The Winner Takes It All (A Something New Novel) (30 page)

Cecilia sat in the high-back chair as Shane’s great-aunt Cathy looked her over from head to toe. In her late eighties, her hair was snow white, her skin wrinkled, but her blue eyes were razor sharp. She wore a T-shirt that proclaimed her
Team Jacob
and Cecilia could not contain her grin.

The older woman shifted her attention back and forth between her nephew and Cecilia. “I don’t appreciate you neckin’ in the middle of my front yard, boy.”

A flush crawled up Cecilia’s neck and splashed on her cheeks, but she managed to keep her chin held high.

Shane stretched out his long legs and hooked one ankle over the other. “Sorry about that, Aunt Cathy.” Not sounding sorry at all.

“What would your momma say?” Aunt Cathy asked, her expression sly.

Cecilia pressed her lips together.

Shane laced his fingers over his stomach. “I suppose you could call her and find out.”

His aunt reached between the cushions of her antique brocade couch and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

Shane shot off the chair, stalked over to her and held out his open palm. “Hand them over. You’re not supposed to be smoking.”

She waved him away. “I’m eighty-eight, boy. If I want to smoke, I’ll smoke.”

“It’s not good for you.” He tried to snatch them, but she yanked her hand back. “Auntie,” he said in a warning tone.

In response, she lit a long, slim cigarette and took a long drag.

Shane sighed and returned to his seat.

Cecilia grinned. It was adorable.

“And what about you, girl?” The older woman looked at Cecilia with her sharp gaze. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you no one will buy the cow if you give the milk away for free?”

Shane shot her a smirk, one brow raised.

With the poise gained through years of practice, she picked up her cup of tea. “I must have missed that lesson somewhere along the way.”

Shane chuckled.

Aunt Cathy took a long drag of her cigarette and blew out a billow of smoke. “I made all five of my husbands wait until the wedding night. But I’m old-fashioned that way.”

“I see,” Cecilia said primly.

After another long puff, his aunt tilted the lit cigarette toward Shane. “Your mom said you’d change my oil.”

Shane sighed. “Why don’t you let the mechanic I sent over here do it?”

Her painted-on brows slammed together. “I don’t want some stranger handling my car. It’s a classic.”

“It’s a Buick.”

“Exactly.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “My back stairs need some fixing too.”

“And I suppose I have to fix them?” Shane said, his tone wry and amused.

“It’s the least you can do for your old auntie.”

Ten minutes later, Cecilia sat on the little wooden deck as Shane banged away at the second-to-the-bottom step. Just watching his muscles bunch and flex as he worked the hammer had her feeling all melty and shivery inside. She tilted her face to the sun, wishing it were ten degrees hotter so he’d take his shirt off.

“Hand me that screwdriver, baby.” He held out his hand, reminding her of that day when she’d found him under the kitchen sink.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. His voice, once so cold when he’d talked to her, now burned hot in that special way reserved only for her.

She handed it to him. “You’re amazing.”

He stilled, his head lifting from his task to look at her.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Unable to resist, she trailed a finger over his jaw. “You take care of everyone.”

Green eyes darkening, he shook his head. “I’m not doing anything that anyone else wouldn’t do.”

“Liar.” She brushed a kiss over his mouth.

“Careful, or Aunt Cathy’s going to have more than making out to complain about.”

She grinned and he went back to fixing the steps.

She wasn’t wrong. He took care of everyone. If anyone in his family had a problem he was there, handling it so they didn’t have to.

But who took care of him?

I could
. The thought whispered through her mind, startling her. She wasn’t a caregiver. Not like he was. Shane deserved a woman who’d make him a home. A woman who’d fuss over him. Cook him dinner and harp on him about eating. He deserved someone who’d nurture him for a change.

She wasn’t that kind of woman.

But still, she couldn’t stop the fantasy that she could be that person. Not the homemaker, per se, but the person Shane needed. Deserved. It was bright and crystal clear in her mind. Alive and vivid, fitting like a missing puzzle piece inside her.

She wanted it. Wanted that life she could sense with Shane.

And today, she felt brave enough to reach out and touch it.

To believe in the possibility that it could be real.

Chapter Twenty-One

Later that Saturday afternoon, Cecilia looked out the window of their car as they drove down the interstate, watching the dense outer suburbs, with their overdeveloped strip malls and super centers, give way to flat farmland.

In silence, Shane drove beside her, both of them content not to speak. It was nice. Perfect, like nothing she’d ever had before in a relationship and it unraveled the tension inside her.

She’d been thinking all afternoon, coming to grips with the truth. All this time, all these years, she’d been lying to herself. Holding on to the dreams she’d created as a child with such single-minded focus, she’d never realized she’d outgrown them along the way.

She may as well have been saying she wanted to be a fairy princess.

The weight, sitting heavy on her chest, lifted and she knew what she had to do.

She was going to put an end to her fake engagement. All she needed to do was figure out how. And she thought she finally had a real idea of what she might do with her life. She’d been thinking about what she was good at, what she actually enjoyed about her job. Some might call her crazy, but she loved cleaning up the messes; it gave her a perverse thrill to take something that seemed unfixable and spin it into salvageable.

How many times had she done that for her father? For his colleagues? Why couldn’t she make her living doing that? Hell, there was a plentiful market for damage control; she had tons of connections, and the thought actually excited her instead of filling her with dread.

As soon as she worked out all the pieces, she’d tell Shane and see what happened. Because she didn’t know what their future held. All she knew was he filled an empty space inside her, and the more time that passed the more she didn’t want to be without him.

