Crossing the Line (17 page)

“Could you do me a favor?” he asked when she straightened.

“Anything. Always.”

“You mind throwing my jeans in the washing machine when you get in there?”

“Not the kind of favor I was hoping you’d ask for, but sure.” Could be wishful thinking on her part, but the hint of a smile seemed to play on his lips. She’d take it, no matter how small. “I’ll see you inside.”

“Hey, Hanna…”

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at him. She would’ve preferred he call her ‘baby’, but her name was better than not speaking at all. “Yes?”

He opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. “Nothing, forget it.”

“You sure?” she asked, and he nodded. “Okay. We can talk in the house if you change your mind.” She did a mini victory dance behind the closed door. Practically floated through the house as she collected his jeans and headed downstairs to the laundry room. Happy because her husband had asked her to wash his clothes—good god, she’d become a fifties housewife. She’d get him for this one day.

She flipped the lid on the washer and shook out the first pair of his jeans. Since she’d scooped them off the floor—and Derrick being Derrick—she checked all the pockets. A crumpled receipt and some coins. The next pair yielded a small wrench, a stubby screwdriver and a short pencil with lots of teeth marks. So typical. The floorboards creaked above her head. She hurried through the next round of pockets, stuffed them in the machine, then shoved her hand into the last pair. Two crinkly packages greeted her fingertips. Gum? He didn’t usually chew gum.

She pulled them out and tossed them on the counter with the other pocket refugees. The blue squares stared up at her. “No…” She picked one up, turned it over in her hand. They’d quit using condoms the second she’d gone on the pill, almost a decade ago. These weren’t his. Couldn’t be. Please, god, they couldn’t be.

Suddenly, somehow, she was at the top of the basement stairs. Then in the kitchen. Then standing in front of him with the condom packets in her hand while blood pounded in her temples.

“I found these in your jeans.”

“Thanks,” he said, plucking them from her between her fingers and shoving them in his front pocket.

“No…” Her legs buckled. She clutched his t-shirt and stared up at him. “Why—why do you have condoms?”

“Protection.”

“Oh god…”

“Don’t worry, I never fucked another person while we were sleeping in the same bed.”

Which they hadn’t done since Sunday night. “And since then?” Bile rose in her throat at his indifferent shrug. She swallowed it back, but nothing stopped the tears from rolling down her face. “You bastard.”

“Told you I was. A long time ago.”

Heat coursed through her. Her pulse thumped in her ears and a cyclone raged in her chest. She launched herself at him, balled fists landing on his chest. “Why did you do this to me? To us?”

He grunted. Oh god, no. It was a laugh. He was laughing at her.

“Betrayal is funny to you?”

“Not in the fucking slightest.” His jaw clenched as he pushed her away.

“Tell me what you did.” Nothing, he just stared. “Tell me, goddamn you!”

“I’m not telling you anything. You got a problem with that, you know where the door is.”

Every muscle in her body shook. “Are you kicking me out?”

“I’m saying you’re free to leave.” He turned his back to her and lifted the lid from the crockpot.

The aroma of beef stew filled her nose. The rattle of dishes in an overhead cupboard echoed in her ears. She stood, frozen on the spot, as her husband—who had just admitted to cheating and suggested she leave—served himself a bowl of dinner.

He faced her again. Had the nerve to lean on the counter, bowl in hand, blowing on a spoonful of potato. As if this conversation meant nothing. What he’d done meant nothing.

“You owe me an explanation.” She could barely choke out the words. Every muscle shook. And when he put the spoon in his mouth, rather than talk to her, try to fix this, something inside her snapped.

Suddenly she was in his space again. Rage like she’d never experienced welled up from her gut, set fire to her skin—skin covering a body she no longer controlled. Not consciously. She watched her hand knock his bowl to the floor, splattering food and shards of broken porcelain halfway across the kitchen. But the sensation didn’t register in her fingers.

“Answer me.” She heard the screamed demand. Her voice, yet she felt no hoarseness in her throat. And when all he did was shake his head and stare, she saw her arm rise, saw it swing toward his face, as if in slow motion.

She couldn’t stop it. But when her palm connected with his cheek…the tingle shot down her arm, straight to her roiling stomach. “Oh god, Derrick, I’m s—”

“Get out.”

