Black Swan Affair (15 page)

Neither of us speaks. It seems like minutes but is probably only a few seconds. Killian breaks the quiet with, “Will it always be this awkward between us?”

Resignation.

I hear it. It’s faint, but there. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that we’re over and while I know this, even want it most days, it hurts worse than I thought it would.

“I hope not,” I manage to choke.

“I hate it.”

“So do I.”

Killian clamps the cookie between his teeth then walks out of the kitchen. I think maybe he’s leaving without saying good-bye, but he makes his way through the family room to the large bay of windows that overlook the backyard and wraparound porch.

As he stands there enjoying his treat, I can’t stop myself from remembering that I fantasized about this exact moment when I bought this house. When I saw that window seat where the early morning sun streams in and provides nearly complete privacy to our neighbors, I imagined Killian reading to me there. Making love to me there. Creating our first baby on top of those thick cushions.

That won’t happen, though. Deep in my soul, I knew it wouldn’t happen when I bought this house to begin with. Killian was already married to Jilly then. I feel like I’ve aged a lifetime in the year and a half since I first walked through that front door. And seeing Killian there now makes me realize how far I really have come in the past few months, because instead of wishing he was the one to fulfill my fantasies, I now think I want Kael to.

I make another mental note. Get Kael to fuck me in that exact spot Killian is now standing. I need to erase him from every part of me, including my fading dreams.

“Do you remember the night I found you with Robbie Reams?”

What the hell?
“How could I forget?” In fact, I didn’t. I haven’t. I was
just
thinking of that less than an hour ago.

“I wanted to kill him,” he goes on, still staring out the window. “For having his fucking mouth on you. For touching what was mine.”

“I wasn’t yours.” I hate the fact that my voice breaks. “You even said so that night. I was ‘too young,’ remember?”

He looks at me then. Looks
in
me. Deep inside where I can’t hide the feelings for him that I’ve tried in vain to tuck away. “You
were
too young. Always too fucking young.”

My mouth turns down. “Guess we are a classic romantic tragedy.” It sounds as if I’m belittling what we had. I’m not, but I don’t know what else to say. Every word was true. I lick my lips. His gaze follows. “Killian,” I breathe, suddenly uncomfortable that we’re alone. “This is pointless. What’s done is done.”

He turns his body toward me but doesn’t move closer. The cookie is gone. So is the beer. As if preparing for battle, he stands to his full height and asks me, “What if it
wasn’t
done, Maverick? What if all of this”—he waves a hand around the room—“could be undone?”

I’m tired. So goddamned tired of this round and round. It’s making me dizzy and nauseous. My knees give and I rest my butt against the back of the couch. I look to the floor, studying the worn hardwood under my bare feet. It’s original. Almost a hundred years old. Worn, but in good shape. It needs to be revarnished, though. I’ll talk to Kael about that when he gets home. I should have done it before I moved in, but I was too anxious to get out from under my father’s thumb.

“Maverick, look at me.”

I refuse to obey. Not this time. I should have refused to let him in. Refused the beer. Told him to shove the fucking cookie. Dammit. “What if I don’t want it to be undone?” I ask without looking at him. If, right this very instant, I was given one wish, would I use it on that? Would I go back and make Killian mine, erasing all the suffering we’ve both been through? Would I choose to leave what I’ve built with Kael to be his? Three months ago, I would have said yes. Unequivocally. Now, though? That answer’s a little murky.

“You don’t mean that.”

My eyes snap to his. “Why did you marry Jillian? And no bullshit this time. All you’ve ever given me are bullshit answers. I want a real one. The truth. Do you love her? Have you always loved her? Was what we had even real?”

A derisive look overtakes his face. Whenever I’ve asked him this before, he remained completely impassive. Like a fucking carved piece of marble. Now, though, he’s actually letting emotion bleed through.

“I’ve never had anything more real than what I had with you. You’re as real as it gets, Maverick.”

“Then why?” I plead. “Why did you leave me? For
her
, of all people?” It would kill me to see him walking around with someone else—anyone else—but I would rather have chewed off my own arm than have him be with
her
.

He moves to sit. “Don’t,” I bark. “Don’t sit. Don’t make yourself comfortable. Don’t do anything except answer. The fucking. Question.”

“Which one?” His mouth twitches.

He wants an out. Well, he’s not gonna get it. He’s had over two and a half years of outs. “All of them.” He won’t answer. Just like every time before. I already see it in his eyes.

He picks up the packet he dropped onto the mantel. It crumples a bit when he tightens his fist. “Not everything is as it seems, Maverick.”

More stinking shit of the bull. I push to stand, done with him. “You need to go, Shep.”

