Close to You Page 7

  “You were never a customer there, were you?” Michele asked, comprehension dawning.

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “You lied to me.” Her voice was even, but hurt crowded her face.

  “I’m not excusing what I did. We both lied to each other.”

  “I only lied to protect myself!”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking their dog do a double-take as they passed us by. I ignored them, only focusing on her.

  “I know that. I do,” I said, quietly, hoping my words would soothe her.

  “Now what happens?” she asked.

  “Whatever you want.” The words toppled out of my mouth too quickly, but I had to tell her that it was her choice. I wanted to say so much more, like that I was completely into her and wanted to feel her lips on mine and that I felt this strong urge to protect her from everything I could. But I didn’t know how to say all that, so I didn’t.

  “Whatever I want?” Her eyes darted across my face, something like hope forming in her eyes. She still looked uncertain, though. “What if what I want isn’t possible?”

  “What do you want, Michele?”

  “To… to feel normal again.” She looked down at her hands, and then back up, her brow pinched with worry. “To let myself feel happy without feeling guilty about it. To enjoy my life. To stop looking over my shoulder for fear that I’ll see Brandon there.”

  My throat dried at that, knowing that I had no control over those things. I leaned in, wanting to provide her with something, my arms reaching to pull her toward me. She stiffened, then relaxed, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder.

  “What happened? Why did you run away?” I asked her.

  A few silent moments passed by. I thought she wouldn’t answer... but then she shifted, her hand clutching at my coat, raising her face to look at me.

  “We got married five years ago this past July. It was... a fairytale. All those things he said on the phone... they weren’t lies. He gave me a big house, a nice ring, a car. But... a few months after our wedding, he...he hit me.”

  She stopped talking after that, the grip on my coat tightening in her small hand. The rest of her body was stock still and rigid, as if waiting for a blow.

  Or remembering one.

  It occurred to me, in the basest part of my mind, that she could be lying to me. She would have nothing to lose and everything to gain by doing so. She could be playing me for a fool, crying wolf, all to get what she wanted.

  I studied her face. I could, clearly, see the fear there. I could also see fear in the stiffness of her body, in the way she rubbed at her bare ring finger, roughly, with her thumb.

  A sadness I thought I’d forgotten washed through me, and her words dredged up memories, memories I’d locked up, of my own mother. I blinked the thoughts away.

  “Michele... I’m so sorry.” I pulled her closer to me, knowing it wasn’t enough. “I can’t make you feel or do anything.” I swallowed, resting my chin on the top of her head. Her hair smelled flowery, like a spring day in the midst of all this winter. “But I can promise you that as long as I’m around, Brandon won’t find you here. I’m dropping the case.”

  “He’ll just hire someone else,” she said, her voice muffled and miserable-sounding. I thought I heard a sniffle, and I pulled her back, hands resting on her arms, looking into her wet eyes and frowning.

  “Yeah, he probably will,” I admitted. “Have you…thought of getting a divorce? Or of filing a restraining order?”

  She shook her head, her expression full of worry. “No. I can’t. I just…I’m not ready. If I do, then he might come. That’s all there is to it.”

  I rubbed an escaped tear away with my thumb, hating to see her cry, hating to watch her composure break. I began to feel a sense of doubt, worrying that I was making too many promises I couldn’t keep. How could I stop Brandon from finding her? I couldn’t be with her at all times. Surely she realized that, too?

  “Iain,” she whispered. She was so close, her pretty face mere inches from mine. I saw her mind racing, her eyes flicking from my own to my lips, and then back up again.

  There was something there. A spark, the beginnings of a flame. Everything around me ceased to exist as we stared each other down. I was only aware of her, and me, and my racing heart.

  It wasn’t the right time to feel this way, to think these thoughts. But I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  “Do you feel this too?” My hands were itching to touch her, to reach up to her face and draw her in. Suddenly, that very thought consumed me; I could think of hardly anything else.

  “Yes,” she breathed. My heart sped even faster as I watched her stare at me as if frozen.

  “I want to kiss you so badly right now.” Her eyes flashed, cheeks visibly flushing from my words.

  “Then do it.”

  I didn’t need telling twice. I leaned in, pausing briefly before our lips touched, feeling her warm breath against my mouth. And then I kissed her.

  Her lips were cold at first from being outside for so long, but they warmed up quickly as I moved mine over hers. I felt the shy nudge of her tongue against mine, and I deepened the kiss. That spark from earlier burst, heat and fire brewing inside of me, and I pulled her closer.

  It felt like a goddamn dream, the feeling of her lips on mine, her breaths coming out in sharp rushes against me. The fact that we were outside in Central Park making out on a park bench didn’t even cross my mind until she broke the kiss, her cheeks deliciously reddened. My body hummed in response, my jeans beginning to feel painfully tight, and I held my hand over her face for just a moment longer before dropping it.

  “Wow,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to take her home and dive into her until she screamed my name.

  I had to calm down.

