Out of Turn Read online

  “Kade denied that you’d slept together.” His voice was cold steel, slicing through the night.

  “Oh well, that’s a relief,” I shot back, my sarcasm thick. “Good to know we have our stories straight.” Blane still wanted to believe I’d had sex with Kade even after we’d both denied it? Fine with me. He could believe in chubby flying babies with bows and arrows, for all I cared.

  My stomach was still churning, anger and pain both burning like acid in my gut. My head was telling me to go, to get as far away from Blane as I could. But my feet wouldn’t obey. Rooted to the spot, I drank Blane in. Well over six feet, he towered over me when he was close, which wasn’t the case right now. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, the cotton stretched tightly over the muscles of his chest and shoulders.

  The tickle on my cheek distracted me and I swiped at the blood oozing down the side of my face.

  “You’re hurt.” He moved toward me, shoving the gun he held into the back of his jeans.

  I threw up a hand to ward him off, hurriedly retreating until my back hit my car. “Don’t you dare come any closer,” I warned. “I don’t want your help.”

  “You’re bleeding,” he said, though he’d stopped a couple of feet from me. Still too close, but at least he hadn’t touched me. If he did, I was sure I’d fall apart.

  “I’m fine.” It was a phrase I’d said often in the past few months. I was pretty good at it. Sometimes I almost believed it myself.

  Blane’s lips pressed in a thin line as he looked at me, his eyes unfathomable in the darkness.

  “I believe you didn’t sleep with Kade,” he said, the words seeming forced from his mouth.

  “I don’t care what you believe,” I hissed, rage spiking hard in me. All the anger and bitterness I’d kept bottled up for the past few months now boiled to the surface. “Is that why you’re here? Your conscience bothering you? Oh wait, I forgot—you don’t have one.”

  “I’m here because William Gage is out of prison.”

  That gave me pause. William James Gage Sr. had been sent to jail months before, accessory to murder and attempted murder being among the many charges against him. The “attempted” part was when he’d tried to have me killed. If not for Blane, he’d have succeeded.

  “How could he possibly have gotten out of jail?” I asked. It seemed incomprehensible to me.

  “He has cancer. The doctors give him weeks to live, if that. Friends in high places pulled some strings so he could die outside of prison. He’s on house arrest, though, and can’t leave the premises.”

  “And you’re telling me this why?”

  Blane hesitated and I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “Gage blames you for ending up in prison, the loss of his business, his reputation.”

  “That’s insane,” I snapped. “He’s the criminal, not me. He just got caught.”

  “Yes, he is insane,” Blane agreed. “And he hates you. I think he’s going to try and have you killed. The shooting tonight was possibly his first attempt.”

  Ah. Now it made sense, the bodyguard thing. “Well, let him give it his best shot,” I said. “I can take care of myself.” It surprised me a bit how unalarmed I was at this news. That coldness in the center of my chest seemed to take it in stride that my days might be numbered. Again.

  “A few self-defense classes does not make you an expert,” Blane retorted.

  “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.” I turned away and jerked open my car door, surveying the shattered glass covering the interior. I spoke over my shoulder. “You’ve delivered the warning. Consider your obligation fulfilled. I’ll try not to let my death interfere with your campaign.”

  The initial shock and ridiculous flare of hope at seeing Blane had faded, replaced by a numbness that I welcomed.

  Getting the glass out of the seat concerned me now. The last thing I needed was to have to go to the hospital to get shards out of my ass. I dug around in the backseat. Surely I had a discarded work T-shirt back there?

  “Here.”

  Blane’s voice was right behind me and his hand brushed my back. I jumped about a foot.

  I spun around in alarm, instinctively putting up my hands to push him away. Unfortunately, they met a bare chest. I jerked my hands back as though burned.

  “Use this,” Blane said, holding out his T-shirt. “For the glass.”

