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Restless
Tori Carrington


No more little Miss Nice Strait-laced lawyer Lizzie has had enough of being a good girl. This Christmas, she’s going to be naughty – very, very naughty. And lucky for her, she knows just the guy to help her…Patrick Gauge, a rugged musician with a body to die for, is exactly the type of man Lizzie’s got on her Christmas wish list. What better way to take the plunge into being wild than by jumping right into his bed! But will Gauge be gone by New Year’s Eve?







She stood quietly facing him, the taste of him still ripe in her mouth.

He seemed to be inordinately interested in her lips, his gaze lingering there even as he unfastened the catch on her slacks and pushed the fabric down over her hips along with her panties, skimming his fingers across her bare bottom, where they dipped into the shallow crevice before moving up her back. She shivered. Not from the cold but from the intensity of his expression, combined with his knowing touch.



Then he did something she would never have expected, given his words of the previous evening: he kissed her.


Multi-award-winning, bestselling husband-and-wife duo Lori and Tony Karayianni are the power behind the pen name Tori Carrington. Their more than thirty-five titles include numerous Blaze® mini-series, as well as the ongoing Sofie Metropolis comedic mystery series with another publisher. Visit www.toricarrington.net, www. sofiemetro.com, www.myspace.com/toricarrington and www.millsandboon.com for more information on the couple and their titles.





Restless


By




Tori Carrington











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)


We dedicate this book to everyone who wrote demanding Gauge’s story. In this increasingly politically correct world it’s nice to know that so many agree that a man as flawed as Patrick Gauge warrants a second look and a happy ending all his own. However unconventional…



And to our editor Brenda Chin, for trusting us to push that envelope ever further.






1


THE WEEK-OLD TEXT MESSAGE read: Gone back 2 Jen. Been nice. Sorry.

Lizzie Gilbred sat on her family-room sofa, clicking the cell phone to reread the message from her boyfriend—scratch that, her ex-boyfriend—Jerry, her thumb hovering over the delete button. It had been seven days. Surely the words were burned forever into her brain by now. She saved the message instead, then sighed and tossed the cell to the leather cushion next to her, where she knew she’d just pick it up again in two minutes.

She took a hefty sip from her wineglass, leaned her elbow against the sofa back and stared out the window at the snow swirling in the yellow security light over her driveway. The weatherman was calling for three inches of the white stuff to fall again tonight, casting a festive glow on the two-week countdown to Christmas.

Blizzard Bill the weatherman’s words, not hers. As far as Lizzie was concerned, they could cancel Christmas this year and she wouldn’t even notice.

She took another sip of her wine, feeling a blink away from jumping out of her skin. She’d returned late from the law offices of Jovavich, Williams, and Brentwood, Attorneys-at-Law, as was usual for a Wednesday, and fought to stick to routine even though she’d felt anything but normal since receiving Jerry’s cold text message goodbye. She’d kicked off her shoes at the door, removed her suit jacket, cranked up the heat, poured herself a glass of her favorite Shiraz, started a fire in the family-room grate, then sat on the rich leather sofa she and Jerry had picked out together. Usually at this point she went through her mail or reviewed the briefs or depositions she’d brought home from the office. Tonight it was a brief she’d had one of the junior attorneys write up for her. But damn if she could make it through a single sentence, much less comprehend the entire ten-page document.

She thought about making herself dinner. She hadn’t had anything since the bagel with jelly she’d half eaten at the office meeting this morning. But she couldn’t seem to drum up the energy to reach for the television remote, much less that required to actually rise from the sofa and go into the kitchen to either heat a frozen dinner or open a can of soup.

So she sat staring out at the snow instead, wondering what her ex-boyfriend, Jerry, and his once-estranged wife, Jenny, were doing right then.

She groaned and rubbed her forehead. She hadn’t thought of Jenny as Jerry’s wife in a long time. More specifically, for the past six months—ever since Jerry had left Jenny and appealed for a legal separation. One that had ended with his surprise text message and virtual disappearance from her life a week ago when she’d come home from work after retrieving the missive to find he’d taken everything he’d had at her house, including the waffle maker he’d bought her for her birthday last month.

What did he want with a freakin’ waffle maker? Had he taken it to Jenny and said the equivalent of, Something for you, honey, to show how serious I am about sharing Sunday-morning waffles for the rest of our lives? Or, See, I even took back every gift I ever bought her.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Because to take back every gift, he’d have had to go back six years, when he and Lizzie were the established couple on the verge of an engagement and Jenny had been the other woman.

God, she couldn’t believe she’d let him do this to her again. Six years ago, it hadn’t been a text message; rather, he’d left a quickly scribbled note on her car windshield, secured by the wiper: “It’s over. Sorry.” With it had been the announcement of Jenny and his engagement from that day’s newspaper.

The cell phone chirped. Lizzie scrambled to pick it up, punching a button and answering.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie?”

She sank against the cushions and pulled the chenille throw up to her neck. Not Jerry.

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Okay, considering.”

Lizzie made a face. Ever since her parents had announced their impending divorce, the War of the Roses Revisited had begun at the Gilbred house. Both of them, it seemed, were all for the separation. But neither was willing to give up the house. So her father had taken up residence in a downstairs guest room, and her mother went about life as if he wasn’t there, up to and including a candlelit dinner with some guy she’d picked up at the country club last month.

Her father had had a fit and nearly clunked the guy in the head with one of his golf clubs, which her mother had tossed into the driveway after he’d taken advantage of an unseasonably warm day and gone out for a few rounds, missing an appointment with their divorce attorneys.

The clubs had gone completely missing the following day and Lizzie had gotten a call from her father asking her to help him find them since he’d had the set specially made. They’d finally hit pay dirt at a Toledo pawnshop, where they found them with an abominably low price tag…until the new owner figured out that they must be worth more and jacked up the price while her father fumed.

But maybe her mother was beginning to come to her senses. Usually she began conversations with whatever outlandish thing her father had done that day. That she was actually quiet and appeared pensive was a positive sign. Wasn’t it?

“How about you? How are you doing?” her mother asked.

“I’m just sitting in front of the fire with a glass of wine.”

“That’s nice, dear. And Jerry? Is he there with you?”

She had yet to tell her mother that she and Jerry were no longer a couple. In all honesty, she had never told her parents that he was still married, even though he was legally separated at the time.

What a tangled web we weave, she thought. “Yes. Yes, he is,” she lied.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Well, tell him hello for me.”

“I will.”

Lizzie squinted through the window, making out a shadowy, familiar figure in the falling snow.

Gauge.

