Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (12 page)

“Well, you surprised me, appearing out of nowhere like that.” I cover hastily, making my voice haughty so he won’t know I’m seriously considering the repercussions of dry humping his leg. “Which means it’s
your
fault my keys are in the hydrangeas, and
you
are the one who’s going to climb in there and find them.”

“Or…” He steps closer, until our chests are nearly brushing, and I forget to breathe, forget to think, forget to do anything but stare as his face moves toward mine. Extending one arm behind my back, he comes to a stop before we actually touch, but his mouth is so close to my ear I can feel his breath on my neck when he whispers. “…I could just use
my
key.”

The sound of a lock turning over and my door swinging inward snap me out of my momentary lust. I’m still standing there like a fool, attempting to process the fact that Nate just opened my door with “his
key” when he steps around me and strolls inside. His gate is so casual as he strides through my foyer and disappears into my kitchen, you’d think he’s stepped over my threshold every day for the past five years.

What. The. Frack.

“You coming, Miyagi?” he calls from somewhere inside.

I glance down at Boo, who’s gazing up at me in expectation, clearly wanting to follow the strange man inside — the man who’s likely looking through my private documents, hacking my hard drive, and cracking my safe as we speak.

“You do realize we’re totally fucked, right?” I ask Boo in a serious voice.

Swear to god, he nods his doggy head in comprehension before giving up waiting for me to grow a set and trotting after Nate.

“Frack,” I mutter, stepping inside with a groan and shutting the door at my back. If not for the sudden tension in Boo’s leash, pulling me away from the entryway, I’d have happily stayed there all night rather than face whatever message of doom and gloom Nate’s undoubtedly here to deliver.

There’s a special ring of hell for the people

who invented push-up bras and high heels.

Nathaniel Knox, watching a beautiful brunette

glide out of a town car in a blue-black dress.

I find him in the kitchen — not rooting through my drawers for state secrets, but searching my fridge. As soon as I unhook Boo from his leash, he runs to his bed on the other side of the room and settles in like a king holding court. Nate’s audible sigh brings my eyes back to him.   

“What the hell is the matter with you, West?”

I hop up on the marble kitchen island, legs swinging, and contemplate his question. “Well, I’ve always wanted to be better at math. And sometimes, if I blow-dry my hair too much, I get really bad split ends. I’m an abominable public speaker. Oh! And I’m really terrible at remembering names.”

After a few seconds, I realize I’ve been rambling and snap my lips together so I won’t say anything else. Nate’s staring at me with crinkly eyes again.

“You weren’t talking about my flaws,” I say dumbly.

“I was referring to the fact that you’ve got no food in this house,” he says, voice choked like he’s trying not to laugh. “But I’m glad you told me about the split ends. Sounds like a real trauma. Don’t know how you managed to make it through all these years with something like that plaguing you.”

I throw a dishtowel at his head. He dodges it easily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, staring at the empty fridge to keep my eyes from undressing him. There’s something about seeing Nate
playful
that practically undoes me. “There’s leftover pizza in there. I think. And, uh, definitely a jar of maraschino cherries. Possibly a bottle of Sriracha. Plus, at least a half-bottle of wine.”

He’s silent. 

“What? You could totally make a meal out of that.” I shrug and dart a glance at him. “Haven’t you ever heard of cherry-topped pizza with a Sriracha-wine glaze? It’s all the rage in Europe.”

“West, I’ve met stray dogs with more nutritious diets.” His eyes flash down the length of my body, lingering on my bare legs. “Makes no fucking sense, you looking like that.”

My heart stops. “What?”

He ignores me, shutting the fridge and moving to lean against the counter opposite me. His face flattens into a familiar mask as he folds his arms across his chest.

“We have to talk about O’Dair.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I narrow my eyes at him when he remains silent. “Please tell me you’re not seriously here to warn me away from another date.”

His jaw starts to tick. “He hangs with a bad crowd. He’s—”

“Wait! Let me guess… he’s
dangerous
!” I gasp. “What a unique and original concept!”

“West, you have to understand, your family’s wealth makes you a target—”

“No! No. Just because you think the only reason a man would be interested in me is to extort money or power doesn’t mean I’m going to start believing it.
You
might not think I’m worth anything beyond my last name, but—” I slam my lips together so I won’t do something stupid, like finish that sentence. Or cry.

