Bed of Lies (18 page)

"I think we all do that to some degree," he said. The words had hit way too close to home.

"I can't hide anything from you. It used to drive me crazy. I always felt like you could see right through me and that you must—" She laughed softly. "Never mind."

"No. Tell me."

"I thought you must hate me."

"Never." He'd never come close to feeling that way about her.

"You know, this honesty stuff is a lot easier late at night, in the dark, when you're hundreds of miles apart. Maybe I could manage it that way. Long-distance honesty. Start there and work my way up to being honest with people closer and closer to where I actually am."

"Sounds like a plan." He and Gwen did the long-distance thing really well. They were seldom in the same town for more than a day or so at a time.

He knew her, didn't he? He still wanted her, didn't he?

"I'm really scared," Julie said.

Gwen went right out of his head. Except to think that she never would have said that to him. He doubted she'd ever felt it. She'd probably be shocked to hear that he'd ever been afraid, that he was scared right now.

"I know, Julie." He knew all about it.

"That's why I called. Not so much to ask you to lie, but because I'm scared."

"I know." She never had to say the words for him to figure that out.

"I hate it here."

"Yeah. I know that, too." He didn't want to be there now, either, and it was tearing him up inside.

That town was his anchor, the safest place in the world. A place where people understood him and loved him and stood by him, no matter what, but he wouldn't let himself be there. Because he didn't have the skill or the energy to cover up how awful he was feeling. It took a tremendous amount of effort, holding something like this inside, especially to hide it from the people who knew him best.

"What if they won't give Peter to me?" Julie said.

"They will," he promised.

"How can you know that?"

Her voice trailed off abruptly on the last word. It got really quiet. She was barely holding it together, and he wasn't there. He wished he were.

Zach did the next-best thing, putting on his most persuasive, know-it-all-lawyer voice and telling her, "This is what I do. I know the system inside and out. They'll give you Peter."

"He hates me. He told me so today."

"He's scared, and he's angry," Zach said. Like Julie had always been. If anyone was going to understand Peter, she was. "He might think he hates you right now, but he won't for long. Just don't give up on him."

And don't run away. Please, Julie, don't run this time.

He might just have to chase her down and drag her back, if she did.

You can't run forever,
he'd tell her.

But shit... that's what Zach had been doing ever since his old man got out of prison and moved to that little town two hours away from the place Zach called home.

It had been only six months, and he was exhausted from the effort already. Julie had been running her whole life. Maybe she was just tougher than he was. So who was he to tell her anything? He gave her a hard time about lying, while he was lying just as much as she was. To people who actually loved him, people he knew he could count on.

"It'll be okay," he said, despite all that.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay." She sniffled, and he could picture her trying to pull herself together, that little determined look coming over her face. "And you must believe that, because you don't lie, and you're always right, so they have to give Peter to me."

"I'm not always right, but I am about this."

"I believe you," she said, in a way that made him feel about ten feet tall. At least temporarily. At least until the reality of what had happened the last few days, and all his faults, came rushing like a slide show through his mind. Mistakes like the ones he'd made with Tony Williams's trial. The way he'd hurt her and Gwen. All the things he wished he could fix and couldn't.

"Zach, you don't sound so good, either. Anything you want to tell me?"

"Just another bad day," he said, afraid it was going to be a bad week. Bad month. Maybe a bad year.

"Did something happen with Tony?"

"No. Not yet." But he was expecting it to be bad. Where was he going to go, when he couldn't run anymore? If Julie wasn't there, if he couldn't face the idea of going home, and if Gwen didn't care?

"You can tell me about it," she said.

"I know," he said, testing that idea even as he said it.

He thought about how she never asked for help, never expected it, and realized he didn't either, didn't often accept it when it was offered. Maybe he just didn't know how.

That night... maybe Gwen hadn't expected him to ask, so she hadn't been really listening. It wasn't like she ever asked him for anything, either. Maybe she didn't know how herself. Maybe they were just two screwed-up people fumbling through as best they could, okay until things got tough.

And maybe he was trying to somehow justify what he'd done, to assuage his guilt over sleeping with Julie. Somehow everything came back to sleeping with Julie.

She sure was easy to talk to.

He had to stop this.

"Listen," he said, turning his mind back to her problems and not her in bed with him. "I'm going to call my mom. She knows all about the social services system, too. She'll talk you through it, and you'll feel better."

"Thanks, Zach."

"You're welcome."

Time to hang up the phone, Zach.
There was a woman in Cleveland who maybe was still supposed to be his wife one day. But he couldn't say these things to Gwen. He couldn't go dumping his problems on her when he'd just slept with another woman and wanted to be with Julie tonight instead.

Not for
that,
right? He didn't want that. He couldn't.
Christ, it had been incredible, but he couldn't.
Not again. But he could talk, and she would listen. She would care.

"I'm worried about you, too," she said.

"Well, don't." Everyone was worried about him, and he didn't like it. He'd always taken care of himself just fine. He'd find a way to do that again, to put everything behind him and go on. He'd be fine. No one would ever have to know how bad it had gotten.

"Zach," she began.

"I... I'm trying to forget that night with you," he said, both because it was true and because—shit, he was in bad shape—it was easier than talking about how lousy he felt. "I can't seem to do it, Julie."