She instantly relaxed against the cushions. Her hot tenant of the past four months was walking up her driveway, toward the garage and the apartment above it that he was renting. She craned her neck to see around a large evergreen in order to follow his movements until he disappeared.

The voice at the other end of the line sighed.

“Are you okay?” she asked her mother. “You sound…distracted.”

Could it be that Bonnie Gilbred was rethinking her situation? That the reconciliation Lizzie, her sister, Annie, and brother, Jesse, hoped for was just around the corner? Just in time to make Christmas feel somewhat like Christmas again?

“Me? Yes, yes. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lizzie nearly dropped the phone when she heard a male roar on her mother’s end. She absently rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, wanting to hang up yet straining to hear her father’s words.

“What in the hell did you put in this, Bonnie? Are you trying to kill me, for God’s sake? You are, aren’t you? Is it arsenic?”

Her mother’s voice sounded much too joyful. “No, it’s not arsenic, you old fool. I fixed the meat loaf the same way I always fix it. Your taste buds must not be what they once were.”

“Don’t hand me that b.s.!” There was a clatter of plates and then her father cussed a blue streak.

She heard a door slam.

“Mom?” Lizzie said.

“Hmm?”

Apparently Bonnie still had the phone to her ear, but wasn’t much paying attention to the fact that she was having a conversation with her daughter.

“What did you put in the meat loaf?” Lizzie asked.

“Salt. Lots of it.”

Lizzie smiled in spite of the exasperation she felt. “You know Dad’s watching his sodium intake.”

“I know. Why do you think I did it?”

Lizzie rested her head back against the pillow. “So is there a reason you called? I mean, other than wanting someone to witness your evildoing for the night?”

“I’m not doing evil. I cooked him meat loaf.”

“Sure, Mom. Is there anything else?”

She could imagine Bonnie thinking for a moment. “Nope. I figure that about covers everything.”

“Good. Oh, and next time you want a buffer between you and Dad, call Annie,” she said, referring to her younger sister.

“Will do, dear.”

“Good night, Mother.”

“Good night, Lizzie.”

She punched the button to disconnect the call and checked for any missed messages. None. So she read Jerry’s text message before tossing the phone to the sofa again.

God, but she really was a sorry sack, wasn’t she?

A sound drew her attention back to the driveway. Gauge had reappeared. He was wearing the same hooded sweatshirt and denim jacket he’d had on minutes earlier. She thought maybe he was leaving again. Only he wasn’t carrying his guitar case; he was shoveling her walk. She found the action incredibly hot.

All thoughts of her mother, Jerry and her missing waffle maker drifted from her mind. Replaced by ones related to the sexy drifter who had taken up residence in her garage apartment in August.

His name wasn’t really Gauge. Well, his last name was, but his first name was Patrick. Lizzie folded one arm under her chin and took another sip of wine, the alcohol beginning to work its magic by warming her a bit even as she watched Gauge out in the cold.

She didn’t know much about him. Her brother Jesse’s ex-girlfriend, Heidi, had recommended him; Gauge was part owner of the BMC bookstore café downtown where Heidi used to work. He was a musician. A guitar player, if the case he carried and the strumming she’d heard coming from his place when it was warmer were any indication.

Their paths rarely crossed. She found his rent—always cash—stuffed into an envelope in her front-door mail slot on the first of the month, and she made sure that any mail that was delivered for him was slid under his door.

That was basically it.

Well, that and the fact that he was exceedingly hot and she liked watching him come and go, with no particular preference for either, because both front and back views were worthy of a long glance and an even longer sigh.

She put her glass back down on the coffee table. Aside from a very brief crush on the drummer that had played at her senior prom, she’d never gone much for the artistic type. Career-oriented, driven guys were more her thing.

Like Jerry.

She groaned.

Of course, that was probably because she was a bit on the ambitious side herself. A bit? She needed to stop lying to herself. In three short years since graduation, she’d made it to junior partner at the law firm with a full partnership whispered to be in the offing in the not-too-distant future.

Of course, Jerry’s disappearing act wouldn’t help. She’d been counting on taking him to the office party next week to help cement her shot at the partnership slot. With, of course, no mention of his marital status.

Her friend Tabitha had suggested that perhaps she should play at being a lesbian. Lizzie had nearly spewed her iced tea at her over lunch at Georgio’s, her favorite restaurant in downtown Toledo.

“What did you say?”

Tabby had shrugged. “Surely you know that being an unmarried woman of childbearing age hurts your chances of success in the workplace.”

“And acting like a lesbian helps how?” “For one thing, there’s nothing guys like more than imagining a great-looking chick—such as yourself—getting it on with another woman.”

Lizzie had snorted.

“For another, they’d be so preoccupied with the image that they’d forget about your biological clock and the fact that you may get pregnant at any minute.”

“But there are no kids in my immediate future. The partners know that.”

Tabby had given her an eye roll. “Sure. You think they believe you? They know—or think they do—how fickle a woman is. One minute she’ll be spouting off about not wanting children, the next she’ll be pregnant with quads.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lizzie told her friend.

But Tabitha’s advice had made a twisted kind of sense. While she thought she was being treated as an equal at the office, there were small incidents that sometimes left her wondering. Like the men-only golf outings. Or the times she walked into a room full of male colleagues and everyone would go silent.

Then there was Jerry…

He’d been her first love. She had fully expected to spend the rest of her life with him when they’d met in college and immediately hit it off. It had been that sense of unfinished business, and his convincing argument that she was his first love, as well, that had compelled her to let him back into her life.

What a mistake that had been.

Lizzie forced herself off the couch and downed the remaining contents of her wineglass. That was it. She wasn’t going to think about…him, or work or anything anymore for fear that her head might explode.

She craned her neck, watching as Gauge finished the shoveling and headed up the stairs to his place.

No…she shouldn’t. To even consider going over there would be nothing but stupid.

Who was she kidding? At that moment it might very well be the smartest decision she’d made in a very long time.




2


GAUGE BRUSHED the snow from his old cowboy boots and shrugged out of his jacket and sweatshirt, hanging them on the back of a kitchen chair in his small studio apartment. He’d hoped the physical activity of shoveling would help chase away the demons that had been haunting him lately. And it had. But for how long?

He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table and unscrewed the top, taking a long pull from the whiskey, standing still as it warmed his chest and then swirled outward to his cold extremities.

The apartment was small but nice. He guessed it had probably been renovated in the past year or so. All the appliances and fixtures were new, the furniture unworn and scratch free. Unlike most of the places he was used to staying in when he was out on the road playing with whatever band he’d hooked up with. Or all the motels rooms, shabby apartments and run-down houses he’d shared with his traveling musician father when he was growing up.