Something flashes in his eyes — possibly surprise, more likely anger. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, you clearly believe it, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Remember Brett Croft? Or have you forgotten so easily?” His fists clench at just the memory. “He nearly killed Gemma. Wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you, too.”

Some of the wind goes out of my sails. “Cormack is nothing like Brett.”

“And you know this how, exactly? Woman’s intuition?” His voice drips sarcasm. “Did you read his aura? Did he pinky swear he wasn’t manipulating you?”

Okay, it’s official. Playful Nate is much better than Asshole Nate.

The anger thrumming in my bloodstream makes me bolder than usual. “You know, if I didn’t know better I’d swear you were jealous.”

His eyes flash darkly and an incredulous sound erupts from his mouth. “I’m being serious here, West.”

“So am I!”

His jaw ticks.

Watching him, something is abruptly clear. He doesn’t want me — he’ll never want me — but he doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either. Like a Pit Bull with a bone it doesn’t particularly like, but can’t relinquish to another dog out of pride or some other deeply ingrained territorial bullshit.

“West, listen to me,” he bites out, words icy. “Cormack O’Dair is—”

“Stop right there!” I snap, holding out my hands. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

“West—”

“Why do you suddenly care who I date?” I ask point-blank. “What changed? Because, up until about a month ago, you’ve pretty much pretended I don’t exist.”

He swallows hard — I watch his Adam’s apple bob with the strength of it. When he speaks, his voice is carefully distant.

“It’s
who
you’re dating that I have a problem with.”

“Ahh, right. Because everyone is trying to exploit me.” I laugh but it’s a humorless sound. “You know, I think I was happier when we didn’t interact at all.”

His eyes narrow. “I want you safe. I don’t really give a shit if that makes you unhappy.”

“Clearly, or you wouldn’t be here.”

He leans forward fractionally and I feel my heart clench. “I’ve got good instincts. They’ve kept me alive more times than I can count. So when they tell me O’Dair has another motive with you, I fucking listen to them.”

“And that’s different from woman’s intuition
how
, exactly?”

He ignores me. “Something about him doesn’t add up. I don’t know what, yet, but I’m looking into him. It’s only a matter of time before I find out what he’s planning.”

“Maybe he’s just planning to take me on a freaking date!”

“West, listen close.” He takes a step away from the counter and closes some of the distance between us. “This is going to go down one of two ways—”

I gasp, throwing a hand over my heart in a parody of shock. “Let me guess — the
easy
way or the
hard
way?!”

“West—”

“My name is Phoebe.
Phee-bee.
” I sound it out slowly, as though I’m speaking to a child. “Two syllables. Rhymes with itself. Super easy to say. You should try it sometime.”

“This isn’t up for negotiation, West.” He purposely ignores my suggestion, taking another stride toward me. “You’re not seeing him again. And he’s already been informed of that fact.”

My blood runs cold. “What did you say to him?”

He stays silent. 

“Ugh!” I screech. “You know what,
Knox?
” I watch him flinch when I seethe out his last name. Two can play this game. “I’m getting pretty tired of this. Of you — barging into my house, my life, my freaking
fridge
, and bossing me around like it’s somehow your place.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.” His words are flat, his jaw is ticking.

“Seems like you’re trying to keep me celibate, actually,” I snap, hopping off the counter in a graceful leap that rolls my ankle and nearly sends me sprawling on my face.

Excellent
.

Blushing furiously, I right myself and try to ignore the fact that Nate went tense as soon as the word
celibate
slipped out. Turning my back on him entirely, I snap my fingers to call for Boo. When he trots to my side, I head for the stairs.

“Goodbye,
Knox
.” I don’t look at him as the scathing words leave my mouth. “Let’s do this again… oh, how about never
.
”

A hand clamps over my arm, drawing me to a sudden halt. Every muscle in my body goes still when I feel the heat of Nate’s body move closer, until he’s practically pressed against my back. His voice is low, intent when it vibrates at my neck.

“I’d notice.”

My mind swirls to a stop.

“What?” I whisper, confused.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks.