  “Yeah, wow,” I said, leaning back against the bench and staring at the sky. Wisps of clouds had formed since this morning, and I watched them slowly float by for a few moments, focusing on my breathing, focusing on cooling myself down.

  Michele was quiet and still. I turned my head and looked at her; she was staring at me, her aqua eyes more blue than green in the sunlight.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. She shifted and then reached her hand toward me, tracing a finger down the side of my face, through my beard. “Do you... do you promise you’ll keep me safe from Brandon?”

  I bit my tongue, hating the rip of pain in my chest at her question. No, I couldn’t keep her safe. But I could try.

  “I’ll do everything I can to make sure that he never hurts you again.”

  Her face softened. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

  I remembered that night at Catfish, when she had told me she was married. Have you ever… been in a situation you didn’t know how to get out of? That’s what she had asked me. I looked at her now, saw her desperation and confusion. I could see her wanting to trust me, wanting to believe. I could see it all over her face.

  “Come home with me,” I said. “I want to show you something.”

  I expected her to say no. I was shocked when she nodded.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 15.

  Michele

  On the way to Iain’s apartment, we were both quiet. Too much had transpired for small talk.

  When he had called my name, my real name, I had totally frozen. Never would I have suspected that he knew who I was. Sure, he’d run into me on the street and then shown up at the bar - but those things felt like coincidences at the time. I had told him of my own accord that I was married, not knowing that he’d already known that.

  If I knew what was good for me, I’d run away. I’d get the hell out of here and find another place, far away, to settle down in. The thought had been tempting, at first. When we were sitting there together on the park bench, he had been staring at me with what looked like suspicion as I told my story. Fear, metallic and str
ong, had sat in my throat. And then he had pulled me close.

  I hadn’t been held like that in so long. Shannon wasn’t much of a hugger. It broke something within me. Even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea, even though I knew that Iain was potentially dangerous – I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t turn down something that felt so good.

  I felt such an odd mixture of hurt and relief, now. Hurt that I had been lied to, but relief that he had told me the truth and that we were on the same page. And, with a blush, I thought of that kiss again.

  It had felt so perfect, despite everything that had just happened. It felt right. He’d asked me if I felt it too - and if he meant that electric spark, that magnetic pull between us, that dizzy sensation and warm flush from being so close to him, then yes, I felt that. I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on mine.

  I wondered what he wanted to show me at his apartment. I wasn’t sure how wise it was to be alone with him right now. I felt so raw and unfocused, uncertain. Everything about my life here had been turned upside down in the span of an hour, and I didn’t know yet what to do about that. But being with Iain, I felt safe and secure, for the time being.

  Iain Sheppard.

  He’d been in the Army with Brandon. It had all come back to me, and now I recalled so clearly Brandon boasting about saving a man’s life. I remembered that story well, because he told it frequently at dinner parties, but I’d only heard Brandon mention Iain’s name once or twice.

  All along, I knew exactly who Iain Sheppard was, but I didn’t connect the dots.

  “We’re here,” Iain said, breaking me out of my thoughts. We were stopped in front of a gated door, sandwiched between a nail salon and psychic readings shop. He unlocked his door and it creaked open, and I followed him inside.

  Once up a dimly lit flight of stairs, he turned down the hall and stopped at a door labeled with the number 4.

  After we were both inside, he shut the door and bolted it, removing his coat and offering to take mine. I took my shoes off and looked around. The space was small and sparsely furnished, with hardly anything adorning the walls. I took it all in, noting how tidy it looked.

  “How long have you lived here?” I asked him. I walked to the living room window, looking down at the street.

  “Just a couple of years.”

  His voice was right behind me, and I turned.

  “What did you want to show me?”

  He hesitated. “I wanted to show you where I lived.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Surely he had something more illuminating to show me?

  “I know how this looks. But, I thought… if you knew where I lived, then you would feel a little safer. And… if you ever feel unsafe for any reason, you can always come here. It can be your safe spot, if you want.”

  “My safe spot?” I repeated, wondering if he was joking.

  “Listen - you said it yourself. Once I tell him I’m dropping the case, he’s just gonna hire someone else, someone who will probably discover where you live. If you ever notice anyone tailing you, call me. They’ll have to get through me first.”

  I felt the blood leave my face at that, and I took a step backwards, my back hitting the window. Coldness from the glass soaked through my sweater.

  “I should leave New York.”

  “And go where?” he asked, concern on his face.

  “I don’t know. Anywhere. I could go to Florida. My mom lives there. Would he find me there?” My lip trembled, and I clamped my mouth shut. Iain stepped forward, closing the distance between us, pulling me into a fierce hug.

  “If he’s determined enough, he’d find you anywhere you went. But that doesn’t mean you should give up. You have to fight him, and we can do it together.”

  His words felt like honey in my ears, sickly sweet and tempting. I wanted very badly to take what he was offering.

  But Iain, he barely knew me. Why would he offer to help me like this? He was risking his own reputation and his friendship with Brandon.