She let out a breath. He could almost hear her thoughts racing, even through the phone. He wanted to be there, to see her face and try to read her thoughts, to know... She couldn't be casual about a night like that, could she?

"You can really forget that?" he asked. "Because to me, it was... It just felt so damned good. More than that, it was—"

"Something that we definitely shouldn't have done, which makes it a little bit dangerous and forbidden, which makes sex seem... better all around sometimes."

"So I've always heard. You really believe that's all it was?" It hadn't seemed as crazily intense and amazing and hot to her? Really?

"What does it matter, Zach? It was one night, and you're supposed to be marrying someone else."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. Take care of yourself, Julie. Call me if you need me."

Something he had no right to say, but if she needed him, he'd be there.

* * *

The next morning Julie lay in an old bed in a room in the farthest corner of the house. She hadn't wanted to be in her old room. She'd found this bed covered with clothes, coats and linens. Last night she'd simply swept everything off onto the floor and fallen into bed, had been lying here nearly asleep when Zach called. The house had seemed enormous and dark and full of unfamiliar noises, and she'd been so lonely. She was awake for a long time after hanging up with Zach, most of the time just missing him, but for a moment she'd let herself replay that night.

Not the sexual part.

She couldn't let herself think of that again.

The other part. Holding him. Him holding her. Drifting off to sleep with her head against his bare chest, his heartbeat thrumming along reassuringly beneath her right ear. The heat of his skin, the little ripple of muscles along his stomach, the little hitch in his breath every now and then as he slept, and the way he smelled.

It had been nice, him holding her all the night through, and she still had the shirt he'd put on her that morning. It smelled of him, and foolishly, she'd brought it with her. One day, she might let herself sleep in it. It was likely the only comfort she'd have here, and ill-advised as it would be to climb into bed with his shirt, she'd learned long ago to take whatever obscure comfort life offered her.

And, okay... yes, she'd thought about the sex part, too.

She'd had crazy, desperate sex before, and it hadn't felt like
that,
damn him. She didn't even have to put his shirt on to still be able to feel his hands on her, all over her body, so urgent, so fast, everywhere at once in a frenzy. The intensity, the need, the raw sexuality of it would not let her forget.

It wasn't easy for her to relax and give herself to a man, to trust that she was safe in his arms and to let herself be vulnerable enough to simply feel the pleasure that came with good sex. No worries, no insecurities, no lies, nothing. Zach had seared it all away with his heat, his intensity and that flurry of motion. She'd felt perfectly safe in one way, and yet it had also had that air of the forbidden, the reckless, the ill-advised. Dangerous, to both of them, as it turned out.

But that wasn't all.

If she were really honest with herself, she'd admit she'd never been so turned on in her life. Men didn't make her lose control so completely that she literally screamed in pleasure, and she had for him, couldn't have held back if her life depended on it. That hot, insistent mouth of his had been on hers, on her neck, her breasts, between her legs, determined to have her so hot in seconds that he could sink inside her with no resistance at all. He'd turned her boneless, into a pool of liquid heat. And the way it had felt, having him deep inside her body, clinging to him, letting him take whatever he wanted, happy to have him do anything to her.

She'd been a wild woman in his arms, wouldn't have believed she could respond to a man so openly and completely, and her body felt all hot and tingly just thinking about it.

Getting out of bed, she walked into the bathroom, where a tall, narrow mirror hung on the back of the door. Leaning in close, she could see a faint, reddish circle around her mouth from long, hot, hard kisses by a mouth rimmed with stubble. Unbuttoning her pajama top until her breasts were free, she saw the same, faint, reddish ring around her nipples and tried not to think again of his mouth there.

Turning around, she eased her pajama bottoms down, and there, if she looked really closely, she could see the faint impression of his hands where they'd dug into her bottom and hung onto her at one point—leaving his mark on her.

She had a sexy injury, she thought, the idea making her feel slightly wicked and ridiculously pleased with herself. Given her background, there wasn't another man alive she would have let leave marks on her body and found it sexy instead of scary. No one but Zach. Every girl seemed to have one boy who, when she was growing up and just starting to get it—that whole boy/girl thing—became the perfect image of what a boy should be and all those delicious sensations he could make her feel. Some boy who was usually a little bit older and perfect and completely out of her reach.

Because, really, who ever got
that
boy?

For Julie, that boy had been Zach.

And for one crazy night, she'd had him.

But it had been a mistake.

It couldn't be anything else.

He was Zach McRae, and he couldn't really be interested in her. His life was just a mess right now. That was all. He was lost, but he wouldn't stay that way. He'd go back to his own life, and she'd be stuck here in hers.

Julie closed her eyes and groaned.

She could not do this. She had a ton of problems, none of which involved him. She could keep his shirt. That was it.

She made herself shower and dress, promising to try even harder to quit thinking about him. Pulling on her jeans and a sweater, she drew her hair back into a loose braid.

In the kitchen, she'd begun riffling through practically bare cabinets when she heard a knock on the back door. There was Zach's mother, looking beautifully serene and welcoming, holding a small white bag that smelled of coffee.

"Good morning. I hope I'm not too early," Rachel said.

"Of course not," Julie said, really wishing now that she hadn't given in this morning and done that little inspection of her body to find the marks this woman's son had left. She probably shouldn't have even talked to him the night before, but she couldn't quite regret it, or seeing a kind, familiar face now. "Do I smell coffee and doughnuts?"