Flinty eyes burn into me. “I mean it. You think you want answers, but sometimes it’s the truth that destroys, Small Fry, not the lies. I have tried protecting you my entire life and this…I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this.”

“That’s a lie. You’ve led me on my entire life. Kept me dangling on your hook while you fucked other women, including my sister. You said you were done with my father, yet you came back from Florida an engaged man and two rungs higher on the ladder. Jesus, how naïve was I not to know exactly what you were doing? You couldn’t get what you wanted with me because my father wouldn’t approve of it, so you moved on to the daughter who could.”

His jaw tightens, along with every muscle in his body. “You are dead wrong.”

“Tell me you weren’t fucking Jilly and me at the same time?”

“Maverick…”

Yeah…that’s what I thought.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I demand, feeling my face flush with humiliation. “Tell. Me. I. Am. Wrong.”

His head falls. He’s breathing hard now. My chest hurts. I want to cry.

“Go. Please. And don’t do this again. I can’t do this anymore. If I am your real, as you claim I am, then you will let me go.”
Just as I’m doing with you
.

Our eyes lock and my knees weaken at the heartbreak I’m witnessing right before me, but I can’t…I just can’t. I am beyond my breaking point. Truth be told, I’m already broken. I need someone to put me back together again, not tear me to unrecognizable shreds.

“Please,” I beg, my eyes filling. His do, too. “For me, Killian.”

He swallows, long and hard. If the lump in his throat is anything like the one in mine, I understand. When he walks past, he grabs my hand, telling me softly against my cheek, “He will never love you like I do.”

His lips pucker against my skin. They’re warm, soft. They linger. A tear races down my face. I feel another one and think it may be his. He lets me go and continues toward the front door.

“You’re wrong,” I say achingly to his retreating back. “He loves me more than himself. I wish I could say the same thing for you.”

It was hurtful. It was meant to be. I hurt. He needs to hurt, too.

He stops. Remains frozen for several long moments. His shoulders slump, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t dispute or deny. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Then he’s gone. The door clicks softly behind him and it doesn’t matter that it’s only eight thirty. I head upstairs, peel out of my clothes, and crawl into bed, tears streaking my face, snot clogging my nose.

The rope he has tethered to me is unraveling, thread after fraying thread. I hear them snapping, faster and faster now. Feel the stinging bite of each one against my tender flesh as they break apart.

Tomorrow, I’ll sever another one. Tomorrow, I’m burning that fucking box. Tomorrow, I’ll ash even more memories, pretending they don’t exist. Tomorrow, I’ll let another precious piece of him go.

Tonight, though…tonight I’m letting myself mourn tomorrow.

I
feel
greedy eyes on me from across the crowded room. His gaze burns into me, making me hot and needy. I position myself against the closest wall, cross my heeled feet, and take in my husband. The blatant manner in which he’s eating his way up my curves is heady. My blood already buzzes thickly with alcohol. Now it buzzes for nothing but him. His mouth kicks up on both sides, the knowing smile making his golden eyes glisten.

“I want you,” he mouths.

“You can have me,” I mouth back.

“Jesus Christ, why aren’t you fucking his brains out somewhere?” MaryLou drawls as she eases in beside me. “He’s making
me
horny looking at you like that.”

I tip my cocktail to my lips, taking a generous gulp. “Had it been up to me, we would have stayed in and watched the Halloween marathon on TNT like we always do. But Kael wanted to come.”

Tonight is the annual Halloween bash thrown by Jared and Marta McQueen. Kael is one of Jared’s closest friends as well as his personal attorney. And Jared is one of the few people in town not owned lock, stock, and barrel by Richard DeSoto. That’s because at twenty-nine, the McQueens are also one of the few who don’t need his money.

Jared owns just over ten thousand acres of farmland, which he inherited at the young age of nineteen after both his parents perished in a two-seater plane crash. He owns it outright. No loans. No liens. No corporate conglomerates. And at the current value of $13,000 per acre, that makes him the richest independent farmer in all of Iowa. Probably the Midwest.

But other than the brand new 7,000-square-foot home we’re celebrating in this year, the McQueens are down-to-earth people. Jared still drives his father’s farm truck: a 1979 spearmint-green American beauty he named after his sister Gayle, who also died too young at age eleven. She drowned in only a foot of water when she dove into a shallow lake and broke her neck. It was horrific. Gayle was only two years younger than me at the time she died.

“Thanks for last week,” I say, knowing she gets what I’m talking about.

MaryLou reaches over and takes my hand in hers. She gives it a comforting squeeze. “Welcome.”

