Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (3 page)

I just didn’t think, when it finally happened, we’d be talking about shoes.

“I’m not sixteen anymore!” I snap, trying on my iciest tone, which is kind of hard since I’m feeling so breathless. “And if you hadn’t shown up in the dark like some kind of creepy home invader, I wouldn’t be running around in the first place! I’d be gorging myself on leftover lo mein right now, instead of nearly tripping over my heels, dying young, and not living long enough to read the next
Game of Thrones
book, assuming George ever finishes writing it. I’ve been waiting
four years
to learn what happens to Jon Snow. You almost took that from me!”

I swear, I think his lips twitch at that — just the tiniest tug at the left side of his mouth — but his expression flattens so fast I decide it must’ve been my imagination.

Boo’s barks have subsided into yips of displeasure, interspersed with the occasional growl. Finding no success from his spot on the ground, the tiny Pomeranian leaps up onto the sofa. I won’t be surprised if he launches himself at Nate — aerial assault seems the next logical step.

“Still don’t know why you need to wear those things.” Nate’s words are tight as his eyes flicker down to the heels scattered on the carpet. “Five inches off the ground, teetering around like the fucking Tower of Pisa.”

Well!

“Because I had a hot date, if you must know!” I taunt, hoping to piss him off…. Until his eyes flash with something seriously dark and I decide that’s probably a bad idea.  “But mostly, because I like them!” I hurry on, trying to maintain my bravado. “And I so do not
teeter
. I’ve been told I could strut the runway with the pros.”

His stare narrows as he glares back at me. The cold fury burning in his eyes is hands-down the most emotion he’s shown around me in the past decade. Maybe ever. “By who? Guys trying to get in your pants?”

Well, actually by Lila in eleventh grade before junior prom, but…

My mouth flattens into a frown. My arms, which I’ve only just noticed are wound around him like a starfish clinging for life, tighten as my hands clench into angry fists at his back. My body has reached peak rage levels.

Unfortunately, my brain is still a mushy, hormonal mess due to the fact that Nate is touching me, so I don’t have time to formulate a snappy retort. I just stare at him, mouth gaping, as he continues insulting me.

“Hate to break it to you, West, but you’re 5’3” — never gonna be a runway model.” He gives me a hard, humorless smile. “Thought you were smart enough to know a guy will say just about anything to get you into bed.”

An outraged sound flies from my lips.

God, he’s a jackass.

God, I barely care.

If he asked, I’d pull this dress up over my head and jump him, right here on my brand new Anthropologie rug.

No! Bad Phoebe. You’ve moved on, remember?

His eyes flash again, as though he can read my thoughts. I swallow roughly.

“Are you
trying
to be an ass?” I hiss.

“Are you
trying
to be stupid?” He hisses right back. “You show up looking like that for a date, you’re giving a guy certain expectations. The wrong kind of expectations.”

Oh, no. He did
not
just say that.

My brain catches up to my body, anger overtaking my every neuron and synapse in one swift instant.

“Who I date is none of your business!” I bite out coldly. “Never has been, never will be.”

His eyes flash again and his jaw tightens as a muscle jumps in his cheek, but he says nothing.

Typical.

If this were any other guy, I’d say he was jealous. But this is
Nate
we’re talking about. The very idea is ludicrous.

We stare at each other in stony silence, still pressed together, our chests heaving in sync with the strength of our breaths, our hearts pounding in perfect rhythm. Anger sparks in the narrow slice of space between our faces, so hot and visceral, it practically bends the particles like ultra-heated air on asphalt. For a second, I think I see something else in his eyes, but it’s buried so deep it’s easy to dismiss it as nothing but a trick of light.

One more mirage on a desert road. 

“Did you come here to talk about shoes, Nate?” My words are breathy — I tell myself from anger, not desire. “Or did Parker con you into checking in on me while he’s off gallivanting through Europe with his parade of bimbos?”

