Mistake Me Not

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Lacie had her bath and phoned her friend. She’d told Sorcha everything minus what had happened between her and Shep… She’d omitted the details of what happened at Bruce’s place too… so really nothing. She told Sorcha that their detective had found Bruce and that it seemed he was involved with something illegal. Sorcha had raved, cried, then asked Lacie to tell her again… which she did.

By going to bed early, her intention was to get a good night’s sleep. Instead of drifting off, she lay awake watching the shadows on the wall. As darkness descended, Lacie grew more uneasy. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived the moment of hitting the floorboards. Tossed aside, pained through to her bones, unaware of her fate… Then the door closed and his voice had soothed her.

She didn’t know where he was, where he lived, or whom he was with. That last thought festered, though she had no right to be preoccupied when she’d been so adamant.

But she’d craved him, damn her, but she had. Lacie wanted to bury herself against him like in that room. To breathe him in, embrace him, immerse herself in him. But it was done. Over.

When sleep eluded her, she lifted the bedroom rug and opened her trapdoor to the angled wide ladder. Her secret sanctuary, the reason she’d fallen in love with this place. The basement took the footprint of the rest of the abode. She turned on the florescent light and worked.

Despite working for hours, she was surprised to see the red bulb on the wall flashing. Someone had pressed the communal buzzer. Turning off the music with her elbow, she ran up the ladder wiping her hands on damp muslin. When she got to the bedroom, she kicked the trapdoor shut, and went through the living room. Someone was knocking on her door, eager for an audience with her though. She couldn’t imagine why.

Tossing the muslin aside, she opened her front door. “I told you not to do that,” he said.

He was in before she’d clicked her brain into gear. “What are you doing here, Seth?” she asked, closing her door.

When she turned, he was standing open-mouthed, staring at her legs.

Her arms were covered with clay. She’d tied her hair into a loose knot on the top of her head though it would be falling apart by now. Except she’d forgotten that all she wore was one of her thin painter’s shirts, which skimmed her bare thighs.

“What’s that look for?”

“I’m thinking about your legs,” he said, still openly gawping at her pins.

“I figured that out,” she said.

The smile in her voice was inappropriate, but so was his staring.

“How are you feeling today?”

“You’re still staring. How is your head?”

“Which one?” he asked. “Can I come over there?”

“What for?”

As his eyes slid up, so did the corner of his mouth. She knew that look. “I’m here to talk,” he said but that curl became a grin.

“That’s not what your face says.”

“I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday,” Lacie said. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”

“We have to talk.”

“You’re grinning at me.”

“Your legs,” he said. “I’m thinking about your legs.”

“We’ve done this,” she said, knowing they were flirting again, and that she should stop. But her smile persisted. “I was thinking about you last night.”

Something flickered over his expression, his grin became more intense. After a beat, he was bearing down upon her. Her feet were swept off the floor, and he pinned her to the pillar that separated her kitchen from the living space. Her head came up, his lips found hers, and once again, their mouths joined. The heat between them flared from her toes to her scalp. The fury of their union became slow, tender, overwhelming, but just as powerful in an entirely different way.

The pounding started again. It took Lacie a moment to realize it was the door. It took just as long for him to realize it too. So much so that he appeared genuinely confused to have her in his arms against the wall when he stopped kissing her. Did he wish she was someone else?

“Give me a minute,” she said.

Pressuring his shoulders, he conceded and placed her onto the floor with far more care than was required. She wasn’t sure if it was the fog in their brains or if he was taking care of her again.

Her hand was on its way toward the handle when he spoke. “Check.”

One word, but she lowered her hand and did as told, only to wish she hadn’t. Flashing him a look of horror, she went for the handle again. Lacie had no choice, she had to answer the door. She couldn’t imagine a worse scenario than this one, except if maybe this new guest had stormed straight in a few seconds earlier.

“I thought you were on holiday,” Lacie said when she opened the door.

“After our talk last night, I got straight on a plane,” Sorcha said, sailing past her friend.

Lacie closed the door and took a deep breath, steeling herself to face those facing each other behind her.

“Who’s this?” Sorcha asked.

Lacie froze mid-exhale and replayed her friend’s casual words. “What?” she asked, wearing a frown.

She turned to see beautiful Sorcha scrutinizing the man she’d been sucking face with moments ago.

Sorcha extended her hand and flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “Sorcha Reynolds.”

He, whoever he was, looked to Lacie. Reluctance and contrition dwelled on his expression with a kind of mild panic mixed in.

“What do you mean who is he?” Lacie asked, moving toward her friend.

“I told you we had to talk,” he said. “I wanted to tell you—”

“Tell me what?” Lacie demanded. “Oh my god.” Her fingers touched her lips. “Oh my god!”

Sorcha looked from him to Lacie and back again. “I’ve been gone for like forty-eight hours. What’s going on?”

Lacie couldn’t answer her friend, and she was suddenly very aware of her sparse apparel. Walking behind Sorcha’s back, she headed for her bedroom. Lacie wanted to change, but her clothes wouldn’t be enough, right now she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

He’d touched her, kissed her, made her feel safe. She’d trusted him, craved him—

“Dusty, I had to—”

He was in her bedroom at her back, closing the door as though this was normal behavior. Like they were a seasoned couple in the midst of a tiff, when technically this was their first fight. She wanted to scream, wanted to erase the memory of his hands, his mouth, his eyes, the heat. Except her body still tingled from their last encounter.

“Please leave,” she said as firmly as possible, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I want you to listen to me. I didn’t lie to you.”

“You let me go on about Sorcha and you’ve never even met her! Who are you? I don’t want to know! Get out of here!”

“No!” he exclaimed. “You’re going to hear me out!”

“Why would I do that? You’re a stranger! Leave!”

“Nothing was false. Everything was real. Baby, come on.”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me, get out of here!”

“Listen to me. Listen!” He got a hold of her and turned her to face him. “My name is Ryder Stone, okay? I’m an investigator just like I said. I was in Shep’s office that day, I shouldn’t have been. I saw you, I wanted to help. He’s a vulture, Lace, you don’t understand what he’s like.”

“You were looking after me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked.

The bedroom door opened. Lacie pulled out of his grip.

“You heard her,” Sorcha snapped. “Get out or I’ll call the cops!”

Sorcha stood with the phone in her hand; Lacie knew she’d do it. Sorcha was as protective of her as she was of Sorcha.

“Lacie,” he breathed and reached out for her, but she moved away.

“Leave,” she said.

Ryder considered his options but when Sorcha began dialing, he backed off, holding up his hands in surrender. Lacie couldn’t look directly at him but could feel his gaze on her. He left the room. A few seconds later, her front door opened and closed.

“Well,” Sorcha said. “I’m ready to hear what that was all about.”