She stood by my side, nonjudgmental as usual, as I stared at the burning barrel in her backyard and chickened out. Each time I tried to shred the past, I was struck with an anxiety attack. My relationship with Killian may have gone south, but I just couldn’t do it. Not yet. There are still too many good memories I’m not quite ready to let go of. I have to believe one day those will outweigh the bad ones.

Was it another wrong decision? I don’t know. I can’t even tell anymore.

“Did you ask Kael about Minneapolis?”

“No,” I say distractedly. Kael’s attention has been diverted away from me by Vanessa Hammer, who is outfitted tonight in a clichéd Playboy bunny costume. Ears, tail, and plunging neckline that display her goods to the nines all scream
I’m a fucking tramp.
I’d heard stories about her and Kael hooking up. When I brought it up to Kael, his brow quirked and he asked if we were really opening that discussion.
“Turnabout is fair play, Swan
,” he’d said darkly. I promptly changed the subject.

In all these years, I’ve never been jealous over another woman when it comes to Kael. I may not have liked them all, but it’s never been jealousy.

Until this very second.

Huh.

As if sensing what I’m thinking, MaryLou announces loudly so anyone nearby can overhear, “I heard she had a botched boob job last month. Look at the right versus the left.”

“MaryLou,” I chastise, turning away from Vanessa Hammer for fear she’s now staring us down.

“Oh stop it.”

She pushes my face back toward Kael and Vanessa, holding it there. Vanessa’s attention is still entirely focused on Kael. I bite back the need to stalk over there and stake my claim, although I’m not sure why.

“Do you see it?” she whispers in my ear. Pushing down the jealousy, I focus on her chest. I feel weird drinking in another woman’s boobs, but the more my eyes bounce back and forth, the clearer it becomes.

“Oh my God. I do.”

“Okay, now that we’ve got that over with, why haven’t you asked him?”

“Asked who what?” I ask absently, totally preoccupied by the misshapen left sphere my eyes are now glued to. I tilt my head, trying to get a better look. Poor Vanessa Hammer. Now I totally understand her dilemma. Divert from the obvious. Her cleavage is fantastic, but look a little farther down and…damn. Even the padded bra she’s wearing can’t smooth that shit out.

“Kael,” she answers impatiently. “And stop staring. Jesus.”

“You’re the one who told me to look.” My voice is a low whisper.

“I said look, not rubberneck. Now, for the third time…why didn’t you ask Kael about Minneapolis?”

I finally rip my attention away from Vanessa’s breasts, which look like a science experiment gone horribly wrong, and give it to MaryLou.

When I arrived home the other day, I intended to ask Kael about his trip, but he distracted me by being sprawled out on our wooden staircase. He was casually leaning back on his elbows. Feet perched two steps below. Legs relaxed to the sides.

And he was Buck. Ass. Naked. Every girl’s fantasy come to life, right there.

A cocky grin split his lips as he motioned me over with his index finger. What’s a girl to do but take advantage of that situation? My knees still bear faint bruises from how hard I rode him right there in that exact spot. Then he whipped us up scrambled eggs and bacon and fed me in bed. Everything was so perfect, I didn’t want to upset the applecart. Mentioning Killian would have blown it the fuck up.

“I decided not to.”

“What? Why not?”

I breathe deeply.
How to answer this?
MaryLou knows how upset I was about this. “Because. Then I’ll have to tell him that Killian came over and I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“But nothing happened.” She pins me hard, squinting her eyes. “Did it?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “Nothing happened.” I didn’t tell her about Killian’s ambiguous remarks. “Besides, I trust Kael. If he said he had a business meeting, he did. If I start asking twenty questions like some paranoid wife, it will make it seem as if I don’t trust him and he’s the only person I do trust one hundred percent.”

“Ouch,” she kids, knocking her shoulder against mine.

“You know what I mean, ML.”

“I do. I’m glad. You guys have come pretty far in a short period of time. You’re really falling in love with him, aren’t you?”

I find Kael again. He’s now surrounded by three guys, laughing with his head thrown back, a half-full beer in his hand. He looks magnificent, even wearing those ridiculous whitewashed jeans and gold chains. The plain white tee that’s two sizes too small stretches across his sinewy muscles just the right way to exploit his tone and definition. He pulls off the eighties look well. My mouth waters.

With every day that passes I realize what I’ve always had right in front of me, and despite the confusing feelings for Killian still rattling around, I fall in love with Kael more and more.

“I am,” I tell her in a low voice.

“You know, I remember when he came tearing into Peppy’s that night. I knew then that you were in big trouble.”

