The Next Always (29 page)

Brilliant, Beckett thought. “Then they’d rise again, recharged by some supernatural force, to seek revenge.”

“You could burn in their emblems on the coffin lids, too. Every man should have his own coffin. You’ve still got your wood-burning kit, right?”

“Sure. Man, he’d love that.”

“While you two are playing with your toys, I’m going to work.” Ryder strapped on his tool belt. “Plenty of scrap plywood around,” he added as he walked out.

Owen waited until Ryder was out of earshot and shouting to the crew. “You know if you build them, he’s going to want in, and he’s going to call dibs on Wolverine and Venom, just like always.”

“Yeah, he will. You?”

“Damn straight I want in. I get—”

“Dibs on Spidey and Moon Knight.”

“Damn it. I was going to call Spider-Man.”

“Too late.”

“Batman and Joker.”

“It’s a start.”

He intended to go directly home, straight to his office, but got roped in to pulling on work gloves and helping tear down the old fencing. Then he answered the call across the street to consult with Madeline on the display shelves she wanted to stagger on the left wall of the gift shop.

On his way out, he spotted the barber on the bench outside of Sherry’s, stopped to talk.

“Looks real good.” Together they watched the electrician install one of the big carriage lights flanking the doors. “I hear you’re going to have a big party when it’s done.”

“That’s what I hear, too.”

“People driving by break their necks looking at it.”

“They haven’t got your view, Dick.” The phone jingled in his pocket. “I’ll see you later.” He pulled it out as he walked. “What’s the matter, Ry? Did you miss me?”

“Like a butt rash. Tile guys have a question on the wall pattern down here. Mom’s in Hagerstown, so you’re elected to answer.”

“On my way.”

He finally walked into his office closer to ten than the nine o’clock start time he’d planned on. But he didn’t mind. Every step, he thought—and poured the last of the morning’s coffee in a mug—was a step.

He dealt with the calls first because he hated them most, then settled down to update the plans for furniture placement with some additional purchases.

Once he shot the updates to everyone’s email, he opened a file.

He was damn well going to finalize the signage today—and they’d better like it.

They’d whittled it down to three possible fonts because nobody wanted to commit. Well, today he committed for all of them.

He fiddled around with all of them, with spacing, size, color tones. Got up, walked around, went to the window and stared out at the building, trying to see it. Went back, rechecked measurement, math, fiddled some more.

Food, he decided, and called downstairs for a calzone.

This is it, he told himself, and printed out a copy. He took it to the window, held it up with one eye closed. Smiled.

“And he deems it good.”

To add impact and persuasion, he sat again, worked on a sign for the gift shop using the same palette and font.

“Yeah, it’s open,” he called out at the knock on the door. He started to rise, reach for his wallet. And his day got just a little brighter when Clare came in with a take-out box.

“Moonlighting at Vesta? I bet you make great tips.”

“I’m saving up for a new car.” She offered the box and a smile. “I was downstairs when they boxed it up, so I said I’d bring it since I wanted to talk to you. It’s on your tab.”

“Good deal.” He set it aside. “I’ll split it with you.”

“Thanks, but I’m just going to grab a quick salad, then give Hope a hand for an hour. But I wanted to—”

“I didn’t give you your tip.” He braced his hands on her hips, drew her in. “You smell great.”

And looked, he thought, a lot more relaxed and happy than she had since their
discussion
about Lizzy.

“I’ve been sampling some new body lotions we’re thinking of carrying. This one’s apricot and honey.”

“Sold.”

He leaned down, slid into the kiss, into apricots and honey and Clare. Too long, he thought, as her arms linked around his neck. Too long since he’d really held her, really had her.

“You’re an excellent tipper.”

“That’s just the down payment.” He backed her toward the door. “You have to come with me for the rest.”

He backed her out, and into his apartment.

“Beckett.” She laughed, but he heard the hitch in her breath, felt her quiver when he grazed her bottom lip with his teeth. “I can’t. We can’t. It’s the middle of the day.”

“Lunch break.”

“Yes, but—”

“I think about you all the time.” He kept backing her up, his lips gliding over her neck, back to hers. “About being with you again, like this. It’s hard seeing you and not being able to touch you.”

“I know. I—”

“Let me touch you.”

He already was, his hands roaming, molding, spreading needs to smother common sense.

“I guess I could be a little late.”

He slid his hand under the skirt of her dress, trailed it up her leg, over her, down again.

“I can definitely be late.”

She fell back on the bed, her heart already racing, her body already revved. Crazy, irresponsible, wonderful, she thought when his mouth pressed, his teeth nipped at her breast—somehow wildly sexy with the material between them.

She let out a gasp of shock when his fingers snaked under the dress again, and into her.

“God. Oh God.”

“Just go.” Crazed now, he drove her higher while he feasted on the warm skin of her throat. “Just go.”

She bucked under him, her hands clutching at the tangle of sheets, her eyes dazed. When she came, the long, shuddering moan arrowed straight to his loins.

And when she went limp, when her eyes closed, he yanked down his jeans, tossed up her skirt. And plunged into her.

The cry of shock sounded again, and now her hands clutched at his hips, nails digging in. His name trembled from her lips as she stared into his eyes.

Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and matched him beat for frantic beat.

Spent, they lay together, still half dressed, breath whistling.

“I should always deliver your calzones.”

“Works for me.”

She closed her eyes, wanting just another moment to bask. “That goes on my list of firsts.”

He lifted his head. “During the day, you mean?”

