Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (18 page)

I smile and stare at my hands, doing everything in my power to keep my eyes off him. He and Chase are by the kitchen island, talking in hushed tones, no doubt plotting revenge against Mac and his boys. He’s barely glanced my way, since they arrived.

There’s a strange tension between us, now. Different than before.

In the past, we’ve circled with a caustic kind of caution, careful not to get too close for fear of ripping each other’s heads off. Now, I’m afraid if I get too close I’ll rip off something else.

Namely, his clothing.

“You look like crap,” Lila says, staring at my swollen eye. “Have you been to bed, yet?”

To bed? Yes.

To sleep? No.

Do not look at Nate. I repeat, do
not
look at Nate.

I stare harder at my fingers, which have knotted together. “Not exactly.”

“Well, we’re going back to my place, then. I’ll make you a big cup of tea, give you a valium, and you can recuperate with a nice drug-induced coma.”

“No drugs,” I say immediately. I’m surprised she’d even suggest such a thing – she knows how I feel about prescription pills.

She sighs. “One Valium won’t kill you.”

“Lila.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine.” 

Gemma’s hand lands on mine. “You can come to the penthouse, if you want. It’s safe there. Chase’s security guys won’t let anyone in.” 

“Thanks, but I just want to go home. Sleep in my own bed, and all.”

An uncompromising voice cuts in. “You’re staying here, where you can’t get into any more trouble.”

I go still at the ice in his tone. My eyes fly in Nate’s direction, surprised he was even listening to our conversation, and I find he’s glaring at me with hard eyes.

“What did you just say?” I snap, not liking that look one bit.

“Did I stutter?” He takes a few steps across the room in my direction. “You’re not leaving until this is over.”

“That sounded an awful lot like an order.”

“Probably because it was one.”

My mouth falls open. “Are you fracking kidding me?”

I admit, I may be a
bit
cranky, what with the lack of sleep and the near death experience and the coitus interruptus just before the Big O finally made her debut… So, there’s a chance I’m more irritable than usual.

Whatever
. He still shouldn’t boss me around like I’m seven years old.

His eyes narrow. “I told you not to go out with O’Pry. You didn’t listen. You never listen.” His voice gets low, lethal. “This time, you’re going to listen, West, even if I have to handcuff you to my fucking bed.”

“Hot,” Lila whispers under her breath.

“Seriously,” Gemma agrees.

I ignore them.

Huh. Turns out we still want to rip each other’s heads off, after all…

“You can’t keep me here like some kind of prisoner.” I scoff. “I have a life. A house. A dog. A job.” I rise to my feet. “I’m not staying here.”

He smirks. “You’re not leaving.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” I whirl around and pin my friends with a look. “Come on. We’re going.”

Gemma blanches. “Phee, I really don’t think—”

I glare at her and the words die in her throat. My gaze shifts to Lila. She’s inspecting her cuticles, looking bored.

“Lila!” I snap.

“Mmmm?”

“Get up and come with me.”

“Why?”

My voice lowers. “It’s much more effective if I storm out of here with a posse.” 

I hear a muffled chuckle from Chase. When my glare swivels in his direction, he adopts an innocent expression.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’ve got nothing to do with this.”

“I was just kidnapped,” I point out. “You guys are supposed to be catering to my every whim.”

“Really?” Lila’s nose wrinkles.

“I don’t think that’s a rule,” Gemma adds, voice speculative. “It wasn’t in the guidelines of Operation SPANK.”

“Nope,” Lila agrees. “Sure wasn’t.”

I shoot them my iciest glare. Neither seems to be affected.

“Operation SPANK?” Nate asks, full of curiosity.

“I think what Lila and Gemma are trying to say is…” Chase’s green eyes are steady on mine. “We just want you to be safe, Phoebe. And you’re safest here. There’s video surveillance at all the doors and windows. State of the art tech.” His eyes soften. “As long as those men are out there, you’re a target.”

Damn. Why does he have to be so kind and chivalrous and logical? 

I look at Gemma. “How do you win any arguments, with this guy?”

She shakes her head miserably. “I don’t.”

Chase grins. It’s a good grin. I know right then, I’m not going to get my way.

“Fine.” I collapse back onto the sofa with a huff. “I’ll stay. But I won’t be happy about it.”

Chase buries a laugh beneath a cough. Lila giggles outright. Gemma lays her head on my shoulder. When I catch Nate’s eyes, they’re crinkled up in amusement.

Bastard
.

If I didn’t love him so much, I’d hate him.

People say God only gives us as much as we can handle.

I say, his holiness thought spiders were a good idea.

Point me toward a different authority.

Phoebe West, contemplating a higher power.

I can’t sleep.

I know it’s been days since I properly rested and my wounds need time to heal,
yada yada yada
, but it’s the middle of the day and no matter how tight I pull the light-blocking curtains, my body isn’t fooled. Plus, it doesn’t help that whenever I so much as look at Nate’s bed, memories of what we almost did there start playing in my mind like a movie. An X-rated, slow motion movie. 

Gemma and Chase left for work a few hours ago, her to the gallery and him to Croft Industries.
Damn power couple
. They promised they’d be back to visit tomorrow.

