Wynter's Horizon (32 page)

“Hello, Quinn,” I guessed, absently twirling a pen through my fingers.

There was silence then, “It’s Wynter.”

I looked again at the clock, double-checking the time. It had taken all my self-control not to call her these last three weeks.

“Is everything okay?” I pushed back from my desk, my stomach clenched almost as tightly as my fists.

“Yes … well, yes. I just … I went to a memorial service for Abby today.”

The pen snapped.

“Oh. Are you okay?” I could faintly hear her heart. I had missed that sound.

“Yeah. They planted a tree for her at our high school.” Her voice trembled.

“Wyn, I’m sorry.” I hated to think of her in pain—any kind of pain. I dropped the broken pen on my desk. “What can I do to help?”

She cleared her throat. “Will you come by tomorrow and have dinner with me? I want to talk about some … stuff.”

I thought about the last night we were together. I still had the Coldplay tickets tucked away in my desk drawer.
It couldn’t hurt, could it?
One last time.

“Yes. You want me to meet you at your apartment? Seven?”

“Okay. Bye.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Then the connection went dead.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Wynter—A New World

Beck showed up wearing my favorite shirt and jeans. I took him to an Italian place in the East Village, and we split a bottle of wine. He stared at me over the rim of his wine glass. I knew I’d invited him so I should talk first, but I kept procrastinating. I picked at my linguine in clam sauce and tried to form the words I’d practiced all day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning over the table closer to me. He hadn’t prefaced the apology, but somehow I knew what he meant.

My eyes holding his, I smiled back, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s okay,” I answered, running my finger up and down the stem of my wine glass.

“No, it isn’t. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just so surprised to see her there.” He slumped back in his chair.

God, he looked good. “I know.”

He leaned forward again, and his voice rose with intensity. “The thing is, Wynter, you don’t know. I’m not very good at this, this whole relationship-talking thing. I’m not embarrassed by you. I don’t ever want you to feel that way. I think you’re incredible, and I always have. I just wasn’t prepared to see Sara, to have her ask questions, to have her accuse me of doing something wrong—something that I’m not so sure
isn’t
wrong. I’m playing in your world, keeping you from things that I shouldn’t be.”

He concentrated on his hands, his cocktail napkin shredded to bits. I reached out and placed my hand on his. He flinched. I didn’t move my hand but instead tightened my grip. He was a mystery to me, one minute an open book and, in the next, closed and distant.

“There is no place I want to be except here with you,” I said, skipping to the middle of my speech. He frowned, not exactly the reaction I wanted, but I plunged ahead anyway. “Beck, all spring and summer you were my escape, my one thing separate and apart from school and family. You keep me grounded, whether or not you like it.”

He finally looked up at me.

I smiled wide and nodded my head toward my half-eaten plate. “Look, I even eat when you’re around.”

“This is not going how I thought it would,” he sighed. “I am not good for you, Wynter. I am not good. My world is so different. Sara was right being all ticked off. If I go back to work and get sent out. I’ll be gone. To God knows where. And come back with fuck knows what issues. I can’t do that to you.”

He was trying to push me away. Maybe he was right, but I had come too far to let him go. “So, maybe we need to make our own world.”

He stared back at me, and I wondered if he understood what I meant. I wasn’t trying to be vague. I just didn’t want to be turned down.

He ran his hands over his face. “I don’t know, Wynter. I thought I had it all worked out, but now, here with you, I don’t know anymore.”

My stomach lurched, my new-found confidence crumbling. I felt self-conscious, but I pushed anyway. “Are you just not attracted to me?”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Is that what you think? That I don’t like you?”

I shrugged. “You haven’t given me a reason to think anything else.”

The waitress appeared with our check, and we left silently. As he walked me back to my apartment, he kept glancing at me sideways, a perplexed look on his face.

I turned to him as I exited the elevator and stepped toward my door, making one last ditch effort. “You know, Beck—”

I didn’t finish the sentence, stunned as he pulled me to him and kissed me, his mouth fierce and ruthless on mine. If he intended to scare me, it didn’t work.

I dropped my bag of leftovers in the doorway, pushing into him as I ran my hands though his hair, fisting them there. He didn’t stop, and I didn’t want him to. His mouth demanded more and I gave readily. The heat rose within me. I wrapped one leg around him and molded my body to his. Pulling my head back, he kissed my neck from ear to collarbone. My skin felt on fire. I dragged his mouth back to mine. His hand found its way under my sweater, and my nerves exploded as his fingers grazed my breast, stroking my nipple through my bra. It immediately hardened under his touch. My body pulsed for him.

He stopped, pulling his mouth from mine, and eased me slowly away. I reached a hand out, steadying myself on the door jam. My breath ragged and fast.

“Wynter—” he whispered.

“What?” I gulped out.

“You have no idea what you do to me. What you make me feel—and what I want to do to you.”

My stomach curled at his words, dancing in anticipation.

He stepped back, removing his hands, and his eyes became guarded, his voice hard. “I am totally screwed up. Half my qualities … I don’t know what they are but they’re sure as hell not human. Is this what you really want?”

I reached out to touch his face, and he grabbed my hand halfway there, holding it gently in his.

“I want you, Beck.” I said it quietly and firmly.

He shook his head. “Why?”

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but it seemed like that would probably just make him mad. “Why do you want
me
?” I countered.

He didn’t answer, staring at the doorjamb next to me, his eyes unfocused. I waited for him to say something, anything. “We can’t do this.” He released my hand.

“What?” I closed my eyes in disbelief, the frustration at coming so close rising in my chest.