  Oh God. He was so close, his chest at eye level, his body inches from mine. The carved muscles seemed more defined than I remembered, the heat of the night making his skin glisten in the faint light. I couldn’t retreat any farther, the car blocking me.

  Blane didn’t move and I jerked my eyes up to his. He was looking at the blood dripping down my cheek, frowning. His hand moved to touch me and I couldn’t help but flinch. He froze, his hand in midair.

  “Back off, Blane.” I was glad to hear that my voice was steady even though I was quaking inside.

  He obeyed, stepping back to put some space between us, and I breathed again, my eyes sliding shut in relief before I realized what I was doing.

  Pull it together, I harshly told myself. I didn’t want to show any sign of weakness. My pride wouldn’t allow it.

  “Fine,” I said curtly, pulling the T-shirt out of his grip. I used it to brush the glass from the seat to the floor. God, how much was this going to cost to fix? Absurdly, the thought made me want to cry.

  As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, Blane said, “I can have some guys come to your place tomorrow, replace the glass.”

  “I don’t want a damn thing from you,” I snapped. “Including your shirt.” I tossed it at him and he caught it. I climbed into the car and jerked the door shut. Blane leaned down to the window.

  “Well, that’s too bad,” he said. “I’m going to be around whether you like it or not, to keep you alive.”

  I smiled sweetly at him as I started the car. “Then you’d better hope Gage dies sooner rather than later, or he won’t be the only one needing a tombstone.”

  My hands were still shaking when I got home, the aftershock of seeing Blane, talking to him, hitting me like a Mack truck.

  I sat at my kitchen table, vodka tonic in my lax grip, staring into space.

  I knew I should probably be concerned about Gage, but I couldn’t bring myself to be. All I could think about was that I’d seen Blane again, spoken to him, touched him. And none of it had been good for my resolve to get over him and move on.

  It depressed me, the power he had over me. Even though he’d hurt me so badly, not once but twice, I was still pathetically glad to see him despite the bitter anger like bile in my throat.

  And now he was, what, “going to be around”? What did that mean? And more important, how was I going to keep it together if I had to see him again? I’d barely kept myself from falling apart tonight, my rage doubling as shield and weapon in my nearly empty arsenal.

  So he believed I hadn’t slept with Kade. So what? It didn’t matter a hill of beans now. Blane should have believed me when it counted, when I’d stood in his office while he accused me of being unfaithful, of betraying him. That’s when he should have believed me. It was far too late now for anything he said to matter.

  I drank until my head swam and the room spun, falling into bed still in my work uniform. Tears I hadn’t shed in months streamed down my cheeks and I curled into a ball on top of the blankets, too exhausted mentally and emotionally to get under the covers. Finally, when the sky began to lighten outside, only then did I fall asleep.

  A gentle hand brushed the hair back from my face, slowly combing through the long strands. I sighed in my sleep. I loved it when my hair was played with. The slow, gentle touch relaxed me and I burrowed deeper in my pillow as the hand repeated the gesture. What a nice dream. I hadn’t had a good dream in a long, long while, and I dreaded waking up, which would ruin it. Better to just stay asleep, enjoy the fantasy for a bit longer.

  Something warm and soft was pressed against my cheek. It was also wet, and its gentle swiping dragged me up from the depths of slumber.

  My brain was fogged from too much alcohol and too little sleep. My eyes felt swollen and glued shut from the tears I’d shed. Vague memories of last night drifted through my mind and I whimpered, the pain that was a constant companion washing over me as I remembered the current state of my life and the confrontation with Blane. God, had that just been last night? I felt like I’d aged ten years.

  Another soft swipe along my cheek up to my forehead told me I wasn’t dreaming. That realization had me jerking upright in bed, which I immediately regretted as the room tilted and spun, the vodka I’d consumed still in my system.

  Blane was sitting next to me on the bed.

  I gaped in shock, my brain trying to process him sitting there, a washcloth in his hand, staring intently at me.

  “What the hell?” I managed to squeak out, scooting away from him.

