The Rule-Breaker Read online

  Her eyes had dropped to his mouth. Ordinarily, he would have wondered if he’d tripped up and used a word with an r in it, but he knew he hadn’t. He’d always been especially careful around her. Furthermore, she wasn’t looking at his mouth as though he’d made a mistake—she was looking at it as though she wanted to taste it. Her breath came in lengthened shallow breaths and her pupils had dilated. Classic signs of desire and, since she was looking at him, logic demanded that she...desired him.

  He locked his knees to keep them from wobbling.

  “I need a lover, Les,” she said baldly, in typical Mavis form. “And I’m here because you’re a gentleman. You’re interesting, attractive, intelligent and discreet. This would be a friends-with-benefits sort of thing, strictly physical.” She arched a brow. “What do you say? Are you interested?”

  Les studied her a minute. Though he was relatively certain her request was legitimate, years of being cautious, of examining motives, was too ingrained to ignore. Satisfied that hell had definitely frozen over and that she was some sort of benevolent angel come to life, he carefully set his glass aside and just as carefully unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up. He dropped to his knees in front of her, slid his hands beneath her dress and firmly grasped her thighs, startling a gasp out of her in the process, then gently jerked her forward. The scent of her hot sex drifted to him, the musky scent of woman, and he inhaled deeply as he slid his nose up her thigh.

  “God, yes,” he breathed.

  * * *

  MORE NERVOUS THAN SHE could recall being in recent memory, Shelby forced herself to sit quietly and wait for Eli. Dinner at the Hollands’ had gone well and, on the whole—other than Colin, who seemed more surly than usual—the atmosphere in general was more relaxed. Shelby couldn’t help but notice that Carl and Sally seemed especially pleased that she and Eli were on seemingly warmer terms. She’d caught a shared look between the two she wasn’t entirely certain she’d been meant to see. It had been significant, almost calculating, and more than a little self-satisfied.

  In other words, odd.

  She’d saved him a seat, as promised, and the tension humming between them proved to be a constant distraction. She was acutely aware of every move he made, the innocent brush of his shoulder against hers, the way his long fingers wrapped around his glass, the muscles moving beneath his skin as he did something as innocent—as mundane—as lifting his fork to his mouth.

  And his mouth...

  It was a little full for a man, but wide and carnal and so sinfully wicked it made her squirm in her seat every time she’d looked at it. And when he smiled...it was sexual magic. Nothing short of panty-melting.

  A knock sounded at her front door, startling her out of lust-fogged stupor. Dixie did her dog impression by quickly lumbering up and trotting to the door, pressing her snout against it and sniffing loudly.

  Shelby rolled her eyes and nudged her out of the way. “Chill,” she said. “It’s not the pizza delivery guy.”

  “I could have brought a pizza,” Eli said, his lips curled into a sheepish grin. Hands shoved into his pockets, he wore a pair of faded jeans and an ochre T-shirt that brought out of the highlights in his golden eyes, accentuated the deeper tones in his tawny hair. Tension tightened his shoulders, haunted the fine lines around his eyes, suggesting that he wasn’t as relaxed as he seemed, either. He bent down and scratched between Dixie’s ears, earning instant piggy love and devotion.

  “Careful,” Shelby warned. “That’s one of her erogenous zones.”

  Eli looked up. “Really?”

  Shelby chuckled and shook her head. “That was too easy.”

  “How was I supposed to know?” he asked, settling on one end of her couch. He cast a look around the room, taking in her decor, noting the exits. “I’m not familiar with the pig-pet model.”

  “She’s been spayed,” Shelby explained, handing him a glass of wine. “Otherwise, she’d pee all over the house, spreading her scent. Not to mention the PMS,” she added with a significant grimace. “From everything I’ve read, it can get really bad.”

  “Pig PMS?” He shot her a skeptical look. “You’re yanking my chain again, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all.”