“Earlier, you said—” He clears his throat and his voice drops lower. “You wondered if anyone would notice if you disappeared.” There’s another heavy beat of silence. Not daring to shatter the moment, I hold my breath until it burns in my lungs. I get the sense he’s doing the same.

“I’d notice,” he says finally, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

Before I can respond, the hand disappears from my arm and his heat disappears from my back. I’ve barely turned around when I hear the front door creak open, followed by a terse order.

“Stay the fuck away from O’Dair.”

Then, the door slams and he’s gone.

Bones jellied, I sink down to the floor and stay there, back pressed against the kitchen island, legs curled to my chest, tears gathering in my eyes.

I hate him. Hate him! He’s bossy and condescending and makes me feel like a discombobulated pre-teen girl. I hope he never comes back.

God, I’m unconvincing.

My internal rant is soon overtaken by another voice from the back of my mind — small but persistent as it replays two words over and over in a deep, rumbling growl.

I’d notice. I’d notice. I’d notice.

My breaths are shallow, my face is wet — it takes me a minute to realize I’m crying on my kitchen floor. Eventually, Boo wanders over and hops up in my lap, his tiny furry head nestling into the crook of my arm.

I must look even more pathetic than I feel, if my demon-dog is taking pity on me.

***

“Can you sprain your vagina? Because I don’t think mine will ever function normally again, after that last position we did.”

Gemma’s loud exclamation draws glances from several people in the surrounding booths. I shoot her a look and contemplate kicking her beneath the table. Lila chuckles so hard cupcake crumbs shoot from her mouth. Shelby just alternates glaring at the three of us in turn, likely wishing she had better taste in friends.

We’re at
Crumble
, an adorable little cupcake shop Gemma dragged us to as soon as our Sunday morning yoga class was over.

We all need a sugar rush, after the trauma of exercising first thing in the morning. Especially Gemma, who’s so uncoordinated she makes me look like a yogi in comparison. She spent most of the hour-long session lying flat on her mat, moaning in pain after her downward dog pose went horribly wrong, resulting in a face plant, two sprained wrists, and a pulled muscle in her thigh so bad, we practically had to carry her here.

Lila, on the other hand, spent the session hissing questions at me between poses, wanting to know every detail about Nate and Cormack’s showdown last night.

I did my best to tune both of them out, mainly so I wouldn’t lose my precarious balance during tree pose.

All the while Shelby, bonafide fitness guru, led the class from a mat at the front of the studio and shot eye-daggers at us for daring to interrupt her zen-like atmosphere. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t kick us out after the first ten minutes. I’m even more surprised she let us drag her along for post-yoga cupcakes — Shelby is a twenty-seven year old Monsanto-hating vegan. She’ll probably have a heart attack if she ever sees the processed snack foods in my pantry. 

“God, my ass is sore. I think it’s broken.” Gemma moans lightly, face contorting in pleasure as she chomps into a double-chocolate cupcake.

“You can’t break your ass.” Shelby snorts. “And if you’d just get into a routine or maybe come to my class more than once every six months, it wouldn’t hurt so bad every time.”

“It takes me six months to
recover
from one of your classes,” Gemma points out. “Otherwise, I’d totally be there.”

“Right.” Shelby rolls her eyes. “Sure you would.”

“Hey, you can’t be mad at me — Chrissy didn’t even show up.”

“Chrissy just had a baby,” Shelby points out. “She’s excused. For now.”

“Babies get you out of exercising? Maybe I should get pregnant,” Gemma murmurs thoughtlessly. When we all glance at her, she blushes bright red and her eyes go wide. “Kidding! Kidding. No babies. Nope. Not happening. Ever.”

“Oh yeah? How’s Chase feel about that?” I ask, amused.

“If it were up to him, I’d have been barefoot and pregnant the week we met.”

“Oh, woe is you!” Lila rolls her eyes. “If a man that gorgeous wanted to give me his babies, you would
not
hear me complaining.”

“Can we not talk about babies?” Shelby asks, grimacing. “Just thinking about the snot-nosed little rug-rats makes me nauseous. I’m really trying to hang onto my zen, here.”

“I don’t need babies. I just need some
sex
,” I mutter darkly. “At this rate, I’m going to die a virgin.”