Lila left to pick up Boo and bring him here, along with some clothes and my laptop. If Nate’s going to hold me hostage, I need basic supplies.

Speaking of my captor — he’s gone, too.

A few minutes after our friends filed out, he pulled on his boots and a black leather jacket, shoved a “for emergencies only” cellphone into my hands, and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

He froze in the doorway, head turning over his shoulder so I could see his face in profile. “Hunting.”

With that, he set the security system to ALARM mode, slammed the door, and disappeared without another word.

Rude
.

I’m under strict orders not to leave the loft under any circumstances. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to let Lila and Boo in without an escort in the form of one of Nate’s
men
— the scary, commando-type dudes who work at Knox Investigations. I found this utterly ridiculous.

Lila, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind spending time with Alden, the ripped blond with a crew cut and dimples, who escorted her to and from the loft. The dreamy smile on her face told me she’s already moved on from the heartbreak of Padraic.

Shocking, I know.

Boo was happy to see me, at least. We snuggled for a solid thirty seconds on the couch before he got tired of me and decided he’d rather sniff every square inch of the loft. Which means, for all intents and purposes, I’m alone again until Nate gets back.  

God only knows how long his
hunting
trip will take.

A small part of my mind protests that I shouldn’t be so easily accepting of his… shall we say…
extracurricular
activities. He’s never exactly been a Boy Scout — but there’s a difference between breaking into our neighbor’s guesthouse as a reckless teenager and tracking down thugs to teach them the meaning of the word
pain
.

It should scare me, right?

I should want to change him, tame him, make him into someone with softer edges — like a wild hawk with a broken wing you slowly nurse back to health, hoping someday he’ll stop snapping at you for daring to come close.

But loving someone isn’t about wanting them to evolve into someone better. My mom taught me that.

Real love is saying: here, take my still-beating heart and hold it in your hands and please, please, please, promise not to squeeze too tight or drop it on the pavement. Love is being naked and afraid, but refusing to flinch.

It’s not asking that person to change; it’s trusting them enough not to. And it’s not even about needing them to love you back equally; it’s just about loving them for who they are.

And I do
, I realize.
I love him.

Despite all my attempts to push him out of my thoughts, to convince myself all I felt was lust or hate or a burning need for revenge…

I love him.

Even if he never loves me back.

Even if it only leads to heartbreak.

So, I make peace with the thought of Nate going up against the entire Irish mob for me. And I do the only thing I can think of that’ll let me feel like I’ve got even the slightest bit of control over my own life.

I make cookies.

***

I blink awake suddenly.

I don’t know why, exactly. There’s no noise, no sudden light, no alarm pulling me out of my dreams. But something causes me to stir.

My eyes flutter open and I find I’ve passed out with my face on the kitchen island. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall off the stool and crack open my head. I’d been battling exhaustion all day; looks like exhaustion won.

My cheek is resting on the sticky butcher block, inches away from the empty bowl of cookie dough. Turns out
making cookies
turned into
eating half the batch raw
before baking a single tray of them. Oops.

The kitchen is a war zone of bowls and utensils and greased baking sheets. I was surprised to find Nate had all the ingredients I needed — sugar and flour and baking powder and even vanilla extract. I’d pegged him for a takeout-menu connoisseur, but I suppose his cooking skills must’ve advanced some since the days he’d make me burned macaroni and cheese after school.

I lift my head, groaning at the crick in my neck. I catch sight of him all at once, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost in my peripherals. 

He’s so still, you’d think he was a shadow if you looked too quickly. His face is silhouetted; the dim shafts of twilight leaking through the loft windows barely illuminate him. I’m thrown back in time to the night he showed up at my brownstone and scared me half to death in the dark. If someone had told me then that a few weeks later I’d be here, in Nate’s loft, wearing one of his t-shirts and considering the repercussions of kissing him, I would’ve smacked them upside the head.

“Hey,” I murmur sleepily, wiping cookie dough off my cheek with the back of one hand. My long brown bangs are dusty with flour.

“Hey,” he returns, stepping into the light. His eyes are careful as he looks at me.

“Must’ve passed out between batches. Sugar coma, and all.” I slide off my barstool and grimace as I take in the disaster site that was once his kitchen. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up.”

“We’ll get it tomorrow.” He steps closer, still watching me.

I swallow. “How was hunting? Catch anything?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. O’Pry is smart enough to go to ground, for the time being, but he can’t stay gone forever. I’ll keep looking.” He exhales sharply. “I’m going to find them before…”

“Before they find me?” I finish softly.

A dark look crosses his face. “That’s never going to happen. I told you I won’t let them touch you again. Don’t you believe me?”

I nod and try not to shiver when he closes a bit more of the distance between us, until there’s only a foot or so dividing his chest from mine.

“You’re a shit liar,” he murmurs, eyes on my mouth.

I nod again, mesmerized as he comes closer. I open my mouth to speak, even though I have no idea what I’m about to say, but nothing escapes because his hand is lifting from his side. There’s a tiny instant of time before his thumb hits my cheek — the moment before the lightning strike, when the whole damn sky seems to hold its breath in silence, waiting for impact.