  “You didn’t answer your door,” he said, as though that explained everything.

  “Yeah, there’s a reason for that. I was sleeping!” I glanced down at the washcloth. Its pristine white was tinted pink. Blane had been cleaning the dried blood on my face that I had forgotten about last night, so preoccupied had I been with my shattered nerves.

  “You didn’t answer your door, or your phone, and I was pounding hard enough to wake the dead.” His voice was flat. “Given what happened last night, I was worried.”

  “So you just decided to let yourself in to my apartment?” I knew I should have changed the locks.

  That question didn’t warrant a reply, since the answer was obvious.

  “Well, I’m fine, so you can get the hell out. Leave your key.” I combed my fingers self-consciously through my hair, knowing I looked a disaster. I rolled away from him a
nd got up on the other side of the bed.

  My head ached and my mouth felt like I’d slept with a wad of cotton in it. The cuts on my face burned and my stomach felt even worse. I should’ve eaten something last night.

  Somehow, I made it to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it, just breathing.

  Blane was here.

  This couldn’t be happening. Somehow this was a nightmare, and I’d wake up any minute.

  When that didn’t happen, I brushed my teeth. Looking in the mirror, I winced. The small cuts were an angry red against my pale skin, my eyes swollen and bloodshot. Dark circles that looked like bruises in my face didn’t help and my hair was in a complete tangle. The T-shirt I’d worn to work last night was stained with dried blood and it was tucked half in, half out of my shorts. My knees were in a similar state as my face, with dried blood on the scrapes.

  I’d looked better.

  A long, hot shower made a world of difference and I felt almost human when I emerged. I knew it would be too much to hope for that Blane would have left, so I wasn’t surprised to see him leaning against my kitchen counter. Ignoring him, I went back into the bedroom, discarding my towel for a pair of white shorts and a navy cami, the spaghetti straps the same color as my bra. The windows in my apartment were still open and it was already getting hot.

  I had the passing embarrassment that my AC wasn’t on. I had a couple of fans going in open windows, trying to draw in some air. Very white trash, I know, but hey, they helped. Blane had to be uncomfortable in the warm apartment. I shoved the thought aside. I was the one paying the bill. He could just leave if he was hot.

  My hair was wet and hung past the middle of my back, but I did nothing more than brush it. Wet hair would help keep me cool. I didn’t have the heart to look in the mirror. Why should I care what I looked like just because Blane was here? I hadn’t invited him and certainly didn’t want him to stay.

  The smell of fresh coffee greeted me when I came out of the bedroom. It seemed Blane had made a pot. I didn’t say anything as I poured myself a cup. What was I supposed to do? Thank him for breaking into my apartment to make coffee?

  I could feel him watching me and I avoided his gaze. He’d changed since last night, still wearing jeans but now with a white polo that contrasted beautifully against his tanned skin. I noticed with some disgust that he wasn’t even sweating.

  I looked away and my eyes fell on the empty bottle of cheap vodka and glass I’d left on the kitchen table last night. Heat flooded my cheeks as I grabbed the bottle and threw it in the trash.

  “Is there a reason you’re still here?” I asked when I could no longer take the silence or his staring. “I’m sure Charlotte is wondering where you are.” I couldn’t help the bitterness in my voice as I finally forced my gaze to meet his.

  “Charlotte’s an employee,” he said firmly. “Nothing more.”

  I remembered what Clarice said and thought about throwing that in his face, but decided to let it go. It didn’t matter anyway and my pursuing it would just make me sound like a jealous bitch.

  Which I totally wasn’t.

  The gray of his eyes sparked too many memories, the sight of him standing in my apartment making me remember the time we’d spent together. Now he seemed a stranger to me.

  A stranger who’d once pushed me down on the counter behind him so he could bury his head between my legs.

  My hand shook and coffee sloshed over the side of the mug, burning my hand. I hissed and quickly set the mug down, putting the burned skin to my mouth.