Not that he paid much attention to his surroundings. As far as he was concerned, they were just details. And he probably wouldn’t be staying here except for Nina’s involvement. Nina was one of his partners in BMC, a bookstore/music center/café, and she matched him up with Lizzie Gilbred, the sister of Heidi’s ex, when Lizzie had listed the studio for rent.

He rubbed his chin and screwed the top back on the whiskey, putting the bottle on the table. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the place. He supposed it was all right. There was just something odd about living in the good part of town. About parking his beat-up Chevy Camaro at the curb where few cars sat, but those that did were BMWs, Mercedes and Rovers. You’d think that he’d be used to the fluttering of curtains as neighbors watched him come and go, but it bothered him on a fundamental level he was loath to ignore. What did they think—that he was going to break in and rape their women? Kill their children?

He didn’t know the names of any of them. And he’d lived there for nearly four months. Surely there was something abnormal about that?

Since the places he was used to staying in were shabby, the neighborhoods where they were located tended to be on the grungy side. Usually downtown, crowded with other people that looked like him, where no curtains fluttered because there were usually no curtains. And while he might not stay long in any one place, he always left knowing the names of most of the people around him, and could count more than a few of them as friends.

Hell, here he’d maybe talked to his landlady a handful of times. And she only lived thirty feet away in the Tudor-style monstrosity she called a house. From what he could tell, she used all of three rooms: the kitchen, the back room with the fireplace and what he guessed was her bedroom on the second floor.

He could only imagine what her monthly heating bill looked like.

That’s probably why she or any of the other neighbors weren’t home much. They were too busy working to pay the bills that went along with their lifestyle—like astronomical heating bills.

Speaking of heat…

After pushing the arrow and nudging the digital numbers up to sixty-nine degrees on the thermostat, he picked up his acoustic guitar where he’d left it sitting on the edge of the queen-size bed and walked around with it until the baseboard heaters warmed the place. He stopped near the window overlooking the driveway. Already the falling snow was beginning to cover his work. He hit a dissonant chord and automatically adjusted the tension of the wayward string, tuning and testing three times before he was satisfied.

His gaze was drawn to the back of the Tudor where he could see Lizzie Gilbred spilled across the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. He ran his fingers over the guitar strings, playing the distinctive licks of Muddy Waters’s “Going Down Slow,” the sound making the room feel not so empty. There was a time when he might have brought one of the young women who liked his playing home to warm his bed, but not now. Not since he’d come back to Fantasy, determined to forge a different life for himself.

Not since he’d fallen for a woman he’d had no right falling for. A woman he could never have. A woman who was now married to his best friend.

Gauge closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest, his fingers moving as if on their own accord.

There had been times lately when he’d thought maybe returning to Michigan hadn’t been such a great idea. But in his lifetime, the three-year span he’d spent here was the longest he’d spent anywhere. And when he’d left, he’d been even more aware of the hollow loneliness of wandering the country in search of his next gig than he’d ever been before. Partly because he’d gotten a taste of what love, real love, might be like. Mostly because his best friends and business partners, Nina Leonard and Kevin Weber, had been the family he’d never had.

Until he went and mucked things up.

He forced all thought from his mind, giving himself over to the music, feeling the blues wash over him, through him.

A knock at the door.

Gauge opened his eyes, convinced he was hearing things, because it was a sound he hadn’t heard since moving in.

Another knock.

He leaned the guitar against the bed.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door. But it sure wasn’t what he found.

Lizzie Gilbred.

Hadn’t he just seen her in her house? What was she doing out in this weather? What was she doing knocking at his door?

She bounced a couple of times, as if cold, looking smaller somehow in the oversize camel-hair coat she wore.

Gauge had always had a deep appreciation of women. He supposed it came from not having had a constant female presence in his life. But the opposite sex never failed to fascinate him. Even if that weren’t the case, Lizzie Gilbred would have made a lasting impression on him. It was more than her golden-blond hair and wide, baby-doll-blue eyes. There was an inherent sexiness to her, and he couldn’t help wondering why she covered it up in her strict business suits and pulledback hairstyles.

He couldn’t help thinking that if she hadn’t been an attorney, she’d have made a great stripper.

“Can I come in?” she asked, intruding on his thoughts.

Probably a bad idea in a long line of bad ideas. Just as he appreciated women, he knew them better than they sometimes knew themselves. And he knew that for whatever reason, Lizzie had decided to distract herself with him.

Then again, his girl-dar had been off a little lately. She could be there to evict him.

Gauge shrugged and moved away from the door. “Seeing as you own the place, I don’t know that I can stop you.”

She stepped inside, quickly closing the door after her. She looked around the apartment and then at him. “Am I interrupting something?”

Gauge tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. Definitely there to distract herself.

Where once the thought might have mildly amused him, now he was vaguely disappointed. But never let it be said that he ever turned a great-looking woman away from his bed. And Lizzie was absolutely stunning. She’d let her coat hang open and he appreciated the snug black cashmere sweater and clingy black pants she wore.

“Am I late with the rent?” he asked.

She smiled. “No. I just thought I’d come up to thank you for shoveling the snow.”

“Mmm.”

“May I?” she asked, indicating her coat.

“Be my guest.”

She shrugged out of the heavy wool coat and draped it over the back of the same chair that held his jacket. She eyed the bottle on the table.

Gauge watched her closely. He knew she was an attorney and that she worked hard. She drove a convertible Audi that was wasted during Michigan’s harsh winters. He guessed that her boyfriend was similarly ambitious with his late-model Porsche and fancy suits.

He’d thought it odd that he hadn’t seen the jerk’s car for the past week. He’d figured maybe the guy had gone on a business trip. Apparently he’d been wrong.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

“Sounds good.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that was a good idea, but hell, it had been a while. And though he was able to resist tempting any women home, having one offer herself up on his doorstep…well, he was but a man, after all. And it was obvious that’s what Lizzie was counting on.

“Boyfriend away?” he asked as he handed her a glass holding a finger of Jack.

Her eyes grew wide and it appeared to take some effort for her to swallow as she drank. “Something like that.” She swiped the back of her hand against her mouth. Her lips, he noticed, seemed bare of lipstick. In fact, she didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup at all, which was curious. Whenever he’d seen her, she’d always been well put together.

Then again, one didn’t require proper attire when slumming it.

And he guessed that’s exactly what one sexy Ms. Lizzie Gilbred, trial attorney, was doing. Slumming it. She’d come knocking on his door in need of a quick ego fix. Probably she’d been dumped by that asshole of a boyfriend and needed reminding that she was still desirable.

