A Weaver Christmas Gift Page 14

  “Guess that’s up to you. You might think about it, though. Arlo changes his mind about making a charge, there’s nothing I can do to stop him. You want me to give you a ride home?”

  “Afraid I won’t follow orders?”

  “Will you?”

  He deliberately unclenched his jaw.

  Max evidently took his silence as assent. “And get some sleep,” he advised. “You look like hell.”

  “But I won’t have a couple of black eyes,” he muttered.

  Max looked vaguely amused. “Of all of you Clays, I always figured you were the most peaceable. You play the violin, for God’s sake.”

  Casey grimaced. His grandmother’s violin was still broken, sitting in silent accusation on his kitchen table. “Yeah, well, I don’t like cheats.”

  Then he turned and headed home. The fact that his uncle was sitting in one of the rocking chairs on his front porch by the time he got there wasn’t a particular surprise.

  “I told you to get your crap together,” Tristan greeted him.

  If Casey hadn’t had as much respect for him as he did, he would have told him to go to hell. And damn the consequences.

  “You decked an innocent man.”

  Casey clenched his jaw. Arlo wasn’t innocent, but he knew there was no point in arguing with his uncle.

  “I need you showing clear judgment,” Tristan went on, pushing to his feet. “Ever since Jon’s and Manny’s deaths, you’ve been spiraling. And it stops now.”

  Even though he was braced for the lecture, the words felt like his fist must have felt to Arlo.

  “As of now, you’re suspended. You still show up at Cee-Vid. You still keep up the front. But your access to Control is cut off.”

  He felt another notch chip away from his world. “For how long?”

  “Until I see you start acting like the man I know you are,” his uncle said flatly. “If you need a counselor—”

  “What the hell would I say? I can’t sleep because of a few bad freaking dreams? Like I’m some little kid afraid of the damn bogey monster? I’ve been in Connecticut enough already. I have no desire to go back and get my head poked and prodded.”

  Tristan sighed. “You wouldn’t have to go back there. You could see someone here. Dr. Templeton—”

  “Hayley?” He let out a snort. “Sure. I’m gonna confess all to Janie’s best friend. Great idea.”

  “She’s a professional,” Tristan said impatiently. “And she’s heard things from more people than your smart ass knows about.”

  Casey ground his teeth together again, because whether he liked it or not, his uncle definitely had the right to make the call he was making.

  “But if I were you,” Tristan finished, “I’d start talking to the person who’s a major part of your problem. I know you told Jane about Jon and Manny, so don’t bother claiming she doesn’t matter to you. A lot. For now, Jason McGregor is in the wind. But Jane Cohen is right here in Weaver. So stop screwing it up!”

  * * *

  It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when Jane parked her truck in Casey’s driveway.

  She was as riddled with misgivings now as she had been the first time she’d come here.

  But she hadn’t been able to make herself go home after the last of the revelers and pool players called it a night. If she hadn’t closed things down on them, her register would have been still ringing up drinks.

  But enough was enough. She’d issued the last call, made sure everything was set for the final rounds of the pool tournament tomorrow and locked Colbys up.

  She got out of the truck and walked around to the front of his darkened house. As late as it was, Casey was probably asleep. No doubt, he’d have plenty of caustic things to say if she woke him up.

  She’d worn tennis shoes in anticipation of the long day and they were silent on the brick walkway. The porch light that had been turned on the last time she’d come here was dark. Casey’s truck was parked in the driveway, so she assumed he was there. But the total lack of light made her wonder. She had only the moonlight to go by and was relieved when she made it up the porch steps without tripping over them. Unfortunately, once she was on the porch, the awning blocked out what little bit of light there was.

  Moving blindly forward, she felt the doorknob. It had been unlocked the last time, and she was tempted to try.

  But she tapped her cold knuckles on the door instead.

  “You think anybody inside would hear that timid little knock?”

  She was so startled by his voice coming out of the dark her heartbeat nearly exploded from her ears. “Dammit, Casey! Do you like scaring the living daylights out of me?” She peered along the dark porch and finally made out the shape of him sitting in one of the rocking chairs.

  “I live here, sport. You’re the one skulking around in the middle of the night.”

  “I’m not skulking.” She folded her arms over her chest. She’d layered a thick long-sleeved sweater over her turtleneck once the sun had gone down, but she still felt cold.

  Or maybe she was just feeling that way because she was here. With Casey. And his tone didn’t hold the least bit of welcome.

  “It’s almost two in the morning,” she pointed out. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “Because I just finished working for the night!”

  “You think you’re the only one?”

  She exhaled, struggling for patience. The man excelled at frustrating her. “Don’t you have any light?”

  “Yes. And if I wanted any, I’d have it. What do you want, Jane?”

  She wished she knew. “I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

  She heard a rustle, then saw him rise from the chair. “Aside from a few split knuckles, I am...just...dandy.” His words were clipped.