“No, no! That’s not what I mean. If we’re going to do this, if I’m going to give in against all better judgment and be with you, I don’t want to do it here like this, not with Brian and Julia in the next room. I want … I want you to come to Newport.”

I opened my eyes and just stared at him, making sure he wasn’t kidding. He reached out again, his hand hanging in mid-air, inches from my hair, as if he wasn’t sure. My body ached so bad to have him now. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, twisting my hair through his fingers.

“Do you think I’ll be too loud?” I asked, trying to be coy. Maybe I could convince him not to wait. Who cared how noisy we might be. I heard Brian and Julia all the time.

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up into a wide grin. “That little snippet we just had was me giving into about a fraction of my desire for you. I’ve waited a long time for you. Let’s just say, if I give in one hundred percent, well, I don’t know how
I’ll
be.”

“Are you going to throw me through a wall?” I joked.

“I’m going to try not to,” he answered more seriously than I liked. My stomach flipped as I realized he meant it. “Come up this weekend. Thursday, if you can.”

He cupped my jaw in his hand, his fingers brushing my cheek. “Quinn’s gone for the month to Florida.” He held my eyes for a minute, smiling warmly now and running his knuckle down my cheek.

“Okay.” My heart skipped a beat at the thought. He bent down, handing me my fallen bag and adjusting his jacket and hair all in one motion as he turned to go.

I pushed myself up from the doorframe. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

He smiled back at me over his shoulder as he stepped into the open elevator. “In the words of Rhett Butler, ‘don’t you think you’ve had enough kissing for one day?’”

I narrowed my eyes like Scarlett and smirked. “Go. And I don’t care if you ever come back.”

The elevator doors slid closed, but I could still hear him laughing.

Chapter Sixty

Beck—Fruition

The storm hit just before dusk. The news had been predicting a blizzard with at least a foot of snow, but I knew better than to believe dire weather predictions. Every now and then, though, they nailed it. The snow, which had started as flurries at four p.m., quickly accumulated into six inches by the time I headed back from my meeting in Boston with Drew.

Quinn called as I turned off Route 138. “I heard you’re getting buried. Feel like Moscow yet?”

“The Denowitz lift?” I changed the radio station, searching for a traffic report. “That was a thing of beauty.”

“Not for everybody. Speaking of beauty, how’s Wynter?”

I just laughed.

“How did I know that was going to happen?”

I didn’t bother to respond to that. “Coming home soon?” I hoped he wasn’t going to say tomorrow.

“Yeah. Sara got called in on a job. We’re heading back after the weekend and then she’s taking off to Brussels. Is your friend visiting?”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and dove in. “We’ve kind of made progress in … some areas.”

There was an audible pause. I gazed out at the falling snow and wondered if giving in to my desire was the right thing to do. I had reacted Sunday—and succumbed to my own anger that she could think I wasn’t attracted to her. I hadn’t expected her desire to mirror mine. It had taken all my strength to stop. Even now, recalling the moment, my stomach jolted.

“Well, so much for new resolutions. Didn’t your deep reflection on life tell you that the smartest answer was to stay away from her?”

I could hear his voice dripping with sarcasm. I contemplated hanging up. “Yeah, well, apparently I’m dumb and have lost all sanity.”

“
All
sanity or a little?”

“All.”

“Int … er … esting.”

“What’s interesting is my meeting with Drew. He’s heading to Colombia. He said they’re negotiating for a few weeks, and then they’re going to take them.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him we wanted in and to call us.”

“Huh. Let’s talk when I get back.”

“Okay.”

“And, hey, Romeo, good luck.”

“Whatever.”

I slid the black box I had picked up in Boston across the passenger seat and opened it. Inside was a silver necklace made in the shape of a moon and star, a replica of the plastic one Wynter had won at the arcade. The star was made of diamonds and sparkled as it nestled in the belly of the moon. I was going to give it to her at dinner.

The envelope that Drew had given me lay on the seat next to the box. Project One. It had taken a few months, but I had run it down. I wondered what she would say.

I took my time as I got closer to home, the snow heavier the further south I went. The roads were slippery and the swirling snow made it almost impossible even for me to see. Wynter had a late class on Thursdays and usually didn’t get to Newport until after dark anyway. I stopped to pick up some food and drinks and then headed all the way home.

I had forgotten to leave on any lights, and the house appeared dark and foreboding. The wind had picked up, and it whistled around the corners as I unlocked the front door. The light on the answering machine flashed, and I pushed the button as I dropped my parcels. Wynter’s frustrated voice came across the wires, filling the quiet of the house.

“Beck, I tried your cell, but you didn’t pick up. I’m calling your ancient home phone and leaving a message. Seriously, I can’t believe you still have an answering machine.” I smiled. “Check your phone and make sure it’s on. Anyway, I’m not going to make it. I can’t drive, and Amtrak just closed down and won’t go up there. We have a foot of snow already. It hasn’t stopped, and they say it’s heading up to you. I knew I should have left this morning, but I couldn’t miss that stupid class. Call me when you get this.”

I grabbed the landline phone, punching in her number while I searched through my pockets for my cell phone. I had just had it in the Jeep. Where the hell had it gone? Her phone rang once and then her voicemail picked up. “Wynter…”

Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t alone. Had I been paying attention, I would have smelled them before. But I had been caught up in the snow, and the possibilities the night held. I had let my defenses down. The first punch knocked the phone out of my hand, the second one across my back brought me to my knees but gave me enough time to rip the leg off the dining room table and use it to defend myself as I caught my own end iron on a descent toward my stomach. It was insulting to be eviscerated by one’s own accessories.