Then in the morning she’d regret ever crossing that driveway.

But none of that was his concern. The only question was whether he wanted to take what she was offering.

He watched her cross to sit on the edge of his bed and he raised both of his eyebrows. Most women weren’t quite that obvious with their intentions.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”

LIZZIE LEANED BACK on the bed, on the mattress she had chosen herself for its durability, if not complete comfort, six months ago when she’d moved into the house and had the apartment furnished so she might rent it out. She was acutely aware of the man picking up his guitar and sitting down on the ottoman in front of the chair across the room. Despite the inclement weather, he wore a T-shirt, a dark brown one bearing the logo of a rock band, the hem not quite tucked into jeans that looked like they’d seen their fair share of wild nights out.

She’d always been a sucker for the tall, dark and handsome type, but Patrick Gauge put a whole new spin on the description with his unruly, longish light brown hair and his lanky, rather than athletic, build.

There was something very enticing about the lost-little-boy look. Even though there was definitely nothing boyish about him.

As he ran his long, callused fingers over the guitar strings, she thought that he was waiting for her to say or do whatever she’d come there for.

Instead she silently sipped her whiskey and took her fill of him while he was otherwise occupied. Watching his biceps flex with his movements. The pull of the denim against his groin. The thickness of his neck above the frayed collar of his T-shirt. God, he was rough.

He kept a neat place, she’d give him that. Not overly so—she couldn’t detect the scent of any cleaning products—but there wasn’t any dirty underwear lying around. Her gaze went back to his groin. Of course, that might be because he didn’t wear underwear.

The idea made her hot.

She leaned back farther on the bed, letting the gold liquid creep through her veins, warming her along with the glass of wine she’d had at her place.

She shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be tempting fate along with her tenant. But when she’d glimpsed the rest of the night gaping before her like a fathomless pit faced with the choice of checking a cell phone that would never ring or coming over here to see what temporary trouble she could get into, well…this was definitely preferable.

“The quickestway to get over the old guy is to take up with a new guy,” her friend Tabitha was fond of saying.

Of course, Lizzie didn’t really plan to take up with Gauge. She merely wanted to indulge in something she never had before. More specifically, she wanted to experience a one-night stand. Find out for herself why they were so popular. Any risks involved would be offset by her psychological need to escape her thoughts, if only for a few precious hours.

“Are you playing at the pub this weekend?” she asked, conscious of the way his fingers stroked the strings with the finesse of a pro.

He nodded and then leveled that intense musician’s gaze at her. “I’m surprised.”

“By what?”

“I didn’t peg you as a pub kind of woman.”

She smiled. “I take it women don’t surprise you often.”

“No. Not often.”

She watched the way his thick, long fingers manipulated the strings, noticing that the acoustic guitar was old. Two newer guitars—another acoustic, one electric—sat in stands nearby. Scratches marred the front of the one he held, and there even appeared to have been some patchwork down one side.

He played a few more chords, then switched the CD player on.

“Had that long?” Lizzie asked.

He blinked as if seeing the guitar for the first time. He rested the bottom on the floor and moved it so she could see the back. Dozens of words were engraved in the wood. “This guitar shows all the places I’ve traveled, cities, towns.” He turned it back around.

“Wherever my guitar is, my heart is.”

He leaned the instrument against the ottoman and rested his elbows on his knees, making no secret of his interest in her where she half lay on his bed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his voice as quiet as his playing.

Direct. She liked that.

“Mmm. I’m absolutely positive.”




3


GAUGE HAD LEARNED A long time ago that the touch of a woman could be as intoxicating as any liquor. And while Lizzie Gilbred might emerge more Chivas Gold to his Jack, she was an intoxicant all the same as she slid farther back onto the bed, stretching out like a supple black cat with blond hair.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked quietly.

His answer was a shake of his head.

“I am. A talker, I mean.”

Gauge reached down and took off his right boot, then followed with his left.

He watched her watch him.

“I guess it goes along with the territory. You know, my being a trial attorney. When you come up against opposing counsel, you had better be a pretty good debater.”

Gauge took off his T-shirt. He wondered how much debating she’d done before she’d crossed the snowcovered driveway from her large house to his small apartment. Had she considered all the angles? Taken in the possible consequences?

For reasons he couldn’t quite name, he had the feeling that she hadn’t. Something, some event, had pushed her to come to his place on the spur of the moment. And his silent disrobing across the room from her was his way of giving her a chance to change her mind.

He lowered his hands toward the fly of his jeans and paused. Instead of scooting toward the end of the bed in order to make her exit, sexy Lizzie Gilbred ran her pink tongue along her lips, her gaze riveted to his actions.

Let it not be said that he hadn’t given her ample opportunity to hightail it out of there. Realize that what she was about to do was something she couldn’t take back or erase.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You have a great physique,” she said quietly, reaching out to run her fingertips down his right arm. “Must be the guitar playing.”

Gauge shifted to face her, taking her hands and bringing her to a sitting position. She appeared ready for him to kiss her. Instead he reached for the hem of her sweater and slowly brought it up, purposely avoiding meeting her lips. This wasn’t about intimacy—it was about sex. Pure and simple. An escape as stimulating as spirits. He tugged the soft material over her head, tousling her golden hair and revealing that she was every bit as shapely as he’d suspected. A bloodred satin bra did what his palms were suddenly itching to do, namely curve under the fleshy orbs of her breasts.

He skimmed his fingers over the glossy material and she inhaled deeply.

Gauge looked into her eyes to find a mixture of fascination and curiosity on her beautiful face.

Her tongue made a repeat performance. “Don’t you think we should turn out the lights?”

Two lamps filled the room with dim light, and he didn’t want to switch off either one of them.

He pretended not to hear her as he slid both of his hands over the satin cups until his hands supported her as much as her bra. He rubbed his callused thumbs over the firm tips, scratching the delicate material.

He’d never understood a woman’s desire for shiny lingerie. To him, there was nothing sexier than a naked woman. Her soft skin, fleshy curves, shadowy crevices. Nothing man-made could ever rival the sight of a woman’s trembling stomach, or the cleft between her legs.

He worked his thumbs inside the bra cups until her taut nipples popped out of the top.

Lizzie’s breathing quickened, but she didn’t move, apparently content to let him take command.

Gauge took one of the nipples into his mouth, reveling in the feel of the stiff, puckered skin against his tongue. She smelled like a mixture of cucumbers and musk. She tasted like heaven. He squeezed the soft flesh with his fingers and took in more of her, sucking deeply. She gasped and grasped his wrist, as if unsure whether to pull him away or urge him closer.