  She stiffened her spine as he stepped closer and came into focus. “What you are is darned lucky, Casey. Even though you broke his nose but good, Arlo isn’t going to press charges.”

  “I don’t give a damn what Arlo does or doesn’t do. As long as he’s not doing you.”

  “Don’t be vulgar.”

  “Don’t be naive. He was kissing someone else. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  She exhaled noisily. “Arlo’s free to kiss whoever he wants. We’re not involved.”

  “That’s not what you said the last time we talked.”

  She peered into his face. It was too dark to see his expression clearly, though even if they’d been standing beneath a spotlight, his expressions were still a mystery more often than not. “We’re not going out. We never really did.”

  “That’s not what I’ve been hearing around town. Why has his car been parked at your condo at night?”

  “Ohmygod. You’re jealous.” The realization hit, and for some reason, she felt utterly incensed. She reached out and pushed his chest. “How dare you be jealous!”

  He circled her wrists with his fingers, holding them tight. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  She almost stomped her foot and her voice rose. “Because it doesn’t deserve an answer!”

  From somewhere nearby, a dog started barking. Across the street, a porch light went on.

  She lowered her voice again. “I’m not the only one who lives in that complex,” she reminded him tightly. “Does it occur to you that he might have been visiting someone else?”

  “And this is the guy you want to have a kid with?” His voice was just as tight. “You ended a marriage because your husband spent too much time on his career. But you’ll contemplate having a child with a guy who cheats on you. Why aren’t you jealous? Or did good ol’ Arlo somehow convince you that he was giving Amber some platonic little peck?”

  She knew she had only herself to blame. She’d impli
ed she was more involved with Arlo than she was.

  A door had opened beneath the porch light across the street, and an old man wearing a thick robe was peering out. “Can we just go inside and have this conversation with a little more privacy instead of waking up your whole neighborhood?”

  “You’re the one yelling.”

  She jerked on her wrists, but Casey held fast. “I’m not yelling now,” she said through her teeth. “Let me go.”

  He released her wrists so quickly she had to take a steadying step backward. “I lied, all right? I am not involved with Arlo,” she repeated. “Not emotionally. Not romantically. Not involved. Period. So if you felt some...some ridiculous need to punch him in the face on my behalf, then I’m sorry.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  Her blood pressure rose, right along with her voice. The tips of her tennis shoes butted against his boots. “What did I just say?”

  “Not emotionally. Not romantically. Not involved. Period.” He was towering over her and he leaned his head toward her. “Might as well be describing us. Yet we were sleeping together right up until you called it quits.”

  “That’s because I—” She broke off. Fell in love with you.

  “Because you what?”

  She shivered. “Hadn’t realized I wanted more,” she managed. She backed up a step. Put some breathing room between them, hoping she’d start thinking clearly again.

  The man across the street had left his porch and was standing in the middle of his yard, looking right and left. The dog was still barking.

  Jane let out a careful breath. “I’m not sleeping with Arlo. Not now. Not ever. I should have learned my lesson back in October. I shouldn’t have come here again.”

  “But you did.”

  She was appalled to find tears burning behind her eyes. “Yup. And I am a world-class idiot for thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was some reason why I should worry about you.” Her nose started running and she swiped it with her sleeve. It was utterly inelegant. She sniffed again, waving her arm out. “But you’re Casey Clay. Mr. I’m-Allergic-to-Commitment. No ties. No—”

  “Are you crying?”

  “No!” She actually did stomp her foot at that. “And I certainly wouldn’t cry because of you.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, and slid his palm unerringly behind her neck. “Shut the hell up.”

  Then he covered her mouth with his.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jane sucked in a sharp breath, absorbing the familiar, familiar taste of him. “This isn’t right,” she mumbled against him.

  “Feels pretty right to me.” His hand slid down her spine, hauling her closer, until she could feel the heat of him burning through her clothes. Her skin. Warming her deep inside where she’d felt cold since the last time he’d touched her. He caught the back of her head with his other hand, slanting his mouth over hers once more.

  It felt as though fireworks were going off inside her. Her hands were caught between them and she worked her palms up his chest, which was hard even through the thick jacket he was wearing. She felt the charging beat of his heart. The rough inhale he took when he dragged his lips away, which she soon felt burning along her jaw. Then the side of her neck.

  Her knees turned weak and he must have known it, because he suddenly lifted her off her feet, one arm going under her rear.

  The world seemed to dip and sway until she realized he was just swiveling around, fumbling for the door that opened with a loud thud as he practically stumbled through it.

  A tiny part of her brain heard the dog still barking. The man across the street calling out, “Who’s out there?”

  But the rest of her brain just shut down as Casey pulled her into the dark foyer that went even darker when he shoved the door closed again, shutting out the barking and the old man, and pressed her flat against it.

  Then it was only them.

  The sounds of their breaths, nearly as loud as the pulse pounding inside her head, as the soft clank of his belt buckle when she finally managed to pull it apart.