  He took a sip from his glass, let the wine settle over his tongue before swallowing appreciatively. “You learn something new every day,” he said, his gaze landing on the pictures on her mantel. There were several. Some of her parents, her grandparents, Dixie, but the snapshot he lingered on was of her and Micah and him.

  It had been taken at the lake, after a day spent waterskiing. Micah stood between them, an arm slung around both their shoulders. She and Eli had just shared a joke Micah had missed and he’d wandered up while they’d been laughing. Sally chose that exact moment to insist on a picture, so Micah had moved in between them and they’d all grinned. She and Eli were still smiling over the joke and Micah was smiling because he’d been happy that day. He’d been happy most of the time, which had made his suicide all the more painful. He must have gone to a really dark place and lost the light, Shelby thought now.

  Eli gestured to the picture, his face somber. “It’s still hard to believe, isn’t it? That he’s gone. That he went the way he did.”

  She swallowed, nodded. “It is. I would have never dreamed that he’d...” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t finish. “He was always so happy, and even when he was angry, he was still good-natured.” She hesitated. “He didn’t elaborate, in the letter,” she said. “He just said he’d been unable to stop something and that the damage was unbearable, that he couldn’t ‘un-see’ it.” She glanced at him, bit her lip. “Do you know what happened?”

  His jaw tightened and he gave her a curt nod. “Are you going to make me tell you?”

  “No,” she said. She wouldn’t make him relive something so terrible that it drove their friend to suicide. “But if you ever need to tell me, I’ll listen.”

  He turned to face her, his expression stark, pained. “You’ll regret it,” he said. “But...thanks.”

  It wasn’t until that moment that Shelby realized the sheer magnitude of the burden Micah had put on Eli. In addition to finding him, he’d had to lie to protect him, to protect his family—repeatedly, she imagined, because even she knew “his gun misfired” was often code for suicide—and carry the weight of whatever it was that put Micah there. And now he was here, building the memorial, doing the next right thing, and Katrina Nolan was trying to take that away from him.

  Her fingers tightened around her glass as another bolt of anger rocketed through her.

  It quickly fizzled out, though, when she realized she was doing the same damned thing—giving him a problem to fix.

  “Listen, Eli,” she said, turning to look at him. “If you can sort out Katrina, I’ll take care of the letter writer.” She wearily rubbed a line from between her brows. “Micah gave you plenty to do without me adding to it and I—”

  His eyes flashed and he straightened. “You’re not adding to anything,” he said, his voice suddenly hot. His expression blackened and he pointed to the mantel. “All of this—every damned bit of it—is on him, you understand? You didn’t do this. He did.”

  She could feel his anger, his frustration. It rolled off of him in waves, pounding into her with its intensity. “I understand that, but you don’t have to—”

  He bolted up from the couch, walked to the mantel and shook his head. “Yes, I do. I do have to do it. For him, yes, because he’d absolutely flip a bitch if he knew someone was blaming you for this. He’d expect me to take care of it, because that’s what friends do.” He turned to look at her, his face a mask of anguish. “You know what his last words to me were? ‘You’re a good friend, Eli.’” A bark of awful laughter erupted from his throat. “A good friend? Yeah, right. I’m the good friend who didn’t get him the help he needed. I’m the good friend who couldn’t keep him from putting a gun in his mouth. I’m the good friend who’s been lusting after his fiancée for years. Eve
n now—even now—it’s all I can do to keep my hands off of you. He’s dead and it doesn’t make a difference. God help me, I still want you. Good friend?” he repeated incredulously, eyes wide. “Really?” He shook his head, passed a hand over his face. “What bullshit. But I’m trying to be now, and you know what? I resent it. I’d like nothing more than to thrash the hell out of him for this, to read him the fucking riot act.”

  Chest constricted so tight she could barely breathe, Shelby didn’t know where to start. It wasn’t just Eli being Eli—he was looking for absolution.

  For all the wrong reasons. And it explained so much.

  “I’d better go,” he said, heading for the door. “I’ll look at the letters tomorrow night.”

