The Lies That Bind (8 page)

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. That first rush of fury was draining away as I looked at him. After all, we weren’t a couple. We were kissing buddies. Occasionally. Not exactly a declaration of couplehood. “This is crazy, Derek. You don’t owe me an explanation. We’re not—”

“Christ.” He raked his hand through his hair in aggravation. “I hate this.”

“Oo-kay.” I wasn’t clear on what it was he hated.

“I don’t apologize,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Why should you?”

“There,” he said, pointing at me. “Right there. You’re doing it again.”

I looked at him sideways. “Doing what?”

“Making me feel like I ran over your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog.” I was completely lost now. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed. “You’re right. I’ve gone insane. But it’s your fault.”

“Mine?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” I protested.

He laughed again. “Damn it, I’ve missed you. I didn’t want to. I was determined not to see you again.”

“Well, thank you. That’s really flattering. I’m so happy we had this conversation.” I folded my arms across my chest. “And guess what? You don’t have to see me again.”

“Ah, but it seems I do.” He urged me back into his arms and I almost whimpered. It wasn’t fair. He kissed my neck, kissed my shoulder. “Damn it, you’re even more lovely than I remembered. What was I thinking?”

“I have no idea.”

He laughed, and the sound went a long way to refresh my spirit. “God, you’ll be the death of me. Go teach your class. I’ll be waiting.”

Breathless, I rushed off, but made the mistake of turning around. He stood in the same spot, watching me, his eyes as dark as cobalt, his lips twisting sardonically. It was disconcerting and a complete turn-on. Part of me wanted to rush back and kiss him and another part of me wanted to slap him silly.

I couldn’t believe I’d mentioned Layla to him. For one thing, I sounded like a jealous cat. But also, I was annoyed with myself for revealing what I was angry about. Women were never supposed to tell a guy what was actually bothering them, right? It was in the Official Rule Book.
If a guy doesn’t know what’s bothering you, then why should you tell him?

I jogged down the hall but slowed when I heard two women arguing in one of the empty classrooms near mine.

“Keep your hands off my husband.”

“Honey, it’s not
my
hands you have to worry about.”

“I know what you’re doing, and it stops now.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” she said, then lowered her voice to add, “Or you’ll be sorry.”

“Oh, threats?” The woman laughed and I realized it was Layla. Her voice dripped with cynical delight.

“Yeah. Hands off, or you’re a dead woman.”

The door was thrown open and I pressed myself back against the wall. It was my ridiculous attempt to hide in plain sight, but it didn’t matter because Cynthia Hardesty never looked my way. Layla followed a moment later, twirling a loose strand of hair around her fingers as she strolled leisurely back to the party.

As I walked into my classroom, I considered the scene I’d just overheard. I couldn’t let Cynthia know I’d witnessed the argument, but I had the strongest urge to console her. I could feel her pain, having just experienced a meltdown over the possibility of Layla and Derek together.

I took a moment and mentally shoved Derek Stone into a box so I could conduct the class without going bonkers.

Within the first half hour, the party sounds from Layla’s happy hour bash dwindled. Eventually all was quiet and my students were able to concentrate on practicing the kettle stitch they’d learned the night before.

This was only the second evening of class but the group was already beginning to meld nicely. As everyone worked, the personalities of some of the students rose to the fore. I’d like to think we were all getting used to each other’s quirks and foibles, but some were more easy to acclimate to than others.

Cynthia and Tom, for instance, tended to bicker quietly over almost anything. The subject matter could be as trivial as the choice of covers for the books they were making. But I’d heard that argument with Layla and there was nothing trivial about it. Tom would have been wise to pay closer attention to his wife.

Gina and Whitney liked to talk, too, but at least they were entertaining. Both were pop-culture fanatics and proud of it. They told me what they’d seen on
TMZ
the previous night; then Gina showed everyone the GoFug-Yourself. com app on her phone. Kylie and Marianne both begged to see the latest red-carpet disasters.

Mitchell was a jovial man, cheerful and interested in the others’ lives. Dale, Bobby, and Jennifer, on the other hand, worked quietly and kept to themselves.