  It was so deeply dark that she couldn’t have seen her own hand if she’d waved it in front of her face. But she could feel.

  And touch.

  The cotton knit of his shirt was soft beneath her fingers when she delved beneath his jacket and dragged it upward, out of his jeans and out of her way so she could plunge downward, shoving denim and cotton aside in favor of hot satin-skinned sinew and muscle. “Hurry,” she breathed.

  “I’m trying.” His hands were just as busy, bunching her sweater up and yanking her jeans down her hips. “You’ve got on too many clothes.” His mouth lowered to the skin he revealed.

  She shrugged her shoulders, getting rid of the layered sweaters, and kicked the jeans off, then gasped when he tore her panties right off with a snap of the thin elastic. She cried out when he lifted her again and sank into her.

  He pressed his forehead against hers, his heaving chest plastering her against the wooden door. “That fast enough for you?”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry but couldn’t do either anyway because he was hot and hard and filling her to overflowing, and her own cells didn’t seem to belong to her anymore. She wrapped her legs around him, unable to keep from greedily arching against him as much as the immovable door and his weight against her would allow. “Almost.” She twined her arms around his shoulders, sinking her fingers into his thick hair, the strands cool and silky. “Almost.”

  His fingers tightened as he hitched her higher, thrusting harder. “Now?”

  She nodded, unable to speak, unable to do anything but hold on tight as the fireworks slid from her mind into her bloodstream and exploded in a shower of brilliance, eclipsing everything else except the knowledge that he was right with her every step of the way.

  * * *

  She was still shuddering, breathing hard, when he finally levered away, letting her legs slowly lower until her feet found the floor.

  His hand slid from her thigh to the small of her back and his head found her shoulder while he hauled in a huge, long breath. Let it out slowly. “Seems like we started out this way.”

  She had no difficulty at all remembering. Their first time together. In her storeroom at Colbys. After they’d been arguing about her computer.

  They’d gone from squabbling to ecstasy in the blink of an eye and for the first time in her life, Jane had understood how wars could be fought over the seemingly simple matter of sex.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. It felt as weak as the rest of her. But she managed not to slither to the floor in a puddle of mush when he straightened and peeled away from her.

  Without his shoulders to hold on to, she pressed her hands against the solidness of the door behind her for support. He was moving away and a moment later, bright light assaulted her from the fixture hanging over the foyer.

  She blinked, shading her eyes.

  His hooded gaze roved over her and she wasn’t sure where the energy to blush came from, but she still felt the heat rise up her cheeks. Then he shoved his fingers through his hair and turned away, hitching his jeans back up over his lean hips.

  She yanked her turtleneck down over her breasts. Her panties were a lost cause and she pulled on her jeans without them. Then she put on the discarded sweater and buttoned it up, right up to her neck.

  Not that it did any good now.

  She balled up the torn panties and ducked into the small powder room, then closed and locked the door as if she were in some danger of him busting in on her.

  The woman who stared back at her from the mirror was wild-eyed and flushed.

  She looked away. Then she used the toilet, washed her hands and splashed water over her face. She left her panties in the bottom of the small
round waste basket next to the pedestal-style sink, and when she couldn’t linger in there any longer without feeling like a coward, she left the room and followed the hallway into the kitchen.

  He was standing by the open refrigerator drinking orange juice straight from the carton.

  She looked away from the long sweep of his tanned back.

  The broom was still propped against the wall where she’d left it the last time she’d been there and she went still.

  Everything looked the same as it had the last time she’d been there two months ago, she realized.

  From the swept-up pile of glass to the upended bookcase. Right down to the broken violin. Only he’d moved that to the middle of the table, where it sat like some sort of macabre centerpiece.

  “Casey.”

  He didn’t look at her. Just put the orange juice carton back and continued staring into the depths of the refrigerator, which even she could see contained very few items on its shelves. “You want something to drink?”

  She looked at the violin again. “I want answers.”

  “No, you don’t. Trust me.”

  Feeling shakier inside than ever, she moved around the island and set her hand on his back. She slowly pressed her mouth against the small scar on his shoulder blade. Felt him stiffen.

  But he didn’t move away.

  And she took strength from that.

  “If you expect me to believe that everything is fine, that you are fine, then you should have cleaned up this mess weeks ago.”

  “I didn’t figure you’d ever be back to see it.” He pushed the refrigerator door closed and looked down at her. A storm she couldn’t understand—one he wouldn’t explain—brewed in his gray eyes. “You were right when you said you didn’t know who I am.”

  She swallowed. Wet her lips. “Are you going to tell me?”

  His jaw canted. He looked as if he was going to answer and every fiber of her being felt on edge, waiting.

  But then his expression smoothed out and “I’m going to bed” was all he said.

  Her shoulders sank and she watched him start to walk out of the room. But after several steps, he stopped. “Do you want to come?” His voice was low. Raw.