Gauge took the decision away from her by removing his mouth and reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. The flimsy material instantly gapped forward and he helped her the rest of the way out of it, ignoring her attempts to kiss him.

He reached for the catch to her slacks even as she fumbled with his zipper. Gauge stretched out next to her to make the transition easier. He felt her mouth on his shoulder and neck, hot, hungry, even as he clenched his back teeth and sought the springy curls between her legs with his fingers…only to find…She was completely bare, her flesh as smooth as the satin of her bra.

He groaned in the back of his throat, his erection immediately standing up at attention at the sight of her womanhood looking like a ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted.

And taste it he did…

LIZZIE’S BACK CAME UP off the mattress at the feel of Gauge’s hot mouth between her legs.

Oh, dear…

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone down on her. Keen awareness exploded through her, robbing her breath, making her aware of every swirl of his tongue, every beat of her heart.

Oh, yes. This definitely had been a good idea.

She forced her eyes open and tucked her chin into her chest so she could watch Gauge’s dark head as he parted her legs, baring her fully to his gaze. He followed the line of her fissure with his thumbs then opened her fleshy lips, his tongue lapping at her most intimate of intimates.

She was suddenly incapable of swallowing, incapable of thought. She twisted her fists into the downy blanket under her, reaching for something, anything that would relieve the pressure building between her legs…in her veins…filling her stomach. It seemed as if she’d flown too close to the sun in one long catapult, needing to pull away, yet wanting to stay to enjoy the spectacular view.

He slid his index finger inside her throbbing depths and she cried out, coming instantly, the pressure escaping in a series of muscle-deep spasms.

She was just beginning to regain her breath when she realized he was still licking her, apparently lapping her clean.

Lizzie found it difficult to swallow, a convert to lights-on sex. She’d been able to watch every expression on his face, every movement of his tongue. She’d been laid out against the mattress, open to his attentions, vulnerable at her weakest moment.

And she’d experienced one of the best orgasms she’d had in recent memory.

Gauge lifted himself up on his arms, his gaze intense as it flicked over her face. He slid forward until his hips lay between her legs and his chest rasped against the tips of her breasts. Lizzie’s hands immediately went to his face, needing to draw him near so she could kiss him.

He buried his face in her neck instead, leaving her little choice but to focus her attention on his shoulder.

He was hard where a man was meant to be hard, no extra ounce of flesh on him anywhere. There was a tattoo on his right arm, but she couldn’t make it out as she felt him move between her thighs.

Her throat tightened when she felt him naked and hard against her slick portal.

“Condom?” she choked.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, merely ran his mouth against the column of her neck, creating a wet trail down to her breast and back.

What if he refused to wear one? Sure, she was on the pill, mostly to help regulate her periods, but she’d even made Jerry wear a condom.

“In the drawer to your right,” he said quietly.

Relieved, she reached for and found a foil-wrapped packet, freeing the lubricated latex inside and helping to sheath him. When he might have pulled away to enter her, she wrapped her fingers around his thick width instead and measured his length. Her thumbnail barely reached her index fingernail around him, and she guessed that if he got hard in his jeans and his member was positioned upward, you might see the tip there at the waist. Because she’d been right in her earlier supposition that he didn’t wear briefs or boxers. Nice…

He held himself above her, watching her face, his own cast in shadow from his tousled dark hair. His mouth was incredible, his lips generous, almost feminine. She released his erection and licked her lips in preparation for his kiss.

He entered her in one slow stroke instead.

She’d thought his mouth had worked miracles, but that had left her woefully unprepared for the feel of him inside her.

She was almost too tight for him, too small. But as he waited for her slick muscles to adjust to his size, a hungry restlessness built within her. She bent her knees for better traction and tilted her hips upward, taking even more of him in.

She blindly sought his mouth and connected with his jaw instead, kissing him repeatedly as he slowly withdrew and then slid inside her again, filling her almost to overflowing.

“Kiss me!” she whispered, grasping his arms to steady herself for his quickened stroke.

He did. He kissed her cheek nearer her ear. Then he whispered back, “This is fucking, Lizzie. Not lovemaking. It’s best that neither of us gets confused.”

Then he quickened the pace of his strokes more, giving her little time to protest or to even consider protesting as he shoved her closer and closer to her next climax…

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Gauge woke to the sound of a ringing phone. Probably one of the neighbors’, he thought, rolling onto his back and pulling the pillow over his head. Then he realized that he didn’t have any neighbors. At least not ones separated from him by a wall.

He dragged the pillow off his face and stared at the ceiling, guessing it to be around nine or ten. The scent of musk teased his nose and he put the pillow back to his face, glancing at the other side of the bed. Gone.

It was just as well that Lizzie Gilbred had gotten up and left his place at some point during the night.

He reached for the telephone receiver next to the bed, but it stopped mid-ring.

Good.

He reached down and scratched his balls then slid his fingers down his semierect shaft. He’d give Lizzie a lot of credit. Some women might have taken offense at his refusal of intimacy. Not her. If anything, she’d seemed further turned-on by the idea that she was there for sex and sex only. No strings that stretched beyond the perimeter of this bed.

She’d been insatiable. Going from screaming orgasm one moment to frenzied, sex-starved nympho the next. It had been a good long while since he’d enjoyed more than just a ten-minute sack session with a woman.

And months since he’d awakened not thirsting for a swallow from the bottle on the kitchen table across the room.

He tossed off the blankets and rose from the bed, heading for the bathroom and the shower, where he stood for long minutes under the hot spray. He’d promised the band that he’d stop by the pub this morning to practice before they opened for lunch. He shouldn’t have a problem making it, seeing as he really didn’t have anything else on his agenda.

Hell, he didn’t know what he was still doing in Fantasy, Michigan. If he’d known what was good for him, he’d have left right after Nina and Kevin’s wedding in August. Would never have unpacked his bag or his guitar and would have hightailed it back out after the reception.

But he hadn’t.

For some reason he had yet to fully define, he’d stayed on, renting the garage apartment from sexy Lizzie Gilbred, sitting in with area bands when they needed him and waiting until either wanderlust or a long-term commitment to a single band saw him hitting the road again.

Then he’d blinked and it was almost Christmas.

He’d hoped to be well out of the northern city before winter hit. While he’d lived through the past three when he’d gone into partnership with Nina and Kevin, he’d been vaguely looking forward to heading someplace south this season, as he had done in the years before the three had become friends.

He pushed his face into the punishing hot spray and ran his hands over the stubble covering his jaw.

Friends. Now there was a word for you.