When Alice wasn’t texting her boyfriend, Stuart, or rushing off to the bathroom, she would absently rub her stomach while she worked. Fortunately, she was blessed with a self-deprecating sense of humor, so most of the students found her charming, despite her health issues.

When she walked back in from her latest bathroom run, I approached her and asked if she was okay.

She sighed and whispered, “Sometimes I think I was born without intestines. Food and liquid seem to travel directly from my stomach right down to my . . . well, you probably don’t need the specifics.”

“Ya think?” Gina whispered loudly, and everyone nearby laughed, including Alice.

“Maybe it’s your diet,” Whitney suggested gently. “My cousin is gluten-intolerant and he had to change his whole way of eating. But now he’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m getting tested for celiac disease tomorrow,” Alice said. “Stuart read about it and insisted I see my doctor.”

“Good idea,” Gina said.

Alice sighed. “Sorry to disrupt the class.”

I glanced around the room. Most everyone seemed to be concentrating on gluing their books properly. “I don’t think you’re disrupting anyone.”

“Yeah, Alice, don’t worry about it,” Whitney said, waving away her concern. “We just want you to be healthy.”

Alice blinked, clearly surprised. “You guys are so nice.”

Just then, I caught Tom Hardesty casting a disgruntled frown at Alice. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him make that face, but I only now realized it was directed at Alice. Since he was a board member, there was no way I could tell him to knock it off. But I didn’t like students being disrespectful of each other. I wondered if maybe Tom disliked Alice because she was such good friends with Layla.

It occurred to me that Cynthia Hardesty left the room almost as frequently as Alice did, in order to make and return phone calls. “Bidness,” she’d whisper loudly, and walk out.

Tom never glared contemptuously at his wife when she slipped out. Probably because he was scared to death that Cynthia would catch him and spank him. And that was a visual I never wanted to conjure up again.

It was almost ten thirty by the time everyone was finished for the night. Following Officer Ortiz’s orders, I put Mitchell in charge of making sure nobody left alone. As the students packed up their stuff, he went around assigning a buddy for everyone.

Then he turned to me. “What about you?”

I thought of Derek’s promise that he’d meet me after class. “I have to clean up a bit, and I’ve got someone waiting for me. I won’t leave alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. My friend should be here any minute, if he’s not already waiting in the gallery.”

“Well, we’re not leaving until he shows himself.”

“Fine, let’s go.” I grabbed my bag and locked the door, then followed Mitchell, Sylvia, Kylie, and Alice into the gallery. I glanced around for Derek, but he wasn’t there. My first thought was that he was in Layla’s office. I hoped not.

“Give me thirty seconds,” I told them, and ran down the hall to check. Layla’s office was empty, but Naomi was still working. She looked up when I knocked.

“Have you seen Derek Stone?” I asked.

“No,” she said irritably.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes,” she said pointedly.

“Okay, thanks. Good night.”

She muttered something I couldn’t hear and I wondered what had put her in such a foul mood. Then I remembered she worked for Layla and let it go.

Walking back to the gallery, I refused to show that I was hurt by the fact that Derek was nowhere to be found.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Change of plans?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and left it at that.

Maybe Derek and Layla had gone out for a quick drink. Or maybe he’d run off to guard Gunther. Yeah, Gunther. I preferred that scenario.

But I was still hurt. Again. I really needed to stop caring about that man.

Outside, the cold, foggy air hit me hard. I hunched my shoulders and huddled inside my down jacket as we all walked briskly to our cars. Alice’s was parked almost directly in front of BABA and we teased her for snatching the primo spot. The rest of us had all parked farther away because of the party.

As we hiked down the street, the heavy fog made it impossible to see Potrero Hill, but I knew it was there. I considered swinging over to Goat Hill Pizza to drown my sorrows in takeout and my mouth began to water at the thought of the goat cheese and pesto combo. Last year, before settling on my SOMA loft, I’d looked at houses on the Hill. Some parts were still in transition, as real estate agents liked to say when working-class areas were gentrifying. But I still loved the cozy neighborhood feel of the area, with its Victorian homes perched on the sloping hills and the cool shops and parks. Best of all, besides superlative pizza, the Hill was the home of Christopher’s Books, one of my favorite little bookstores in the city.