Did he feel the same way? She thought he might, but they’d spent so much time carefully avoiding any talk about their future, their feelings, and what was happening between them, she wasn’t sure.

Out of the corner of her eye, she scoped him out, blond, relaxed, and gorgeous behind the wheel. He wore a navy T-shirt that strained around his biceps, and she followed the lines of his arm, the tanned skin and veins running the length of his forearm. The light dusting of golden hair, his strong wrists and the talented fingers that made her feel protected. Would he want someone like her?

He glanced over at her. “I can feel you thinking.”

She bit her lower lip. He always did that. So carefully in tune with her—her likes and dislikes, her wants and desires, her moods. She’d never had that before. It made her feel . . . cared for. Like she mattered. She twisted in her seat, resting her back against the door so she could look at him more directly. She’d intended to say something light, unwilling to risk a topic she wasn’t ready to talk about yet, so the question that popped out of her mouth surprised her. “Why do you feel guilty about your success?”

“I don’t.” The answer quick and sharp, like a right jab.

“Yes, you do. It’s like you think you’ve got to apologize for it.”

“I don’t. I just don’t see the point in making a big deal about it. It wasn’t a thought-out plan.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Of course it was. You plan and take care of everything. That’s your nature.”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, turning white. “That’s not nature, it’s necessity. If my dad hadn’t died, I’d be a slacker, probably working some odd job, living paycheck to paycheck.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She touched his thigh and spoke softly. “You don’t have anything to feel guilty about, Shane. What you’ve done is remarkable.”

The muscles under her palm tensed. “Doesn’t change the fact that I would have been a thug if I had the choice.”

“I doubt that, but even if it’s true, so what? That’s not what happened.”

He frowned. “I hate knowing he had to die in order for me to become a good man.”

Ah. There was the crux of the problem.

She shifted in the bucket seat. “You’re right, if your dad hadn’t died, you would have been a different person. Maybe you’d be poor. Or a slacker. Or maybe you’d be an accountant.”

He gave her a sharp look of disapproval and she laughed before putting her head on his shoulder. “What I do know is that regardless of what you would have become, you would have been a good man.”

“You don’t know that,” he said, tone stubborn and absolute.

“The other night, when the girls were over at Gracie’s house, Maddie kept telling stories about you.” Her future sister-in-law had tried to be subtle, but Cecilia recognized the hard sell when she saw it. Not that it had been necessary. She was already hooked on his virtues, as well as his more devious qualities. “Maddie told a story about some party she went to in high school where she got a little rowdy and picked a fight with the wrong guy. Do you remember that?”

The muscles under his shoulder flexed and rippled before settling again. “Yeah, I got a call from James that she was in trouble, which at the time was pretty much par for the course.”

“She said you rescued her, then knocked the guy out cold.”

He chuckled, clearly a fond memory. “He didn’t make that mistake again.”

“She also said you climbed up a tree and rescued her cat, Fluffy. Kicked a bunch of guys’ asses for messing with James. Stole evidence from Sister Margaret’s office so Maddie wouldn’t get in trouble for some graffiti she’d drawn. And took the rap for Evan when he pulled the fire alarm so he wouldn’t get thrown off the football team.” She glanced at him. “Is that all true?”

He scowled. “Maddie talks too much.”

Cecilia smiled, shifting to rest against his shoulder again. “But you’re smart enough to get my point.”

He sighed, the long, heavy sound of a man who knows he lost an argument. “Only because you used a sledgehammer to make it.”

She laughed. “I use the tools necessary to get the job done.”

Later that night, back at the farmhouse, everyone sat around the poker table while Shane shuffled the deck of cards. Money exchanged, chips in a neat stack, he nodded at Cecilia sitting across from him. “Do you know how to play?”

She shot him a scornful look. “Of course.”

His lips quivered. “How the hell should I know? You don’t look like a card player.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes and grabbed a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop from the pile next to Sophie and unwrapped it with a nonchalant shrug of her bare shoulder. “I’m okay.”

Ha. He knew right then she was a shark. He narrowed his gaze, appreciating the swell of her breasts in her red tank top. The way her hair brushed her shoulders in loose waves. “Hmmm.”

“Just deal, for fuck’s sake,” Mitch said.

Shane ignored him and continued to watch Cecilia.

She smiled back sweetly before licking the red candy with the tip of her pink tongue.

He lost his train of thought, his hands stilling on the playing cards.

“We can’t possibly be this annoying,” Mitch said to Maddie.

Maddie shook her head. “No way.”

Sophie clucked her tongue. “Yes, way.”

Penelope poked him in the arm. “You need to shuffle.”

Gaze glued to the woman across the table, he split the deck into two piles.

Cecilia sucked the red lollipop between those porn-star lips of hers, distracting him as she twirled it in her mouth, reminding him of the way she sucked cock.

He fumbled the cards and they flew in a haphazard heap on the green felt table in front of him.

She pulled the candy like a slow tease from her mouth, swirling her now-bright-red tongue, and raising a brow. “Problem?”

Little temptress. How exactly was he going to get her back? “Nope.”

She glanced pointedly at the cards. “Are you going to deal? Or just sit there?”

Oh, wasn’t she just asking for it? Of course, to deliver he needed blood back in his brain, which was proving quite difficult.

Since the second they got back, they’d been surrounded by people, and he hadn’t been able to touch her all day. He frowned. Did he really have it
that
bad? Surely he could go ten hours without having her.

Her tongue slid lazily over the round, red tip and his cock hardened to the point of pain.

Well, shit. That’s exactly how it was.

Penelope lost patience and sighed, gathering up the cards for him.

The sucker slipped between Cecilia’s lips. Jesus.