She shook her head, not taking her eyes off of him, the horror of what she’d just done making her heart want to rip her chest open to be free of her. She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t, until she fixed this, until they both did. “You can’t force me out of my house,” she whispered.

“We both know I could.” He cupped her jaw, the touch of a man delivering a message, and stared into her eyes. “Leave. And don’t look back.”

* * * * *

The hammering at his front door roused Jeremy from his impromptu nap on the couch. He missed living with Luke, but the past few days had reminded him how much activity and attention a four-year-old boy required, and he was wiped from his stint as full-time parent. He had to hand it to Viv, she did a great job with their son, and always had.

“Coming, hang on,” he called when the second round of knocking started up. Probably neighborhood kids wanting a ball that’d gone over the fence into his backyard. Happened all the time, and they usually got it themselves, but he’d forgotten to unlock the side gate after Luke went home. The thought stopped him short. This house wasn’t his son’s home.
Viv
was home, no matter where she lived. Jeremy had become somebody to visit. Fuck.

He pulled the door open without checking the peephole. One look at her and he was wide awake, head to toe. “Hanna.” Red-faced with smudged makeup ringing her eyes, she stood so close to the doorway, she was practically inside already. “Christ, get in here.” He cupped her elbow and ushered her the remaining distance, closing the door behind her. “Did something happen with Derrick?”

She nodded, and the tears rolled immediately. “Oh god, it was horrible, and Megan’s away and I can’t go to my parents’ like this—I didn’t know where else to go, I’m sorry.”

“Sshhh, it’s okay, sshhh…” The smallest pull and she was plastered against his chest, her arms hugging his waist tight. He stroked her hair. Ran one hand up and down her back until her sobbing slowed enough to allow talking. “What happened?”

“Monday, when I got home from helping you with Luke, Derrick was already at the house. He’d dumped his bike and gotten drunk. He—” A large sob rippled through her and she shook her head against his shirt.

“He what, Hanna?” He spoke softly, but the heat had started to build in his gut. “Tell me what he did.”

“He—he said cruel things to me, about me. Involving you.”

“What else?” Because he damn well knew there was more to the story.

Her head shook again, as if she’d read his mind but refused to answer. “He didn’t talk to me after that. Didn’t text, didn’t come home until he knew I’d be asleep. All week. Then tonight…”

This shit had been going for days and she hadn’t reached out. Probably because he’d had Luke here. Shit. “Tell me. All of it.”

“He was talking to me tonight. Not like normal, but talking. He asked me to wash a load of his jeans—”

“Are you kidding me?” He backed up a step so he could look at her. “After being a dick all week he asked you to do his laundry? What an ass.”

“I found condoms in his pocket.”

“Fucking Christ.” He blew out a breath, tried to regroup, for her sake. “And you asked him about them, I assume.”

“He thanked me and took them from my hand. He
thanked
me! Then he told me he’d never fucked anybody else while we were sleeping together, which we haven’t done since Sunday night.”

“And that’s when you left?”

She shook her head, bit into her quivering bottom lip. “I tried to get him to talk, to explain why…but he wouldn’t.” Another sob rippled through her body. “I hit him.”

“Oh shit.” His best friend had come from violence, and had vowed he’d never live with violence again. It was the reason Derrick had refused to have kids—he didn’t trust his temper, or his nature, as he insisted it was. The bastard deserved Hanna’s wrath for what he’d done, but she couldn’t have chosen a worse reaction. “Hit him how?”

“I slapped him.”

A small mercy. At least she hadn’t punched him or kneed him in the balls. “What happened after that?”

“He—” She started shaking, so much he could see her vibrating on the spot.

“He
what
, Hanna?” Must’ve been bad, because she just stared and shook her head, over and over. “Did he—” Fuck, he hated to ask. To think it could’ve happened. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. Not physically. But he hates me, Jeremy. He kicked me out, told me never to come back. Oh god, what am I going to do?”

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“No.” Then she was on him again, arms wrapped around his neck like a vise. “That’ll make it worse.”

“How the fuck is that possible at this point?”