The ringing started again.

Gauge shut off the water and stood dripping, listening to it. When it appeared the caller wasn’t about to give up, he grabbed a towel, rubbing it against his hair as he walked into the other room and picked up the extension.

“Gauge?”

His every muscle tightened as he recognized the female voice on the other end. Nina.…




4


LIZZIE CLOSED her notepad and stood up from the conference table. The afternoon strategy meeting to discuss a case going to court the following week was drawing to a close.

“I want to see that deposition, Mark,” she said to a junior associate.

“It’ll be on your desk by tomorrow morning.”

“I’d prefer a half hour.” She turned toward another associate. “Mary Pat, how’s the witness prep going?”

The pretty brunette smiled. “As well as can be expected. I’ve got another meeting with the key to go over testimony on Friday. Hopefully this time he won’t crack under cross.”

Lizzie nodded. “If anyone can handle it, you can.”

The room began emptying out as everyone said good-night and hurried off before she could assign them another task or ask another question.

Lizzie was the last one out. Which was usually the case. Her boss, John Stivers, had always said she was one of the hardest workers he’d ever seen. And, of course, the instant he’d said it, she’d determined to work even harder.

It was after six and she understood that many of her associates had families they wanted to get home to. The three senior partners had called it a day an hour or so ago, as had the secretarial pool and most of the paralegals, but she’d requested the late meeting because it was the only time they could fit it in.

She entered her office and put her files on her desktop. Her own paralegal was still on the clock and peeked her head through the door leading to the lobby area.

“Do you need me for anything else?” Amanda asked.

Lizzie glanced at her watch, then through the window. It was dark already. The white landscape looked grim from her third-floor office in the new building built to accommodate the expanding practice.

At least five things sprang to mind, but instead she waved her hand. “Go on home, Amanda. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Lizzie sank down into her coffee-colored leather desk chair and sat for long moments, watching as the offices emptied out.

The partners had conducted a survey that estimated there was a more than thirty percent turnover of new attorneys at high-powered law firms nationwide, while their own partnership was doing slightly better, mostly because of the incentive program she’d helped them devise the year before. While Lizzie and a handful of other associates hungry to climb the partnership ladder put in over a hundred hours a week, most of the others averaged between sixty and eighty. Since much of their time as trial attorneys was spent at the courthouse, the only opportunity to do follow-up and file and prep work was after the regular hours of nine-to-five.

By rights, she should be feeling tired. Instead, she found she was still energized. She smiled as she compiled her notes and put a couple of files in her out-box. Over the past week she’d had to mainline caffeine to keep going. Today…

Her eyes widened. Today, she’d barely thought about Jerry and his leaving her high and dry.

Instead, she found her thoughts trailing to one very hot, very sexy Patrick Gauge.

She squeezed her thighs together, feeling tingly all over again.

Her cell phone chirped. She tilted it on her desk so she could read the display and then answered.

“I need a drink. Meet me at Ciao?” Tabitha asked.

Lizzie smiled. She could always count on her old friend to liven things up. If not for Tabitha this past week, things would have been harder than they had been. She and Lizzie had been close ever since attending University of Toledo Law School together, and they’d seen each other through some difficult times.

Despite their shared interest in the legal system, they’d taken different paths. While Lizzie had chosen trial law, Tabby had gone the bankruptcy route, helping strapped people regain some kind of control over their lives.

Lizzie asked now, “Why do you need a drink?”

“You’re right. I probably don’t need a drink. But I want one.” Tabitha sighed. “A long day, that’s all.”

“Tell me about it,” Lizzie agreed, although she hadn’t felt the day had been particularly grueling.

“You’re sounding better. Oh, no. Don’t tell me. He called.”

“Who?” she asked, before thinking. She cringed. Tabby knew her much too well not to read the road signs.

“Hmm. Okay. I suppose the question should be, ‘who is he’?”

“Who?” Lizzie asked again.

“Ah, yes. She’s taking my advice that the best way to forget about the last guy is to find the next.” Tabitha laughed, a throaty sound that never failed to make Lizzie smile. “So you’re feeling better then.”

“I’m feeling better.”

“Good. You’ve been such a train wreck this past week, I was afraid I might have to drag you to an AA meeting or two. Either that, or you might have to drag me.”

“Do you mind if I pass for tonight?”

“Mind? Hell, my credit card will thank you. Unlike you, I don’t have access to a bottomless expense account.”

“Whatever.”

“Call me tomorrow?”

“If you don’t call me first.”

Lizzie signed off after a few more moments and then sat back in her chair, both glad Tabby hadn’t asked again about the man who had taken her mind off Jerry and disappointed. Given the one-night nature of her liaison with Gauge, a part of her wanted to keep it private. Still, it had been so good, it was nearly impossible not to share.

While she’d never considered herself a good girl, she’d never really been a bad one, either. One-night stands were better left to those who had the time to waste. She’d been so focused first on school, then at the firm, that it was all she could do to stop by her parents’ a couple of times a week before dropping into bed at night, exhausted, only to start the cycle over again the next day.

She shifted her watch around on her wrist and looked at the pearly face, even though she knew what time it was. What she was really doing was wondering what Gauge was up to.

She was pretty sure the band played only on the weekends…which meant he should be home.

A warm pool of longing filled her stomach.

God, how long had it been since she’d experienced this heightened awareness? It was too long ago to remember her first time with Jerry. Had she felt the same way? She figured she must have, because she’d fallen in love with him all those years ago. Enough that she hadn’t hesitated to take him back six months ago, seeing his return as the fulfillment of what they’d begun all those years ago but never finished.

Or perhaps it had been her own competitive spirit that had made her open that door to him again. After all, stealing him away from his wife was a kind of vindication of their earlier relationship.

She opened her desk drawer and took out her purse. So much for not thinking about Jerry.

But for the first time in days she felt she had a choice in the matter.

THE TENSION at the Weber dining-room table was palpable, with Nina either ignorant of the unspoken words exchanged between the two men…or overly aware of them. Gauge couldn’t decide which.

He knew he shouldn’t have come. But over the past few months he’d turned down her every invitation to dinner at their place, preferring to meet them in public and avoid what he knew was a need for a showdown of sorts that had been brewing since last February. He’d known he’d have to accept at some point, and now was as good a time as any.

If only Kevin wasn’t slanting him looks that said he’d like nothing better than to pummel him to a pulp right there and then.

When Gauge had returned for Nina and Kevin’s wedding in August, his long absence had allowed for a lowering of defenses and he’d gladly taken the spot beside Kevin as his best man. But later that day at the reception, Gauge had pushed his luck when he’d asked for a dance with the bride…and found himself right back at square one with his one-time best friend.