At the sound of my brother’s name, Nate seems to snap back to his normal self — eyes blanking, expression shuttering until his face is an emotionless mask. In a flash, I’m out of his arms and back on my own two feet, toes sinking into the plush carpet. I don’t see him move, but when my eyes locate him again, he’s across the room once more, leaning in the archway of the kitchen, his face cast in shadow.

“No. That’s not why I came.” His tone is empty, indifferent — back to the hyper-controlled Nate I recognize. “I’m discrete — if Parker needed me to check in on you, you’d never know I was here.”

Cocky, much?

Rolling my eyes, I smooth my hands over my dress and shake the too-long bangs out of my face. I straighten to full height — which, granted, isn’t that tall — but with my hands planted on my hips and my spine stiffer than a steel rod, I feel a little more in control.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re a super badass mercenary. I get it.” My voice is ultra sarcastic. “Care to share with the class something we don’t already know?”

He bristles. It’s not so much something I see, since he’s still standing in the shadows, but something I feel — a change in the atmosphere around us, as waves of anger begin to ripple out from his spot in the archway. Something I said clearly struck a nerve. Before I can begin to guess what, he steps closer. The expression on his face makes my mouth go dry.

Holy frack.

I’ve never seen him look so intense. In fact, I’ve never seen
anyone
look so intense. I can almost see the electricity moving under his skin, waves of energy surging through him like a storm. There should be a 10,000-volt hazard sign engraved on his chest:

DANGER! SEVERE INJURY OR DEATH
WILL
OCCUR!

A warning to those who might be foolish enough to take a man this lethal into their arms.

He’s a live wire on the side of the road — dark, immobile, and seemingly harmless until you step too close and sparks fly out with one fatal snap, killing you where you stand.

He’s brutal. Barbaric.

He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Let’s just say, I sleep diagonally

across my mattress. Every night.

                            Phoebe West, reflecting on her relationship status.

Nate steps toward me, his expression darkening like the thunderheads I watch roll across the ocean on summer nights from my balcony in Nantucket. When he speaks, his words are a lightning strike.

“Your date tonight.”

Flash.

“Brett Croft.”

Crack.

“You’re not seeing him again.”

Boom.

His declaration echoes for a moment in the darkness, leaving me paralyzed — as though I really have been struck by a bolt of electricity. Volts of confusion whisper through me as I search for words to counter his startling statement.

This — him being here — is about
Brett
?

Brett?!

As in, the snooze-worthy date I barely spoke to, tonight?

Boo barks again, angry at being ignored, and Nate and I yell at the same time.

“Quiet, Boo!”

With a resentful growl, the small dog falls grudgingly silent and settles on the couch pillows. His shiny, beady eyes never move from Nate and I’m sure, if I gave him the smallest of signals, he’d be only too happy to vault from the cushions, intent on destruction.

I don’t blame him. I myself would like to bite Nate, right now. And not in the sensual, earlobe-nibbling way I typically dream of.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice laced with genuine bewilderment. “Why would you give a rat’s ass about Brett Croft?”

Nate takes a step toward me, gaze locked on my face. “He’s dangerous.”

I can’t help but scoff. It’s funny — the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, warning me away from someone like Brett.

His eyes narrow. “Something funny?”

“Brett’s a bored billionaire with a gorgeous face and an ass that won’t quit.” I roll my eyes. “Delicious? Perhaps. Dangerous? Definitely not.”

“For once in your fucking life, would you just listen?” he snaps, striding closer as his hands fist at his sides. “Brett Croft is involved in some fucked up shit. So, I don’t give a damn if you think he’s
delicious
.” He spits out the word like it’s toxic. “Stay the hell away from him.”

“And if I don’t?”

A perilous glint creeps into his eyes. Seeing it sends a chill racing down my spine.

“If you don’t…” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I’ll find you and I’ll drag you back here, kicking and screaming.”

“You’re absolutely outrageous!” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I haven’t seen or spoken to you in years —
years!
— and now you think you can just barge into my life and boss me around? Tell me what to wear and who to date? No. Nuh uh. Not happening.”

He glances toward the ceiling, as though praying for composure, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are calmer. Marginally.