“Because he already thinks I’d be with you, married, barefoot and perpetually pregnant, if you’d won the coin toss.”

Oh hell. Derrick had sworn him to secrecy about that little detail many years ago. The second D had realized he was head over heels for Hanna—which was about two days after they’d met.

Jeremy closed his arms around her. She relaxed against him, because of his touch. This whole situation was fucked-up. Including the fact that part of him saw this disaster as a second chance. He should ignore that part and step back. Let her cry on his shoulder, then head over to Derrick’s and get the other side of the story. Try to help his friends with their problems. Not make them worse.

“I think…” Her voice hitched as she whispered, “I think it might be over.”

There went the stepping back idea. Right out the front door. “You wouldn’t be perpetually pregnant if I’d won that night, but there’d be a lot of practicing.” He slid one hand up, into her hair. The other headed south, palming the curve of her ass, cupping it and pulling her tighter.

“Jeremy…”

If that was a protest, it was a damn weak one. Her soft voice and the fingers curled around the back of his neck were evidence of that.

“Derrick told you about the coin toss, but here’s something he didn’t tell you—I hated walking away. I’d never wanted to win one of those tosses more than I did that night, and afterward, I kept hoping he’d screw up so I’d get my shot.”

Her heart hammered between them. Her warm, shallow breaths tickled the skin at the base of his neck. She tilted her head and looked up at him with those bottomless eyes. “For how long?”

“’Til I met Viv.” At Hanna’s wedding, of all places.

“Viv was a fool to divorce you.”

“And Derrick’s the biggest idiot on the planet, letting you go.”

For a minute, she just stared at him. “Why didn’t you say anything or let me know somehow—before the white dress and Viv, I mean?”

“Derrick was my best friend, I wanted him to be happy. God knows he deserved some happiness. And as I got to know you, I wanted you to be happy too. I still want that for you.”

“Oh, Jeremy…”

“Sweetheart,” he cupped the back of her head and brought her closer, “either push me away, or I’m taking my shot.” He waited. No push. Deep down, he knew this was a scumbag move—for multiple reasons. At the moment, he didn’t give a shit.

The full lips that’d worked magic on his cock were tentative under his mouth. But soft, so goddamn soft. He kept the kiss light, moved slowly, grazing her top lip, then the bottom, one corner and then the other. But Christ, slow might kill him.

He cupped her face. Brushed his thumbs over her face. “You’re so beautiful, inside and out.” No more warm-up kissing. He sealed his mouth over hers and she opened for him, an invitation he used to tease the tip of his tongue inside. So sweet, yet so hot.

He coiled his arm around her waist, holding her tight against him as he walked them through the house. Up the carpeted staircase, kissing and touching. Lips smacked together and their heavy breathing combined, the erotic mixture filling his head, making his cock hard as goddamn steel. Steel he couldn’t wait to bury inside her sexy, writhing body.

He guided her to his room. She let out a little gasp when he scooped her into his arms. Another when he laid her out on the bed and covered her with the length of his body. He brought her hands above her head and laced their fingers together. Perfect, except for the band of warm metal his finger kept grazing.

“Jeremy, I…” She looked up at him, everything she thought and felt right there in those big, open eyes.

“I know, sweetheart.” He dipped in for a short, sweet kiss, then pressed his forehead against hers. “I know.”

* * * * *

The sight of Hanna flipping eggs and drinking coffee as if she did these things here, in this kitchen, every day, did things to Jeremy’s gut. His presence in the entryway must have snagged in her peripheral vision, because her head jerked over her shoulder. And her smile—damn. How Derrick had given that up, Jeremy had no fucking idea.

He resisted the urge to puff out his bare chest when her eyes swept over it. But give her a raised eyebrow to let her know she’d been caught, oh yeah. “You’re my guest, I should be cooking you breakfast, not the other way around.”

“I’m more of a refugee than a guest, so I need to earn my keep. Plus, I like feeding people.” She nodded toward the end of his granite-topped island. “Sit and be fed.”

“I can do that.” He slid onto one of the high-back stools, smiling when she passed him a mug of coffee. “Thanks.” And by thanks, he meant, put down the carafe and sit on his lap. A mouthful of the hot brew kept the words from escaping.