  Shelby hurriedly stood. “Eli, wait.”

  “Shelby, please,” he implored without looking at her. He rested his forehead against the door, closed his eyes. “I need to do this. Let me do this.”

  Finally, she nodded and he left.

  But this conversation was far from over.

  9

  FEELING A BIT LIKE A ransom victim who’d narrowly escaped his captor, Eli waved a final goodbye at Katrina and slid behind the wheel of his truck.

  He exhaled a mighty breath, then quickly backed out of the driveway, wincing as his tires squealed against the pavement. With any luck she’d decide he was a badass and wouldn’t come to the correct conclusion that he was that damned desperate to get away from her.

  Good Lord...

  She’d been stuck to him like flypaper from the instant he’d walked through her door, had been forced to move from the couch to the chair when she’d crowded him. He’d lost count of how many times he’d disentangled his hand from hers, and had successfully dodged her lips on three separate occasions.

  Of course, when she’d come to the door in a threadbare t-shirt—without a bra—and in a pair of shorts that left the bulk of her ass hanging out, he should have turned around right then and left.

  He didn’t, because he’d wanted to sort this out once and for all and, while he wasn’t completely certain he’d been able to do that, he was confident that she’d merely heard a rumor, that her source hadn’t been anyone officially associated with the investigation.

  Shelby had been right—Katrina was fishing...and she definitely hated her. Like Shelby, he believed that the woman was simply trying to stir up shit and had decided that the best way to do that was through him. She’d kill two birds with one stone—take something she suspected Shelby wanted, which was him based on her behavior tonight, and ruin her reputation with the Hollands.

  “I just think that it’s odd that Shelby broke the engagement off and six months later Micah’s gun ‘misfires,’” she’d said, her voice rife with skepticism.

  “What you think is odd, I think is simply unfortunate timing,” he told her. “Micah’s death had absolutely nothing to do with Shelby. I was there. I know what happened.”

  She considered him. “I know you do,” she said. “And I wish I believed you.”

  If she’d hoped to intimidate him, she’d been sadly mistaken. He’d been questioned by men much more frightening than her.

  Eli had merely shrugged, as if he didn’t give a damn, and truly—ultimately—he didn’t care what she thought. She could think whatever the hell she wanted to, but the instant she started sharing her suspicions and it affected the Hollands, she was going to wish that she’d kept her vicious mouth shut.

  “You don’t have to believe me,” he said. “But before you drag Micah’s memory and service through the mud and upset his family with your suspicions and no proof, I’d think very carefully. Slander’s not nearly as difficult to prove nowadays.”

  “I don’t intend to slander anyone.”

  Eli dropped the amiable good-old-boy routine. “You’ve just indicated that you think I’m a liar. If you print a contradictory opinion to my eye-witness testimony, then you’ll be making it official.” He’d shrugged, pinned her with a level gaze. “And if that happens, you’d better hope that paper you’re working for has good insurance because I can assure you you’ll need it.”

  “There’s no need to get—”

  “Listen, Katrina, anytime a soldier dies off the battlefield, there’s talk. I won’t say there isn’t. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. And frankly, given yours and Micah’s past relationship, I would have thought you’d be concentrating on what a wonderful guy he’d been, not trying to start a fire where there’s no flame.”

  Her eyes had widened and a knowing spark had entered her gaze. “You’ve been talking to Shelby.”

  “She’s a friend.” He kept his voice even, neutral.

  “That’s what she said.” She’d hummed under breath, her eyes narrowing. “But is that all she is?”

  Dangerous territory. “Is this for an article or are you just curious?”

  “I’m curious.”

  He should have told her it was none of her damned business, should have played it off, muttered some vague answer, but he couldn’t, knowing that Katrina was only interested in hurting her, knowing that she’d wanted to use him to that end.

  He smiled at her and shrugged helplessly. “She’s my It Girl,” he said, then turned and walked away.

