams. Darkness morphed into the tiny room of a trailer and screams formed words.
“You stupid slut. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Who do you think you are, you whore?” A thud pounded against Kyle’s bedroom wall. He closed his eyes, turned his music louder.
“You and your two-inch dick have screwed every willing meth addict in this damn place.” More crashing glass. A scream.
“I’m going to kill you. This time I’m really going to kill you.”
Kyle swallowed down the bile that rose to his throat. How many times had he heard that? Too many to count, but the sound of angry footsteps heading toward where he knew Dad kept at least two guns, loaded, struck real fear through him.
He was sick and wobbly, but he pitched to the door and stepped into the hall. He saw his father, a big, thick tree trunk of a man, weaving this way and that, drunk or high or both. Kyle had seen him this way before, but not with-it enough to have murder in his expression. Until now.
Something glass knocked into his father’s skull, splattering glass and blood everywhere.
“You bitch!” his father howled, turning back to the front of the trailer. Even though blood dripped down his neck, he stalked back to where Kyle knew Mom was waiting.
Not sure who he was trying to save, if anyone, Kyle scrambled for his parents’ bedroom. He fumbled with a drawer, pulled out the gun with his shaking hands.
End it, his mind whispered. End it. Fear was replaced by something steely and steady in his gut. His hands stopped shaking and his feet led him to the living room. There was no shock in seeing his father’s hands around his mother’s neck as her legs flailed and her eyes bulged.
Kyle walked right up to his father and pressed the gun in his back. “Stop.” His voice wasn’t steady, wasn’t even a command, and his father looked over his shoulder at him and the gun with a sneer.
“You wouldn’t shoot me, you pansy-ass piece of shit.” Kyle jumped back as his father’s hands dropped from his mother’s neck and reached for him.
“Try me.” He held the gun steady, trained on his father’s head. He wanted this. He wanted to pull the trigger and end everything once and for all.
The sound of sirens stopped him and the world went black.
When Kyle woke up from the nightmare, he flipped on every light in his room. He sucked in a breath, let it out slowly. As nightmares went, it was tame enough. Nothing more than the truth. Nothing as jarring as when the dreams turned to fiction and he pulled the trigger. Killing his father and feeling immense satisfaction in it.
Kyle swallowed down the nausea rushing up his throat. Even though his legs were weak, he purposefully strode to his office. He flipped on every light there, too.
His hands shook, but he brought the computer to life and began to type a memo to Leah, Jacob’s go-to electrician.
He worked for an hour before he was moderately confident the dream wouldn’t return. Between his five-mile run and the two hours of sleep he’d managed before the dream, surely he’d be exhausted enough to sleep soundly now.
He shut down the computer and turned off the lights, but when he stepped into the hallway he heard a thud come from down the hall. From Grace’s room.
Worry leaped to action, but reasonable Kyle kept it tamped down as he slowly made his way down the hall. Another thump was followed by a crash. Kyle jogged the last few strides and knocked on Grace’s door, his heart beating too fast for comfort. “Grace?”
She mumbled something, there was another thump, and then she opened the door, light from her room pouring into the hallway. She looked disheveled by sleep, her hair a tangled mess, her too-thin tank top’s straps hanging off her shoulders.
“Are you all right?” Since he was doing everything in his power not to look at her bare shoulders or below, he studied her face. She looked pale, and she was shaking. Kyle frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She hugged herself and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Sit,” Kyle ordered, pointing to the bed. He noticed her easel was upended and deduced that it had been the source of the crash. He also saw a half-empty water bottle on the floor, picked it up and shoved it at her. “Take a drink.”
Surprisingly, she obeyed by taking a long, loud gulp. Because her damn shirt was practically see-through, he pulled the coverlet tangled at the end of the bed over her shoulders. “What happened?”
“I had a dream. That’s all. It woke me up.” She was still pale, shaking, lost. Since he knew the feeling all too well, he sank onto the bed next to her. Reminding himself it was just a friendly gesture, he put his hand on hers.
“What happened over there?”
“I was trying to get to the light, but I tripped.” She let out a loud shaky breath. “And it hurt like a bitch,” she squeaked, obviously losing the battle with tears.
He’d been there a few times himself. So he patted her hand and let her cry, one part of his brain telling him to comfort her, the other telling him to run away. Instead, he was frozen. Offering half comfort.
When she was breathing almost evenly again she pulled her hand away and mopped up her tears with the backs of her hands. “I guess bad things have a way of sticking with your subconscious.”
As he well knew. What he didn’t know was what to say. Actually, he did know what to say; words of commiseration fumbled through his brain. “Yes, they do.”
“If I wasn’t loud enough to wake Jacob, you must have been awake already. Bad dreams, too?”
She was close and smelled like paint and flowers, and the words fumbling in his brain wanted to get out, but he couldn’t. If he let them out, they would never go away. And she’d know and... Kyle stood abruptly. “I should get back to bed. Early day tomorrow.”
“Kyle.”
But he couldn’t stop. He had to be alone where he could beat back the words and images and everything else. Where Grace’s pretty face and direct questions didn’t tempt him away from the protections he’d built.