I laugh. “You mean the night he grabbed me and kissed me in front of everyone?” The same night he demanded I go on a date with him.

“That’s the one,” she says, her voice light.

I fall back into that memory and smile.

I
an strokes
a finger down my arm. His face is so close to mine, I can see each black fleck in his crystalline eyes. Whenever he talks, the smell of his whiskey sour floats between us.

“So…maybe you and I could—”

A loud crashing noise in front of the bar interrupts Ian’s proposition. Over his shoulder, I note a fiery Kael scanning the place. My shoulders square when he zeroes in on me. His perturbed glare keeps flipping over to Ian Summerfield, who’s been flirting with me all night.

Kael hates Ian. Ian feels the same. I don’t really like Ian. Not in that way, anyway. I kissed him once when I was fifteen. It was sloppy and he used his teeth in ways that were the opposite of sexy. But I was hopeful I’d get to test whether time and experience had changed that. It’s been nice to have some attention by a man who clearly wants me. One who’s available. One not married to my sister.

I watch Kael watch me, his pace picking up. The closer he gets, the more I see it. Barely checked fury. Then he’s in front of me, chest heaving in rapid fire. His usually full lips are pressed into a skinny, ropelike line. Eyes that normally remind me of an inviting glass of whiskey look more like caramels that have hardened after being microwaved too long.

“Get lost.” He pitches his command to Ian without so much as a courteous glance.

Ooohhh…he’s mad.

Who the hell called him anyway? I knew I should have sulked ten miles down the road in Hudson.

Ian mumbles something but apparently decides I’m not worth getting the snot beaten out of him by a livid bear nearly twice his size. Whatever. I can find someone else to stroke my bruised ego. It needs a lot of stroking right now. Preferably between the legs.

“What are you doing here, Kael?” I try to yell over the boom of 50 Cent’s “Just A Little Bit,” but I think my words slur together. Just “a little bit.” I laugh at my own joke, which only I heard. I laugh so hard I start to slide off my barstool. It’s a slippery fucker.

“You make my name sound like a dirty word,” he snaps, grabbing my elbow in his unyielding grip to steady me. I have no idea why he’s so pissed. A girl’s allowed to get hammered and laid in peace, isn’t she?

“Who called you?” I try to break Kael’s hold, intent on ordering another Jack and Coke. I pull back so hard I almost fall again, but his catlike reflexes reappear and he steadies me once again.

I look up to see him glowering down at me. “Why are you here?” I demand, gripping the sticky bar top like a lifeline. “I’m not ready to go.”

“I’m here because you need me. And, yes”—he pries my kung fu grip from the beat-up wood—“you are ready.”

“I think I know when I’m ready and I’m not—”

It happens so fast I don’t see it coming. In retrospect, that was probably his intent. I’m stunned silent when, right there in the middle of the bar, in the middle of town, in front of dozens of people we both know, he palms the back of my head and slams his mouth to mine.

This is not the kiss of a best friend. It’s not calm and sweet. It doesn’t remotely suggest platonic. It’s a kiss of possession and want. It’s raw, unadulterated need. And I want to be wanted. I need to be the air someone breathes. Even if it is tainted with all kinds of wrong.

When I gasp, Kael dips his tongue inside. It’s seeking and sure. He duels it with mine. I fight back to see what he’ll do. He responds by tightening his fist in my hair and groaning. It’s unexpected but so damn sexy that my fingers sink into his jacket and I yank him closer, greedily gulping down his erotic noises. His hand travels to the small of my back and when he presses me to him, I feel the hardness between his thighs swell.

Too soon, his lips are gone, but I feel the heaviness of his breath fanning over my face with each hard exhale. Just as mine is doing. “You ready now, Swan?” he rasps against my trembling lips. Or maybe his are the ones trembling. It’s hard to tell. My eyes are shut when I nod a yes. “Good.”

He shoves my arms into my winter coat and zips it up to my chin. Looping our fingers together, he leads me outside. The cold January night sucks away my oxygen, but Kael doesn’t notice my lack of breath, nor does he slow down as he drags me behind him to his black Ford F-150.

After he settles me in, gravel spins as he leaves Peppy’s behind in his angry, irrational dust. He keeps his eyes on the road. His jaw flexes and releases. Is he mad? Remorseful? God…is he turned on?

I sit there, quiet. My drunk mind reeling. I want to say something. About the kiss. About the way he’s acting as if I’ve stepped out on him or something. I know Kael has feelings for me. I know they extend beyond friendship. But in all the years I’ve known him, he’s never once crossed the line into intimating that we be something other than we are—not after I shut him down at my senior prom, telling him we’d never be anything but friends because I was in love with someone else.