  * * *

  ELI CONSIDERED GOING back to Shelby’s house—he didn’t like the way he’d left things between them—but ultimately decided that he was too raw and wrung out to finish their discussion. It had been wrong of him to dump all of that onto her, then simply walk away, but it was either that or take her—to bed, on the floor, against the wall or any variation thereof—and once that was done...he was done for.

  There would be no going back.

  His It Girl, indeed, Eli thought, making the final turn that would take him out to the cabin. Fatigue dragged at his limbs and he longed for a hefty dose of alcohol and a cool soak in the tub overlooking the lake. They’d gotten a lot done today, having piped in all the water and gas lines, finished the frame and began the tedious process of lining up the willow branches around the perimeter.

  Though he hadn’t anticipated enjoying himself or the work, Eli had been surprised to discover that he did. He liked the pleasant ache in his muscles at the end of the day, the evidence of hard work and something to show for it. He’d been on construction crews during the summers while he’d been in college, but hadn’t appreciated the labor the way he did now.

  Thankfully, he seemed to have a knack for it, was able to look at a plan and instantly visualize the best way to put it together. Considering his overall dissatisfaction with his chosen career path, it was nice to discover that there was an alternative; one that actually excited him. His contract expired in three months and, though he’d been pressured to re-up, Eli had resisted.

  He noted the lights shining through the living room windows before spotting her car.

  Shelby.

  His heart rate accelerated, pumping his blood more swiftly toward his groin and his fingers tightened against the steering wheel as anticipation shot through him. See? This was what happened. His mind might be convinced that avoiding her and not taking things to the next level was a good idea, but his body obviously disagreed. It betrayed him with every breath into his lungs, every determined push of the overheated blood in his veins.

  He should have known she’d be here, Eli thought. He should have realized that she’d have to have the last word, that she wouldn’t be able to leave things alone.

  All right, Eli thought, feeling a muscle jump in his jaw. If she wanted a reckoning, then she’d by God get one.

  Micah had encouraged him to stop following the rules, to start breaking a few instead. Though he doubted this was exactly what his friend had in mind, he was going to get his wish because Eli was about to blow this particular rule all to hell and back.

  And he was certain that doing the wrong thing was never going to feel more right.

  * * *

  THE SWING OF HEADLIGHTS across the window and the sound of popping
gravel signaled Eli’s return. Shelby had been waiting for nearly an hour and had been getting increasingly anxious with every second that passed.

  She knew Eli well enough to know that he wouldn’t want to discuss what happened at her place this evening, but he ought to know her well enough to know that she wouldn’t be put off. He’d lost it—which he so rarely did—and given her a glimpse into what he was going through, what he was feeling.

  She was familiar with guilt enough to recognize it, but she hadn’t expected that he’d take on so much of it, especially on account of his feelings for her, for what happened at the anniversary party. Had he forgotten that she’d kissed him, not the other way around?

  He might have snapped, but it had been her who’d ultimately broken.

  She heard his feet mount the steps, cross the porch then the door opened. Looking resigned but dangerous, his lips twisted into something that fell well short of a smile, he nodded at her. “You’ve got a key?”

  “No,” she said. “I gave it back more than a year ago. But I know where the spare is hidden.”

  He poured himself a tumbler full of whiskey, then lifted the glass and took a healthy swallow. His eyes, when they met hers, were hot and angry, and an eerily banked energy, much like the calm before the storm, crackled around him. Her skin prickled with as much warning as desire and she lifted her chin.

  “Any luck with Katrina?”

  He sauntered into the living room, but didn’t join her on the couch. He was keeping his distance. His gaze slid like fire along her legs, her breasts and over her lips before it bumped into hers. “Is that what you really want to know, Shelby? What you came here for?”

  “I want to know a lot of things,” she said, resisting the urge to squirm. Heat coiled in her middle and flooded her womb. “But you know why I’m here.”

  A bark of fatalistic laughter leaked from between his lips and he shook his head and his eyes widened significantly. “Yes. Yes, I do.”