  “Why are you doing this for me?”

  He didn’t say anything at first, only strengthened his hold on me. I relished the feeling of it, the temporary security. I let myself imagine what it would feel like to always be in these arms, protected. But I brushed that thought away immediately.

  Iain released me and stood there for a moment with a frown, as if deep in thought about what he wanted to say.

  “My last deployment,” he began, his words so quiet I had to strain to hear them, “I was engaged. My fiancée, Emily, was pregnant with a baby girl. I was… so excited, to come home to a child, and I was miserable that I would be deployed when she was brought into the world.

  “We had a name picked out, a nursery halfway done, and our families were thrilled. But then, one night, after I was deployed, she went into labor too soon.”

  There was an extremely still silence at that, and I barely dared to breathe.

  “I found out about it too late, in a phone call in the middle of fucking nowhere in Afghanistan, after the baby was already lost. I cried into the phone, apologizing over and over that I wasn’t there, asking Emily a million times if she was gonna be okay. She sounded… distant, over the phone. So lost and broken. And it was all my fault. I had to be away during one of the most important moments of our lives, and I wasn’t there for her.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Iain. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, roughly, and shook his head.

  “Yeah, it fucking was. I could have done something, she was here all by herself for months, pregnant. I could have lightened the load, or - or made sure she was eating right, or something. But I had to go to war, instead. I had to play soldier one last time.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said softly. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

  “It was hell. I was a walking nightmare and after my deployment was up, as soon as I got back, I didn’t renew my term. I went home, ready to start fresh with Emily, ready to be a civilian and ensure I’d never have to leave her alone again. But when I came home, she was gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “She fucking left me. She cleared her shit out of our apartment. She left a note, changed her phone number, and I never saw her again.”

  “You didn’t try to find her?”

  “I thought about it. But in the end, I realized that none of it would have happened if I had just been there to protect her. My own actions pushed her away. And the moral of the story is, the reason I’m telling you all this, is because while we barely know each other, we’re connected, Michele. It’s no coincidence that you and I met, and as stupid as it sounds, I think we met for a reason. And you need help - and I’m going to do my damn best to make sure that I don’t fuck it up this time.”

  I reacted purely on instinct. I wasn’t even aware that I had moved toward him, or that I had stood on my tiptoes and grabbed his face and lowered it toward mine, but I was aware of him kissing me like a starving man. He backed me up against the window, the sound of my back bumping into it loud and rattling, but I didn’t care. I opened my mouth, inviting in his eager tongue, running my hands through all that hair, the feeling of his body pressed against mine so satisfying yet I desperately needed more. I moaned into his mouth, the feeling of it so exquisite and carnal and perfect, my hands gripping at his hair now, tugging.

  Reason tried to poke through the haze of lust, telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this, but I ignored it. I released his hair and lowered my hands to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons and sighing when I felt his own dip under my sweater, fingers dancing up my pebbling skin. I wanted him so badly I could almost taste it; I wanted to feel him inside of me, up against this fucking window if he wanted; I didn’t care.

  All too quickly, the kiss ended and he rested his forehead against mine, panting, his hands stilled against my ribcage. My body was a hot mess of adrenaline and endorphins, my heart racing a mile a minute in my c
hest.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice unbearably husky. The sound of it sent heat straight to my center, which was already aching with need.

  “Yes.” I squirmed against him, feeling his own arousal, hearing a soft moan escape his lips. “Iain, I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

  It didn’t have to mean anything—just mindless sex, a movement of bodies as one and a shared release. It had been so long since I’d been touched by loving hands.

  He led me to his bedroom, a small room that seemed to double as his office. There was a brief moment of indecision in which we both regarded each other, but then I latched onto him again, pulling his mouth against mine in a greedy kiss, working those buttons with all the precision I could muster. He tore my own sweater over my head, tossing it to the ground, and then unclasped my bra. I shimmied it off, getting the last button on his shirt free and removing it quickly, running my hand over toned muscles, feeling his skin hot with desire.

  My eyes were drawn to his left shoulder, which had a rough-looking scar in a patchy circular shape. I ran my fingers up and over it, giving him a questioning look.

  “My last deployment,” he told me, his voice still laced with lust. “I got shot.”

  I nodded and then reached to pull his face toward mine, my lips slanting over his in a hungry kiss.

  He groaned against my lips, running his hands up my belly and touching my breasts, his fingers tweaking at my nipples, making me gasp.

  He backed me up against the bed. I lay against it, chest heaving as I watched him remove his jeans, kicking them aside. He came toward me, his hands hovering above the button of my own jeans, as if asking a question.

  “Take them off,” I urged him, not wanting him to have any doubts about what I wanted. “And fuck me.”

  “Fuck,” he whispered, and he removed my jeans and panties quickly, throwing them somewhere behind him. I was completely exposed before him, and he was above me, erection straining against his boxers, his eyes trained on my body, soaking me up. “You’re so perfect, Michele.”