“No, but in the middle of a workday—and I’m still wearing my clothes. Nearly all of them.”

“I was in kind of a hurry.” He lowered, rubbed his lips over hers. “But I can get you undressed now and start over again.”

“I don’t think my system or my schedule can handle another tip. But thanks very much for your patronage.”

“Best calzones in the county. Shit, I’ll get it,” he said at the knock on the apartment door.

Which of course wasn’t locked, he remembered when he heard Avery’s call. He dragged on his jeans as Clare sprang up, began trying to straighten and smooth her dress.

“Hold on! Be right out.”

But she’d already made it to the door, where she stood, mouth dropping open, finger pointing. “You had a nooner! Look at the two of you all sex-eyed and guilty. My body can’t hold any more of this jealousy. I’m going to have to hire a man. What do you charge?”

“Funny.”

Clare tugged the band out of her hair, then realized she’d left her purse—with her brush in it—in Beckett’s office. “We were just coming—”

“Evidence indicates you’ve already done that.”

“She’s a riot.” Turning to Clare, he jerked a thumb at Avery.

Then the two of them just smiled at each other like, Avery thought, two people who’d had a nooner.

“I knocked,” she told them. “On the office first because that’s where you wanted the calzone delivered—and where Clare said she’d take it because she wanted to”—Avery inserted air quotes—“ ‘talk to you.’ ”

“I did, and I haven’t. Look, I need to get my brush—my hair. I’ll be over at Hope’s in a few minutes.”

“You can’t have any more sex now. I’m putting my foot down. I’ll know if you do, then I’ll cry, and cut my own hair. You don’t want to be responsible for that.”

“I’m just going to put myself back together. I’ll be right there. Promise.”

Avery said nothing, just pointed her finger at both of them, added a narrowed look, then left.

“I thought she’d never leave. Why don’t we—”

“No.” Clare tossed up a hand, palm out. “Absolutely not. I promised. I’ve got to get my purse. I wanted to talk to you, to apologize.”

“For what?” He followed her back into the office.

“For being so distracted I didn’t even really thank you for watching the kids yesterday, for being bitchy when you fixed my sink, and for snapping at you the night we went to the inn and had dinner—which is the reason for the rest of it.”

She grabbed her purse, glanced around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before—in the office. It’s nice. It’s you. Is that a bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“I need the mirror.” She stepped in, left the door open as she brushed her hair back into order. “Avery, Hope, and I went over to the inn while you were with the boys. And, well, we heard something upstairs, like footsteps. And we smelled her up there. The door to the porch opened.”

She took the band off her wrist, twisted her hair into a smooth tail. “I jumped all over them, like I did with you. No,” she decided. “Even more. I was so angry.”

She pulled out lipstick, repaired the damage there.

“Why?”

“That’s the question. And I realized why, or let myself. I realized I was angry because if it’s possible, if this is really happening, if it’s really possible to come back, then—”

“Oh shit. Clint. I never thought of it, of him. I’m sorry.”

“No,
I’m
sorry. There’s no reason for you to think of it. And none for me to take it out on you, on Avery and Hope. Except that’s what you do when you’re upset. Take it out on the people who care.” To finish the job, she dug out her compact.

“It hurt you, and I wouldn’t let it alone.”

“You didn’t hurt me, the situation did. And now that I know why I felt that way, it won’t hurt.”

“Just like that?”

“I had a good cry after I put the boys to bed, and did a lot of thinking. No, it won’t hurt anymore.” She tossed the compact back in her purse as she came back out. “I don’t know why some people come back—at least you hear stories about it. So I can’t know why Clint didn’t. Or maybe he did, and I wasn’t ready or open so I didn’t see him or feel him. But I know he’s gone, and I can’t be angry with him, or you, or . . . whatever is over there. So I’m sorry, and thank you for taking the boys through, for fixing that damn sink, and watching them yesterday so I could start working this out.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now I really have to go.”

“I want to see you this weekend.”

“I want you to see me this weekend.” She moved into his arms, just held for a moment. “Let me check the schedule.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” She went to the door, opened it. “Oh, one more thing. Thanks for the tip.”

He walked to the window, waited so he could watch her cross the street. She did it at a run, skirts flying, legs flashing. When she reached the opposite corner, she looked back, saw him there and waved before hurrying to the back of the building.

He thought about her, about love. What it cost, what it offered. Then he took his take-out box to his office microwave to heat up his very cold calzone.

IT WAS NEAR
the end of the workday by the time he made it back to the inn. His mind on other things, he smelled the paint before he saw it.

They’d need another coat, but the quiet straw color already picked up the light, played with the tones in the tile. He heard the grind of the tile saw, the thump of hammers. When he got to the base of the stairs, his mother’s voice carried down to him.

Perfect, he’d get them all at once.

He found his mother and Carolee on two in the Eve and Roarke room.

“Hey. I was hoping I’d catch you.” He crossed back to the bath.

“Look at this!” His mother thrust a cut sheet at him. “It’s the perfect towel warmer for this room.”

“You already—”

“I didn’t order the other one because I wasn’t a hundred percent. This is a hundred percent. Heated glass.”

“It’s kind of—”

“Pricey, I know, but it’s exactly right. It looks futuristic.”

“It is pretty cool.” Studying it, he brought the rest of the room’s features into his head. “It works with the lights, the fixtures we’re putting in here.”

“Good, because I already ordered it. But that’s not the big news.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

She slapped his arm. “Carolee—”