  “You should eat something,” Blane said, his eyes following my movements.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Really?” I deadpanned. “You’re concerned about my diet now?” This was turning more surreal by the moment.

  Blane’s gaze moved slowly down my body and back up. I stiffened when his eyes paused briefly at the gold locket I wore. Kade had given it to me for Christmas and it contained a tiny photo of my parents. I never took it off.

  “You’re too thin,” he said roughly, thankfully not commenting on the locket. “And there’s hardly any food in your refrigerator.”

  He’d gone through my refrigerator? My head felt like it was going to explode, I got so angry so fast.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” I seethed. “You break into my apartment, refuse to leave, and now you’re snooping through my things?” My fists were clenched at my sides as I tried valiantly to keep calm, when all I really wanted to do was attack him until all the anger and pain and despair inside me went away.

  I swear his face paled underneath his tan.

  “I’m… sorry,” he said, and his voice was thick. He swallowed, his eyes locked on mine.

  A little of my anger leached away at this, the first sign that he felt anything at all.

  “I’m sorry for… a lot of things,” he continued. “And I’m not here expecting forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve that from you.” He paused. “But I can’t stop… caring… about you. Thinking about you. Wondering how you are, what you’re doing.”

  These were words I’d wanted to hear for months, and a part of me was stunned at what he was saying, not ever having really expected it of him. But the other part of me, the part still encased in ice, was left… unmoved.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I finally replied with a small shrug. “You’re right—I can’t forgive you. Not right now. You said I’d betrayed you, when really it was you who betrayed me. You didn’t believe in me, in us.”

  Blane was absolutely still as I spoke, his arms crossed tight over his chest, his gaze intently focused on mine, and I had the passing thought that maybe I wasn’t the only one barely holding myself together.

  “Why are we having this conversation now?” I asked. “Because of Gage? Were you going to say these things to me without that threat?”

  “I just thought… maybe… we could be friends,” he said.

  I gaped at him in disbelief. “You’re not serious.” I laughed, and the sound was slightly hysterical even to my own ears.

  Blane moved until he stood right in front of me and my laughter died a quick death. He reached for a lock of my damp hair, and this time I didn’t flinch.

  “I drive by, all the time,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Just to see if you’re home. I’ve called so many times, only to hang up. I see you when I close my eyes at night. I smell your perfume at work and turn around, every time praying it’s you… but it never is.”

  I studied his eyes and couldn’t deny that I dearly wanted to lean forward, let Blane wrap his arms around me, and forget the past three months had ever happened.

  I’d be an utter fool to do that.

  I cleared my throat. “That sounds real sweet,” I said quietly. “But we’re over, Blane. You about killed me, twice, and I’m not so stupid as to ever trust you again.”

  His expression turned blank and he gave a curt nod. “I see. Then why all the booze, Kat?”

  I stiffened at the nickname. He’d given up nickname privileges. “What are you talking about?”

  “You never used to drink so much, at least not without cause. Why is there more vodka in your freezer than food? Why is it every time you’re at work, there’s a drink nearby?”

  The blood left my face in a rush. “Were you spying on me?” It was hard to wrap my head around that.

  “I’ve been around,” he said evasively. “But I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

  “You’ve talked to other people about me?” Now the blood came rushing back, as did my anger. “You’ve sat around discussing me like I’m some sort of… of… pity case?” I tried to push past him, needing some space, but he grabbed me, his hands closing on my arm.

  “Not other people,” he said. “Clarice. She’s worried about you. I am, too.”

  “I’m fine,” I gritted out. “Get over yourself, Blane. I drink more now because it’s my choice. It has nothing to do with you.” That wasn’t precisely true, but the truth didn’t matter. I was humiliated that Clarice would talk to Blane about me. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “I’m not going away, Kat, whether you want me to or not. I’m not going to let Gage send someone to hurt you. And I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, either.”

  My pride took a beating at that last part and I struggled not to let it show. “Fabulous. Get out.”