Another two blocks farther, we turned the corner. The street was dark and shrouded in fog that seemed to cling stubbornly to us as we walked through it. It was so thick, I didn’t notice the man standing in the shadows next to my car until I was almost in front of him.

“Hello, darling,” Derek said.

I jumped. He looked even more dangerous than usual. Maybe it was the fog.

“Are you all right, Brooklyn?” Mitchell asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, staring at Derek. “Good night, gang.”

“Good night,” a trio of voices answered, and I heard their footsteps recede into the night.

“You waited,” I said to Derek, tossing my bag into the backseat of my car and pulling my jacket even tighter around me.

“Of course I waited. I told you I would.”

“I thought you’d be inside.”

He scowled. “I tried waiting inside, but it became troublesome.”

I chewed my lip nervously. “Layla?”

“Yes. Come here.” He coaxed me into his arms.

“It’s been a long night,” I said, and covered up a yawn.

“And you’re tired.” He began to knead a pulse point at the junction of my shoulder and neck.

“Yes. I’m exhausted and just want to . . . oh.” I was pressed up against him and he was doing miraculous things to my muscles. I would melt if he continued much longer.

“We can go for a drink, or dinner,” he said.

“Oh, well, I could eat something.” Thoughts of pizza returned and I smiled.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. He was well aware of my ability to eat heartily anytime, day or night.

But was I really his girl? Did I want to be? After all, he didn’t call, he didn’t write, and he didn’t want to see me again. And yet, he was here, and so was I. I certainly didn’t want to be his port in the storm, but if he kept rubbing my neck like that, I would say yes to just about anything he asked.

“Darling, I—” His cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket and he muttered, “Bloody hell.”

I took the opportunity to step back, away from temptation. “Better answer it.”

He stared at the screen, then looked at me, plainly conflicted. “I warned them not to call unless—”

“Answer it,” I said again, then tried to move farther away to allow him some privacy. But he swung his arm around my shoulders and dragged me up against his solid chest.

I could hear yelling on the other side of the call but couldn’t understand what the speaker was saying. Derek barely said a word but for a muttered expletive here and there. And with his clipped accent, even cursing sounded charming.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, then clicked off the call.

“New plan?” I said lightly.

“Yes,” he said, “I must go kill Gunther Schnaubel.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” I lied. “I should go feed my neighbors’ cats anyway.”

He laughed. I liked the sound of it.

I tried to convince myself that this was a good thing. I’d been seconds away from going to dinner with him. From there, I might’ve agreed to spend the night. Only a couple of hours ago, I’d been furious. Now I was ready to throw my panties in the wind, for heaven’s sake. Things were getting serious and complicated, fast. For me, anyway.

I still didn’t understand his relationship with Layla and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. More important, I didn’t know what to expect by getting involved with him, if anything. And now I wouldn’t have the chance to talk to him about it. Not tonight, anyway.

So it was just as well that he’d received that phone call. It would give me some space to think about things. I needed to figure out exactly what I was getting my very vulnerable heart into.

He leaned his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow night, Brooklyn. I’ll be here. We’ll go to dinner and we’ll talk. And I promise you, there will be no more interruptions.”

“Okay,” I whispered, grateful for the short respite. Twenty-four hours was plenty of time to think about stepping off a cliff, wasn’t it?

Wednesday night, I walked the periphery of the classroom. Earlier, my students had insisted on grilling me about why I happened to be wearing a cute dress when I normally wore jeans. I wasn’t about to tell them I had a date with the hottest secret agent in the Western Hemisphere, but they guessed anyway. Well, about the date part. Who would guess he was a secret agent? Well, he wasn’t really. Not anymore. Anyway, once my upcoming date was out in the open, I had to endure all their opinions and warnings and teasing. Then Alice mentioned that she’d seen my companion up close last night and oh, he was dreamy.