“Cookie dough,” he explains as the pad of his thumb lands on the corner of my mouth, his touch bolting through me like electricity. I’m totally still as he brushes my skin, barely daring to breathe. When the crumbs are gone, his hand stays on my cheek and his eyes stay fixed on my mouth.

Holy frack.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask quietly.

He pauses. “Thinking about it.”

I gulp and hope it’s not too obvious. I’m thinking about it too. And about earlier, in his bed, and the fact that there’s no one to interrupt us this time.

“Are you weighing the pros and cons?” I ask, leaning into his touch.

“Only cons here, West.” He shakes his head. “You and me… we’re a story that won’t have a happy ending. A tragedy. Nothing good comes from a tragedy.”

“Well, maybe…” I grit my teeth so I don’t say something I’ll regret, and take a steadying breath. “Maybe I’d rather live in the wreckage with you for while than fake a fairy tale with someone else forever.”

Those dark eyes search mine, searing into me like fire. “What do you want from me, little girl? Because I’m almost certain I can’t give it to you.”

“For starters… stop calling me
little girl
. I’m not one. I haven’t been for a long time.”

Gathering my courage, I swallow, take a deep breath, and step into him. Our chests collide — I have to crane my neck to keep his eyes on mine.

“And after that?” he asks, voice huskier than normal as I press against him.

“After that…”

Everything
, my mind screams.
I want everything!

If I tell him that, he’ll run from me so fast, Usain Bolt will look sluggish in comparison.

I shrug. “I barely know what I want for breakfast tomorrow. Hell, I might not even be alive tomorrow, if Mac gets his way. So… maybe I just want this. This moment. One single moment with you, where we lay down our weapons and stop trying to kill each other. A truce on the battleground. Nothing more.”

His jaw clenches as he looks at me. I can see the struggle playing out inside him. He wants me — so bad it’s nearly killing him — and he’s not exactly thrilled about it. In fact, judging by the scowl on his face, I think it’s safe to say he’s downright pissed about it. So pissed, I actually think he’s going to walk away.

Which explains why I nearly have a heart attack when his arms shoot out and he lifts me up onto the messy, dough-covered countertop in one swift motion, spreading my legs apart so he can step between them. I’ve barely had time to catch my breath when his mouth lands on mine in a crushing kiss.

“You taste like cookies,” he mutters, groaning a little as his teeth nip at my bottom lip.

I grin against his mouth, laughing as I deepen the kiss. All it takes is a few seconds, a quick stroke of tongues, and we’re back exactly where we were earlier.
Combustible
. My shirt disappears. My legs wrap around his waist. Our mouths cling and gasp until I taste the coppery tang of blood instead of sweet sugar and chocolate.

It’s almost violent.

I was wrong, when I said I wanted a moment with him where we weren’t trying to kill each other. I realize now, there’ll never be a moment like that. Nate and me… we aren’t built for truces, for good times, for light jokes and giggles. We’re meant for the shadows. For the dirty, ugly, secret parts of our souls, the parts we can’t hide because we know each other too well.

There’s never going to be a Honeymoon Phase with him. I can’t pretend not to see his flaws — I know them almost as well as my own. He won’t deny my imperfections — he’s seen them since we were kids. We cut straight through to the heart of each other long ago. I’ve got my finger on his pulse point and he’s got his hand wrapped around every chamber of my heart. One squeeze, we’re both dead. Mutually assured destruction.

The kiss builds into something I can hardly describe. We’re at war — fighting for the same thing but unable to lay our weapons down and get there.

He growls as he pushes himself up onto the counter, shoving me back against the butcher-block and stretching out above me. There’s flour in my hair, on my hands, streaking his skin everywhere I touch him.

I barely notice.

My nails scratch down his back, his teeth scrape at my ear. He’s barely touched me and I’m coming undone. In another minute, I’ll—

Bang, bang, bang.

I freeze at the sound of a fist against his door.

“No… fucking… way.” His words are a grunt against my neck.

“Don’t answer,” I beg, arching up into him. “I don’t care who it is.”

He seems to agree, because his mouth returns to mine an instant later, the kiss just as intense as before.

“Knox! Sweet P!” A male voice calls through the thick wood, filled with concern. “Are you there?”

We both go completely still.

“Lemme in, or I’m using my key.”

“Frack!” I hiss, pushing Nate off me. He practically falls off the counter, for once not in total control of himself. I’d smile, if I weren’t about to pee my pants in utter panic.

“Fuck!” he curses, scrambling to find my shirt. “Here.” He tosses it in the general direction of my head. I pull it on without looking.

“Inside out,” he says, watching me. His eyes are crinkled in amusement but his lips are set in a serious frown.

“Huh?” I ask dumbly.

He reaches out, whips the shirt up over my head, and puts it on correctly. “There.”

I nod, feeling off-balance. “You have flour on your nose,” I inform him quietly.

He scrubs at it, then looks at me in question.

“Gone,” I confirm, lips twisting at the sight of him so thrown from his normal, tightly controlled equilibrium.