Gauge focused on his surroundings now. He was familiar with the house. Kevin had inherited it from his late parents, and Gauge had been there no fewer than a couple of dozen times. Still, it had undergone such intensive renovations he barely recognized it.

“Place looks good,” he said, noticing that the wall between the kitchen and dining room had been knocked out, giving an airier feel. “Amazing what a woman’s touch will do.”

He purposely looked at Kevin, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. But the problem was that Nina had touched them both, in more ways than one.

Nina cleared her throat as she spooned gravy over the thin slices of brisket on his plate. “Actually, Kevin is the one who deserves complete credit.”

Gauge narrowed his gaze on her as the couple shared a glance.

“I tore the place up after…” Kevin began, then looked at Gauge pointedly.

Gauge picked up his fork. It seemed everything he said led back to that one night.

“I didn’t move in until after we married,” Nina said, taking the seat across from him and sliding her hand over Kevin’s. He sat at the head of the table between them. “Kevin wanted me to, but I preferred to wait until we got married.”

Gauge glanced into the living room, where the gift he’d bought them hung on the wall between the front windows and the door. An authentic dream catcher made by the Ojibwa Indians. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It would be great if it could really filter out all the bad and leave only the good.

He forked the mashed potatoes and put a bite into his mouth. He’d been stupid to think he could just come back. That the three of them could take up where they’d left off before that fateful night when Nina had agreed to allow him and Kevin to fix her up with a blind date. More specifically they’d blindfolded her, and she hadn’t known which of the two she’d slept with.

The food tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He reached for his water glass to help wash it down.

“So, do you know when you might come back to work at BMC?” Nina asked.

Kevin’s fork screeched against his plate and Gauge looked at him. He got the distinct impression that his old friend would like nothing better than for Gauge to just walk out of town and never come back.

Of course, that’s not how he’d felt when Gauge had returned at Nina’s request for their August wedding. Kevin had hugged him like a long-lost brother. And in that one moment, he’d been glad he’d come back. Been reminded of the deep bond of friendship he’d shared with the other man.

Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing they’d shared.

He looked over at Nina.

God, but she was as beautiful as ever. Like a brilliant desert rose whose fragrance he could smell across the table. Her blond hair had grown out a bit from the way she’d once worn it, but it still hung in a shiny curtain around her pretty face. She had on a clingy red, long-sleeved shirt and black pants that hugged her curves in all the right places. It looked like she’d put on a few pounds, and they suited her. Her breasts were a little larger, her bottom high and shapely.

He picked up his knife and started to cut the meat. Only it refused to be cut.

All three of them appeared to be doing the same thing at once. And no one was having any luck.

“Sorry…the beef seems a little on the tough side,” Nina murmured.

He watched as Kevin folded a piece onto his fork. “I like big bites anyway.”

Gauge grinned, watching him put the food into his mouth and chew. And chew.

He followed suit, folding the slice of meat with the help of his knife and then putting it into his mouth.

It tasted like the belt that held up his jeans. Or what he imagined that must taste like.

The three of them chewed until finally Nina spit the contents of her mouth into her napkin, her cheeks turning an attractive shade of red.

“Mmm,” Kevin said. “It’s…delicious, honey.”

Gauge had to give him credit for swallowing what must have felt like an entire boot in one gulp. Since Kevin had already drained his glass of water, Gauge pushed his own mostly filled glass his way. His friend gave him a look of gratitude as he downed nearly the entire contents.

A sound came from Nina’s direction. Gauge and Kevin looked to see her eyes bright with tears. Gauge discreetly spit his own bite into his napkin and followed Kevin’s lead.

“It’s the best home-cooked meal I’ve had in a long time.”

Only it hadn’t been tears of exasperation that sparkled in her bright blue eyes; rather they were inspired by laughter.

Nina grinned. “That’s because you probably haven’t had a home-cooked meal in so long you’ve forgotten what it tastes like.”

Kevin coughed into his napkin. “Actually, that depends on what home you’re talking about. Because in this house, this is what a home-cooked meal tastes like.”

Laughter burst from the table and created a happy cloud around the three of them that had been sorely missing.

Gauge was glad for the change.

Nina stopped laughing first. “God, I’m sorry. I followed the recipe to a T. I don’t have a clue what happened.”

She picked up Kevin’s plate and forked the meat back into the serving dish.

“Don’t touch my mashed potatoes,” he said. “I love your mashed potatoes.”

Gauge felt suddenly like an outsider. Which was something he was getting used to when in the presence of his two friends. He could accept them being a married couple. But he still hadn’t figured out how to deal with it.

Especially since he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting what Kevin had. Namely, Nina.

“I should stick to café fare,” she said. “Soups and sandwiches I can handle.”

“Don’t forget baking,” Kevin reminded.

“Yeah. So long as you don’t mind living on bear claws, I suppose I’m your dream mate.” She rolled her eyes, but her warm smile belied her true feelings as she handed him back his plate. “I’m going to go order pizza. You two clear the table.”

An hour and a half later, Gauge picked up the empty pizza boxes while Kevin went to change the CD in the player in the living room. He took the boxes into the kitchen, where Nina was opening another bottle of wine.

“Thanks,” she said as he passed behind her on the way to the garbage bin.

“You want some help with that?”

She let out a long sigh. “I swear, I’ve never been any good at popping corks.”

Before he could weigh the wisdom of the move, he curved both of his arms around her, pressing his front against her soft, hot bottom. “It’s simple. You just have to remember to keep the corkscrew in perfect line with the bottle.”

Damn, but she smelled good. Like warm, summer sunshine. A field full of wildflowers. Like rain against a hot sidewalk.

With his help, she popped the cork.

“Oh!” she said, and he heard her swallow.

It satisfied him on a level he was loath to admit that his close proximity still affected her.

Suddenly she went stiff against him. Gauge looked up to find Kevin standing in the kitchen doorway, his fists looking like meat mallets on either side of his legs.

“Get the hell away from my wife.”




5


MERELY DRIVING UP to her parents’ house filled Lizzie with memories of the past, and bittersweet thoughts of the present. Her parents had been the family’s foundation, their rock. How could they even consider getting divorced now? After thirty years of marriage? It didn’t make sense.

Lizzie let herself in through the back door, much as she had for nearly the entire twenty-eight years of her life. The house was one of the first that her father had built after opening his own construction company before she was born. While he’d added on to it over the years to accommodate her mother’s wishes for a sunporch and her brother’s for a media room, much remained the same. Decor aside, of course. Her mother claimed that she’d been Martha Stewart before Martha even thought about making her first pinecone wreath. The house had undergone a complete makeover nearly every year, with a change in color schemes and throw rugs and artwork.