“West, I’m not fucking around. This guy is bad news. I’m working a case for a friend right now, and Brett’s square in the middle of it, doing his best to cause a lot of drama for people I like. He’s not a good guy. So, do me a fucking favor and for once in your life, do as you’re told.”

“Who?”

He stares at me. “Who, what?”

“
Who
is this mysterious friend of yours, that thinks Brett is such bad news?”

I watch the muscle tick in his cheek — one, two, three times — before he grunts out a name.

“Chase Croft.”

“Brett’s cousin?” I ask, incredulous.

Nate nods tightly.

“Oh.” I can’t help but be crestfallen.

Both Croft boys went to the same prep school as Parker and Nate, a few grades ahead of them. Though Parker has never been close to them, I know Nate sometimes handles Chase’s private security, especially now that he’s taken over Croft Industries as CEO. In addition to being wealthier than Taylor Swift, Chase seems like a genuinely a good person, is charming as hell, and has an ass like a hot-cross bun — a trifecta which makes him unquestionably the most sought-after bachelor in all of New England’s high-society.

Though, after tonight… his
bachelor
status seems like it might have an expiration date.

At the gala earlier, he had a really freaking awesome girl named Gemma on his arm, who he stared at with a reverence I usually reserve for filet mignon at Davio’s. She was gorgeous, sure, but it was more than that — her quirky, offbeat personality and tendency to spout verbal diarrhea at a moment’s notice made me like her instantly. And seeing Chase with a girl like Gemma made me like him even more.

…But the two of
them
definitely hadn’t liked his cousin Brett.

The air was so frosty at our table during dinner, I was afraid the water was going to freeze over in my glass. Gemma even went so far as to warn me away from him, when we made a trip to the ladies room together.

Which means, as much as I hate to admit it, Nate is probably right about my date tonight.

It’s not exactly a loss — I had no intention of ever seeing Brett again — but it does piss me off that, if I wanted to, Nate thinks he could tell me differently.

Ugh! That bossy, arrogant, son of a…

My eyes lift back to Nate’s, and I see him watching me carefully. Whatever he reads on my face seems to satisfy him — a tiny bit of tension slips from his shoulders and his jaw stops ticking like a bomb set to explode. Still, he’s glaring at me like I peed in his Cheerios, so I do the only thing I can: glare right back at him.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know,” I snip, crossing my arms over my chest.

He doesn’t respond.
Rude
.

“You could’ve called.”

Again, no response.

“You can’t just go around breaking into people’s houses.”

“I didn’t break in,” he corrects lowly. “I have a key.”

“What?” I screech. “How?”

I
never
gave him a key to my brownstone. The only other person on the planet with a key is Parker and he’s in Europe. So if Nate has a key…

Ugh, I’m going to
kill
my big brother for assigning Nate to check on me like I’m still nine and need supervision.

“Give it back!” I take a step toward him, hand outstretched. “Parker never should’ve given it to you.”

“No.”

“Nate!”

“I didn’t come here to argue with you about a goddamned key,” he mutters, frustration bleeding into his tone.

“I know. You came here to boss me around, insert yourself into my love life — a place you most definitely do
not
belong — and reestablish yourself as an all-round jackass.
Congrats
!” I announce, making jazz-hands in the air between us. “You succeeded.”

His eyes flash with something scary again and he goes so tense, all my bluster and brass evaporates in an instant. When he strides closer, so there’s only a foot or so between us, my palms stop jazzing and go flat against his muscular chest.

I want to push him away.

I want to pull him closer.

I do neither.

He glares down into my eyes with a thunderous expression, and it takes all my strength not to give in to his intimidation and shy away like a scared little girl.

“Stay away from Brett Croft,” he rumbles at me, deadly serious.

“Stay away from me!” I yell back, angrier than I’ve been in a long time. Partly at him, because he’s the most domineering, overbearing man in the history of human existence, but mostly at myself, for being so affected by him despite that fact.

Yip! Yip! Yip!
Boo chimes in from the couch.