Now the living room walls were a soft, homey green, which went well with the upholstered furniture, a cream color festooned with tiny flowers of every color. The furniture had remained the same, chosen because it went with almost everything. Photos of the family, especially the three children, dotted the walls and mantel, documenting the various stages of their lives.

“Mom?” Lizzie called out, putting her purse on the kitchen table and shrugging out of her coat, much as she had countless times before. Only this time there was no answer.

She hadn’t checked the garage to see if either of their cars was there. It was usually a given at this time of night that her parents would both be home. It was just after dinner and right about now they normally would have been sitting at the kitchen table enjoying coffee and dessert or in the family room watching the news or reading.

The silence seemed to verify with deafening intensity that nothing was normal or usual anymore.

Lizzie sighed and looked around the kitchen. When she was growing up, there had always been something to eat. It was one of the many reasons neighborhood children had liked to hang out there. If there wasn’t a pot of something on the stove to sample, there were surely sandwich fixings and a bag of chips somewhere.

The sink was empty, the stove barren and not even the cookie jar held a crumb to lick off the pad of her finger. She opened the refrigerator. Bingo. She smiled as she popped the lid on a container of food and took out a slice of meat loaf.

She sputtered when an overdose of salt assaulted her taste buds.

She moved to the sink and coughed up the meat, running the water to wash it down the drain as she tripped the trash compactor.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, having forgotten the phone call of the night before.

She dumped the rest of the “poisoned” meat loaf into the garbage can and placed the container in the dishwasher.

She should have known the situation had deteriorated to this degree, but the absence of broken glass littering the floor had convinced her that things were as they always had been.

She opened the freezer and took out a fudge pop, visually verifying that no tampering had taken place. She hesitantly licked it, sighed with relief and then closed the freezer door. Do what you will with the meat loaf, she thought, but leave anything chocolate alone.

Of course, her father didn’t like chocolate.

Sucking on the sweet, she left the kitchen, walking through the hall toward the foyer. She immediately spotted her mother’s purse on the table near the door.

Huh?

“Dad?”

She stepped down the connecting hall toward the guest room that had once been a den and then a guest room again and rapped lightly on the closed door. No answer. She peeked inside to see the sofa bed open, the sheets and blanket unmade, and then closed the door again.

So her father wasn’t there. But her mother?

A sound from the second floor.

Maybe her mother was taking a bath with her headphones on and hadn’t heard her.

While the Gilbreds weren’t immodest, rare were the times when a bathroom door was locked. Lizzie had spent many a time sitting on the closed commode talking to her mother while Bonnie was immersed in a tub full of bubbles.

Of course, when those same bubbles started to dissipate, she was the first to give her mother privacy…and to spare herself from viewing something that might ruin her for life.

She climbed the stairs, licking her frozen treat as she went. She supposed she could grab a sandwich on the way home. Or see if the Chinese place on Oak Street was still open.

She looked first in the master bedroom to find everything perfectly in its place, the bed made, the connecting bath empty.

Okay…

Had her mother left her purse behind? Was she even now eating out somewhere and reaching for her wallet, only to find she’d left it at home on the foyer table? That was so unlike her mother as to be scary.

Scarier still was the fact that both her parents constantly requested that she act as their attorney. She was grateful she wasn’t a family attorney and was only too quick to point that out whenever the topic raised its ugly head. Which was much too often for her liking.

She checked out the main bathroom just to make sure her mother wasn’t in there, then shrugged and headed to her old room. Bonnie had kept all the kids’ bedrooms decorated the same way as when they’d lived at home, the wallpaper a little harder to change than the color of paint. Lizzie sometimes liked to go into her old room and lie across her white canopy bed, remembering happier times.

Another sound.

Lizzie’s footsteps slowed. If she wasn’t mistaken, it had come from her old room.

She slowly opened the door and then gasped, standing rooted to the spot. Lying across her old bed was her mother, naked, her hands tied above her head to the canopy posts. Her father was kneeling at the edge, an extra large feather held aloft as he swung his head to look at her.

And the sound? The headboard hitting the wall.

Lizzie screamed and ran from the room. So much for leaving a scene before it ruined her for life. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to go into her old bedroom again.

A COUPLE HOURS LATER, Lizzie sat on the leather couch in her family room, flipping through channels on the television, purposely ignoring her vibrating cell phone. Her mother had called no fewer than five times since Lizzie had bolted from the house as if the floor had been covered with burning coals. Much of what had happened since the moment she’d caught her parents playing Pin the Princess on her bed—her childhood bed in her childhood room—had passed in a blur. She couldn’t even remember what she’d done with the fudge pop.

And at this point, she didn’t care, either. She half hoped she’d dropped the melting chocolate on the white carpet of her old room so her mother would have to clean it up…among other things.

Ugh.

Well, she supposed there was one good thing to come out of the situation. Her parents appeared to have reconciled.

She stuck her chopsticks into the rice container and put both down on the coffee table, pulling the chenille throw across her lap up to her chin.

Her cell vibrated and she turned the display so she could read the caller ID. Her sister, Annie.

She answered.

“Okay, what’s up? Mom’s going out of her mind with worry because you aren’t taking her calls.” Leave it to Annie to cut straight to the chase.

Younger than Lizzie by a year, her sister usually managed to keep up the front that her life was all sunshine and roses. But Lizzie knew it was more like dirty diapers and teething rings. The last time she’d talked to Annie, her sister had been a scant inch removed from running away from her family altogether. Which didn’t make any sense to Lizzie, because so far as she could tell, her sister had gotten everything she’d ever wanted out of life. A great husband. A marvelous house. Two beautiful children and another on the way.

Not that little Jasmine and Mason were angels. Far from it. They were loud and smelly and needed constant supervision. And somewhere in there, Annie had to fit in love, as well. Which wasn’t always easy.

So Lizzie and Annie had spent a lot of time on the phone lately. The approach suited Lizzie fine. Since she worked such long hours, she wasn’t physically able to step in to help her sister out much. The issue of children in her own future still hung like a swaying question mark. Not because she’d had any bad experiences or her sister’s situation had turned her off kids. She’d simply been so busy she hadn’t had a chance to think about them.

That, and she had yet to meet a man she loved enough to consider sharing another human being with.

Even Jerry.

So Lizzie paid back her sister’s brevity with a concise rundown of the evening’s events.

A silent pause stretched after she finished. Then, finally, Annie’s laughter filled her ear.




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