Neither of us looks at the dog. We’re too busy glaring at each other, our faces so close I can feel his breath on my lips. His eyes seem to burn into mine, intense and angry. It’s almost painful to hold his stare, to resist the pull that — despite my best efforts — still exists between us. Thankfully, I’ve had a lot of practice looking at Nate with indifference on my face while my heart’s aflame in my chest.

He’s just never been standing so close before, looking back at me like he’s on fire, too.

For a split second, his gaze darts down to my mouth, lingering there for no longer than a heartbeat before flashing back to meet mine. I can’t help the surprised hiss of air that escapes my lips, as I try to keep myself under control.

He’s never looked at me like
that
before.

My nerve endings are frazzled, divided — half enraged, half enamored, equally angry and aroused. I’m being torn in two with opposing needs.

To kiss him.

To kill him.

To claim him.

To curse him.

With Nate and me, it all comes down to need. To
lust
— that driving force, that infatuating, life-creating elixir that ties me up in knots of desire, of passion, of pain. Even before I had words to define my feelings for him, I was consumed by it.

Wanting. Craving. Longing.

I lust for his body on mine as much as I lust for my own retribution, for my own selfish need to unhinge him like he’s always unhinged me. That familiar, heady, heart-stopping yearning, born of half a lifetime of cumulative
need
stirs in my veins…. but it’s not alone. No. Bloodlust — a darker, deeper, more dangerous desire, born of resentment and rejection — stirs there as well. It near tears me in half, the wanting. The needing. The lusting. The loathing.

The line between wanting him and hating him for never wanting
me
is so blurred, I can barely sort out my own feelings.

Still glaring down at me, he makes a sound at the back of his throat, almost a growl. Thoughts move in his eyes, but I can’t for the life of me decipher them.

“Is that all you wanted?” I whisper, gaze locked on his. I have no idea what emotions are swimming in my eyes. “To talk about Brett?”

He doesn’t move. I don’t even think he’s breathing. Boo has fallen eerily quiet, as though sensing the extreme tension between Nate and me as we stare at each other in the dark. It’s so still, so silent, I can almost hear the locking of his jaw, how his teeth grind together as he searches for control.

I’ve never seen him like this — his eyes a little wild, his words a little reckless. Around me, he’s never been anything except the epitome of restraint. Until now.

I wish I could say I didn’t like it.

I lean closer, maybe a centimeter, but that tiny distance feels like a leap off a cliff into the unknown. Our eyes never break contact, our breaths don’t slow. I wonder if his heart is beating as fast as mine.

“West…” His voice is low, warning.

My name is Phoebe
, I want to say.
No amount of forced formality can cut these ties between us.

I want to say it, but I don’t. There are more pressing
wants
on my mind.

I want him to sate the storm that’s been building since we were hardly more than kids. 

I want his tongue in my mouth, my name on his lips, the look on my face when he comes into me burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them, just so he knows what it is to be owned entirely by another human being.

I want him to bury himself so deep beneath my skin he’ll never find his way out, so he knows exactly how it feels to have someone so enmeshed in your soul, it’s impossible to remove them without tearing yourself in two.

In this frozen instant, I’m honestly not sure if, given the chance, I’d slap his cheek or crush his mouth to mine, as I’ve wanted to for so long.

Let’s find out
, a crazy voice at the back of my mind whispers.
You know you want to.

I sway forward, unable to deny his pull for another moment… and try not to scream in frustration when he instantly takes two steps back. The haze clears from his eyes so fast you’d think it was never there at all, and his face shutters in an aloof expression I recognize all too well.

“Yes,” he says flatly, no longer looking at me. “That’s all I wanted.”

Shame, hot and hurtful, burns through me.

“Great,” I snap. “Well, if we’re finished here, I need to go schedule a prefrontal lobotomy to scrub this encounter from my memories, so…”

I turn on one heel.

“I mean it, West.” I flinch to a stop at the steel in his tone. “Stay away from Croft.”

My eyes flicker back to his, refusing to show any intimidation. “You gonna add the cliché ‘
or else
’ to that statement, or….”